Win

by Vera Nazarian

  A few minutes later, she says, “You know, we really should go outside and loot those bodies. All those equipment bags are out there, who knows what kind of useful gear we’ll find.”

  “Heh, not a bad idea,” Zaap says. He turns to Lolu. “So, is it safe to go outside, or is the poison still out there?”

  “Probably not, and probably yes,” Lolu says curtly.

  “Remember, we don’t want to open the door.” Chihar looks up from his semblance of a meditation or nap.

  “Especially not for something stupid,” Kokayi adds.

  Brie wrinkles her forehead. “It’s not stupid to add to our equipment stores. Besides, no one’s out on the perimeter right now. The arena lights are illuminating the walkway very well. It’s the perfect time to move out quickly, grab their bags and return inside. If anyone comes we’ll see in advance.”

  “I would prefer if we did not open the door,” Chihar repeats.

  “Yeah, well,” Brie glances at him. “Noted and overruled.”

  “Fine, suit yourself,” Lolu says. “I have anti-venom here if needed. But you go out there at your own risk.”

  “Sure, okay.” Brie gets up. “So, who’s going with me?”

  I start to move, but she glares at me immediately. “No, Lark, you stay put.”

  And so it’s Brie Walton and Zaap Guvai who do the honors and bring us four equipment bags splattered with blood. They basically run out and run back in, carrying a bag in each hand, and Lolu slams the door immediately after them and locks it again.

  We spend the next hour mostly ignoring what’s outside and going through these four bags.

  “Hey, you wanted extra water? You got water! And we won’t even get demerits for it, since equipment bags are fair game!” Zaap says with enthusiasm, as he pulls out some dead Contender’s nearly full water flask. And then he finds concentrated meal bars.

  “And this guy didn’t even eat his lunch—lucky for us.” Brie points to an unopened meal ration that she finds in another bag.

  “So. . . . This is what the meal rations look like,” I muse. Since we never even bothered to get ours, in favor of staying here safely, I’m curious what we missed.

  We keep digging and finding more water, food, weapons, gadgets, even a few personal things.

  “This is sad,” I say, pointing to what looks like a small locket on a ribbon, obviously a thing of sentimental value only. “The person brought this with them into the Games. . . . And now they’re dead.”

  Lolu glances at me. “It’s the Games. We’re all here to win or die. Some of us have better reasons than others.”

  Okay, was that a jab at me and my own perceived situation?

  “You should leave that alone. Respect the dead.” Lolu points to the locket, continuing to look at me.

  “I mean no disrespect,” I say softly. “In fact, I was going to honor them by looking inside and remembering their loved one on their behalf.”

  Saying this, I open the locket, which seems to work the same way that clasp lockets work on Earth, with a tiny latch on one end and hinges on the other. Inside is a tiny digital image of a child.

  A baby.

  In that moment I am stunned.

  Everything seems to rush into sharp contrast, and I suck in my breath.

  “What?” Brie says, looking up.

  I show her the inside of the locket.

  “Wow,” she says after a moment. “Just a little kid. . . . Cute.”

  “Someone’s baby,” I say in a voice that’s hard and remote and doesn’t sound like my own. “And now, probably an orphan. Their parent is lying dead, out there.”

  “Yeah, well.” Brie shrugs, and drops her gaze down in an instant of some kind of emotional response, but I’m not sure. “This is harsh.”

  “How do you know it’s an orphan?” Lolu says, glaring at me. “Maybe it’s their sister or brother. Maybe it’s them when they were young.”

  “I don’t know, of course,” I say. “But it’s the most likely thing.”

  “I told you not to touch it!” Lolu’s glare is unmistakably hostile. She lashes out suddenly and grabs the locket from me. Before I can respond, she gets up, holding it in her closed fist, marches over to the corner, lifts the toilet hole and drops the locket inside the sewer line.

  “Wait! What are you doing?” I exclaim, breathing fast. “Why did you do that?”

  “I buried it,” Lolu says. And she turns away from me as though nothing happened.

  There are several long beats of silence as all of us process what just happened.

  And then we return to rummaging through the orphaned equipment bags.

  The next few evening hours are an unmemorable mess in my mind. After we’re done dividing our loot, we settle back into our unspoken routine. It gets darker and darker outside, as can be seen by the snatches of sky, despite the steady arena night illumination. The gunshots and explosions all around us lessen noticeably, until just a few stray shots ricochet here and there, and occasional booms sound in the Game Zone.

  “Notice, it’s gotten quiet,” Zaap says. “And there hasn’t been anyone up here on our level for a while.”

  “Everyone’s figured out it’s time to start conserving resources, including ammo.” Brie points to the surveillance screens where we see bands of mostly silent high-end Contenders ranging around the open spaces. They are going around corners, climbing scaffolding levels on all the riser structures, checking all the hiding spots. When they find someone hidden, they eliminate them violently, but mostly with blade or impact weapons at close range, not firearms. The audience responds with cheers and enthusiasm, but even the stadium roar seems to have toned down a notch for the night.

  “They are hunting,” Kokayi says, then yawns deeply. “We are perfectly safe for the moment, so I’m going to sleep. Nobody kill me, please. But be sure to wake me if something actually happens.”

  We all exchange looks. “How are we going to handle the sleeping?” Brie says. “Take turns?”

  “We sleep in shifts,” Lolu says. “Two people always awake, to make sure one does not kill all the rest of us when we sleep.”

  “Yes. . . . Sensible and logical.” Chihar nods.

  But Lolu is not done. “Two people who don’t know each other, or are least friendly, should be in each awake pair.”

  “Ah, yes, to minimize the possibility of alliances made against the rest of us, the sleepers,” Kokayi concludes. “You are remarkably suspicious and careful for someone so young, amrevet.”

  “I’m not stupid,” Lolu says. “And this is my Safe Base.”

  “Frankly, that part I forgot. But, okay,” Brie says. “Who stays up first?”

  “I’ll stay up now,” I say after a brief pause. “Too wound up to sleep, what with all those AG points on my head. . . .”

  Lolu nods. “Good. I will stay up with you.”

  This girl really doesn’t like me, it occurs to me.

  “Then I’ll take the second shift,” Brie says, pointing at Kokayi. “With the pretty boy in Green.”

  Chihar nods comfortably. “Agreed. Zaap and I will do the final shift.”

  And so, they go to sleep, or at least pretend to, settling down as comfortably as possible on the floor, or semi-reclined against the walls. Meanwhile, I remain seated, groggy and restless at the same time, watching the surveillance feeds next to Lolu. The Technician gives me a few cool glances as she returns most of her attention to the views outside.

  I start to go in and out of a daze, thinking about Aeson, my siblings, my friends. . . . Then I think about the baby in the dead stranger’s locket lying on the bottom of a dark sewer. And my heart twinges painfully.

  What are we all doing here, killing each other? For what? What is this madness?

  Endless moments pass. . . .

  I glance at Lolu, wondering what this young girl is doing here, in these violent horrible Games. Words of my expert trainers come to mind: Uncover your opponent’s motivation.

  Lolu i
s not necessarily an opponent, at least for now, but she is inclined to be hostile, and I have to share close quarters with her.

  And so I decide to learn what I can. I shuffle around in my spot on the floor, as though making myself more comfortable, then get up quietly so as not to disturb the sleepers, straighten and stretch my arms behind my back.

  Lolu immediately gives me one quick glance then ignores me.

  I approach her, pretending to look closer at the screens.

  “What?” she says in a whisper.

  “Nothing,” I whisper back. “My limbs are falling asleep, so . . . I need to move a little.”

  “Don’t try anything,” the girl says coldly. “That’s close enough.”

  “Okay.” I take a deep breath.

  For a few minutes we remain only a few feet apart in silence, watching one specific band of celebrity Contenders as they move about the arena. It’s the team formed around Ujaste Naat, famous as a master of gadgets, and who’s considered the most skilled Technician in this year’s Games. At the moment they’re using a very wide and long metal net held by four people to trap and corner another lesser team in an alley between structures very similar to our own. As soon as the trapped ones try to untangle themselves from the netting, they scream in pain, and apparently receive chemical burns.

  “Interesting,” I observe, trying to sound composed and casual despite the sight of horrible human agony being played out in the arena. “Why is that net causing a burn? Is it poisoned like your traps?”

  Lolu grunts and initially does not answer. But then she says, “Electrical burns, not chemical.”

  “Really?” I say. “How can you tell?”

  She gives me a disgusted glare. “Figure it out yourself. Do you know how to think?”

  Okay, that comment strikes home, gets to me . . . slides in right past my emotional armor. As always, when people question my intelligence, I tend to take it poorly.

  “I am thinking,” I say, my whisper rising in volume, so that Zaap stirs where he lies, in reaction to my voice. “I’ve never seen this kind of net before, and I do know a thing or two about nets, being in the Yellow Quadrant.”

  Lolu frowns at my volume and puts her finger over her lips for quiet. And then she says in a very soft whisper, “You’re in Yellow? You must have very low skills to have chosen a White Category. No wonder you don’t know much about nets.”

  I recall that Lolu was not present during my Vocalist skill demonstration in the crematorium chamber, so she knows nothing about my abilities, and has only a very low opinion of the Imperial Bride.

  Besides, she’s trying to rile me up now. So I force myself to not react with as much verbal outrage as I normally would. “I’m from Earth, remember? My familiarity with my Quadrant is still a work in progress.”

  “Yes, that’s very apparent. So, let me explain that electrical net to you.” Lolu points to the four Contenders holding the four ends of the net as they enclose the enemy team. “See how they’re gloved in anti-static fabric? If this was poison, they would wear different, likely metal-coated gloves. These gloves are the exact opposite—they don’t conduct power. Also the burns on the victims are only topical—there’s no chemical reaction spreading to the rest of their bodies, as it would with toxins.”

  “I see,” I say, as mildly as possible. “Thanks. You certainly know a lot.”

  “Yes, I do,” she replies confidently.

  “So, why are you in the Games?” I begin in a neutral conversational whisper. “Seems like your tech skills might already give you good opportunities, without risking your life to become a Citizen.”

  “That’s my business,” she replies after a pause. I notice her expression freezes.

  But I continue. “Sure. But I’m just curious, why would you risk your life for something like that?”

  “Why would you? That’s a better question to ask, My Imperial Lady.”

  I tighten my lips. This girl’s a tough nut to crack. No wonder she passed the Games Trials and made the Contender lineup. In that moment, with the infinite number of nano-cameras swirling in the air all around us and recording every word, every nuance, it seems to me there’s not much I can truthfully tell her without speaking potential treason against my future father-in-law.

  “Fair enough,” I say. “But I want you to know I do have a valid reason to be in the Games.”

  Lolu makes a soft sound of derision.

  “It is definitely a complicated reason, but it has a lot to do with honor . . . and family,” I continue. “It’s why I wished to enter. Not so much for me, as—let’s just say—for a whole lot of other people.”

  Lolu snorts. “That’s why we entered too.”

  “We?”

  Lolu looks away from the screens and meets my gaze. Suddenly I see her eyes fill with anxiety, as she realizes too late she might’ve said too much.

  But she recovers, and her next words are casual. “My brother and I are both Contenders. . . .”

  “Oh, you have a brother?” I watch her face, and my curiosity deepens. “Where is he?”

  “Not in this room,” Lolu replies smartly.

  I nod. “He’s out there. Must be very stressful for both of you.”

  The girl shrugs. But her eyes remain wide and her gaze darts to me and the screens.

  “I have a brother too,” I say. “Actually, two brothers. One of them is watching right now, in the stadium audience.”

  “And the other?”

  And the other is beyond the stars, and is one of my original reasons for being here. . . .

  But I don’t say it. Weeks ago, Aeson and I decided that in public it’s best I mention the rest of my family back on Earth as little as possible—just in case there might be Imperial reprisals, or complications, or anything to give anyone reasons to use them against me or compromise their well-being. Especially since their current rescue status is still unconfirmed.

  Oh God . . . I mustn’t think about it, no, no, no. . . .

  My heartbeat picks up in a stab of panic as for the first time I allow my concentration to slip. Mustn’t think, must focus on the here and now, I am in the Games!

  “The other brother would be watching too, if he could,” I say. And then I add, “You must be very brave to have a family member in the Games with you.”

  “We have valid reasons,” Lolu says, echoing my own choice of words.

  “Family reasons?” I persist.

  “Why do you care? Are you trying to establish my motivation?” Lolu mocks. “You think I don’t know why you’re asking questions? You want to find my weakness. So you can use it against me. It’s the only reason anyone talks friendly in the Games.”

  Of course, Lolu would be coached in the “motivation” thing too, duh, I think.

  “Well, you caught me,” I whisper with a smile. “Of course I could just be bored and making chit-chat to pass the time.”

  But Lolu does not smile as she looks hard at me. “You really want to know why we’re in the Games? My mother is dying from multiple organ failure. If one of us becomes a Citizen, we can get her into the elite medical center with the best tech salon that has the quantum cellular revision scanner. Without the QCRS she will not survive.”

  My smile fades. As blood rushes in my temples, all I hear is, my mother is dying. . . .

  “So we all entered the Trials. My whole family—my father, my three brothers, and I,” Lolu continues. “Only Khadram and I made it. So now, one of us at least has to win.”

  There is a pause of silence, as Lolu and I look at each other.

  “Lolu, I didn’t realize—I’m so sorry,” I say in a whisper that’s barely above a breath.

  “Now you know. So now, shut up.”

  I blink, and I nod, silently.

  We both return to watching the screens. For once I’m glad she cannot see my eyes.

  Sometime during the end of Thirteenth Hour, just before Midnight Ghost Time, when we’re supposed to wake up the second shift and take our
turn sleeping, the surveillance screens suddenly crackle, and then everything on the smart wall display goes dark.

  I am jolted into attention, and Lolu starts with a shudder. The room light sconce is still on, so it’s only the video feed that’s failed. . . .

  Are we under attack?

  Seconds later there’s more crackle, and the screen display turns back on. In each of the six smaller screens we see the same view—a golden mask against a black background.

  “Nefero niktos, Atlantida,” says a familiar machine-modulated voice. “You are now asleep. But in the Games, you sleep and you die. Wake up!”

  Chapter 44

  Lolu curses, not bothering to whisper. Meanwhile the others in the room come awake, jolting up at the sound of the mechanical voice.

  “What the—” Brie sits up with sharp, alert eyes, taut as a spring.

  “What? What’s happening?” Kokayi says in a high-pitched voice, unfolding his limbs from a strange sleeping position, like a spider.

  “We are the Rim,” says the voice of the golden mask. And then it speaks more of the same edgy propaganda that I remember from the evening of my interview with Tiago, after we returned home.

  “This is the same group that hijacked the media feed a few days ago,” I say, as we all stare at the six screens, six masks speaking in unison.

  “Yes, I remember,” Chihar says. “This happened all over the City.”

  Zaap nods. “Yeah, those maqooi eaters interrupted my favorite show.”

  “Who are these guys again? Lark?” Brie looks at me.

  “Some kind of anti-Kassiopei group,” I say. “Not really sure.”

  As we speak—and the golden masks speak—we can hear growing noise of protest coming from outside the Safe Base, as the stadium audience roars to make its displeasure known. Because our surveillance feeds have been disabled, we can’t see what’s going on out there, but it’s a good guess that they’ve also taken over the giant stadium screens, including the scoreboards. The reverb of the mechanical voice echoes over the stadium, so yeah, this pirate feed is everywhere.