Free A Step Beyond by Christopher K Anderson

sprinkled with brilliant red droplets. The French soldier reslung his rifle, fresh blood dripping down the wooden stock. Napoleon clapped his hands and looked up at Satomura triumphantly.
    “Bishop takes knight,” Satomura replied without the slightest hesitation.
    “Merde,”
Bonaparte responded, as he swung to his left to watch the battle. There was no need to use his binoculars, the fight would take place only a few squares away.
    The bishop, who had been standing perfectly still and perfectly straight, threw back his cape and, with a majestic flourish, produced a long staff. The knight, heavily armored and mounted high on his horse, laughed loudly. Surely, a bishop, a Russian bishop at that, wearing a robe and armed with nothing but a staff, was a poor match against a trained soldier. He turned to his beloved emperor to assure him the battle would be short. And it was. His emperor’s eyes opened wide, and he began to shout something, but the knight never heard the words. With a broad sweep of his staff the bishop swiftly decapitated his opponent. The knight’s head, mouth still laughing, tumbled lifeless to the ground, and his horse reared back in protest. The bishop stepped forward.
    Satomura giggled with pleasure.
    “Napoleon,” he said, “the defense you’ve chosen was demonstrated to be unsound in the second game of last year’s championship. You don’t stand a chance, my friend.”
    The French emperor responded with a grunt and was about to announce his next move when he was interrupted by Vladimir Pavlov entering the room.
    “Pause,” ordered Satomura. Napoleon placed his map back inside his vest and commenced to tap his foot impatiently.
    “What do we have here?” Vladimir asked.
    “A friendly game of chess,” Takashi replied.
    “Queen’s gambit declined.”
    “Quite correct.”
    “A little gruesome, the head rolling across the board like that.”
    “I modified the program. A personal touch. Do you like it?”
    Vladimir watched the head as it rolled off the chessboard and fell to the ground, where it bounced once, then faded away. He appeared unaffected. The remaining French knight caught his attention, and he bent down to scrutinize the piece closer.
    “He is wearing armor,” Vladimir remarked. The tone in his voice expected an explanation.
    “Another personal touch,” Satomura responded. It was obvious he was proud of his personal touches. “To me a knight without armor is like a Russian without vodka. Wouldn’t you agree?” He laughed sharply at his own wit.
    “Well, yes, I suppose,” Vladimir responded, uncertain whether he should consider the remark an insult. He did not dwell on the matter long. He was wrestling with something that meant far more to him, and he had come to Satomura to find out what he might know.
    His suspicions had grown worse, but he was afraid to confront Tanya. He was afraid an accusation, even the slightest hint of an accusation, would infuriate her. She would deny everything of course. She would become angered by his lack of trust. He had to be certain before he spoke to her. Which was why he was standing in front of Satomura looking intently at the oddly dressed soldier, wondering how he should begin or if he should begin at all. He considered how much easier it would be simply to walk out.
    “Can I speak to you in confidence?” he began cautiously.
    “You can trust me,” replied Satomura. He had anticipated the role of confidant, and he relished it in a perverse sort of way. He was older, an impartial bystander, outside the triangle; it was natural they would come to him. So Vladimir was the first. Well, that was to be expected. He was the one being cheated on.
    “What do you think of Dmitri?”
    “How do you mean?” Satomura replied.
    “What sort of man would you say he is?”
    “He is a fine commander.”
    “Yes, he is,” Vladimir agreed with a pained smile. He paused and thought to himself that he often wanted to be like Komarov. To