Our Contest

by Phillip Murrell

  “DJ, we missed you at lunch,” Akio says.

  Darsh ignores the Templar.

  “DJ, did you hear me?”

  “Our name is Lottery. We no longer acknowledge DJ or any other derivative of Darsh Johal.”

  Akio swallows his frustration.

  “Sure, Lottery, I guess Votary got you to stick to the code names like he does,” Akio jokes.

  All versions of Darsh ignore him.

  “Don’t you still need to eat?” Akio asks.

  “We are able to supply ourselves with nourishment and replenishment. Besides, we know you all prefer us out of sight and out of mind.”

  “That’s not true,” Akio protests.

  “It is,” Darsh responds. “We are apparently no longer a part of this team. The irony, of course, being that we are the most useful. We are better than all of you. We are smarter, we are stronger, we are faster. We are your army, but you choose to keep secrets from us.”

  “That’s not true either, D—Lottery, we tell you everything. Hell, we set you up in the library.”

  “As if you could stop us from coming here.”

  Akio is worried by the nuanced threat. He hesitantly takes a step back. No eyes are on him as Darsh interacts with the tendrils of smoke coming off his board. Akio affords a look at the screen in front of Darsh Prime that quickly transitions from characters in a language unfamiliar to him.

  “Is that a threat, Lottery?”

  “No, we have no reason to threaten you. If ever that changes, we will kill you without warning.”

  Akio takes another step back. His pulse quickens as he wonders how serious to take the casual comment. Darsh seems unconcerned.

  “I’ll see you later, Lottery.”

  “Perhaps you will, but we are almost finished here. Once we are, we will leave this ship. We simply need a few more answers.”

  “Do you mind sharing the questions?”

  “Not at all. We have almost all known powers but still cannot replicate Abel’s powers or Votary’s or Karen’s. Others we can replicate but not nearly as powerful as some of you, such as Gallery and Power. We are searching for a way to discover these clones. It is impossible for the power not to be within us.”

  Akio is nearly at the door. “Sure. I guess I’m not that special if you can copy my augmentation.”

  “You are correct. You are not special.”

  The remark stings Akio more than he’d like to admit. He feels the relative safety of the door and releases a held breath as he blindly searches for the controls to open it.

  “I’ll see you later, Lottery.”

  Akio escapes the tense situation. Darsh remains silent and doesn’t return the salutation.

  Claire, with tired red eyes, sits in a hover chair in front of Mother’s throne. Her recorder hovers off to the side between the two women to efficiently record the conversation. Mother’s smile appears sinister. Claire steadies her nerves before beginning her interview. She uses her rage to reach this goal. It’s a simple task because her anger recharges every time Mother addresses her.

  “I am prepared to commence whenever you are, Familiar.”

  “This is Claire Kennedy, aboard the Womb, to bring you the most exclusive of interviews. I know many of you have probably heard of my kidnapping at the hands of the Malignant. My captor was none other than Mother herself. She apparently did it to give us a look at the inside of her ship and to ask direct questions of her intention. I’m in contact with D2I News, so send those questions to Larry Tral, and I’ll do my best to get the answers. I will say that I’ve been treated relatively humanely, but I am a war prisoner. I do this out of a sense of obligation to my fellow humans. All of us are real people. All of us matter.”

  Claire turns her attention from the recorder to Mother. The ancient woman patiently waits for Claire to lock eyes with her.

  “Rather melodramatic, do you not think, Familiar? Only the Malignant matter. The rest of you need purging.”

  “To my audience, and as proof of my imprisonment, Mother refers to me as her familiar.”

  Claire stares daggers at Mother and begins her questioning.

  “Why must we be ISH if we all look the same?”

  “Looks can be deceiving. I am eleven thousand years old. I have witnessed things that you cannot even comprehend yet. Even the youngest amongst us are better prepared for life than your oldest.”

  “Then why all the posturing? If we don’t matter, why not kill us now instead of waiting so long?”

  “There are rules to Our Contest that you do not need to understand. The Malignant amongst you should join us, sooner versus later. We equal their only chance for survival.”

  “So, you want to save your children?”

  “I do.”

  “And we’re just their playthings or pets? Something like that?”

  “You are.”

  “Then what kind of mother destroys that which brings her children happiness?”

  “Cute, Familiar. I knew there was a reason I like you.”

  “You’re avoiding my question.”

  “Children need to grow up. A stern parent facilitates this development.”

  “That isn’t being stern or strict. That’s pure abuse. Abusive parents beget abusive children. If you claim to be so enlightened, why continue a cycle of pain and intolerance?”

  Claire notices Mother’s teeth clench.

  “Next question,” Mother sternly says.

  “Sure. Perhaps you may even answer this one,” Claire says. “Why hasn’t Abel killed you?”

  Mother rises from her throne, but Claire is unconcerned. She almost begs for the killing blow and remains obstinate to this monster in front of her.

  “You will not refer to Father as such, Familiar! My generosity only goes so far!” Mother shouts.

  “I’ll rephrase,” Claire calmly states, pleased that she got such a rise out of Mother on camera. “Why hasn’t Father killed you? He seems to care about this planet.”

  Mother smoothes her flowing robes and sits again.

  “Father will regain his faculties once this planet is no longer something he can fixate on. He will not kill me anymore than I will kill him. We are symbiotic. Our Contest forbids our physical involvement. We only provide direction.”

  “Shot Caller may disagree.”

  “Who is Shot Caller?”

  “Your spy whom Father turned into a horror far beyond the one you are.”

  “Yes, Father misbehaved, but he has apologized for it. It will not happen again.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Because he is Father.”

  “You know, for all of your posturing, you’re very similar to a lot of battered women on this planet. You know a beating is coming, but because he apologized, you make excuses for him. I’m guessing that if Father misbehaved once, he can do it again. In fact, if he only did it the one time, why is he here on Earth? I met him about two years ago, granted I didn’t know who he was at the time, but I just met you. It sounds like Father went deadbeat dad on his galactic family.”

  Mother once again rises from her throne. Claire again braces herself for the killing blow. Surprisingly, it once again doesn’t come. Claire opens her eyes. She’s ashamed she closed them in the first place.

  Mother stands before her and slaps Claire across the face when she opens her eyes. A small streak of blood appears on Claire’s left cheek from one of the rings that Mother wears. Claire instinctively reaches up from the sudden rush of pain. Claire wonders if Mother has augmented strength in addition to the elemental powers she displayed when she killed Wynona and her lawyer.

  “That was your final warning, Familiar. You will not vex me again. Your tenacity intrigues me, but only so far. If you want the chance to try and convince me to spare your pitiful existence, I suggest
you learn to follow the rules that you professed to the mongrels who listen to your informational recordings.”

  Claire internally accepts the point that Mother is making. She nods slowly. Mother seems content and returns to her throne once more.

  “Do you have any more questions?” Mother asks. “Preferably ones that will not make me bring about your celebration?”

  Claire acknowledges that she can no longer blatantly antagonize this woman, but she also realizes that she must give the planet hope with defiance in some form. A smile spreads across her lips.

  “What’s your favorite color?”

  Mother also smiles. “I prefer orange.”

  “I figured as much, but why do you like it?”

  “It is a bold color. Real humans are bold. Yet one more reason why your pathetic breed needs to become extinct.”

  “I think I have enough for now. I need to reevaluate my questions before asking them. I would hate to waste your time.”

  “I am sure you would. You have my permission to use the waste facilities now. I sense you need to.”

  Claire hates the truthfulness of this statement. She can’t risk ignoring the opportunity. Mother only allows her to go every three hours. Yet another form of torture.

  “Thank you, Mother,” Claire says as she rises.

  The floating camera ends its recording as Claire is led away by two heavily armed guards.

  An older man and woman, apparently husband and wife, watch the end of Claire’s report in a modest living room. They ignore Larry as he tiredly explains how often he gets Claire’s reports and what viewers can do to deliver questions for Mother. The man turns off the television and looks at his wife. Her eyes are full of tears.

  “It’ll be alright, Gloria. It has to be,” the man says.

  Before Gloria can respond, the doorbell rings.

  “Will you get that, Gus?” Gloria asks.

  “Sure,” Gus says as he rises from the couch. “It’s good to see that the end of the world hasn’t scared off all visitors.”

  Gus leaves the room to answer the front door. He soon returns with a smile and Kimmy in tow.

  “The prodigal daughter returns,” Gus says.

  “Hi, Mom,” Kimmy says with tears in her own eyes.

  “Kimmy!” Gloria shouts.

  Despite her need for a walker, the woman hobbles over and gives her daughter an exuberant hug.

  “Where have you been?” Gloria asks.

  “I was with Jake’s friends,” Kimmy admits.

  Both parents are soon reminded of the death of their son.

  “You knew Jake was a Templar?” Gus asks.

  “How?” Gloria asks.

  “Because I’m one of them, too,” Kimmy admits. “I’m an augment, just like Jake was.”

  Kimmy watches as her parents slowly sit back down on the couch. The shock of the revelation appears to be too much for them. Kimmy sits on the love seat beside the couch.

  “I know you have questions; I came here to answer them,” Kimmy admits.

  “That’s putting it mildly,” Gus says with a snort.

  “Would you call Samantha and see if she would come over with Mackenzie?”

  “She’s still grieving. She may not want to hear what you have to say,” Gloria says.

  “I may only get this one chance. Please call her over. Tell her I’m here.”

  Gus stands to comply, and after a brief telephone conversation, he comes back and sits with his wife.

  “She’s on her way,” Gus announces.

  “Good. What do you want to know?” Kimmy asks.

  “Where to begin,” Gloria says.

  “What can you do?” Gus asks.

  “For lack of a better term, I’m the Templar’s medic.”

  “You’re Stitch?” Gus asks.

  Kimmy nods.

  “You can heal anything and you let your brother die!” Gloria shouts.

  The words wound Kimmy deeply. She finds it hard to look at her mother.

  “I wasn’t there,” Kimmy admits. “I tried to save him, but he was already dead.”

  Gus wraps his wife in his arms. “Who killed him?”

  “I don’t know exactly. His body was chemically burned, but I don’t know how. I assume the Malignant did it.”

  “Can you guys beat that Malignant ship next year?” Gloria asks after a moment of soft crying.

  Kimmy debates with herself about how much to reveal but decides on full disclosure for her family.

  “What I’m about to tell you will hurt the planet if you repeat it.”

  “We won’t,” Gus says.

  “Not even with Samantha?”

  “Say what you have to, Kimmy.”

  “We don’t have a year,” Kimmy admits. “We actually have less than five weeks.”

  Kimmy watches as the weight of her words slams into her elderly parents.

  “Okay, I’ll clarify,” Gus says. “Can you beat that ship in five weeks?”

  Kimmy sighs and braces herself to deliver more bad news.

  “It won’t just be one ship. We have to fight the entire fleet.”

  “That’s impossible!” Gus shouts.

  Gloria cries again.

  “How the hell are you supposed to defeat that many fighters?” Gus asks.

  “I don’t know. I don’t make the decisions. I just follow orders.”

  “Why doesn’t Abel do something about it?” Gloria asks.

  Kimmy jolts at Abel’s mention.

  “I can’t talk about him. Abel does what he wants.”

  “Yeah, but he made short work of Shot Caller.”

  Kimmy’s breathing strongly increases. She’s uneasy speaking of Abel’s violent side. The terror of that day is almost paralyzing.

  “I limit my interactions with Abel. He terrifies me. He shouldn’t, and I doubt he would hurt me, but his power is infinite. He could kill the entire planet with the wink of an eye. It’s hard to stare at that kind of power and not be terrified.”

  “Is Abel God?” Gloria asks.

  “He may not be our God, but he’s most definitely a god,” Kimmy answers.

  The group sits in silence for a few minutes and grapples with the severity of that statement. The doorbell ringing breaks them of their trance. Gus goes to answer the door and soon returns with a young woman holding the hand of a three-year-old girl.

  “Okay, I’m here,” Samantha announces. “Where’s Kimmy?”

  Kimmy stands and hugs her sister-in-law. The two women hold each other for several moments and cry. Kimmy feels Samantha’s full weight and guides the woman over to the reclining chair that finishes the furniture layout of the living room.

  “I’m so sorry,” Kimmy says to Samantha.

  Samantha nods and wipes her eyes. Mackenzie plays with dolls brought out by Gus on the living room floor.

  “Did you know Jake was a Templar?” Samantha asks.

  Kimmy nods. “Yes, because I was recruited at the same time. I’m Stitch.”

  Now Samantha nods. “I had a hunch. When you didn’t show up for the funeral, I knew it had to mean you were with the Templars, too.”

  “How’s Mackenzie taking it?” Kimmy whispers.

  “She’s fine during the day, but bedtime and when she first wakes up is a different story. She cries for her daddy, and that makes me break down and we become a blubbering mess. Then I put on her cartoons or take her to the park, and we wait for bedtime to start the ritual all over again.”

  Mackenzie stands, as if she knows she’s being talked about.

  “Auntie Kimmy, I don’t wear diapers anymore,” the young child proclaims.

  The random statement forces Kimmy to smile. “That’s great, kiddo.”

  Mackenzie gives her aunt a sweet hug.
r />   “You want to play with me?” Mackenzie asks.

  Kimmy looks at the mixture of emotions in the eyes of the three other adults. She decides playing make believe with a three-year-old is exactly what they all need.

  “How about Mommy, Grandpa, and Grandma play, too?”

  “Yay!” Mackenzie squeals.

  She eagerly passes out dolls and assorted outfits to each of them. Soon simple laughter turns into legitimate joy.

  “Keith, are you ready or what, bro?” Hunter hollers from Nick’s living room.

  Keith is in the bathroom by his bedroom, picking at the flaky skin lining the acne on his face. He’s disgusted with his appearance.

  “Hunter, just go without me. I’m not feeling it without Jenny.”

  “Listen, man, I drove up here from Colberton, so you’re damn well gonna show me how you party on an army base. Apparently, Fort Chamberlain is the only place where people actually care to go to work and let a guy like me have fun.”

  Keith exits the bathroom and joins his friend in the living room. He’s dressed for a night on the town, but he still rubs the unsightly redness on his face.

  “I guess they think an army base can protect them from an alien invasion. You have no idea how many people point out that tanks and helicopters work against super armor.”

  “Man, I ain’t trying to hear that shit right now. We need to get out there and find some honnies who don’t want to die virgins, you know what I mean?”

  Keith fist bumps Hunter and laughs.

  “I don’t think Jenny would approve.”

  “Probably not, but that don’t mean you can’t be my wingman. Two strong guys like us are just tractor beams for them panties.”

  “Not always,” Keith says. “Not with a face like this.”

  Hunter shrugs his comment off. “Man, forget that shit. Bitches don’t care about your face. They just want big muscles. It makes them fantasize about that giant cock in your pants.”

  “If you say so.”

  “Keith, if you’re that embarrassed, just ask me for my cream. I used to have problems like yours, but I got this shit that will fix you in less than a month.”

  “You got any now?”

  “We can go by the store and get some. Then we swing by the party and start a flood.”