The Only Game in the Galaxy by Paul Collins

heavenly bodies.
    ‘Your restraint is admirable.’
    Maximus snorted. ‘Very well, where is the final set of coordinates to be found?’
    ‘You will not like it.’
    ‘I have liked very little of this affair. So spit it out.’
    ‘Due to the shape of my mouth, I am unable to spit.’
    Maximus waved him on.
    ‘The third set of lost coordinates,’ said the Envoy, ‘is on Arachnor.’
    Maximus scowled. He turned back to stare questioningly at the Envoy.
    The Envoy said, ‘Affirmative.’
    Black leaned back on the nearest battlement, feeling the cold hard stone press into his spine. ‘Arachnor?’ he murmured then slowly began to laugh. ‘Arachnor! The hell world itself. Well, if that isn’t a slap in the face.’
    ‘Recovery will be complicated.’
    Maximus laughed harder. When he had finished he straightened up, wiping tears from his cheeks. ‘Envoy, you have a talent for understatement that is cosmic.’
    ‘Now what?’
    ‘Now we get our best spin doctors to work to see where the chips fall.’
    ‘Chips?’
    ‘An old and quaint saying, Envoy. Of no importance.’

    Over the next few days, Maximus monitored the political situation with the care a first-time mother might give her pre-term baby.
    On the third day came good news. On the fifth, bad.
    Maximus was in his office on both occasions at Quesada Tower. He had gone onto a ‘light roster’ at RIM, citing health reasons, and could essentially work when he chose. On this particular morning he was having a quick breakfast at his desk when the news broke that Stella Mercantile had broken away from the Imperial Myotan Combine. Black almost choked.
    Leaping to his feet, he switched on the main galactic newzine. A stylishly coiffed anchorwoman appeared. ‘… confirms this late-breaking news. Stella Mercantile CEO, il’Kiah, has cited irreconcilable differences and has formally applied for an annulment to their recent merger. The Securities Commission and the Court of High Contracts will hear their submission this afternoon …’
    Maximus switched off, jubilant. He buzzed the Envoy, who appeared almost immediately. ‘You heard?’ he said.
    The Envoy nodded. ‘Clearly, they feel the wind shifting.’
    ‘Shifting our way,’ crowed Maximus. He slammed a fist into his palm. ‘If we can get Stella Mercantile, the others will flock to our banner like sheep to a shepherd.’
    ‘It might be a trap.’
    Maximus stopped. ‘Are all aliens so paranoid?’
    ‘One creature’s paranoia is another’s caution.’
    ‘Let me deal with that,’ said Maximus, dismissing the idea with a wave of his hand. ‘We will start making overtures today. They will expect it.’
    Forty-eight hours later the situation was bleaker.
    Again at his desk, Maximus hit a button, signalling to the man waiting in his outer office to enter. He was tall and dark, almost black, with incongruously pale hair and a full beard.
    Maximus felt harried, as if he knew what news the waiting man had brought, which indeed he did. ‘Give me the short version.’
    The man nodded. ‘We analysed it using different matrices, ran six-dimensional projections, the works.’
    ‘And?’
    ‘It’s bad.’
    ‘How bad?’
    ‘The hospital that you – that was, ah, randomly chosen – was a children’s hospital.’
    Maximus’ jaw tightened. ‘That wasn’t listed.’
    ‘No, sir, it wasn’t. The change was recent and they were too busy to catch up the paperwork. Be that as it may, the story has broken that Quesada attempted to frame the IMC by destroying a children’s hospital and trying to make it look like Bodanis and Sasume ordered it.’
    Maximus said nothing.
    The analyst went on, ‘The media’s operative phrase is “hospital full of sick children …”’
    ‘Naturally,’ said Maximus, his mouth suddenly dry.
    ‘How bad can this get?’
    ‘In our estimation, it can undo the advantage gained from the secession of Stella Mercantile – and a lot more. It could actually reverse the recruitment