Galactic Arena Box Set

by Dan Davis

  “Weeks, sure, I can make it through a few weeks.” He looked around the space that was a quarter of the size of his old bedroom in Constitution Plaza. “Stuck in here.”

  “You can do what you want to the room, decorate it with whatever you like,” Te said, before slapping himself on the head. “But you don’t have anything to decorate it with, do you, mate. We all brought personal effects with us on the trip, pictures of home and trophies and music and shit. I would have thought the bastards could have at least stolen some of your stuff when they kidnapped you.”

  “Well they only kidnapped my head,” Ram said. “Maybe they had to travel light.”

  “Good point. Fuck it, anyway, it’s all just stuff. Who needs it?”

  “Do you think we could pop back so I can get my silk dressing gown?” Ram really did miss that thing. He used to wear it every day. It might have even still fit him, though it might have been a bit short.

  “Sure, man, no problem. Earth is five billion kilometers in that direction. I’ll get the ship’s captain to swing her about.”

  “There's a screen on the desk,” Ram said, sitting on the bed. The mattress was thin but made of some sort of gel that adjusted to his shape and supported his weight. It was comfy. “What can I do with it?”

  “Not a lot,” Te said, pursing his lips. “It's just on a section of the ship network. Still, you can read anything about anything, watch a million years' worth of instructional and entertainment video, listen to a billion years' of audio on anything you can think of. Just can’t contact no one, can’t create nothing.”

  “Games?”

  “Nah. Nothing like what you're used to. Mostly it's a way of wasting time, relaxing, you know. Helps to unwind in the evening but we don't get much downtime. Anyway, it's funny, when you can't interact with other people on there then it starts to lose its appeal. I only use it every now and again these days.”

  “What do you use it for?”

  “Pornography,” Te said. “And if it’s not porn, sometimes I watch the old footage, you know, of the previous three missions. That feels like the day job, though, because we study them anyway, I just. I don't know, I can't help but wonder about the aliens. I find them pretty bloody mesmerizing. The way they move, cartwheeling like that? And their arms are so weird, twirling and flexing like puppets. And they have no head, or eyes or mouth. Freaks me out, big time but I can’t help but watch anyway.”

  “What do we know about them?”

  “I don't know how much they told you so far,” Te said. “Truth is, we don't know a whole lot, not as much as we want to. They're faster than us, stronger than us. Tougher, too, thick skin. We don’t know how thick, though. We have unproven hypotheses about their physiology. UNOP biologists have been studying their DNA for decades now but that only gets us so far.”

  “Wait a minute,” Ram said, rubbing his eyes. “They have DNA? How is that possible?”

  “Sure they do, bro,” Te said. “I mean, look at them. Like I said, their morphology is pretty different from earthlings but check it out.”

  Te tapped the screen and brought up the video of Ambassador Diaz and paused it a second before it swiped the man to pieces. Diaz's face was frozen in a state of terror. Te cut Diaz out of the picture and dragged the Wheelhunter image so it filled the screen. The creature still as a statue, leaning over like a bike taking a corner, one arm scything down toward where Diaz would have been, the other held out and up for counterbalance.

  “Check it out, man,” Te said. “They've got six legs and two arms. The legs have feet and the arms have hands. The limbs have joints and they have a rigid core inside that function in the same way as bone. It has skin on the outside, internal tissue that corresponds to our own skeletal muscle, expanding and contracting on opposing sides of a limb. Totally incredible, isn’t it, think about all the possible ways a lifeform might look. In all the galaxy, all the possible planets with all the variables and then all the chance occurrences over billions of years from the origin of life on those planets up to now. Imagine all the possible forms that life might take. There might be intelligent blobs of slime or things like articulated bundles of sticks or beings a centimeter tall or ones as big as a skyscraper. And there must be species out there amongst the stars that are stranger than we can imagine, forms and function that no human has even dreamed up, surely there must be, that’s reasonable to assume. So what are the chances that we end up fighting something as relatively similar to humans?”

  “I don't know, what are the chances?”

  “No idea but they got to be pretty slim, right?” Te said. “This has all kinds of implications. Maybe DNA is not some crazy chance occurrence that happened only on Earth. Okay, so there's a bunch of ways organic molecules could potentially encode data for it to be passed on to the next generation of organisms. So you would expect that other planets might evolve life based on these other molecules combining in unique structures. But when they scraped the remnants of alien skin from the remains of our predecessors, they found this goddamn thing has DNA. So maybe DNA assembling is just a standard thing the universe does whenever the conditions are right. You know, increasing complexity from the big bang, into stars then heavier elements, organic molecules and water, planets with complex geology and then from that you get strings of chemicals and the RNA and DNA chains with cells and then increasingly complex life based on that DNA, you know. Just as the stars are made from hydrogen and helium, life in the universe is made from nucleic acids. That's just how it goes.”

  “Sounds plausible,” Ram said.

  “Others say we can't draw conclusions from so small a sample size. And one that isn't random. The Orb Builders brought the Wheelhunters to our solar system, right? Maybe they matched us together for combat because we are so physiologically similar.”

  “Okay,” Ram said. “That sounds plausible too.”

  “Here's the one that boggles my noodle, right. So they're so similar to us, relatively speaking, that it's too much of a coincidence. So what if they're not even natural beings at all? Speaking for this theory is the fact they don't seem to have any means of procreation, as far as we can tell. Maybe they were created from us, using our DNA and twisting it somehow. Imagine that.”

  “Yeah, that would be incredible,” Ram said. He yawned.

  “Oh, man,” Te said. “Look at me yakking on at you. You got to sleep, mate. Tomorrow, you'll have a session with your driver, first thing in the counseling rooms on the ludus. They usually give you bit of a medical, too. Juice you up with your steroids and estrogen blockers and human growth hormone shots and all that and take your blood to sample, nothing to worry about. Then you got to eat and it’s resistance training. We're all looking forward to seeing what that old model body is capable of. I bet you can deadlift more than Mael. I got to see that, can't wait. I got money on you, son, you got to get your rest. Light switch is by your head when you lay down, right there. Rest well.”

  “Thanks. Thanks for helping me. I don't know what it would have been like today without you and Sifa.”

  “Anything that helps the Project, right? One of us has got to smash that Wheeler or everything humanity has ever done will be for nothing. Now shut up and go to sleep.”

  “Feeling pretty tired now,” Ram admitted, rubbing his eyes. They were so dry he could barely keep them open.

  Te turned just before he left. “Don’t forget to mechanically lock your door behind me, it’s this fingerprint pad right here.” He tapped the wall by the door and Ram gave him a thumbs up. “Alright, night-night, pumpkin.”

  Before locking the door, Ram lay back on his bed, just for a moment, overtaken by a mighty yawn. The lights around him dimmed automatically, on a timer or trigger by his yawning. The mattress molded itself to the weight and size of his body and supported his head.

  His head was the one part of him he had left. Even his head had been tampered with. Dr. Fo had increased the volume and density of the bone in his skull and jaw. They had implanted him w
ith communications devices and systems for monitoring his take up of hormones and who knew what else.

  He had a vision of his old body, left rotting in his apartment in Delhi. He saw the great mound of fat and skin that had been him, that belonged to him, laying there with no head amongst his computer and Avar equipment. All his ergonomic furniture, custom printed desks and his precious Avar chair. He missed slipping into his custom headset, and he missed the familiar feel of the straps and foot and armrests that had supported him, held him, for so many years. He missed it so badly that it hurt.

  Pure imagination but he could see it so well in his mind’s eye. His body rotting right there in his apartment, polluting all the electronic equipment until the stench alerted his neighbors or the building supervisors or security guards. Maybe one of his regular delivery people had called for help when he failed to answer his door. Whoever broke in would have found his headless corpse. His gigantic body, his folds of fat finally exposed to other people. They would have seen everything. Had the police shown his body to his parents? Surely, if so, they would have done it remotely, that was something, at least.

  He felt more shame at his body, rotting there until it was discovered, than he ever had when it was attached to him. The reek that would have come off his rotting old, leaking, decomposing, gut-stinking body, was shameful. Someone would have had to deal with his body, get it ready for cremation, maybe washing his skin down. Someone would have had to throw out the blood and guts that had been Ram and clean the place up for the new tenants. Perhaps his parents would have inherited the place, that was good. They might want to rent it out or sell it. He supposed that they didn’t really need the money but at least it was something. A pang of loss twisted his guts. He had loved that apartment. It was his, he had worked hard for it, he had made it his own in every way. It was his sanctuary where no one could see him or hear him unless he was in Avar.

  All gone.

  He raised his new hands, turning them this way and that. There was no denying that Ram had been given quite the upgrade. What they'd done to him was unforgivable. They'd restricted his life, conscripted him into a service against his will. It was as great a violation as you could get, other than murdering him outright. It was like being put in prison for a crime that had never happened. They had no right but they claimed they could throw out morality because the survival of the species itself was at stake. Or even all species on Earth and maybe even the artificially manipulated human and animal lifeforms that humanity had designed and created to carry out tasks all over the solar system. It was worse even than that, though, because if all the people were gone then that would mean all their culture would be gone. Everything that humanity had ever done, every person who ever had a thought, every painting, every war and every song would be gone forever and it would be as if humanity had never existed at all.

  So maybe they had a point. Maybe Ram was being selfish by objecting to what was being done to him. Maybe it really was his duty to sacrifice himself for the good of the species. There was something good and noble in that. A way of being truly useful.

  Although, it was a shame that no one would ever know. Even if he survived, which seemed doubtful, he would never be able to leave the Project and he could tell no one what he had done, where he had been. It would be nice for his parents, his friends and his fans if they could know why he had died.

  Either way, there was nothing that he could do about it now he was on the ship. Incredible that he was in space at all. He'd always wanted to see the solar system but from an early age, he'd known he'd never pass the physical requirements for colonization. He would have had to become wealthy indeed to pay for private passage somewhere and even then any colony or station would have required him to undergo extensive surgery to remove the fat and skin from his body. Even if that had been done he'd have had to have proved his underlying psychological issues were addressed so his addiction to eating did not continue.

  He wondered what there would be for breakfast. He was drifting off to sleep but there was something he had to do first. He would remember what it was in a minute.

  But visiting Mars would have been nice. Ram liked visiting the colonies through Avar. The underdome plazas of the crater communities were his favorite, showing that familiar yet not familiar sky and Sun of Mars. Seeing Phobos pass overhead twice a day. Even now that he was actually in space, he was heading far from any human colonies. Heading out to beyond the fledgling outposts around Titan and the tentative, Artificial Person staffed research station on Triton. Ram suspected that he would not survive the intense training that he was about to face. And if he did, what would life be like for him? He would be a permanent slave for UNOP in some way until his mighty Artificial Person body fell apart in just a few years. The best he could hope for was a life like Bediako, big but physical health suffering and mind rapidly deteriorating.

  He yawned, rubbed his eyes. Had an urge to go through his usual nighttime habits, power down his equipment unless it was updating and have a final snack. Lately, he’d been devouring a pack of spiced baked soya beans. He missed them.

  Ram missed Avar.

  Every day of his life, for twenty years, he had spent time in Avar. Most days in the last ten years he'd spent almost all his waking hours in Avar. Either practicing, playing competitive matches, or meeting friends and colleagues, attending lectures or traveling to virtual environments in second worlds or visiting real world places in real time. He'd been experiencing his time on the ship as a prolonged Avar excursion and that was okay. That was making things bearable. But by now, if he could, he'd be switching up to go somewhere else. He'd go play some crazy zero-G deathmatches in Delta4Niner, maybe man a machine gun nest in the squad based tactical shooter Indonesian Civil War 7 or chill out with his buddies for a couple of hours in their favorite tavern in 15th century Germany.

  On the spaceship, though, it would always be the same program. And, in the morning, it was about to get a whole lot worse.

  He woke, heart hammering in his chest. Hands held him down. A great weight on his chest. There was something over his face.

  Couldn't breathe.

  Ram bucked and writhed but his hands were pinned to the wall behind his head. Someone held his ankles.

  “Shhhhhh...” a hot voice hissed in his ear. “You do not deserve to be here.”

  Mael.

  Ram stopped moving. There was a cloth or something tight over his face but he could just about see shapes moving beyond it. Ram could just about suck a few mouthfuls of air through it.

  “That's it,” Mael's voice whispered. “Do not fight this.”

  Were they going to kill him?

  I'm bigger than any of them, Ram remembered.

  Ram heaved himself up, pulling his elbows down, drawing his feet up. The men holding him were not expecting his strength, perhaps, or not expecting him to fight so hard. But Ram got one hand free and lashed out with a fist, catching someone on the head or somewhere hard. It hurt Ram but the other person cried out in pain or surprise. Exhilarated by his success he kicked with one freed leg and thrashed it about until he connected with someone else, knocking them down. I'm doing it, Ram, thought, I'm fighting them.

  Then someone hit him. The blow to the stomach was like being run over by a train. It knocked the wind out of him, stole his breath. They grabbed his limbs again, pinned him.

  “I told you not to fight this,” Mael said.

  They hit him again, the shock traveling through his body. They punched or kicked his chest, then his stomach again. Ram's instinct was to curl up into a tight ball but they held him stretched out. Someone threw the towel or something over his face again and held it tight across him, pinning his head down no matter how much he struggled. He could not have been more vulnerable.

  Hands began grasping at his hips, tugging down his shorts, fingers digging into his skin.

  Mael’s voice shouted. “What are you doing?”

  The hands at his hips withdrew.

  Eziz a
nswered. “I want to fuck him.”

  Ram shouted but a blow crunched into his stomach. It crushed his breath to dust.

  “And we will,” Mael was saying. “We all will. But let’s not rush things. Plenty of time. It’s better this way. There’s months before we reach the Orb. What else are we going to do at night? Leave his face.”

  Again and again, they hit him in the body, the arms and legs. He struggled to suck air through the towel over his mouth, eyes and nose. Someone punched him in the balls so hard he thought his new testicles would be ruptured. They dragged him off the bed, kicking and punching him. Ram curled up in a ball, finally, and they rained blows down onto his back and kidneys. A final flurry knocked him senseless.

  When he came to, his attackers were gone. His door was closed.

  Ram found himself on the floor between his desk and his bed. He gingerly touched his head and chest. It hurt, all over his body. And yet the pain was nothing like it should have been.

  One of the benefits of being barely human anymore.

  He climbed back onto his bed, wincing and breathing hard. He pulled up his top. The ridges and furrows of his abdominal muscles were red and purple with bruises all over, mottled like an old bowl of tarka dal he once left out for a month without noticing.

  He looked at the door. Imagined throwing it open, storming out after Mael and the others. Imagined finding Te and Sifa and Alina and demanding their help.

  Instead, he lay on his side and curled up, pulling his blanket over himself.

  He did not know how he would do it. But he knew that he would hurt them back.

  12. HELP

  “How was your first night in the barracks?” Milena asked as Ram sat down.

  They were meeting face to face in a section on the opposite side of the ludus ring. The room was small, set up as a counselor’s office. Ram took a seat in a chair made for his size and Milena reclined in the comfortable one opposite.