Deathsport

by William Hughes

  “Our Union is real.”

  Their eyes stayed together and the guard said:

  “The blaster shield will rise in a moment. Run out as soon as it does—right?”

  Kaz nodded. The man was not so bad. He was just doing his job and the Guide knew that at least he had pitied them.

  Kaz turned his attention back to Deneer. He smiled at her now, showing real affection, a gesture that owed nothing to the code.

  “I feel power from you, woman.”

  In that moment, Deneer had the confirmation that their Union was truly one over the wastelands, should they ever return to them.

  “And I from you, man.”

  Ankar Moor’s voice crackled over the loudspeakers.

  “Let the combat begin.”

  The anti-blaster shield disappeared from the entrance to their tunnel. At once, and in perfect co-ordination, the two Guides ran forward as fast as they could accelerate.

  Kaz cried out:

  “High ground.”

  Deneer answered by giving the loud war whoop of the Guides as she continued the run forward.

  The high ground was to one side of the huge arena and the two Guides concentrated on getting into this area as fast as they could. They took no notice as five of the six Death Machines revved up and started forward in an attempt to cut them off, Durc moving rapidly ahead of the other men with him. Only Marcus remained unmoving, astride his machine but just watching his fellow-prisoners as they progressed across the broken ground.

  Kaz managed to gasp: “One has not yet moved against us. For the others, we must soon split the pack.”

  Deneer’s mind was running ahead of his own. “We must take a machine.”

  “I agree.”

  They were there. As the audience both in the stands and on televideo had followed their progress, it appeared that they had moved with incredible speed. Immediately, they split and ran to hillocks that were far apart, so that each of their enemies would have to take a choice about which Guide to go after.

  Their tactics worked and three cycles made for Kaz, while the other two charged for Deneer, who was now further away from them. The Guides drew their Whistlers and waited like sentinels for their enemies to come to them.

  Marcus Karl sat silent on his machine, watching the drama unfold, waiting to make his own move.

  Back in the changing rooms, Doctor Karl looked anxiously at the screen. Naturally, the cameras were on the spot where the action would come and there was no sign of his son. Carol Rabids was getting properly excited for the first time that afternoon:

  “. . . All they have is their swords and they are just standing there, waiting for the Death Machines to come to them. They may be our enemies, but their courage is amazing, right Howard?”

  “You’re absolutely right, Carol. This is amazing. I think we’re in for a few surprises, Carol.”

  “Yes, Howard, and there seems to be one already. One of the riders hasn’t moved from his position. We really are in for some strange entertainment before this fight is over.”

  “O.K., Carol, now they’re closing in for the attack . . .”

  In that moment, Doctor Karl realised that the man who has not moved must be Marcus and he closed his eyes and prayed for the safety of his son.

  As the Death Machines approached and charged in on them, Kaz Oshay and Deneer held their ground until the very last possible moment, just a split second before the prisoners fired their blaster pods. At that split second both Guides gave out with their echoing war cries and leapt high in the air, up and over the screaming machines.”

  The first two Death Machines blasted their way ineffectually past under Kaz, but the third man was not so lucky. Kaz landed lightly at the side of the machine as the man roared past and the watchers could hardly see the speed with which his Whistler carved its way through the air. They could only hear the threatening whistle of it.

  A second later, the still-helmeted head of the third rider was rolling across the ground, while the machine, a headless corpse still gripping the handle bars, zoomed straight on.

  Another moment and the crowd were treated to a rare sight of self-destruction as the headless rider charged his machine straight into the blaster shield and, such was his speed, was not deflected but was dissolved into oblivion with an electric screech and a shower of sparks that lit up the whole field in spite of the already bright light of the sun.

  As for Deneer, she made a leap equal in height to her male partner but, having only two machines coming at her, she had not the luxury of a third rider to kill.

  She satisfied herself by shouting over to Kaz, “Well done!

  Kaz glanced over to her. His cheeks were flushed with his success and the thrill of getting into action again.

  “And better next time!”

  With that, their minds working in perfect union, they ran across the centre of the field as the enemy righted their machines and turned to give chase again.

  Bedlam had broken out in the Royal Box high above. At the start of the fight, Zirpola had recovered himself enough to sit up and watch. Now he had gone pale again at what he had witnessed, a pallor that owed nothing to his illness. He turned to Ankar Moor and snarled:

  “That wasn’t supposed to happen.”

  Ankar Moor was engrossed in the fight, but he had his alibi at the ready. He glared at Zirpola and snarled:

  “It is the prisoners, they are incompetent. But they will win.”

  “They’d better do it soon.”

  “They will, I guarantee it.”

  Zirpola thought for a moment, then:

  “And these Guides? Were they not supposed to have been adjusted by the disorientation technique?”

  Ankar Moor glared again. “Polna slipped up. He will pay for it.”

  This time when he turned his attention back to the field of combat, he was determined that the argument was at an end.

  Howard Koslow had taken up the commentary:

  “Well, that was amazing, Carol. Now they’re going up the middle of the field again. And look at them go. Three times faster at least than any normal man.”

  “Yes, Howard. It really is amazing. But another attack is about to start I think.”

  On the field, with the Death Machines screaming in behind them, Kaz Oshay and Deneer split up again and bounded towards opposite sides of the great arena. Now there were two machines bearing down on each of the Guides. A moment later the silent sixth man gunned his machine and started to roar forward at Deneer, the closest Guide to his position. At this move the crowd roared. Now they would see some excitement.

  Carol Rabids shouted:

  “Now the sixth man’s moved. I think we’ll see one of the Guides go down this time.”

  In the changing-rooms, Doctor Karl prayed that his son would be safe and that he had taken the right decision. Now he was shown on the televideo screen and the doctor felt alarm in his heart.

  The two Guides had less time to prepare this time as the Death Machines moved faster across the open ground, faster in racing down on them. Both Guides were heading for high mounds that they knew they might never make.

  Running as fast as he could, Kaz turned for a split second and saw that Durc, on the leading machine, was almost on his heels, his hand moving forward to the button of his blaster pods. Lunging forward, he dived over the top of the mound, hit the ground and, instead of rolling forward, he gripped himself to an immediate crouched halt.

  This had the effect of depriving Durc of his target at the last possible moment and he saw a streak of green light pass above him. A moment later, Durc hit the mound and flew over his head, unable to slow down his machine in time.

  Now, with the second machine on its way, Kaz rolled a short distance to one side and rose suddenly, his Whistler held at the ready. The second machine roared over the mound and took to the air.

  This time there was no whistling sound from the great sword. Kaz Oshay merely had to hold it up and the forward movement of the rider and his
powerful machine did the rest. Another head, still helmeted, rolled across the dirt, while the machine and his body roared on.

  Deneer seemed to be in a lot more trouble than Kaz had been. She too glanced back as she ran. The two machines chasing her were almost on top of her. A moment later she saw the third machine that was moving laterally towards her. There would be no time to use her Whistler; the best she could do would be to take avoiding action.

  She leapt high in the air to dodge Marcus Karl’s machine, but even she realised that she need not have worried. He had veered slightly away from her to avoid hitting her and now he roared on, oblivious of the moves she was making.

  A moment later, taking a deep breath of fear, he pressed the button that activated the blaster pods on the front of his machine. In a great screaming flash of green anti-matter, the leading Death Machine on her tail dissolved into its constituent atoms. As both rider and machine dissolved into an empty nothingness, Marcus roared through the spot where they had been, just ahead of the suddenly confused second rider. He was quickly out of the man’s range. This latter fighter was caught completely off-balance by the sudden turn of events and it took him a second to recover his speed and direction. It was this moment of hesitation that cost him his life.

  Deneer was faster in her reactions. She swooped in on him with a terrible war cry. Her shrieking Whistler flashed in the sunlight and the man’s head fell from his shoulders in the same manner that the two who had been vanquished by Kaz Oshay had done. But the man’s machine was turning at an angle as the death occurred and it now flipped on its side, still roaring and only a few yards from her. She turned at once and ran towards it, to mount up and put herself on better terms with her remaining enemies.

  On the other side of the field, Kaz Oshay ran forward and managed to grab the second machine before it whirled its way towards the anti-matter blaster shield.

  Now they were both mounted and only one enemy was left on the field. To allow himself time to recover, Durc sped off to the far side of the field before making his turn; the feeling of death was upon him and he was mortally afraid.

  Deneer, having mounted her machine, turned it as the man she had jumped aside from turned and roared back at her. He raised a hand to his helmet, pushing it back so that she could see who the rider was and yelled as hard as he could:

  “I’m on your side.”

  Her hand, that had been hovering over the blaster pod button, withdrew and instead she raised her Whistler and let it circle in the air, the strange wailing it made acknowledging his help and alliance.

  Durc gunned his machine frantically as Kaz Oshay made his way across the field towards him.

  Up in the Royal Box, bedlam had set in. Despite the pain in his head, the Lord Zirpola had snapped back to reality far enough to be watching the farce that it seemed to him was being played out in the arena below. His face reddened with an uncontrollable rage and he roared:

  “Destroy them. I want them destroyed!”

  Ankar Moor was at the edge of the box, gripping it strongly with his huge hands as he watched the disaster. He neither turned nor spoke when Zirpola yelled at him. As the ruler’s rage grew, he found the strength to rise from his chair and stagger forward to grab the arm of the leader of the Obedience Enforcers.

  “This wasn’t supposed to happen. This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

  Ankar Moor glanced down into his eyes and Zirpola began to see the hatred that the big man held for him.

  “No, it wasn’t.” He turned back to the field, shaking Zirpola off, but the Lord of Helix grabbed him again.

  “Why did it happen?”

  Ankar Moor ignored him and he screamed on:

  “You’re responsible! Traitor! You did this to me. You did it. You caused it all. I can trust no one.”

  Ankar Moor turned trembling with rage. Even Zirpola got the message this time and froze in fear. Ankar Moor picked him up bodily and carried him back to place him firmly in his chair. Zirpola sat there, trembling with fear as the man glared down at him.

  After a moment, Ankar Moor turned and grabbed the microphone from the member of the televideo camera crew who carried it.

  “Is it on?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Then switch it on.”

  With a shaky hand the man complied with the order and Ankar Moor’s voice boomed out, not only over the public address system but also over every video unit in the City:

  “Send out the remaining Death Machines. Send them out at once. I want those Guides destroyed.”

  The remaining prisoners, who had been looking in awe at the drama that was being played out on the huge colour screen in front of them, now erupted into action as Polna backed his master’s booming tones by shouting at the guards to get the machines ready. Any excess machines were to be ridden by the guards themselves.

  As he heard the order, Doctor Karl’s heart leapt within him; here was his chance to join his son. At least they could die together, if they could not make a chance for escape.

  Polna screamed: “Get out there and kill them! You can’t let them win. You’ve got to kill them if you’re going to survive.”

  Quickly the prisoners were mounted up. There was no delay for niceties such as helmets and blasters for their belts. They were being sent out to kill with speed and it didn’t matter how many of them were killed in the attempt.

  Doctor Karl made sure he was well back in the crowd coming down the tunnel, where they paused to wait for the anti-blaster shield to be broken for an instant.

  The shield was lifted and the machines roared forward into the arena. Doctor Karl waited for just as long as it took him to get clear of the tunnel, then pressed the button of his forward blaster pods, immediately annihilating the man who was in front of him. Before anyone else could react, he broke off to the side and began to go round the edge of the arena, waving at Marcus as he went and trying to get round the edge of the arena to where he was manoeuvring.

  Kaz was concentrating on pushing Durc into a smaller and smaller space in which to move and dodge him. He was not yet ready for the kill. Some of the new riders made straight for him, two of them in the lead by a long margin.

  Durc chose that moment to take the desperate strategy of braking and using his rear blasters, but he scored another miss as Kaz Oshay swerved at the last moment. He then turned, did a crossover jump with Deneer, who was also speeding to his aid, then did a little rear blasting of his own. Durc, who had still had his back to the Guide and had been given no chance to make a turn, disappeared into oblivion, without even the scream of a man who knew it was happening to him.

  Now it was time for Kaz Oshay and Deneer to take care of the new danger that was bearing down on them. With a nod from Kaz, Deneer veered off to one side while Kaz moved away from them, making them come forward to chase him. Deneer charged in from the side as they reached a hillock behind which she was riding, then roared forward. She jumped over the top of the first rider, landed between the two of them and quickly fired both front and rear pods. Both riders and their machines were obliterated by her master stroke.

  Now Kaz and Deneer were alongside each other and, a moment later, they were joined by Marcus and Doctor Karl.

  Kaz smiled on Deneer. “Powerfully done, woman.”

  Deneer’s eyes twinkled as she smiled back at him:

  “Powerfully done, man.”

  In the Royal Box, Zirpola, his illness completely forgotten, was almost jumping up and down like a child.

  “They’ve ruined it. They’ve ruined the Death Sport. All my plans are in ruins.”

  Ankar Moor roared angrily into the microphone, so the whole City knew of his discomfiture: “I said I wanted all the machines on the field. I want them now! Hurry! They must be destroyed.”

  In between his bellowed orders, the whole television coverage had gone silent. Howard Koslow had fainted and Carol Rabids, without his support, was totally devoid of words. The producer could not cut off the programme without direct o
rders from the Lord Zirpola and any attempt to get through to the Royal Box for clearance was blocked by the fact that Ankar Moor was bellowing over the equipment.

  But the shame of the Lord of Helix had only just begun. A new batch of four Death Machines roared out from the tunnel and were instantly attacked by the four defenders, manoeuvring with greater ease as they became better used to the handling of their machines. In as many minutes, there were four fewer machines and riders in the City of Helix.

  Zirpola rushed to the front of the box, screaming out obscenities at the farce below.

  Then the worst blow fell. The lights of the City flickered, came on strong again, then died. A moment later the anti-blaster shield, too, melted away as the power for the City was cut off.

  Zirpola whirled round.

  “What’s happened?”

  Ankar Moor did not bother to reply, but threw the dead microphone angrily to the ground.

  Polna was just entering the arena and all the men who followed him on their machines were Enforcer guards, line upon line of them. Kaz whirled round as he and his fellow fighters became aware of the brighter light and the sun beating down on them with a sudden greater heat. Kaz crowed:

  “The shield is broken. Come on.”

  Kaz turned and Deneer, with her faster reflexes, was hard on his heels. It took Doctor Karl and Marcus a little longer to make their turn, but the others held back slightly for the two Statemen to catch up with them. When they were in line, they all pressed the rear buttons on their blaster pods and blasted the first line of Enforcers, who were catching up on them, into oblivion, before roaring ahead across the wastelands and out of range.

  Up in the box, the Lord Zirpola was purple in the face and frothing in his impotent rage. He looked as if he might burst at any moment and Ankar Moor would have been indifferent if he had. He was also almost shaking with anger, but more at the way the revenge had been snatched from him, for the way Kaz Oshay’s mother had destroyed his face and banished him from the Guides, than at the way the Death Sport and the ideas behind it had been destroyed—by four brave prisoners, two Guides and two Statemen.

  Zirpola ran up to him and hit him repeatedly on his chest with weak, ineffectual fists. “Get them. Go after them. You imbecile! You let them escape! I’ll have your head for this. I’ll have your head!”