LiGa Read online

  As Xavier left the glass cube, Tanner resumed his instructions. “Peter Krol will now hand out your seat assignments,” he said, as Peter distributed the black folders he had been holding.

  “I will explain the format and rules of the games… One of us will be present in each of the game rooms throughout the tournament.

  “The tournament will continue on consecutive Saturdays until one or more of the players attains 100 Life Points. As with all LiGa Bridge tournaments, the players’ starting Life Points do not allow for any player to accumulate 100 Life Points at the end of the first game, therefore, the tournament will consist of at least two games.

  “I will now introduce the players according to their player numbers for this game:

  “Player number 1 is the Honorable Martha Other. Judge Martha Other is 62 years old, and starts the tournament with 48 Life Points.

  “Player number 2 is Daniel Cross. Mr. Cross is 36 years old, and starts the tournament with 74 Life Points.” Tanner paused and approached Danny. “Mr. Cross, the dice please–” he held out his hand. “They will be returned to you at the end of the game.”

  Reluctantly, Danny placed two red dice in Tanner’s palm. It did not escape anyone’s notice that Danny’s right hand jerked quickly exactly three times before he shoved it deep into his pocket.

  Tanner continued.

  “Bruce Saber is player number 3. Mr. Saber is 41 years old, and starts the tournament with 69 Life Points.

  “Sinclair Davis is player number 4. He is 38 years old. He starts the tournament with 72 Life Points.

  “Player number 5 is Father Roland Griffith. He is 41 years old, and starts the tournament with 69 Life Points.

  “Senator Frederick Heath is player number 6. Senator Heath is 44 years old, starting the tournament with 66 Life Points.

  “Player Number 7 is Jacob Porter. Mr. Porter is 60 years old, and starts the tournament with 50 Life Points.

  “Storm Drake is player number 8. He is 36 years old and starts the tournament with 74 Life Points.

  “Do you have any questions?” Tanner paused.

  No, there were no questions.

  Tanner resumed…

  “The information I am giving you is also contained in your folders, which Peter has handed out. The game consists of seven rounds of four boards each, for a total of 28 boards. At the end of each round, you will move to a new position at one of the two tables, except for player number 8 – in this game, Mr. Drake – who will remain stationary throughout the game as North at Table 1. All the other players will switch according to the schedule you have been provided. At the end of the seven rounds, you will have partnered with each of the other players for one round. Please follow this schedule precisely.

  “During each round both tables will play the same boards. Your scores on each hand will be compared to the scores of the corresponding pair at the other table. If your score is higher than that of the corresponding pair at the other table, you will receive one point, half a point for a tie, and zero if your score is lower than that of the pair at the other table.

  “Your bidding approach will be governed by Standard American Yellow Card, which is provided in the booklet you have before you. You may not add, change or substitute any conventions of your choice.

  “Standard duplicate bridge scoring rules apply. Peter and I will provide a separate score sheet for each board, which you will complete and submit to the director. Your individual scores will be updated at the end of each board, and will be displayed on a scoreboard in both rooms.

  “At the end of the seven rounds, each of the four players with the highest points will obtain a quarter of the total Life Points deposited in the LifeBank by the lowest four.” Tanner paused again. “Any questions?”

  Senator Heath raised his hand and cleared his throat: “Is there a time limit to the game?”

  “No,” Tanner shook his head with a sour expression. “You can take as long as you like playing the boards.”

  “In many tournaments there are time limits–” Senator Heath continued, unabated, unaccustomed to brevity in his speech.

  “There are no time limits in LiGa Bridge,” Tanner snapped. “Now, it is time to find your assignments for the first round of the game…”

  “We’re partners this round, Judge,” Storm said, looking up from perusing the folder.

  “Yes, Mr. Drake. Table 1, if I remember correctly.” The judge laid down her cup. “Shall we find our seats?”

  “Sure,” Storm replied, stepping aside politely, and following the judge towards the game rooms…

  2

  She sighed and sank back into the worn comfort of the couch. The black brochure slipped from her limp grip. A mass of papers lay scattered about the couch and the hardwood floors. She pushed aside the laptop and rose from her seat in one fluid, impatient movement.

  The clock on the wall, decorated with butterflies, proclaimed the hour to be fifteen minutes before two o’clock.

  Fifteen minutes to game time.

  Helen Elliot-Robes undid the knot at the back of her head, allowing long waves of pale gold hair to cascade to her shoulders. She shook her head, and ran her fingers through her hair absently.

  She was so close and yet …

  She stood in the middle of the room, locked in thought.

  So close … in the paddock, all the way up to the point when he strapped himself into the open cockpit … and then so far. Unreachable, until he stopped, or was stopped …

  Fourteen minutes to game time.

  Where is he?

  Locked in place, with arms folded, chin jutting forward, Helen thought of LiGa … and felt a renewal of the anger she had felt when he told her of it for the first time two weeks ago. Two weeks ago!

  What do you mean Immortality? She had demanded. Storm was not one to delve into lengthy explanations and had given her the horrible brochure, so clean, so sleek. It was his invitation. The infamous LiGa invitation. Until then, she had never seen one in person before, and now she knew it by heart. The matte black brochure lay on the floor where it had fallen from her grasp. She picked it up and opened it…

  *

  LiGa™

  Welcome.

  You are hereby invited to compete in a tournament of LifeGame™ Bridge (“LiGa™ Bridge”).

  LiGa™ Bridge is a tournament of individual duplicate bridge in which eight players gamble with, and for, a portion of their lives.

  Yes, it is possible to gamble with life! We have the technology. Life-gambling is enabled by a process we call “hand imprinting.” The physical manifestation of this is a network of cranberry-hued lines on the palms of the players’ left hands. These lines track the natural print of the palm and the effect is akin to a fortune-teller’s hand map. For further information on LiGa™ technology, please review Appendix I.

  You will be gambling with a portion of your remaining life to win a portion of the other players’ lives. To be precise, each player will wager one third of his/her remaining life per game, as measured by Life Points, to win one quarter of the total Life Points deposited by the losing four players. The losers’ remaining lives will be shortened by one third.

  The tournament will continue on a weekly basis until one – or more – of the players reaches 100 Life Points. This is the point at which the age-related degeneration of the human body ceases completely, irreversibly, and indefinitely. A somewhat misleading term that is applied to this state is ‘immortality.’ Attaining 100 Life Points does not mean you cannot be killed, only that you will not age. In other words, immortal does not mean invincible.

  During the tournament – after the first transfer of Life Points has taken place – your body will be in a constant state of flux as it adjusts to markedly increased or decreased rates of degeneration on a weekly basis. For detailed information on the impact of life-absorption on your body, please see Appendix II.

  If you wish to enter the tournament you must submit a non-refundable entrance fee of $10,000,000.00.


  *

  It’s murder! She thought, flinging aside the brochure with disgust. It was what she felt every time she read it.

  That first time…

  She recalled how he had shrugged. How is it different from what I do for a living? he had countered. You watch the races.

  Of course I do! she had replied. It’s what I do. It’s my job as a journalist. It’s different, she insisted stubbornly. I know I’m stubborn, she thought, feeling guilty. I can’t help it.

  Are you good enough? she had asked. At bridge, she meant.

  He said he hoped so, pointing out that she should know how good he was – having written a long and well-researched, award-winning, article on it.

  Storm Drake had been a bridge prodigy at age 11, before he was lured away from that sedentary life by speed. She knew he still played in the off-season.

  Two weeks ago! He had told her two weeks ago! I didn’t want to worry you, he’d said. Worry me? That wasn’t it, was it? she thought sadly. He had just retired from Formula One. He wasn’t going to race anymore. Was that it? she wondered. You seemed happy, Storm, but how did you really feel? Too old perhaps? Racing is a young man’s game, I know. But you seemed happy with your decision…

  Were you bored? Storm, did you think your life was over?

  She was hurt; she couldn’t help it.

  The minute hand pointed to a blue and gold butterfly: ten minutes to game time…

  ‘You are hereby invited…’ Why did they invite you? she had asked. I’m a good bridge player, he had replied.

  Really? Because you’re a good bridge player? She hadn’t meant to sound sarcastic. He was good at bridge. You’re so suspicious, he had bridled. Must be because of all those articles you research. You think everything has an angle…

  Right. Exactly. What did LiGa want with Storm Drake of all people? If it was about bridge, why invite a Formula One driver? Storm had great qualities – all of which she appreciated: he was kind, loyal, smart and brave. He had the most wonderful smile that most people did not see. The one that softened his ice-blue eyes when he looked at her. On the track he was quick, aggressive and fearless – these she appreciated too, albeit with heart-rending trepidation at times. He also happened to play bridge.

  What does LiGa want with my Storm?

  Nine minutes to game time.

  Did he really think she would just go on covering the races while he played a game for his life? No. It’ll be over in a couple of weeks, he’d shrugged. I’ll catch up with you at Silverstone

  No, no, no! And however hard she’d tried – cajoling and threatening by turn – he’d steadfastly refused to divulge where he would be playing. It’s part of the rules, he’d explained stoically, notwithstanding her usually irresistible pout. Part of LiGa’s rules…

  Poor Storm. He was really too gullible sometimes. The whereabouts of LiGa wasn’t exactly a mystery. Everyone knew that the glass cube was somewhere in New Jersey – well, anyone who read, which was a list that admittedly did not include Storm! He did read her articles – some of her articles – she corrected.

  The important point was that this perfectly climate-controlled cube built by Diarmid Tanner out of a single piece of glass was known to be located somewhere in the state of New Jersey. Where exactly in New Jersey, had not been made clear. Why in New Jersey, is even less clear, Helen thought dubiously. Not that I know much about the state, she considered charitably. I’m sure there’s a good reason… But that is not important. What is important is that Storm will be playing this dreadful game and I must be near him!

  And so, here she was: staying in her friend’s one bedroom apartment in a brownstone in the Upper West Side: 75th Street and West End Avenue, to be exact. House sitting while ostensibly researching a promising lead on the first Formula One driver to be invited to a LiGa Bridge tournament… It was all very hush-hush, of course. She could not reveal her sources, nor disclose the name of the driver…

  She had not told Storm… but her feelings of outrage at the depth of the deception perpetrated by him went some way towards assuaging her guilty conscience. Besides, she could – and probably would – always claim that the source had been incorrect after all… embarrassing professionally, of course, but all journalists know that people lie – even confidential sources…

  So here she was, within a stone’s throw – metaphorically speaking – of the glass cube. I have pored over glossy photos of the LiGa glass cube in architectural magazines, she thought. I have scrutinized photos of Diarmid Tanner: in a wheelchair one day, and standing the next… The man who created a perfect cube of glass. The man who had achieved the impossible.

  Diarmid Tanner, who was also the director of LiGa Bridge, USA.

  His opponents… Helen thought of the biographies Storm had shown her – reluctantly, and after much cajoling.

  Judge Martha Other: a criminal court judge. Why is she playing? Why is the potential for immortality so important for her?

  Then there was a lawyer – well, no, not just a lawyer, LiGa’s lawyer: Bruce Saber. That’s what the biography had stated – and she had checked the information against the court records. The court records relating to the LiGa Chess … tragedy. She had not been in the States when the story broke, but the news had been everywhere. Some of the tabloids had been understandably graphic, of course. She had particularly liked: Deathmate! Not because of its clever play on words. No. It had been one of those rare occasions when the tabloids hadn’t been able to out-sensationalize the truth. Not when the winner of the match – the survivor – stated on the courthouse steps that he had called deathmate on his opponent. He had said so, at the conclusion of the trial, on live television, standing next to Bruce Saber, wearing a smile the way he wore his tailored gray suit – as a useful, but expendable accessory.

  What happened to Peter Krol? He’d literally gotten away with murder – in her opinion. Thanks to Bruce Saber. And now, according to the brochure, he would be assisting Diarmid Tanner in the current LiGa Bridge tournament.

  What about the other man? The one who lost … the man who lost the chess match and his life so Peter could become immortal? John Doe, as he was referred to in the news. His identity was kept secret. Out of respect for the dead perhaps…

  Helen sighed, “Bridge…” she muttered. It was everywhere these days. Transformed, practically overnight from a retiree’s pastime to – well, a frenzy was the only way to describe it. A frenzied rush to learn bridge – and chess of course – as LiGa had emerged. Not that everyone wanted to play LiGa Bridge, of course. That wasn’t it. But it was everywhere now, even taught in elementary schools. Because, naturally, every parent wanted to give their offspring the chance to compete if he or she was invited. Not that anyone particularly supported the game, at least out loud, in public. But …

  LiGa had changed everything.

  “What a horrible game,” she said out loud, as her eye fell on the front page of the newspaper lying amid the rest of the papers she had flung aside. It was the bridge column on the bottom right hand corner of the front page that had caught her attention. She remembered when it would have been relegated to the back pages along with the comics and other games. Just a few years ago. The chess column was still there though, for chess had not risen to the prominence that bridge now enjoyed, thanks to Peter Krol’s infamous trial and the banishment of LiGa Chess – at least in this country – after one tournament. But bridge was alive and well and flourishing. She looked with distaste at the column copiously covered in bridge-speak that she simply could not bring herself to enjoy or even properly understand. She knew the basics, of course. Who didn’t these days?

  Helen looked out of the window unseeingly for her mind’s eye was clouded with anxiety as the players reached for their cards on the first board of the round…

  3

  At table 1, Storm was paired with the judge against Danny and the senator. At table 2, Father Griffith and Porter held the same seats as Storm and the judge, and their oppo
nents were Sinclair and Bruce.

  Each player regarded the thirteen cards in his or her hand to begin the first portion of the hand: the auction. During this part of the hand, the two partnerships at each table vied for the right to set the contract that would be played out in the second part of the hand. The auction was silent as the players used their individual bidding cards.

  The auction started with a bid of 1-spade by Storm and Father Griffith at their respective tables, showing a hand with a good spade suit – at least five cards – and at least enough points to start the bidding…

  *

  It’s begun, thought Helen. He has started to play. What’s he doing? What is he thinking?

  “God, it’s hot in here!” she cried.

  Following a fruitful struggle with the windowpane, Helen thrust her head out into a fresh breeze. Below her, spread out a lazy summer’s day. Behind her, amid the piles of papers, loomed an afternoon of anxiety and fear. Better to be anxious in the sun, she decided. “Right!” she cried, sliding the window down with a bang.

  For how long? He said the game would last three hours … Perhaps four. Helen grabbed her keys and cell phone, and strode towards the door. With the key in the lock, she hesitated. I have three … maybe four hours to kill, she thought. What will I do with all that time?

  There were papers on the floor and on the couch…

  I really ought to organize them, she thought. If I’m going to even think about writing this article, I might as well put the time to good use. She gathered the documents and stuffed them inside a capacious satchel. Slinging the bag across her shoulders, Helen ran down the stone steps and pushed open the heavy wooden door…

  *

  The auction had proceeded identically in both rooms, and it was now the judge and Porter’s turn to bid at their respective tables.

  I have one point less in my hand than the required six to respond to Mr. Drake’s bid of 1-spade, thought the judge at table 1. This is the first hand of the game, and I can’t afford to take any risks right now, she reasoned as she brought the green pass card down on the table in a tight graceful arc.