by Rob May
There was a rising murmur of excitement in the crowd. It was as if they somehow knew what was coming. Kat turned to Jason. ‘Does this make us the Zaal equivalent of Mary and Joseph?’
Doo stood up from her throne and raised her sword. ‘But which messenger to follow? There is only one way to know for sure. We will let Zaal decide!’
The crowd erupted, standing up on the terraces and cheering and howling. Jason looked slowly around the arena; he almost expected the terrible god to make an appearance from one of the many tunnel entrances.
Then he realised.
He turned back to Doo. ‘So I finally get to fight you,’ he said. ‘This should be interesting.’
She flashed him a wicked smile. ‘Fight—yes. Interesting—extremely! Fight me? Oh, no … there is only one way to determine which of your two plans is the best. You must fight your President …’
She paused and held his gaze before delivering her final decree:
‘… to the death!’
06—SCARS
Jason examined the array of weapons in front of him: a long dagger with a bone handle, an axe that appeared to be made of glittering iron, and a warhammer with a stone head that looked so heavy you’d have a job picking it up again after swinging it.
Well, any normal person might. Jason hefted the hammer with his robotic arm and practiced a few moves. He was in a small antechamber, where he had been allowed an unspecified amount of time to prepare for the forthcoming trial by combat. In the arena, a band was playing—a horrible, discordant trumpeting that did nothing to calm Jason’s nerves.
Kat appeared, squeezing past the two guards standing at the chamber entrance. She looked worried and frightened, but tried to hide it. ‘So, how’s the strategy working out then?’
Jason scowled. ‘The plan is still to get to Perazim. The city is the only safe place on this crazy planet. Or at least it will be, if I can persuade Doo and the balaks to help us take down the Arch Predicant. All I have to do is—’
‘Kill the President?’ Kat finished for him.
Jason shook his head vehemently. ‘No way. Let me worry about that when I get out there. Maybe if I can beat him, the balaks will be satisfied with a show of mercy. How’s Brandon doing, anyway?’
‘He’s fine,’ Kat said. ‘He’s awake now. The balaks are making sure that he won’t use the bionoids to influence the fight, though’
‘How are they doing that?’
‘By getting Bran drunk on jungle juice.’
Jason laughed. ‘You should be with him. He’ll need someone to hold his hair while he kneels over the toilet pit.’
Kat bristled. ‘I’m not his nurse! Anyway, Hewson is guarding him. I thought I’d be more use supporting you.’ She picked up the axe. ‘Hey, look at this. The head’s made of meteoric iron, if I’m not mistaken! Remember examining this stuff in Doctor Kang’s lab at school?’
Just before our first ever encounter with the balaks! ‘I remember,’ Jason said. ‘Look, Sis, I appreciate you trying to help, but there’s not much you can do right now.’
‘Oh, don’t be silly,’ Kat said. ‘We need to decide what’s going to happen if you get your ass handed to you by the President in the arena. It’ll be on me to avenge you, Gem, all our parents and everyone on Earth … and I’m not going to be able to do that while Brandon and the President take a generation to bang out peace terms.’
‘It’s not going to come to that, Kat,’ Jason said. ‘I’m not going to die!’
‘Alright then,’ she said. ‘In that case you’re going to need me around to make sure you don’t get us all killed later on anyway, on some mad suicide mission. So I’ll go to go see the President instead and ask him what I can do in his place if he loses today.’
‘You’re my sister, not my conscience!’ Jason said, but Kat had already left.
* * *
Jason stepped out into the arena at the same time that the President did on the opposite side. Balak guards moved in to block off their escape routes; there was nothing for the two combatants to do but stroll across the dirt to meet each other at the dead centre of the balak stronghold.
Jason scanned the crowd as he walked. Doo was on her throne, and Kat was on a smaller seat next to her. They were chatting happily away, and both gave him a friendly wave. What the hell?
Brandon was sat on Doo’s other side, his head down in his hands, Hewson standing guard over him. The President’s wife and kids were there too, all three of them looking solemn. The hundreds of other balaks watching marked Jason and the President’s every step with a slow hand clap.
The President had removed his jacket, and faced Jason dressed in a sweat-stained white shirt and grey trousers. He held a knife in one hand; his other was still bandaged up. The President was a tall, lean man; Jason was just as tall, but almost twice as well-built.
‘Go easy on me, kid,’ the President said. ‘Don’t make it look too one-sided.’ He gritted his teeth, and Jason saw him clench and unclench his injured hand. Green slime was leaking from the bandage.
‘Should have got that seen to earlier,’ Jason said. ‘I’m going to feel bad about whupping someone with a handicap.’
The President smiled wryly. ‘I was too busy trying to save the human race.’
Jason!
The voice was in his head. It could only have been one person.
Brandon? he thought back.
Yeah. It’s me. Do you need any help?
Jason glanced up towards the throne. Brandon was still doing a good job of pretending to still be drunk.
You can treat the President’s hand. Looks like he picked up a pretty bad infection in the jungle.
There was a pause. Wait. You want me to help the person who you’re about to fight to the death?
Nobody’s going to be fighting anyone to the death, Brandon, Jason replied. Just do what you do and help him!
There was no time for any more chit chat. Princess Doogla stood up and addressed the arena. ‘These travellers from another world wreaked havoc on our jungles, but Zaal must have brought them to us for a reason. They offer us two new solutions to end our eternal war with the zelfs. But which to follow? Only Zaal can show us the way!’
She clapped her hands.
Jason and the President were in no doubt as to what that clap signified. They began to circle each other warily.
‘So what are we going to do?’ Jason said as he lazily twisted his wrist and spun his axe around. ‘Here’s my idea: I’ll hit you, pretty hard but not that hard, and you submit and agree to go along with my plan to infiltrate the city.’
The President shook his head. ‘Sorry, Jason. I can’t do that. The balaks won’t accept anything but a conclusive victory here today. And besides, I could never go along with your plan. War is not the answer.’
Jason hopped closer to his opponent. ‘Oh, come on!’ he hissed. ‘You’ve authorised assassination missions before. Remember that Bin Laden guy—the Arch Predicant must be ten times worse than him.’
As if to underline his point, Jason swung out with his axe and bashed the President on the shoulder with the flat of the blade.
The President rubbed at the bruise. ‘Bin Laden was a friendless fugitive on the run, not the leader of a powerful, technologically advanced civilisation. Killing the Arch Predicant will unleash more problems than it will solve. I’ll show you—hit me again.’
‘What?’
‘Hit me again,’ the President ordered.
Jason whirled his axe, and then proceeded to jab the President unexpectedly in the head with his free fist.
Or at least he tried to. With the fluidity of a professional boxer, the President bent his legs and slipped the punch. He then countered with a left hook, followed by a right cross. Jason ended up flat on his back in the dirt.
The crowd howled and jeered as he got to his feet. Jason rubbed his aching jaw. ‘What were you trying to show me again?’
‘That even a politician benefits from spending an hour a day
training with his Special Forces security team,’ the President said with a savage grin. ‘No, what I really wanted to show you was that violence breeds violence. Whichever one of us wins this fight will carry not only cuts and bruises, but the emotional scars for the rest of his life. Are you strong enough to bear those scars? Are you strong enough to take a life?’
Yes! Jason thought. I shot Dravid Karkor at point blank range. I shot Liam, on board the Proteus … but then he was already as good as dead, infected by the thanamorphs …
A sudden realisation hit Jason. ‘I wasn’t going to kill you … but you would kill me, if that’s what it takes to make the balaks go along with your peace talks.’
The President nodded. ‘My job is to live with tough sacrifices like that.’
And with that, he launched a sudden new assault, and this time the President wasn’t afraid to use the blade of his knife. Jason soon found himself leaking blood from cuts on his shoulders and chest.
Brandon! He sent the message through the space between them. Forget helping him; help me now!
There was no immediate response. Jason blocked another flurry of knife strikes with his robotic arm. Sparks flew as the blade scored across his metal forearm.
‘Brandon!’ Jason found himself gasping out loud.
‘Your friend can’t help you now,’ the President said, wiping the sweat from his face. ‘You’re not the only one who can talk to him with your mind. I managed to persuade him to stay out of this fight.’
Jason couldn’t believe it. But when he looked up towards the throne, he saw Brandon give him a grim nod as if to confirm the truth. Of course, Brandon would always choose the peaceful option … he would always support the President. But even at the expense of the life of his friend?! Jason could hardly believe it.
There was only one way out of this awful situation. He had to act fast, before he ended up getting killed himself by a wrong move, a twist of fate, or another deception by the President. So he lashed out in a sudden anger-fuelled attack, hurling his axe at the President’s head.
The axe missed, but the President stumbled getting out of the way. And as he rose up again, he walked straight into Jason’s right hook …
… his bionic right hook.
Jason could hardly believe his own strength. It felt like just a touch, but when he looked at his hand, and down at the ground, there was blood everywhere.
And Barack Obama, the forty-forth (and final) President of the United States of America, lay dead at his feet.
07—SPOILS
Two bonfires burned that night. The balaks laid red bamboo around the President’s funeral pyre, which burned brilliantly, gave off clouds of greasy black smoke, and scorched nostrils with an evil tang. The other fire was for Gem, whose body had been brought from the wreck of the Majestic. For her, the balaks chose bloodapple wood, which burned clean and soft-scented.
What difference did it make? Jason thought. They both died fighting. Why shouldn’t Gem get a fierce warrior’s funeral too? He walked up to the pyres, pulled a log from the President’s woodpile and hurled it onto Gem’s. Doo fixed him with a curious look as he walked back to rejoin the others, but she didn’t comment.
Jason stood back between Brandon and Kat. They were all friends again now. Jason had mistook Brandon’s apparent support for the President in the arena. The battle had been one that Jason had never been in danger of losing.
‘The poison from his cut had entered his heart,’ Brandon had said afterwards. ‘It was too late to save him with the bionoids. Or, at least, it was beyond my current skill and the bionoids’ current programming. I scanned the President’s entire body earlier though; I can learn from his death …’
The President had indeed spoken to Brandon during the fight, but only to tell him that there was no need to help Jason win. The President knew that he was going to die anyway, so there was only one thing left for him to do: let Jason beat him in a convincing manner, so that the balaks would never doubt that he was Zaal’s chosen one.
Oh, and if the President could teach Jason a thing or two about the consequences of violence, then that was a bonus. Jason had felt sick and stunned at the outcome of the fight, and that feeling was still with him now, even after learning the truth.
‘… memory enough to hold the contents of an entire human brain, let alone the President’s brain,’ Brandon was waffling on as they stared into the flames. ‘But I pushed the bionoids to their limit and did what I could before Jason whacked the guy—’
‘Bran, shut up!’ Kat said, elbowing him in the ribs.
They stood in silence for the rest of the funeral. It went on for what seemed like hours, and Jason even began to get a little bored. But the President’s staff, guard and family were showing discipline, so it was the least he could do to stay still.
The First Lady read one of her husband’s favourite poems, then Kat followed that up with a reading from the script of one of Gem’s favourite films: Titanic. The balaks banged heavy drums, the President’s guard let off a five-gun salute, and then it was all over.
Princess Doogla stepped before the dying embers of the funeral pyres. ‘The heroes have been sent to the hall of Zaal, to fight and feast for eternity. Tomorrow, we will fight, too, and put an end to the tyranny that threatens our people and our jungle!’
She paused … and then grinned. ‘But tonight, we put all of that aside and welcome our new friends …with music, mead and merry-making!’
* * *
An hour later, Jason was drunk. The Moonhoney Mead they had started out with had only served to whet his appetite. Brandon had suggested they snaffle a few kegs of jungle juice, and then the party had really got started. Now, under the lights of glowing multi-coloured flowers, he bumped from one reveller to another, shaking hands, hugging and kissing balaks, humans, men and women alike.
He stumbled past Lieutenant Hewson, who was sitting on a log, watching the party from the sidelines. ‘Jason,’ the MI Zero agent said. ‘Sit down for a moment and take a few breaths.’
‘Yes, dad!’ Jason slurred sarcastically, but he did as he was told. He found that when he sat still, the world spun and blurred around him.
‘Good funeral,’ Hewson said. ‘It’s not often you get to be at the funeral of someone so important.’
He waited a beat. ‘Gem was a great agent.’
Jason smiled. He looked over at the man sitting next to him, and sobered up a little himself when he noticed that Hewson was awake and alert, and had his hand resting on his pistol holster.
‘Thank you for looking out for us all this time,’ Jason said seriously. ‘I forget sometimes that you must have lost friends and family back on Earth too.’
‘Not really,’ Hewson said. ‘I had no family. I was committed to my job. That’s why they invited me to join MI Zero, I guess—they knew I’d take the task seriously. Protecting humanity from aliens; people would have laughed if I had ever been allowed to tell anyone what I did. Well, look how it turned out. My job is still to protect humanity, but now we are a few hundred, and aliens in their millions are all around us.’
They sat in silence for a while. Jason knew that Hewson would die to protect him, Kat and Brandon. He made a silent promise not to get into too many more crazy, dangerous situations … although he knew as soon as he made it that it was a promise he wasn’t going to be able to keep.
Jason could see Kat with a group of kids and teenagers—children of the crew of the Majestic, and the President’s daughters. They were all dancing to the balak drums and horns. Brandon wasn’t with them, though; he was sitting alone in the shadows, and Jason knew he was lost in his own world with the bionoids. Brandon and Kat’s relationship was doomed, Jason realised suddenly. His sister was a little bit of a geek, he knew, but she was more like her brother than she was like her boyfriend. Brandon Walker was one of those people who would always be alone in the world.
It was amazing how alcohol made you see the world in such a profound way! Jason stood up. He
wobbled on his heels for a moment, and then someone took his hand before he fell over.
It was Doo.
‘Dance,’ she commanded.
‘Dance?’ Jason said. ‘Oh no no nooooooooo. Sorry Doo, I don’t dance. I tried it once and ended up knocking three people unconscious. Let me buy you a drink instead. What do you use for money here in the jungle? I picked up these three nuts off the floor earlier…’
He trailed off. Doo was staring at him. Most of the nearby balaks were staring at him. ‘You have to dance,’ Doo said. ‘The tribe expect it.’
Jason was confused. ‘They expect me to dance? I thought they expected me to be a great warrior who will lead them victorious in battle against the Arch Predicant.’
‘You’ve already proved that you are a great warrior,’ Doo reminded him. ‘The tribe now expect you to claim the spoils of war.’
Jason literally grabbed his own head to stop it drunkenly spinning. He looked down at Hewson, who had an amused smile on his face.
‘The spoils of war?’ Jason repeated, turning back to the princess. ‘Do you mean … you?’
Doo nodded. ‘It’s a tradition in our tribe that goes back centuries. Royal princesses are always given to the greatest warriors. It would bring terrible bad luck down on us if we ignored Zaal’s wishes. It would be an inauspicious start to tomorrow’s mission if we are not wed by the morning!’
Jason’s sobriety suddenly went into reverse, and Doo had to catch him as he swooned, stumbled and almost passed out.
08—VOWS
Jason adjusted his tie in the mirror. A US marine had lent him the shirt, which was still fairly clean. There had been no time to wash it. The tie was blue and had belonged to the President, whose family had asked Jason to wear it.
‘Okay, I’m done,’ Jason said. ‘That’ll have to do. My fingers started going numb on the fiftieth attempt. I swear, this is the last time I’m ever wearing a tie.’
