The Great Game

THE GREAT GAME By Phillip Layton

Tertius Romany shifted in his seat nervously. He could feel the beads of sweat building on his forehead to the mass required for them to begin the descent towards his brow. Too many times he had been delayed at this pathetic step towards membership in the Great Game, yet he could not find the requisite skill to be able to express himself in the manner required to progress further.

He had trained himself in everything needed to get to this point, and far exceeded the ability of most people if he could progress further, but this particular barrier – such an insignificant component of the overall psyche of a person, determining nothing about their overall ability – stopped him from being useful, halted him from contributing to the Great Game in a way he could be proud of.

He looked across the table at the judges – a typically contrived crew of people in the spirit of the Great Game itself - four in total, two male and two female, seniority based on popularity. Tertius knew that when it came to performing in the game he was exceptionally talented, but it didn’t matter. He had to get the panel to like him, and the only way to do that was to tell them exactly what they wanted to hear, even if it meant lying.

The senior female member of the panel spoke. “How would you best describe yourself, Mister Romany?”

Tertius paused momentarily in an attempt to express himself clearly, but the answered ended up being delivered awkwardly anyway. “I’m a hard worker, very good at what I can do, versatile and flexible.” The first two attributes are standard answers in a game entry review such as this – straight from the manual. The last two attributes were designed to make him look open minded and friendly, although he might not always be that way in truth.

All four panel members made small notes on their pads. One of the male panel members spoke. “I’m sure you are all these things, but so might the next person. What makes you different, Mister Romany?”

I’m not different. Tertius thought to himself. I’m not a work of art. I’m very capable, that is all. He could not say something so honest however, so he racked his brain for a more appropriate response.

“I have a gentle nature, and I am an especially good team player – people will progress in the game if they have me as an ally.” He tried to make this look as honest as possible – this line was designed to hook the panel, as it made him look like a sucker. People with a trusting nature were generally considered easy bait and seasoned game players made a sucker’s entry into the game as easy as possible, as they could be exploited easily.

The panel were unmoved by his overture, obviously sensing that he was not being entirely genuine. The junior male panel member raised his eyebrow at Tertius, giving him a look of dissatisfaction in an attempt to make Tertius feel humbled. A classic game ploy. Tertius thought to himself. He remembered one of the suggestions from the game manual: Make sure you maintain an air of dissatisfaction with the actions of any opponent, it will help to assert your superiority and make them believe you are a person fit to lead.

Tertius could feel his chances slipping away from him. He had only been able to get to this stage of entering the Great Game three times in his life so far – he knew that his days were numbered if he had to return to the outland again and fight like a dog to live. Entry into the Great Game allowed a person guaranteed shelter and food, quality social interactions with other game players (usually a continuation of the game itself), and the chance to feel useful – although the Great Game consisted mainly of shifting blame, lying and cheating your way to superiority, in many cases gamers did provide valuable services to the society within the game. For the people of the outland, however, quality of life was directly related to survival instincts.

The junior female member of the panel asked the next question. “Mister Romany, what would you consider your strengths and weaknesses?”

Tertius racked his mind for the answer to this standard question. You are vocal when your cup is empty, and silent when your cup is full. This was a proverb regarding the strength part of the question, and related to the nature of game playing in general – you should always advertise strength in areas of personal weakness, and never talk about your actual strengths - if everyone knew your strengths, they would never allow you to use them.

He knew that he was always one to shy away from confrontation, and would most likely placate a person rather than speak his mind. This was due to the fact that he didn’t feel the need to push his agenda, he was wise enough to know that his world view was not a complete truth. He believed collective happiness was more important than the realization of a world view that could just as easily be an utter falsehood.

In light of this fact, Tertius’ answer was obvious. “I like to tell it how it is, I have courage in my convictions.” He felt like a total fraud. I have just told them I am an ignorant and obnoxious, he thought.

It was the first time he had registered a smile in the panel. The junior female panel member gave him a smile and a nod, while the other three remained placid – this usually meant they did not disapprove of the answer, a good thing.

He then moved on to his weakness – the key to the giving a weakness, according to the manual, was to give the panel an ambiguous strength, or give them a weakness which can be easily turned into a strength. In essence, you should never give them a true weakness.

Tertius chose to give them an ambiguous strength. “I am a perfectionist.” He said, shifting in his seat again in an attempt to look at ease. “Only with my own work, however. I would never subject someone else to the standards I set for myself.”

This was a stock answer, very popular a few years ago when a friend of his had used it to successfully enter the Great Game. Popularity was fickle however, and the most certain thing about the Great Game is that the rules are never the same, they change perpetually depending on what seasonal preferences are in style at the time.

Tertius saw strong looks of disapproval from the entire panel. Sticking their heads down, they pretended to write on their pads.

The senior female panel member spoke without looking at Tertius. “Thank you for coming, Mister Romany. You will be informed of the outcome outside.”

Tertius pushed the panel for a reaction. “So, how do you think I went?”

The junior male panel member spoke softly, trying not to look at Tertius. “You will have to wait until you get outside, Mister Romany.”

Tertius remembered the phrase from the manual on the Great Game: The predator will always hide before striking its prey. He knew he had been rejected.

Deflated, he walked towards the door on his way out. Helplessness washed over him, followed by rage. The mixture of the two fashioned a lethal cocktail that stopped him in his tracks. Let’s see how these predators behave if they are the prey, he mused.

Tertius walked back towards the panel. They noticed his movement towards them and closed the door between them.

He became enraged. “Face me, you cowards! Why can’t you face a person you are so ready to condemn?”

The senior female panelist spoke. “Mister Romany, we were going to approve you for the Great Game.”

Tertius’ voice brightened. “Is that right?”

“It was right. Unfortunately we can’t let anyone into the game so willing to perform physical violence. As a result, your application has been rejected. In effect you have condemned yourself, it has nothing to do with us.”

“I’m sure it doesn’t.” Tertius replied. “It never has anything to do with you people. You have far too much pride on the line to admit any responsibility.”

The senior panelist gave a muffled chuckle. “May I make a suggestion, Mister Romany? Find someone who can help you get back on your feet, because you seem to be very cynical about people’s motives, as well as being prone to physical violence. We all have the best intentions, and want to see everyone do well. It is disappointing to see someone like yourself become so embittered with the process of making a difference.”
“How about you people, are you able to help me get back on my feet?”

“That is not my department, Mister Romany. We do, however, wish you luck in your future endeavours.”

Tertius felt the floor disappear underneath his feet, and he fell into a metallic chute which spat him out into a pile of soft garbage in the outland.