Our Contest

by Phillip Murrell

  “That’s not fair, Hank. Of course, I want them gone.”

  “Good. Then do what you have to to make that a reality.”

  Cecilia rubs her face and sighs. She takes several deep breaths, looks at Hank, and nods.

  “That’s my girl. File, if you please.”

  Cecilia slides the file back along the bench, and Hank stuffs it back inside his jacket.

  “If you don’t mind,” Hank states, “I have another half mile to run. I’m up to one point five total miles before I pass out. I’ll see you later, Olivia.”

  Hank winks at Cecilia, and she laughs as he slowly jogs off. Hearing her real name leaves a faint smile on her lips. Cecilia remains on her bench for an additional twelve minutes, then stands and slowly strolls in the other direction.

  Smith enters the Vengeful ISH’s library. Rows of vapor board terminals fill the room. In each of the six stations of the first two rows sits a Darsh clone. The closest position is Darsh Prime. Smith is equal parts amazed and disturbed at how easily the army of Darsh manipulates the delicate wisps of smoke spiraling and brings up information about the Malignant fleet’s capabilities.

  Smith hesitantly approaches Darsh Prime.

  “How may we help you, Bill?” all clones speak in unison.

  “You can start by speaking to me as an individual. It’s hard on the senses to have a conversation in stereo.”

  Smith senses that Darsh is universally annoyed with this request, but he’s relieved that his friend acquiesces.

  “How may we help you?” Darsh Prime repeats.

  Smith moves a hover chair over to Darsh and sits in it across from his friend.

  “I just came to check on you. It seems you’ve already mastered the computer rocks,” Smith jokes.

  “The vapor boards are actually quite intuitive and efficient. We wouldn’t expect a single mind to grasp the simple concept as quickly as we have.”

  “Have you come up with anything useful in our suicide mission against the Malignant?”

  “Yes.”

  “Care to share?”

  “We know what you are doing, Bill. We are not children.”

  Smith tries to appear bewildered, but he knows it wouldn’t even convince a fool.

  “What am I doing?” Smith asks.

  “You, and the rest of the Templars, are trying to keep us distracted. Any information we could uncover could easily be requested of Flaimeson or Millantra. You do not trust us and want to keep us occupied.”

  “I won’t bullshit you, DJ. You’re right, but it’s because we care about you.”

  “We understand this. We are not offended by the intention, merely by the execution. You fear not being able to defend against the vast size of the Malignant fleet here. We implore you to allow us to be your full army. We are the only reason we succeeded in the first attack. We are the only chance you have for success in a more crucial one.”

  “Even if I wanted to unleash you as an army, which I think would be reckless, it’s not my call. Votary has to approve it, and I doubt he would unless Abel gave him permission.”

  “Your reliance on their opinions proves my point. Many minds are superior to the individual one. We are your greatest asset, but we will not sit idle much longer. Once we have absorbed the yottabytes of information here, we will form our own plan of attack.”

  “I don’t know what a yottabyte is, but it sounds like it’ll take a long time.”

  “Not as long as you would think. We have deduced how to summon specific entities from our hive. The former Saager, as always, has proven quite useful to our colony.”

  Smith winces at Darsh’s word choice. Each time he speaks to his friend, he finds more of a stranger.

  “I’ve got to train the guys some more. I’ll see you around, DJ. Keep us informed of your progress.”

  “Let us rejoin the team.”

  “Not my call. You’re needed here.”

  “Bill, soon we will decide that you are a threat to us, just as the Malignant are. We prefer to be allies, but we will not allow you to dictate the terms of our existence.”

  “What does that mean?” Smith asks.

  Darsh clenches, and every station in the enormous library is filled with a clone. Dozens of stations have a body interacting with them. Many more stand behind those who are seated.

  “We are beyond a mere dozen,” the clones say.

  Smith’s body is assaulted by the decibels of the response. He wiggles a finger in each year, but the ringing persists.

  “I’ll see you later, DJ,” Smith says as he backs away to the nearest exit.

  “Remember what we said,” Darsh Prime says with a bit of malice.

  Smith hurries down the hallway to find either Abel or Votary. He feels like he’s betraying a friend, but he’s truly terrified by what he just witnessed.

  The Valhalla hovers over the desert entrance to The Lair. Once the hidden door reveals itself, the transport lowers into the massive ship that brought Abel to Earth.

  Votary expertly lands the vessel and lowers the rear ramp. The eight new Templars, each in his or her modified Malignant armor, descend from the rear and assemble in the landing bay. Votary makes a brief inspection of the area and signals for his trainees to follow. They meander through the ever-sprawling base until they reach the door that leads to the assembled relics from the Gudz that crashed on Earth millennia ago.

  “Everyone still here?” Votary asks.

  He receives nods, but still decides to count eight individuals.

  “This place is epic,” Mag Pulse proclaims.

  “What’s in that room?” Xibalba asks.

  “Why are you so curious?” Votary asks, a bit hopeful.

  “I just feel like I should go inside,” Xibalba says.

  “Me, too,” Hide adds.

  Votary scans the trainees to see if any others seem interested to go inside. Their body language indicates that five of the remaining six have no opinion, but Votary notices that Catharsis seems slightly anxious as well. The often silent recruit consistently slaps the side of her helmet, as if to shake lingering voices out of her head. Votary smiles beneath his helmet as he considers the possibility of three more relics finding their way to a proper master. Before he can confirm his suspicions, Thumbnail speaks.

  “Votary, what’s down that way?”

  Thumbnail points to a massive, solid door with an energy barrier in front of it.

  “That’s prohibited, even for me,” Votary admits.

  “Why?” Thumbnail presses.

  “Because Father says it is. He’s entitled to his own personal space, and he selected that area. He also told me that there are plenty of dangerous chemicals and machinery. We could accidentally destroy The Lair and a generous portion of the southwest if we were foolish enough to flip switches.”

  “Sounds intriguing. We should check it out,” Swap jokes.

  Votary pushes toward the young woman and knocks her down. Swap bounces off the floor, and the other Templars wait to see how bad of a beating this will lead to.

  “What the hell is your problem?” Swap demands. “I was clearly joking.”

  “Do I seem like the kind of person with a sense of humor?” Votary asks.

  Swap stands, but she doesn’t answer.

  “We do not go into that part of The Lair,” Votary reaffirms. “However, this door we can go into.”

  Votary opens the doors to the relic room and walks inside. The other Templars follow him. They stand in amazement as they look at the various weapons and armor. Votary activates a terminal to remove the glass barrier surrounding each artifact. Votary watches with enjoyment as Xibalba, Hide, and Catharsis each walks straight to a unique item without pause to observe the artifacts they pass.

  “Can this thing talk?” Xibalba asks as he handles Hades’ bident.


  “Only if you’re a descendent of the owner of it. That was Hades’ bident, the Greek god of the underworld. Judging by your power, I suspect it does speak to you. Place it on the floor and see if you can call it to your hand.”

  Xibalba does as instructed. The two-pronged spear gently glides to his outstretched hand. Xibalba grasps his fingers around it and inelegantly swings the weapon around his body.

  “Watch it!” Roids shouts as she dodges an erratic swing that nearly hits her.

  “Sorry, Mary Lee,” Xibalba says.

  “Call her Roids when she’s in the armor,” Votary corrects.

  “Yeah, got it,” Xibalba says.

  “Yo, check me out,” Hide says as he twirls a cape around his shoulders. “This thing just flew to me. I’m gonna bring capes back into style.”

  “What is it?” Mule asks.

  Hide reads the plaque where his cape was stored.

  “It’s the Mantle of Arthur. Who’s Arthur?” Hide asks.

  “You’ve never heard of Excalibur?” Votary asks.

  “He ain’t no god,” Mule says.

  “Says you,” Votary counters. “He’s still a legend, which means he probably had power like ours.”

  “So, do I get Excalibur, too?” Hide asks.

  “If we ever find it, you’ll be the first person I tell,” Votary answers.

  “I think I’ve seen it,” Mule says.

  “Really?” Hide asks.

  “Yeah,” Mule says. “It was stuck in an anvil at a theme park I took my kids to back in the eighties.”

  “Very funny,” Hide sarcastically says.

  Votary helps Hide clasp the Mantle of Arthur around his chocolate brown armor.

  “I should get a pimp cane as my weapon,” Hide jokes.

  He struts around the trophy room to the laughter of most of his fellow Templars. Votary observes the silent Catharsis. She stands in front of a weapon but seems reluctant to touch it. Votary approaches her and reads the label beneath the weapon.

  “Namtar’s Stonehead Mace. Does it call to you?”

  Catharsis remains silent.

  “If you don’t want to be here, leave. I don’t have time for your childish silence,” Votary condemns.

  “I can hear it,” Catharsis whispers.

  “Then call for it,” Votary instructs.

  Catharsis nods and does as commanded. The mace easily floats over to her left hand.

  “It’s not as heavy as I thought it’d be,” Catharsis admits.

  “Gudz weapons were made with better materials,” Roids reminds her.

  “This isn’t Gudz,” Votary says. “Namtar was a part of the Malignant honor guard.”

  “Great, we’ve got another Malignant,” Hide says. “Kimmy told me that didn’t work out so well with the last one.”

  “We all saw that it didn’t,” Thumbnail adds.

  “Leave her alone,” Mag Pulse says.

  “Catharsis, I hope you’ve spread those legs for him by now. Mag Pulse sure seems intent on hitting those sugar guts,” Hide challenges.

  Mag Pulse pushes himself to inches from Hide. Votary intercepts them before more insults or blows are exchanged.

  “You don’t have time to argue. We’re going back to the Valhalla, then it’s time for weapons training on the Vengeful ISH.”

  “Fine by me, as long as I’m paired up against this asshole,” Mag Pulse says.

  “Actually, you’ll have to defend him. Today the eight of you are going to take on wave after wave of hard light Malignant attackers.”

  The groans of the eight trainees are what Votary expected.

  “Don’t expect the Malignant to go easy on you. There are five dead Templars who would tell you why you should train as hard as you can against superior enemies.”

  The group is fully silent now.

  “I’m glad the gravity of that statement isn’t lost on you,” Votary says. “Let’s go.”

  The Templars file past Votary, but he stops Hide as the man walks by.

  “What?” Hide asks.

  Votary rubs the Mantle of Arthur through his armored fingers.

  “I don’t remember having this one,” Votary states.

  “Then how did you know about it?”

  “I’ve known Father for a long time. I’ve asked a lot of questions about different Gudz and Malignant, especially as a child.”

  “Whatever; it’s mine now. No big deal that you forgot about it.”

  “I guess not. Let’s go.”

  The final two Templars leave the room.

  Claire looks haggard as she reports from her anchor’s chair. Like many of the Colberton residents dedicated to their professions, she hasn’t had many restful nights in recent weeks.

  Sitting beside her is the white and red armored Stitch. Claire is thankful to finally have a Templar on her show to explain what happened nearly two weeks ago when the Templars blasted off into space.

  “Welcome back to The Intrepid Reporter. As promised, with me is veteran Templar, Stitch. She’s here to ease the growing fear that many of us have experienced lately. Without further introduction, Stitch, how are you?”

  “I’m well, thank you.”

  “Okay, pleasantries aside, what the hell happened when the Templars appeared to abandon Earth?”

  “I hope you didn’t think we abandoned you. Seal Pup was supposed to stop by, but life got in the way.”

  Claire snorts nervous laughter. “I didn’t personally feel abandoned, but I’m sure many people did. Then we get threats by a woman calling herself Mother, but nothing from our champions. I’m sure you can see how that led to some unpleasantness down here.”

  “We were aware, but we had other priorities.”

  “Please elaborate.”

  “There was one ship in space two weeks ago. We took off and boarded that ship. We killed most of the hostile crew and made the ship our own. We now call it the Vengeful ISH, and it’s our headquarters.”

  “Well, I can appreciate your space piracy and the tongue-in-cheek name, but why is our moon mostly blocked by a new ship?”

  “Soon after winning the battle, one that cost us the lives of three Templars—”

  Claire gasps.

  “Which three?”

  Stitch reaches to her helmet, but then clasps her hands and rests them in her lap.

  “Port, First Line, and Air Tank. The last two were new to the team, but Port was on this show a time or two.”

  “I remember,” Claire says.

  “But we now have ten new recruits, including two Malignant spies.”

  “Can we trust them?”

  “We can. They helped when the battle was looking difficult. Lottery was seriously injured in the attack.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Thank you. We won the battle, and Mother showed up with a fleet of hundreds of ships, maybe even thousands. Her command ship is the one that blocks the moon.”

  Claire’s voice briefly quivers, but she pushes the fear out of her head and continues her interview.

  “That sounds pretty ominous. If the Malignant have such a powerful force, why are you here to explain the situation? Shouldn’t we all be dead by now?”

  “That’s the difference between normal humans and Malignant. They consider all this violence a game. It’s just their team against ours. Apparently, the rules of the game, or Our Contest as they call it, require both forces to take breaks between battles to properly respect the fallen and prepare for a proper competition.”

  “That’s hard to believe.”

  “I agree. The best way to think about it is to ask yourself if you like winning because you’re better or because you cheated. The Malignant don’t want to cheat, so they’re giving us time to prepare.”

 
“I’m sure all my viewers would like to hear how much time we have exactly.”

  “I fully understand. Abel and Mother have an arrangement, and that means we get a full year to prepare. I trust that brings hope to your viewers. We also don’t have to fight the entire fleet. It’ll be one ship versus one ship. We’ve already proven we can take one of their ships. That was with much less time to plan than a year.”

  Claire sighs in great relief. She even wipes away a few tears as she allows hope to fill her.

  “That’s wonderful news. I never vote against Votary and the rest of you. Honestly, I feel like this news means I can go home and take a proper shower.”

  “I hope you do. My helmet filters aren’t that strong.”

  “Ha!” Claire laughs. “A joke at my expense. The world is looking a lot brighter now. For once, a Templar comes on my show and offers good news.”

  “Well, goodish,” Stitch says.

  “Do you mind answering some viewer questions?”

  “Absolutely not. I’ll be here for quite some time to alleviate the fears out there.”

  “Great. We’ll take a short break. Now that the world is saved, we’ve got to give the advertisers their money’s worth. When we come back, Stitch will answer your questions, including telling us a bit more about the ten newest Templars and their augmentations.”

  Claire sighs again as Larry gives her the signal that the show is off the air. He also wears a large smile, an obvious sign of his personal relief.

  Abel, Flaimeson, and Julie stand on the bridge of the Vengeful ISH as they watch Claire’s interview of Stitch on the large forward screen.

  “That went well,” Julie comments.

  “Indeed,” Abel agrees.

  Abel walks over to the command chair and interacts with the vapor board. Julie watches his motions and becomes aggravated.

  “What did you just do?” she demands.

  “Watch your tone!” Flaimeson shouts.

  “It’s alright, Flaimeson,” Abel says. “Humans are more emotional than us. I just sent Mother the footage of our attack on this vessel.”