Arena Book 2

by Logan Jacobs

  As that realization hit home, my eyes opened a little wider. Why weren’t we training right now? I sat up a little and the sheet that had covered Artemis and I fell away to reveal the sensual S shape of her lower back as it led to her now moon dappled ass. Dust motes danced in the air caught in the soft light as it filtered through my curtains and all other thoughts fled from my brain. Damn, this woman was absolutely incredible. Being champion had a lot of perks and had been the craziest adventure of my life but a lot of it would have been completely empty if it weren’t for Artemis. Oh, and I’d also probably be dead.

  Artemis must have felt my gaze. She extended her arms and legs in a long stretch that made the sheet fall the rest of the way off her toned, sun kissed body, turned her head, and she smiled at me. It was moments like these I wished would never end. For a brief few seconds, I was able to let go of the pressures of having to fight for my life on practically a daily basis and carry the weight of nearly seven billion people however many light years I was from home who counted on me for the technology that could end world hunger or cure leukemia.

  When Artemis looked up at me with her sparkling eyes and gave me a smile of pure joy that I got lost in, it made whatever horrors I had to experience in the arena worth it. It also strengthened any resolve I had to come back every damn time. No slobbering space ogre or snarling Chaos being was ever going to take these seconds from me. Not without the fight of a lifetime.

  “Good morning, Marc,” she hummed and then yawned.

  “Good morning, Sunshine,” I replied and rested my hand on her waist. “Sleep well?”

  “I did thanks to you,” she giggled.

  “So, what do we have going on today?” I asked Artemis as I moved toward her and kissed her neck.

  “Well, let’s see…” she trailed off and glanced at the clock. “It’s ten thirty so… OH!”

  I shot up in bed, my hands reflexively in fists ready for whatever danger was about to come through the door. “What?”

  “Interview!” She exclaimed as she frantically dove out of bed and scrambled around the room to gather her clothes, which she wouldn’t have been able to wear anyway since I’d snapped the straps on her dress the night before. I smirked and enjoyed the scene.

  “Interview for who?” I asked with a laugh. “I already have a job.”

  “For you, Marc Havak!” she huffed and gave me an exasperated look. “And it’s not a job interview. It’s an intergalactic hyperwave digital needlecast network interview?”

  “Space TV?” I cheered. “I’m going to be on space TV?”

  “Yes. Marc Havak, you know full well being a champion means you have many media obligations--” she began.

  “Actually I didn’t know that,” I interrupted. “I didn’t know that at all. I’ve always wanted to do press.”

  “Well... now you do,” she stated. “Oh, and that reminds me we need to set up your fan club too.”

  “You shut your mouth!” I exclaimed. “I’m gonna’ get a fan club too?”

  “Of course, every great champion has a fan club,” she said. “Most champions, and their alliances can’t survive on patronage from horrible rat-gangsters alone.”

  “Doesn’t matter since we aren’t going to rely on that slimy piece of worm ridden filth at all. He’ll get no such pleasure from us.” I growled, suddenly annoyed. I was still angry at how that rat had talked to Artemis.

  “Right,” she began, “and that’s why we’re going to need an extra big fan club. And that means meet-and-greets, autographs, charity fundraisers, ribbon cuttings--”

  “I said shut your mouth!” I cried again. “You mean I get to go places where people think I’m cool for crap I already did? That sounds fucking awesome!”

  “How am I to tell you of such things if my mouth is shut?” Artemis asked with a quizzical look. “You need coffee. The interview is in an hour, so you need to get your haunches in sprocket already!” Then she jogged into the bathroom and emerged seconds later fully clothed and with a pile of my own clothes. “Put these on and take a shower.”

  “You’re kinda hot when you’re bossing me around like this,” I teased before she flung the pile of clothing at me.

  “I will wait downstairs for you,” Artemis said with a smile and a shake of her head. “Be quick!”

  I crawled out of bed, and despite Artemis’ high energy levels, I still felt sleepy and disheveled. My stomach rumbled and reminded me that my last meal was easily over twelve hours ago.

  “Yo, Woodhouse,” I called out to the giant kerosene heater looking robot with six arms who served as my personal chef slash housekeeper. “Make me some coffee, will you, kind sir?”

  “Right away, Mr. Havak,” he responded in a robotic British voice that I’d had Artemis upload into his operating system. “Would you like it with your normal three tablespoons of crystalized sucrose and high butter-fat bovine excretion?”

  “Cream, Woodhouse!” I shouted as I made my way into my bathroom. “Please for the love of all that is holy stop calling it bovine excretion.”

  “Indeed, sir.” Woodhouse replied, and I could hear the high pitched whir of his built in coffee grinder. Shortly after that the smell of rich, dark roasted arabica beans filled the apartment. Needless to say I’d taken quite a liking to the android.

  “Ohh, and one of those breakfast sandwiches. The kind with the eggs, bacon, cheese, and sausage on a toasted everything bagel that you make so well.” I paused a moment as I considered my rumbling stomach, and the beautiful woman waiting for me downstairs. “Better make it two. Okay, three. Make it three.”

  “It would be my pleasure, Mr. Havak,” Woodhouse said with a whir of gears and servos and the clank of pots and pans.

  “You’re a mensch, Woodhouse.” I winked at the machine and could have sworn it blushed just a little.

  I went into the bathroom and stepped into what I had dubbed the Spif-O-Matic 2000. My shower wasn't really a shower but a tall rectangular box that kind of looked like a coffin set on end. It took me some getting used to, but the damn thing was pretty freaking handy. I could go from hobo to full on Nick Jonas in thirty seconds flat.

  I stepped in, shut the door, and waited for the button where a water tap would have been to turn green. The moment it did, I pushed the button and stage one of the cleaning process began. I felt a fine spray of warm water hit every inch of my body all at once. After about twenty seconds the water turned almost ice cold for three seconds and, in addition to apparently being very good for the skin, jumpstarted one's central nervous system. Once that phase was done, puffs of thick, lathery soap flooded the box, and I smelled like whatever men’s soap is supposed to smell like. Like pine trees. Or maple syrup. Or some kind of manly oak barrel whiskey. I smelled like a sexy metrosexual lumberjack.

  The third phase was where the real rush came in. After the soap had seeped into all my nooks and crannies warm, high pressure water blasted me from every angle. After about ten seconds of that I was enveloped in a heated gust of air. I felt my skin ripple with the force of the air. It was like getting massaged by a warm tornado. The Spif-O-Matic 2000 finished and left me washed, dried, and looking like a million bucks.

  “I’ve got to bring that thing back to Delaware with me,” I said to myself in the mirror while I ran my hands through my perfectly done hair. The soap also acted as a skin conditioner and hair gel. “I wonder how many matches I have to win before everybody on Earth gets one.”

  I quickly dressed in the clothes Artemis had left for me. My wardrobe had consisted of blue-gray jumpsuits since day one, and I wondered why she’d been so specific about these clothes. While it was still a blue-gray jumpsuit, it was freshly pressed and fancier than my usual one. Like Calvin Klein decided to make outfits for the air force.

  There was also a dark brown distressed leather aviator inspired jacket that fit perfectly and a pair of genuine knock off Ray-ban Wayfarer shades. Apparently I needed to look like a 21st Century Maverick. I took a long look at myself in the
mirror and my inner critic… well, he, for once, didn’t have a damn thing to say because I looked damn fucking cool.

  I opened the door, and left the bathroom, happy to see Woodhouse and my breakfast waiting for me in the kitchen. I went over to the machine and took the steaming travel mug from his mechanical hand.

  “You’re one in a million, Woodhouse,” I said before I sipped on the dark liquid. As always, it was the perfect temperature. Unlike the coffee from McDonalds, this coffee was not so hot that it would burn all the skin from your mouth in ten seconds or less. And it actually tasted like coffee, not the three-day-old, watered down hot chocolate I found in the cup holder of my car that one time. Although, that did wake me up.

  Starbucks never tasted as good as Woodhouse’s starblend. I grabbed the bag of sandwiches and headed out.

  The elevator in the building was quicker than any elevator I had been in on Earth. I flew down from the top floor to the lobby in a matter of seconds, and I didn’t even feel sick. The doors opened and a bell chimed to alert me that I had reached the bottom floor. I stepped out and immediately saw Artemis as she talked to Hank.

  “Artemis,” I greeted. “Ready to get going?” I shook the bag at her. “I brought breakfast.”

  “Is it one of those egg, cheese, bacon, sausage on an everything-bagel that Woodhouse makes?” she asked as her eyes lit up.

  “Indeed, ‘tis ma lady,” I responded with a fancy flourish.

  “Gimmie, gimmie, I’m starving!” Artemis gushed and ripped the bag out of my hand.

  “Oh, our ride is waiting outside for us, too. They sent a limo. How exciting is that?”

  “That’s pretty cool. Who’s ‘they?’” I mumbled through a huge bite of the sandwich as melty cheese dribbled down my chin.

  “Trillium Vou and her workers,” Artemis explained through her own monstrous bite as we walked outside.

  “Trillium who??” I asked as I finished my sandwich and washed it down with a big gulp of coffee. Damn, Woodhouse could make a cup of joe. “He related to Cindy Lou Who, or Horton?”

  “Sometimes I think you just make things up,” Artemis chided as we climbed into the swanky hover-limo. It looked like a fancy cigar tube with repulsors where the wheels should have been. “She’s the one who will be interviewing you and the President today. She’s sort of a big deal.”

  “Wait… President? Like, MY President or…?” I asked, not sure if she was referring to some alien political leader.

  “Yes, the President from your planet,” she confirmed. “They don’t have presidents here, remember?”

  “Oh, right,” I replied like I remembered. I had no clue what form of government was on this planet or any other for that matter.

  The inside of the limo looked somehow bigger than the outside and was lined with very comfy looking contour foam seats and was tres fancy. The inside smelled like a combo of rich Corinthian leather and new car with a hint of fresh-baked cookies. It could have easily fit ten to twelve people and reminded me of something from a Motley Crue video circa nineteen eighty nine. The interior was entirely silver and had metallic seats that seemed to sparkle. There was a glass sunroof, so I could see the city and the sky through it as we drove. I was tempted to stand up through it like Tom Hanks in Big as we rode through the city but held back. Maybe on the ride home? To top it all off, there was a mini-refrigerator on the far left side of the cabin. A robot who resembled C3PO sat at the wheel. The only difference between this bot and the George Lucas character was the blue metal that he was made out of.

  I opened my mouth to greet the robot driver after Artemis and I got comfortable, but it spoke instead.

  “No loud noises, no eating or drinking while the vehicle is in motion, and under no circumstances are you to stand up through the moonroof,” it rattled off to us in a crisp, stern, robotic tone. “This is my car, which is also part of my body. I would not trash your home, do not trash my limo.”

  “Is monkey business allowed?” I joked and got comfortable.

  “No simian business of any kind, sir,” he responded neatly.

  “Yikes,” I muttered to Artemis and put my arm around her.

  “I just said no simian business, sir!” The robot exclaimed in a frustrated tone.

  I promptly removed my arm from around Artemis’ shoulder and sat with my hands in my lap like I was in church.

  “Why so blue, 3P-O?” I tossed up to the front.

  “I’m made from a bryzanium aluminum polymer that gives my metal a blue tint,” He shot back without missing a beat. “Also, I am tired of my passengers copulating on what amounts to be my lap.”

  “Fair enough, blue dude, fair enough,” I acknowledged then turned back to Artemis. “So Titanium Moi?”

  “Trillium Vou, pay attention,” Artemis said slightly exasperated. “Trillium Vou is a very popular infotainment personality who broadcasts from this planet to over two billion stars systems throughout the ‘verse. She made her name by interviewing champions. Getting on her bad side before we arrive would be less than ideal. And forgetting her name is a great way to get on her bad side.”

  “Do you know if this is going to be live?” I asked, suddenly nervous about fudging my words.

  “No, it will be recorded and then aired later,” Artemis assured me.

  “Okay, I can handle that. How hard could it be?” I asked.

  We arrived at the building where the interview was to be held and stepped out of the vehicle in a part of the city I’d never seen. I looked up and saw an impossibly tall, thin, orbit scraping building that was made entirely out of mirrored glass. The trees that surrounded the well-manicured entrance were large, vibrantly green and had bright blue fruit that hung from their branches like Christmas lights. I wanted to ask Artemis what they were, and if I would die if I ate one, but she was ten feet in front of me.

  “Marc, we are going to be late!” she rushed me while she waved her hand for me to hurry up. I jogged over to catch up and followed her into the building.

  The inside was like an Eighties’ Joel Schumacher wet dream; high ceilings, black and chrome furniture, and all the employees looked like they walked out of a Patrick Nagel painting. They had grayish alabaster skin, jet black hair, dark red lips and outfits with very large shoulder pads. Artemis and I made our way through the ornate lobby and past a carved marble fountain. Instead of water, the sculpture resting in the fountain sat in a light pink liquid that looked like pink champagne.

  “The studio is right over here,” Artemis said before we rounded a corner.

  “Should I have come prepared for this?” I asked, suddenly concerned that I might say something stupid. “I mean, considering the President will be there. And I’m Earth’s champion and all.”

  “You’ll do wonderful! I would not be worried one bit,” she encouraged with a kind smile. “Just be yourself.”

  “That is exactly what I’m worried about,” I said. “I have a knack for making people very angry sometimes. What if I piss off an entire planet, and they decide to go to war with Earth?”

  “Two things,” Artemis stated in a tone that was meant to pacify. “One, no one can declare war on Earth now that you are part of the Crucible of Carnage, that’s kind of the whole point. And two, you are also very good at witchering people’s breeches to the ground.”

  “I think you mean charm their pants off.” I grinned.

  “Yeah yeah yeah, same thing,” she replied, and we walked into the studio.

  The moment I set foot in the uber high tech production studio I locked eyes with a striking alien woman from the same Nagel world as those in the lobby except she made them look like they were drawn by five-year-olds hopped up on too many Capri Suns.

  She was about five foot seven, although her modest heels made her look taller, and was dressed in a tight black power suit and brilliant blue blouse that made her face pop from the contrast.

  And what a face it was; slightly over proportioned and angular but in a way that a camera would absolutel
y love with big blue eyes framed by long lashes and plum colored lips. The power-suit complemented her thin runway model frame. The mid-bordering-on-short skirt left just enough to the imagination while it retained a sleek and commanding presence.

  “Champion Marc Caleb Havak,” she said as her eyes fell upon us. I definitely got a hint of a weird alien accent that almost sounded Nordic but without the Swedish Chef lilt. It was foreign and kind of hot.

  “Uhhh, yeahhh,” I said as I tried to keep my drool in my mouth.

  “I am Trillium Vou,” she continued as she stood to greet us. “The pleasure to meet you is very great for me.”

  “Pleasure to meet you too, Ms. Vou,” I replied with a very polite smile. “I hate to say, but until now, I haven’t really watched much television here, but if I’d known someone as spectacular as you was on, I’d definitely have made more of an effort.”

  I glanced over at Artemis who gave me a low-down thumbs up.

  “Well, we don’t really call it television, Mr. Havak,” she said with a smirk. “But I am on in what your world would consider a prime viewing time slot.” She gestured at a seat beside her. “Now please, sit. We have much to discuss.”

  A hair and makeup bot floated down from the rafters which were full of studio lights and in a flash and a puff of powder I was camera ready.

  “How do I look?” I asked while waving the excess powder out of my face with my hands.

  “Good enough to eat, Champion Havak,” Trillium flirted. “Which is good because about two thirds of my audience would actually like to consume your flesh for sustenance. We did a poll. It was very popular.”

  “Um,” I gulped, “thanks. I think.”

  “It is strange, Mr. Havak. I have interviewed many a champion, but I find myself quite intrigued by you. Know that I am greatly looking forward to this interview.”

  “Thanks, me too,” I said, and the strange thing was, I meant it. Sure, I hadn’t wanted to get out of bed earlier, but now that I was here, I was strangely excited. A little freaked out to be in front of several billion worlds, but it couldn't be any worse than the arena.