A Game of Chess The pieces were dumped out on top of the gameboard in front of the noses of the two children. The boy looked upon the scattered pieces with curiosity, and the girl grabbed a piece that had rolled too close. She held it out to the man who had just dumped the pieces out. "Chto eta, Papa? The man smiled. "That, dear Anechka, is called a rook. It's part of a game called chess. It's a game of strategy. Strategy that could save your life at one point or another. In the end, the winner is the one who could think fastest under pressure. It's not just a game, it's one you'll be playing the rest of your life. And I'm going to teach it to you and Mitka right now." The man set up the chessboard and proceeded to explain to the children what the legal moves for each piece are. Soon, the two children were involved in a game, and the man was impressed at how quickly they learned the rules. What fine children he had! *** The hot desert sun shone down upon what, at first appearance, looked to be a Mexican pesant. But Mexican pesants hadn't walked this desert in years, and upon closer inspection, the "peasant" was singing a Russian folksong as she dug in the sand. "Yasili ubas, yasili ubas, yasili ubas drooga nyet, drooga nyet," she sang, picking up something out of the sand and sticking it in an open carrying case. Anna Vasilyevna Marchenko, better known as Anya to most people, was pleased. This archaeological dig site had turned out to be better than expected, as interesting things were turning up near the surface. Most of it turned out to be useless junk, but the occassional treasure popped up near the surface. The shovel chunked against something hard. Anya frowned and stuck the shovel in the sand nearby and reached in the hole. She extracted a little metal box from the sand, one of those old cookie tins. It glinted brightly in the afternoon sunshine. Anya pried the cookie tin open. It was difficult because of dirt and rust, but with a little prodding from her knife, she got the lid open. She opened the container, and pulled out a plastic piece shaped like a castle. "Rook," she whispered, remembering the first chess piece she had ever seen. *** "Nyet, no." The girl looked up from the chessboard at her father. "What am I doing wrong?" "Nothing, Anechka. You just play chess too mechanically. You needn't play like a computer. Be human." "But, Papa, this is an intellectual game, you said so yourself!" "Yes, but there is a difference between intellectual and mechanical." The girl sighed. "But I'll never get the hang of that." "Listen carefully, Anechka. There are a few simple rules. Always treat your opponent with respect. Think of your strategy beforehand, but don't be afraid to modify it under fire. Watch your opponent's strategy, the most dangerous thing is to play right into it. Cheat if necesary, but always stay true to yourself. And although the queen has the most mobility on the board, the king is always your most important piece." "I see. Papa, would you or Dedushka Dmitrii be willing to play a game with me? I want to try this out on somebody who is not Mitka." *** Anya watched the lengthening shadows as she dug in the sand. The tin with the chess pieces sat in the jeep nearby for safekeeping. She hadn't found much else that afternoon, but the site still looked promising. She'd have to come back out to the site tomorrow. She packed up her gear, watching for anything suspicious. Nothing seemed out of the usual. As she started the engine to her jeep, she wondered if there would be another letter to her folks. She placed the chess tin neatly onto the floorboard in the back, to go through tonight when she got back. As she drove through the desert highlands on her way back to Fort Reid, she thought of that horrible day. An old marching cadence she'd been taught by Mitka echoed through her head, "Did I do right when I left?" It had been an act of self preservation, she had been about to follow Mitka into death and destruction. She shifted gears, still lost deeply in her thoughts. The voice of her father echoed through her head, "Life is a game of chess unlike any game of chess you have ever played. One must plan one's way through, and be ready to change plans at a moment's notice." [And that is what I did, Papa. But by doing it, I made it so that I could never see you nor Mama nor Dedushka Dmitrii nor Vova again. And I'm not sure you can understand that.] The ruddy red of the setting sun masked the tears as Anya continued driving toward Ft. Reid. *** The marketplace was always an interesting place. Finally, Papa had decided that Mitka and Anya were old enough to go together and bring back the family's groceries. Mitka carried the money in his pouch, while Anya skipped behind him, practicing reading all the signs. "Papa said we want the sign that says, 'Mercado'. M-E-R-C-A-D-O," she said, for about the sixth time. "I know, and I knew that the last five times you said it!" Mitka said with exasperation growing. "Well, excuuuuuuse me for breathing, oh high and mighty Dmitrii Vasilyevich." "Argh. That's Lieutenant Marchenko to you." "You're not a Dead Boy yet, and you won't start out as a Lieutenant." "Just you bet. At the rate I'm going, I'll be so prepared." "Coalition doesn't like literate soldiers...and you are, in two languages." "Hell, I ain't planning to be a grunt. I'm not stupid. Coalition Technical Officer is the way for me. And if Papa has anything to say about it, it'll be your way too." "Blah. I don't wanna join the coalition. I'll stay home and help Papa with the business." "So you just wanna be Anna Vasilyevna, stuck in this small town forever?" The conversation was interupted by a couple Coalition soldiers running past them. "Halt!" one was yelling. The other was waving a laser rifle above the crowd. Anya looked towards where the soldiers were running and saw a man dressed in a patched set of clothes. She'd seen operators before, and this guy looked like an operator...but that didn't make sense. Soldiers didn't really mess with operators. She looked the stranger over as the two soldiers surrounded him. "Don't move, scholar," the soldier who had been yelling earlier said. "It would be a pity if Mark here had to blow off your head." The scholar shrugged. "And lose all the valuable information up here?" he said, tapping his head. "You'd sooner kill that scumbag Prosek." Anya felt something pulling her hand. "Mitka, I waaaaaanna watch," she said. "Who's Mitka?" a voice whispered in her ear. Anya, startled by the question, looked up to see a man whom she'd never seen before standing there. The man pressed a book in her hand. "Don't let those Coalition idiots see it. But it's a gift, a gift of knowledge. Fiat lux." Anya blinked, and the strange man was gone. She quickly hid the book in her bag, and went to find Mitka. She tried to ignore the spectacle that was drawing a crowd. She found Mitka happily playing the part of "Lieutenant Marchenko" with a bunch of other kids. There was one kid whom they were brutally terrorizing, and Anya recognized it as a caracture of what had just happened in the market. She shivered suddenly as something strange had happened. She'd heard Mitka. But it wasn't the orders he was yelling out to his "platoon." It had been his actual thoughts about scholars and "those who would dare to oppose the Coalition." The Coalition, the damned Coalition. Was it only good for turning people into monsters? *** Fort Reid loomed in the distance. Anya sighed. She would have to make a decision soon, whether to help out old Doc Reid or not. [He's insane, the old man is. Nobody can stop those bloodsuckers.] Yet, that wasn't right. She was willing to challenge the vamps, but admittedly only in the daytime, where they supposedly wouldn't be out. She'd have to think about it the next few days. Maybe it was best to be doing something. She'd always wanted to see if Tarn and the old legends were right. The guards at the gate recognized her and waved her through/back