by David Archer
That was the beauty of having every computer, holo-tab and phone connected directly to the central quantum computer for the district. Martin would be able to see every email they sent, record every phone call and watch all of their computer activities, while at the same time being provided with a copy of every email, article, social post or audio and video file that was related to them. If anything happened that suggested their relationship might not be solid, he would be certain to find an excuse to get in touch with the beautiful girl.
At last, though, it was five o'clock, and his shift was ending. He logged out to signify that he was going off duty, then stepped out the back door of the CDPA station and signaled a hovercab. One stopped for him almost instantly and he climbed inside.
“Hello, Inspector,” the AI said.
“Home, Gigi,” Martin said, and the little car lifted and shot forward. The AI settled in the corner of the screen and filled it with the view from outside the car. Martin had seen it all many, many times, so he leaned back in the seat and closed his eyes as the car entered the vertical tube that let it rise rapidly through the levels. When it reached Level Fifty-Nine, it zipped out of the tube and quickly maneuvered into the high-speed lane of the commonway.
Two turns and thirteen minutes later, it stopped and settled to the floor in front of his apartment building, one of nearly a million three-story structures that existed between levels. His apartment was on the second floor, and he stepped out of the car and onto the escalator.
His door recognized him as he approached, examined his facial features and body language to be certain that he was alone and not under duress, then opened the door precisely as he reached it. It closed again behind him as he stepped inside.
“Honey, I'm home,” he called out.
His housekeeper walked into the living room, its rubber face wearing the robotic equivalent of a smile. “Welcome home, Darling,” it said. It was carrying a glass of beer that it extended to him.
The robot was an older model, one that still had a body made of aluminum and plastic, and the seemingly romantic exchange between the two of them was nothing more than a matter of Martin's sense of humor. Granted, he could have found a robot that was more humanoid in appearance, one that could even provide him with a semblance of romance and sex, but too many of his friends had gone down that path. Once the novelty of having a mechanical servant that would even provide sex wore off, most of them seemed to become subdued, possibly even depressed. Martin wasn't that lonely, and didn't want a girlfriend that needed her programming updated once a year.
He wanted a real woman. A woman like Charlotte Reynolds.
He kicked off his shoes and sat down on a chair. It was almost time for the Justice Net fight that he was betting on, the one with Darrell Hamm. He had actually been the arresting officer when Hamm was taken into custody, and knew just how tough the man could be. He'd made a fair amount of money betting on the man over the last few months, and had plunked down almost a third of his savings on this fight. Hamm's opponent was going into his very first fight, and had been stupid enough to request a bout with someone far above his level. There was no doubt in Martin's mind that Hamm was going to cream the guy.
“Main screen,” he said aloud, and the eighty-inch monitor on the wall in front of him snapped to life. “Justice Net, Chicago District.”
The screen lit up with the view of the arena used for Chicago District fighters, one of forty arenas that had been built in the southwestern deserts of North America. Martin was looking at a square enclosure, one thousand feet on each side and surrounded by a thirty-foot-tall, electrified, chain-link fence. Inside, there were a few small stands of trees and shrubs, and a half-dozen small structures, each of which had only two sides. The opponents would enter from opposite sides of the arena, and the fight would continue until one of them was dead. In the rare case where both opponents became too exhausted or incapacitated to continue, or the even rarer case where they refused to fight at all, both would be killed under Justice Net rules. There was no time limit, no referee and no other way to end the fight but with the death of one or both of the opponents.
The ground itself had been scoured of any large rocks, and seemed to be covered with gravel and sand. It was permitted for the opponents to improvise weapons from anything they found inside the arena, but that was not an easy thing to do. The trees were sturdy and would not yield their branches easily for use as clubs, while the other plants were too small and light to be useful. The structures were made of solid pieces of plastic, molded into their final shape and with their bases embedded in concrete. No one had ever managed to tear a piece off of one of them, so options for weapons were pretty limited.
As a result, most of these fights boiled down to a hand-to-hand contest, though it sometimes took hours for the two combatants to actually come face-to-face. When they did, the odds highly favored the larger of the two, and Darrell Hamm was one big son of a bitch. At six foot three, and weighing in at over two hundred and sixty pounds of what appeared to be solid muscle, he had already survived eighteen of the twenty-two bouts to which he had been sentenced, and in every case he had simply beaten his opponent to death. Not one of them, even though some were equal to him in size and weight, had ever managed to get the better of him for even a moment. Because of this, the odds offered by the betting parlors were not that great, but short odds also meant a fairly safe investment. Martin had won money on him before, and was looking forward to doing so again.
It should be easy, Martin thought. Hamm's opponent, Jerry Waller, stood only five foot ten and massed a measly one hundred and eighty pounds. He seemed to be in excellent condition, but that wasn't likely to keep him alive for more than a few minutes after Hamm got hold of him. The only thing that might prolong his life would be an ability to run like a scared rabbit, but previous opponents of Darrell Hamm had found that they would eventually become so exhausted that they simply couldn't run anymore. By that time, it was usually a matter of only a few seconds before Hamm's massive fists brought an end to their suffering.
Yeah, Martin thought, this is easy money.
EIGHT
“You want some tea?” Charlotte asked as she and Carson prepared to watch the fight. She wasn't crazy about Justice Net programming, but she knew Carson enjoyed watching it. As a novelist, she understood human nature fairly well, and figured that watching two men fight to the death was simply his vicarious way of getting some adventure into his own life. “I made some fresh when we got home.”
Carson looked up from the couch, where he was getting the monitor set up for the fight. “Sure, babe,” he said. “That'd be great.”
She sat down beside him a moment later, handing him a large tumbler. He took a sip of the tea and smiled at her, nodding to let her know that it was delicious.
“So, what's the fight tonight?” Charlotte asked.
“Darrell Hamm, he's one of the best from our district right now. He's going up against a brand-new guy in his first fight.”
“His first fight? Poor guy's gonna get slaughtered.” She took a sip of her tea and then looked at Carson. “Doesn't it ever bother you, watching some poor guy get killed?”
Carson shrugged. “It's supposed to be about justice,” he said, “and from a purely historical perspective, our system has become pretty effective. Very few people are willing to risk going into the arena, because the statistics say that eighty-five percent of convicts will lose one of their first three fights and die. Cloudcasting it puts it right out in front of everybody, so that people see just how dangerous it is to break the law. Being a good citizen means we should be watching, at least sometimes.” He turned to look into her eyes. “Besides, violence is one of the great aphrodisiacs of mankind. Watching somebody die tends to make us conscious of our own mortality, so our bodies go into some kind of racial survival mode. Can you deny that the sex is great after one of these fights?”
Charlotte giggled like a schoolgirl. “Carson, sweetheart,” she said in a su
ltry voice, “sex with you is always great.”
Carson chuckled, kissed her passionately, and then turned his attention back to the screen. The empty arena was displayed, but then the theme music began and the Justice Net logo appeared over the image.
“Welcome, ladies and gentlemen,” said the announcer's deep voice, “to tonight's feature battle! In an almost-unprecedented matchup, convicted sex trafficker Darrell Hamm, who has already survived eighteen bouts of his twenty-two-bout sentence, will be faced by Gerald Waller, convicted of poaching in the South CD nature preserve at Bloomington. Waller was sentenced to only seven bouts, and this will be his first one, but he has specifically requested this long-odds match. Oddsmakers are determining the odds for this fight, and as usual, all bets must be placed before the combatants enter the arena. If you have not yet placed your bets, you have only fifteen minutes to get them in. Just highlight the 'Place Your Bet' button in the upper right of your screen to get your bets down now!”
“Did you bet anything on this fight?” Charlotte asked.
Carson shrugged, noncommittally. “Just a small one,” he said.
A pair of displays at the top of the screen showed the rapidly increasing amounts that had been bet on each combatant, and Carson smiled when he saw that the vast majority were betting on Hamm. The odds were being updated live, of course, and Carson couldn’t help widening his smile when he saw that Waller now represented a fifteen hundred percent value, the Justice Net odds calculators offering an incentive for bettors to take the risk. Still, the bets on Hamm were well into triple-digit millions already, while Waller’s bets had not yet reached three million. If Waller managed to pull off a victory, the government was going to make a fortune even after paying off on such long odds.
A countdown timer appeared in the middle of the screen, ticking off the seconds until the bout would begin. As soon as it reached zero, a chime sounded and the numbers that reflected the bets stopped increasing.
“All bets are in,” the announcer said, “and the combatants are about to enter the arena. Please allow a moment for the Director's remarks.”
The screen suddenly split into three segments. On the left, Darrell Hamm could be seen entering through one gate, while Jerry Waller entered through another on the right. In the center, Oscar Lineman, the Justice Net Director, could be seen facing a camera from behind his desk. The video was recorded, Carson knew, because it was always the same.
“As we begin yet another battle of combatants,” the gray-haired Lineman said, “let us remember that this program is not about betting or entertainment, but is about Justice. Since the inception of Justice Net, there has been such an incredible reduction in crime worldwide that the program has been hailed as a marvelous success. These two men, who will tonight fight to the death, represent the success of the program, for each of them is betting his life on the chance to one day be free to return to society.
“As you know, there are only three rules. Rule number one—Failure to kill a defeated opponent for any reason will restart a fighter's sentence. Rule number two—No fighter, once pronounced dead, may be resuscitated under any conditions. And rule number three—Only one fighter may emerge alive from the arena.
“Regardless of which of them you may have chosen as a favorite, regardless of which of them you may have placed bets on, I would encourage you to utter a prayer to whatever God you worship that the better man should survive and move forward. Thank you, and let the battle begin.”
The center section of the screen changed suddenly to show a map of the arena, while the two side screens continued to display the combatants, each of them standing at one of the entrances to the arena. A loud buzzer sounded, and both men suddenly began moving. Camera drones kept them in sight, so that every move they made could be watched as they each made their way toward the center of the arena.
Hamm strode purposefully forward, his eyes scanning the arena for his opponent. Waller, on the other hand, jogged to the first of the shelter structures and slipped inside. His camera drone dipped down to keep him in view, and Carson furrowed his brow when he saw the man ripping a strip from one leg of the shorts he wore, the only uniform ever provided to the combatants.
“Hamm is proceeding toward the center clearing,” said the announcer, “obviously hoping that his opponent will want to get this over with quickly. We've heard an unsubstantiated rumor that Hamm had sent a message to Waller that if he cooperated, Hamm would kill him quickly and mercifully, but we have no confirmation that there's any truth to that. Waller, on the other hand, has ducked into a shelter and seems to be tearing strips of cloth from his clothing. Some fighters in the past have done that, wrapping the strips around their fists in order to protect their knuckles and keep themselves in the fight longer.”
“That's not what he's doing,” Carson said. “Look, he managed to tear off one long strip from each leg, but he isn't wrapping them around his hands. What's he up to?”
Charlotte shook her head, her eyes wide. As much as she insisted that she didn't enjoy watching these fights, she felt the excitement building up in her chest. Carson was right—watching a man or woman beaten to death always turned her on; she could feel the heat building in her loins just from watching Hamm's determined face as he set out to kill Waller.
Waller moved out of the shelter and ran quickly to one of the small stands of trees. This one was thick enough that the camera drone couldn't get inside without running a risk of getting entangled in leaves or branches, so it hovered twenty feet away and did its best to keep its lens focused on him. That wasn't easy, especially since he had knelt down between a couple of trees and amid some tall grass, but he didn't stay there long. A couple of minutes later he came running out, headed directly for the center clearing. It looked like he was still holding the strips of cloth in his right hand, and as he reached the outer edge of the thicket, he quickly dipped his left hand down to the ground.
“What in the world is he doing?” Carson exclaimed, but Charlotte only stared at the screen. Her eyes were not focused on Waller, but on Darrell Hamm. The huge man had a calmness about him that she found strangely enticing, and she felt herself becoming even more engrossed as she watched.
As the central map showed the positions of the two men within the arena, with a red dot for Hamm and a blue one for Waller, the latter detoured from his path to run into another thicket, once again leaving the camera drone outside and some distance away. Again he knelt down, and it was impossible to see what he was doing with his hands, but Carson felt a surge of excitement. He'd been right, he was sure, and Jerry Waller was about to shock the world!
The announcer kept up a running monologue, describing everything that the viewers were seeing, and another commentator offered repartee. “Waller is back in the woods, and he seems to be trying to stay hidden,” said the announcer, but his sidekick spoke up quickly.
“I'm not so sure about that, Charlie,” he said. “Waller is up to something, and I've got a feeling that he might be preparing some kind of surprise.”
“I don't know what kind of surprise could do him much good, with only a couple strips of cloth. There just isn't a whole lot I can imagine that would allow Waller to present any real opposition to Darrell Hamm.”
The banter continued, but Carson wasn't listening. He was watching Jerry Waller as he darted from one place to another, always moving in such a way as to come closer to the clearing. Hamm, on the other hand, had almost reached it and was looking around at every possible place of concealment as he drew close.
Hamm was looking to his left, while Waller was moving on his right. In a burst of speed that had Carson so excited he leaned forward, his mouth open and his eyes staring, Waller rushed to another thicket that actually put him slightly behind his opponent. Once again he ducked down, but this time he stayed there for several seconds.
Hamm came to a stop in the middle of the clearing, and began slowly rotating, seeking out the opponent that he knew should be there somewhere. Waller, how
ever, was well hidden from his view, and not even the camera drone gave away his position, since it was on the opposite side of the thicket from Hamm's searching eyes. Waller waited until the big man had turned all the way around, then stood and walked slowly and stealthily out into view.
Suddenly, the three different pictures coalesced into a focused view showing both men in a single frame. “Waller!” Hamm shouted. “Come on out, you pussy! I'll make it quick and easy for you!”
Waller stood at the man's five o'clock position, and suddenly he let something drop from his right hand. The two strips of cloth now seemed to be tied together, and he began twirling it around his head. “Hamm! I'm back here, asshole!”
Hamm spun to face him, and even though the camera wasn't doing a close-up on his face, it was obvious that he was in a rage at letting his opponent get behind him. He took one step toward Waller, but suddenly Waller spun the cloth strips harder and then flung his arm toward his opponent.
The cameras didn't see exactly what happened, but a split second later Darrell Hamm stumbled backward with a hand suddenly covering the top of his face.
“Son of a bitch!” Hamm screamed, and when he pulled his hand down from his face, it was obvious that it was covered with blood. There was blood streaming down his face from a gash on his forehead, and he forced himself to step toward Waller once again.
“Holy crap,” Carson said, “he made a slingshot! He's pulling off a literal David and Goliath!”
As if to confirm what Carson had said, Waller caught the loose end of his sling and a second later, he began twirling it again, this time faster and harder. Hamm was moving rapidly toward him, and Waller slung his arm toward the other man with all his might.
Waller had scooped up some of the larger pebbles from the gravel, and was using them as projectiles with his sling. The second one caused Hamm's head to rock back and spin to his right, as his hand rose to cover this new insult. The big man stopped moving, and stood where he was, but it was obvious that he was hurt and dazed. Despite his best attempts to stand still, he was waving around like a reed in the wind, and Waller suddenly burst into a run. He rushed straight at his opponent, launched himself into the air and drove both feet into the man's stomach, knocking him flat.
