“The Games are Forever!”
Next, the Ten Champions of last year’s Games take turns formally reading the new AG points structure for this year’s competition. Apparently the points vary each year, and so do the actions for which they are awarded.
“Five Atlantis Grail points will be awarded for each Kill, plus whatever points the dead earned,” the first-place scoring Champion says. He’s a slim dark man in the Technician uniform, and his cool amplified voice carries over the stadium.
“One hundred AG points for the completion of each Stage,” says the second winner, a tall woman in an Athlete uniform.
“Five hundred AG points for completion of the assigned Challenge in each Stage,” the Warrior in third place says.
“Ten AG points for crossing each hazard zone inside a Stage,” the Entertainer in spot #4 says.
“Twenty-five AG points for surviving one day of each Stage, until Midnight Ghost Time,” says the Scientist, #5.
“Twenty AG points for occupying and staying in one designated Safe Base for one day, until Midnight Ghost Time,” the Animal Handler, #6, says.
“Three AG points for obtaining one food ration or one water ration,” says #7, the Inventor.
“Three AG points for obtaining one medical emergency supply pack,” echoes the Artist, #8.
“Ten AG points for solving an abstract or complex problem,” the Vocalist at #9 says.
“Fifty AG points for demonstrating an Unusual Act of Courage, Strength, Intellect, Agility, Creativity, Beauty, Invention, Endurance, or any other skill deemed remarkable by the Judges, or voted by the Audience,” concludes the final winner, the Entrepreneur, #10.
The stadium accompanies each statement with wild applause.
So, these are our official AG points allocations for the Games. I try to remember these numbers, but then give up—there’s no need, the scoreboards will mention and display the AG points prominently, and so will the announcers, all throughout the Games.
I have more important things to worry about.
The Top Ten Champions leave the arena while the theme music plays, and then it’s our turn. While the Commencement Ceremony will continue for several more hours, well into the evening—with more grand spectacle, various musical performances, and special effects, culminating in fireworks—we, the Contenders are done playing our part in this portion of the show.
The Priest of the Grail announces our departure from the arena.
“Sing Farewell to your heroes, Atlantida! The next time you’ll see these brave Contenders will be in the Game Zone!”
We break the checkerboard formation and march in rows and then in lines, making the final circle pass around the arena. And suddenly, as the first of our ranks approach and disappear into the entrances at the foot of the Atlantis Grail monument, the ground begins to hum softly. . . .
But no, it’s the Atlantis Grail itself! The same impossibly deep, overwhelming tone we heard earlier during Noon Ghost Time—it rises in volume, vibrating the ground under our feet, and then everything else in the stadium.
I feel my teeth rattle, and bone-deep chills fill me, as I approach the Grail and the bizarre, intense sound it makes—tangible and painful, up-close. It’s as if some giant placed his monstrous finger on the rim of the monumental cup and started to play a tone along its edge.
How and why?
Cringing, we approach and enter one of the two exit corridors leading away from the arena. Immediately the sound is lessened, but it continues to shake the building for quite a few more minutes.
When we emerge, it’s into a hallway hub network of other corridors, where guards direct us to keep moving.
I enter one such corridor after the Contender before me, and in moments emerge into a wider, endless-long hall which seems to curve slightly. Guards are posted at frequent intervals along one wall. The opposite wall (the one that curves inward) is a solid row of open, brightly lit cells. Each one is a small sterile white room with a cot, a toilet and sink, a wall-mounted flat screen video display, and a rectangular area in the interior wall that looks like the seams of a closed doorway.
As I watch the way before me, far in the distance I see the guards direct each of the Contenders into the next empty cell in the order as they arrive. The moment one of us steps inside to occupy each tiny room, a guard scans the wall lock, and a wide glass panel slides down from the ceiling, closing in the room, so that the occupant is trapped inside, like a jail cell.
I keep walking past already locked and occupied cells, where Contenders are making themselves at home inside their temporary overnight quarters.
“For your own protection,” I hear the guards repeat before locking each person in.
So . . . this is our dormitory.
When my turn comes, the guard points me inside and I enter my cell.
The glass wall comes down from the ceiling, locking me in. Immediately all outside noise ceases. The glass is thick and soundproof, and probably bulletproof and very safe against any outside attack. There’s only the hiss of the air coming in through tiny vents in the ceiling.
I look up momentarily, and the thought crosses my mind—if someone really wants to kill us in these cells, all they need to do is gas us through the vents. . . . Ugh.
And then I look out into the hallway where more Contenders continue to arrive, walking past my cell, on their way to their own dorm quarters. Apparently there’s not going to be any privacy. Anyone in the hallway can see me, and I can see them. For my protection, I suppose. At least, after every last Contender is locked in, the only people looking in will be the guards.
I set down my equipment bag on the floor and sit down on the cot.
All right, what time is it? How many hours will I have to kill before lights-out? Will there even be a lights-out?
I notice a small clock readout on the wall next to the display screen. It shows late second hour, almost the third hour of Khe.
Going to be a long afternoon, followed by an even longer evening.
I start to wilt slightly, smooth my hand over my forehead, and think of Aeson . . . and Gracie . . . and Gordie . . . and George and Mom and Dad, wherever they are now—stop, don’t think—and everyone else.
And then, about twenty minutes later, as I’m spacing out—or meditating, or psyching myself for tomorrow, whatever—the video display screen on the wall next to my bed suddenly comes alive, jolting me to attention.
“Greetings, Contenders,” a disembodied male voice speaks in Atlanteo, while at the same time the display shows the text of his Atlanteo speech in one column, and repeats it in English in another. “Welcome to your dormitory quarters. Please use this time to rest and prepare for tomorrow. Lights will be turned off at tenth hour of Khe. An alarm will wake you up tomorrow at sixth hour of Ra. And at seventh hour of Ra, the door to your right will open directly into the Game Zone.”
My heart starts to race as I listen and read the display simultaneously.
“If you require entertainment, or need to review any of the Games topics including the Rules of Conduct, the AG Points chart, and preliminary Contender Status, you may use the panel to call up the media and data feeds,” the voice continues. “Please note that one meal will be served to you today at fifth hour of Khe, and a second meal tomorrow at sixth hour of Ra. Both meals will arrive in the secure wall compartment underneath this panel. Look down.”
I glance below and see the small compartment as instructed, locked at present.
“However, the Games Administration is required to warn you,” the voice continues. “Despite all our safety precautions, we cannot guarantee that your meal is safe to eat or has not been tampered with in transit. We take all steps necessary to supervise its preparation and delivery, and your random quarters assignment is part of this safety procedure. But you must expect any outcome. Therefore, consume at your own risk. The same disclaimer applies to drinking the water from the sink faucet—”
Wonderful, I think. At worst, I have a fifty
percent chance of being poisoned if I eat tonight. . . . Or drink the tap water.
While I ponder this painful notion, the voice concludes: “And now we hope you enjoy your evening, rest well, and be ready for tomorrow. The Games are Forever! Good luck, Contenders!”
Time passes like a delirious dream of nerves and fear and worry. When the dea meal tray arrives, I consider briefly if I should ignore it and simply open a safe ration bar from my equipment bag. But then I decide to risk it, because I don’t want to waste my micro-rations, and besides, fifty-fifty are decent odds in these killer Games, all things considered. And so I open the carefully sealed meal packets, and eat and drink, and . . . nothing happens to me.
Next I lie down in my uniform and try to nap, failing miserably, and eventually it’s lights-out. At tenth hour exactly, the bright illumination inside my cell fades into darkness, and all that’s left is faint sconce light out in the hallway. From my narrow bed I see the occasional shadows of the closest stationed guards moving against the opposite wall.
I strip down to my undies for the night, set the folded uniform on top of my bag, and use the facilities in the relative privacy of twilight. Then I lie down, close my eyes, and fall into delirium. Long hours of gut-wrenching agony follow, of waiting, waiting, long into the night.
You have to sleep, Gwen, you idiot . . . sleep! I tell myself, wanting to pound my flaming skull.
Must rest, must gather all my strength before the hell tomorrow.
Sleep, Gwen!
Breathe. . . .
The alarm goes off at sixth hour, as the display screen plays the musical theme of the Games, and lights bloom into hard daylight brightness. I am pulled out of a shallow “sleep” filled with a kaleidoscope of sickening worry images.
Oh my God, it’s the first day of the competition! Games day!
I spring out of my cot, use the facilities that now offer no privacy whatsoever, and retrieve the eos bread tray out of the wall compartment. I take a few tasteless bites, forcing myself to eat for strength, then drink the plain bottled drink, some kind of fruity water.
Next, it’s time to dress for the Games. Before donning my uniform, I open my equipment bag and retrieve the ultra-light viatoios body armor that’s been custom made for me. The silver fabric is nearly weightless, buttery-soft, and paper-thin, as it touches my skin. It’s to be worn as a second layer, on top of my underwear.
I pull on the long-sleeved upper-body piece with a turtleneck-style expandable neck-guard, the bottoms with leggings, then the socks, and set the gloves aside for later use. There’s also a ski mask-like helmet that I can wear if needed for emergency circumstances, but that one goes in the same easy-to-retrieve outer pouch as the gloves.
Then I put on my uniform shirt and pants, covering the body armor, making sure none of it shows, according to Games regulations.
I use a special hair band to pull my hair back into a tight ponytail.
Protective sun-shade contact lenses go in my eyes.
Finally, as I watch the clock nervously, I rearrange items in my equipment bag, placing certain weapons and objects in various outer pouches all around the exterior of the bag. I imagine, in neighbor cells all around me, the other Contenders are busy doing the same thing, readying their weapons and supplies for quick retrieval. . . .
A few needle guns go inside my sleeves, in the same carry style that Aeson uses. Several slim knives follow, including a certain little knife that I’ve kept all these months—the same knife that Logan gave me for my seventeenth birthday—which now feels like ages ago. It’s a handy little thing, and Aeson examined it at one point, weighed it for balance in his hand and told me to keep it, even though I’ve told him it was a gift from my ex-boyfriend.
“It’s still a good knife, and Sangre gave it to you with good intentions,” Aeson had said, looking at me with a curious expression and a faint smile. “A meaningful gift. Keep it.”
So I did. Logan’s knife is coming with me into the Games.
And then, in the middle of arranging my weapons, I pause suddenly and touch my left breast pocket, the same interior pocket that contains a folded black length of silk—Aeson’s armband and love gift to me. It’s lying against my heart, protecting me. . . .
A few more minutes, and I’m done arming myself. The bag, bristling with items in exterior pockets, is slung waist-level for easy access, with the long strap running from my shoulder across my torso diagonally. My shoes are tied, magnetic shoelaces snapped in place. And my Contender ID token is tucked away in another interior pocket.
I sit down, breathing slowly, anchoring myself in the moment.
And with just three minutes to spare, before seventh hour of Ra, the display screen comes alive, and the musical theme of the Games plays loudly.
“Nefero eos, Contenders!” the same voice from yesterday says. “You are about to enter the Game Zone arena of Stage One! Please stand and listen for the bell tone signal. It will sound three times and the door will open. Be ready to step out immediately and begin the First Stage of the Games. Instructions specific to this Game Zone will be provided once you are inside.”
The speaker ends, and the theme music stops.
There are a few seconds of perfect abysmal silence, during which I can hear my pounding heartbeat.
And then a grand tone sounds three times, deep like a temple gong.
The long rectangle panel in the wall to my right comes apart along its seams, sliding inward, revealing blinding white sunlight of the arena.
I inhale a deep breath, rest the fingers of one hand on my first-choice weapon pouch, and then step outside, into daylight and the roar of the stadium crowd.
Chapter 37
“Welcome to Stage One of the Atlantis Grail! The Games are Forever!” a bold amplified voice announces, rising over the roar of the audience.
I hear it only with a small part of my attention as I take my first step into the arena, tensing for immediate attack, and instead seeing an amazing sight before me.
My darting glance takes in the whole stadium at once, as my peripheral vision notes the Contender to my right and the Contender to my left, stepping out of their own doorways, only a few steps away. Apparently our dormitory circles the perimeter of the stadium arena, with all cells opening into the arena, so that we all emerge at once, into a great circular oval—all five thousand of us.
The arena itself has been transformed overnight—the same place where the parade and spectacle happened last night, is now at a lowered floor level, about ten feet below. And it’s filled with strange multi-level structures and scaffolding that at first glance resembles a giant playground. Or, to my crazy inflamed imagination, it looks like a forest of what can only be described as oversized “cat trees with condos” on a giant scale, filled with geometric shapes in primary colors.
The scaffolding leads up and down to various levels, overhangs, sheltered nooks, and wide-open platform shelves, with or without railings. There are four prominent “sections” to this playground, as far as I can tell. Four very tall, thick posts or columns rise about fifty feet to form the corners of a great square, spanning the grand expanse of the arena.
Each of the corner posts is painted three of four Quadrant colors, Blue, Green, and Yellow, plus White, and is topped by a square platform of the same color. In the center of each platform is a smaller walled and roofed enclosure that makes me think of a tree house.
There is also a fifth, central post column that’s painted Red. It stands in the exact center of the arena, and towers slightly higher than the others. On top of it is a red platform without any enclosure. It contains a narrow pedestal upon which rests a single metallic-red object, about a foot tall, shining in the sun—a small red replica of the Grail.
I blink, taking in the whole thing, in a split-second impression.
“Contenders! Do not engage! Stand and listen to your Instructions for Stage One!” the amplified voice says—and instantly I pause, seeing again with my peripheral vision how th
e nearest Contenders on either side of me also freeze in place, while the roar of the audience diminishes, as the whole stadium pays rapt attention.
“You are in the Game Zone inspired by the values of the Red Cornerstone—Passion, Aggression, Anger, Force! Use these qualities to your advantage! There is no weapons limit! Until instructed otherwise, you may use all weapons at your disposal to fight. Your Challenge is to retrieve the Red Grail in the center of the arena. You have approximately 100 hours or four days to accomplish this. Whoever has possession of the Red Grail at the end of the thirteenth hour of Khe on day four will be declared the Winner of Stage One!”
The official announcer’s voice is followed by the same bell tone sequence that sounds three times.
“When you hear this sound, be prepared for New Instructions or Taboo Rules.”
Then, a siren blasts the air.
“When you hear the alarm, be prepared for Hot Zone changes. Hot Zones are marked by red beacons, when lit.”
Eerie vocal music swells, sung by a chorus of priestly voices which I recognize from the Ceremony of the previous day.
“When you hear the Invocation Hymn, it indicates the beginning of Ghost Time, during which no combat is allowed, while Games workers enter the arena to collect the dead. Within every 27-hour period you will have thirty minutes of Noon Ghost Time and another thirty minutes of Midnight Ghost Time. Use these brief cease-fire rest periods however you like.”
The triple bell tone sounds again. At the same time, nano-camera “snow” starts falling from an invisible source above onto the stadium. And the giant video screens light up with scoreboards and close-ups of various sections of the arena. . . . I don’t allow myself to look directly at any of it, because my full attention is in the moment.
And then the same official voice speaks.
“Contenders! You may now begin Stage One of the Games of the Atlantis Grail!”
Immediately my heart goes into overdrive. And my mind, oh my God! What do I do? I think in sudden panic, as I see the two Contenders nearest me take that first step forward, and their own darting gazes meet mine in a split second of decision.
Win Page 45
