Contest

by Matthew Reilly

‘Nowhere to run!’ Bellos boomed from across the study hall. ‘Nowhere to hide!’

  ‘They’ve found you out,’ Swain called, walking backwards. ‘They know you brought hoods into the contest. You cheated, and you got caught.’

  Bellos continued to move forward in wide arcs, left and right. It was an odd movement, a movement that seemed to force them back. Back toward the—

  ‘Their discovery will be of no help to you,’ Bellos said.

  Swain looked over his shoulder and saw the gaping black hole that was the left-hand elevator. The doors to the right one were closed.

  Swain moved sideways until his back was pressed up against the call button panel.

  ‘The Presidian is over, Bellos,’ Swain said. ‘You can’t win anymore. They know you cheated.’

  Behind his back, Swain’s free hand searched for the call button, found it, pressed it.

  ‘Perhaps they know,’ Bellos said whimsically. ‘Perhaps they don’t. It does not matter now.’

  ‘You have disgraced yourself!’ Selexin blurted.

  ‘And I don’t care,’ Bellos said defiantly. ‘I did what I had to do to win. And even if they do find out about the hoodaya, I will still prove to them all that I have won this Presidian.’

  ‘And how will you do that?’ Selexin said.

  Swain grimaced, knowing the answer.

  ‘By being the only surviving contestant,’ Bellos said.

  Swain groaned.

  Then he heard Holly’s voice again. It was loud, close to his ear. ‘Daddy, it’s here.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The elevator.’ She pointed up at the numbered display above the elevator doors. The number 3 glowed yellow.

  There was a soft ping.

  The doors opened. The darkened interior of the elevator yawned before them.

  ‘Inside,’ Swain said quickly to Selexin. ‘Now.’

  Swain and Holly stepped back into the elevator as Selexin ran to the button panel and pressed a button.

  Bellos didn’t react quickly. In fact, he didn’t react at all.

  He just kept walking forward. Toward the elevator.

  The doors began to close.

  Bellos walked casually toward the lift.

  As Swain watched, he got the impression that Bellos was in no hurry to get to them. It was as if he had all the time in the world.

  As if he knew something that they did not. As if he had calculated . . .

  But then the doors closed and they were swallowed by darkness and the elevator began its descent.

  Two long cylindrical fluorescent light tubes lay on the floor of the lift—they were the tubes that Hawkins had removed from their sockets when Swain and his group had been hiding on the First Floor earlier that night.

  Swain put one of the tubes back into its socket, bathing the elevator in a dull white glow.

  ‘Well, that was easy,’ Selexin said.

  ‘Too easy,’ Swain said.

  ‘Why didn’t he follow us, Daddy?’ Holly said. ‘Before, he chased us all over the place. All over the place.’

  ‘I don’t know, honey.’

  ‘Well, we are away now,’ Selexin said. ‘And that is all that matters.’

  ‘That’s what worries me,’ Swain said.

  And then it happened.

  Suddenly. Without warning.

  A loud, heavy thump! on the roof of the elevator.

  They all froze. And then slowly, very slowly, looked up at the ceiling.

  Bellos had jumped down onto the roof of the elevator’.

  He must have jumped across from the open doors of the other elevator.

  Swain realised his mistake immediately. ‘Goddamn it!’

  ‘What?’ Selexin said.

  ‘You’ll be happy to know,’ Swain said wryly, ‘that we’ve just managed to trap ourselves.’

  He cursed himself. He should have seen it. While they were running away from Bellos, he had been moving in those strange arcs, virtually guiding them to the elevators. When they thought they were escaping, they were actually going exactly where he wanted them to go. Shit.

  Suddenly, the hatch in the roof opened.

  Swain pulled Holly and Selexin to the rear corner of the lift.

  Bellos’ head appeared through the open hatch upside down, his long tapering horns pointing downward.

  He smiled menacingly.

  Then his head disappeared from view, back outside the lift. A moment later Bellos swung down through the hatch, landing on his feet.

  Inside the lift.

  Right in front of them.

  ‘Nowhere to run now,’ he sneered. ‘Finally.’

  Swain pushed Holly into the corner behind him. Selexin stood by his side. Bellos was standing in the opposite corner of the elevator, beside the button panel. He didn’t have his guide with him anymore.

  Swain saw the panel next to Bellos and wondered which button Selexin had pressed. He hoped the little man had pressed the next floor. Then they might be able to make a run for it.

  He saw the illuminated button and closed his eyes in dismay.

  SL-2 was glowing.

  That was Sub-Level Two, the Stack. The bottom floor. They were in for a long ride.

  ‘You pressed the bottom floor?’ he whispered to Selexin in disbelief.

  ‘To get as far away as possible,’ Selexin whispered back. ‘How was I supposed to know he would jump on top of the—’

  ‘Silence!’ Bellos boomed.

  ‘Oh, shut up,’ Swain said.

  ‘Yes. And fuck you, too,’ Selexin added.

  Bellos cocked his head, amazed at this display of impertinence. His face tightened, angry.

  He began to walk across the elevator.

  It was then that Swain realised just how big Bellos was—he had to bend so that his horns wouldn’t hit the ceiling. And he was built like a house, too. Swain eyed the golden breastplate on his chest. It was dazzling.

  He also saw that Bellos had added several more trophies to his belt. He still had the Konda’s breathing mask and the NYPD badge clipped to it, but now he had two more-recent additions: first—and most gruesomely—the severed head of a thin, stick-insect-like creature; and second—a more earthly object—a small canister of police-issue chemical Mace, still in its beltpouch.

  Swain froze at the sight of the Mace.

  It was Hawkins’ Mace.

  It was Bellos’ trophy from killing the young policeman.

  Bellos caught Swain looking at his newly acquired trophy. He touched the small canister on his belt.

  ‘A curious weapon,’ he mused. ‘As his dying act, your companion sprayed it into my eyes, but to no effect. You humans must truly be fragile beings if something so pathetic as this injures you.’

  ‘You are a coward, Bellos,’ Selexin spat.

  Bellos rounded on him, took a step toward him, extended his arm toward the little man’s head.

  Selexin leaned back against the wall, trying to pull away.

  Then, roughly, Swain swatted Bellos’ arm away. ‘Get away from him,’ he said flatly.

  Bellos pulled his arm back—away from Selexin—dutifully obeying Swain’s command. And then suddenly he thrust his arm viciously forward, hitting Swain hard in the face.

  Swain fell to the floor, clutching his jaw.

  ‘And fuck you, too,’ Bellos said with a sneer. ‘Whatever that means.’

  Then the big man moved quickly, grabbing Swain by the collar and hurling him into the far wall of the elevator.

  Swain banged hard against the wall, fell to the floor again, wheezing.

  Bellos strutted across the elevator, following him.

  ‘Pathetic little man,’ he said. ‘How dare you touch me. My great-grandfather also killed a human once. In another Presidian, two thousand years ago. And this human cried, begged, pleaded for mercy.’

  Bellos picked Swain up by the hair and threw him against the doors of the lift.

  ‘Is that what you will do, little earth man? Cry for clemency
? Beg me to be merciful?’

  Swain was lying face down on the floor. He picked himself up slowly and sat with his back up against the doors. The cut on his lip had been reopened and now it was bleeding profusely.

  ‘Well, little human?’ Bellos jeered. ‘Will you beg for your life?’ He paused, and then turned to face Holly in the corner. ‘Or perhaps, you would rather beg for hers?’

  ‘Come over here,’ Swain said evenly.

  ‘What?’ Bellos said.

  ‘I said, come over here.’

  ‘No,’ Bellos smiled. ‘I think I’d like to acquaint myself with this young lady first.’ He stepped across the elevator, toward Holly.

  Selexin took a step sideways, blocking him. ‘No,’ he said firmly.

  It was a strange sight. Selexin—four feet tall, dressed completely in white—protecting Holly from Bellos—seven feet tall and clad entirely in black.

  ‘Goodbye, tiny man,’ Bellos said, delivering a heavy blow across Selexin’s head, sending the little man crashing to the floor.

  Bellos towered over Holly. ‘Now . . .’

  ‘I said,’ a voice said in Bellos’ ear, ‘come over here.’

  Bellos turned to see Stephen Swain and a long white fluorescent light tube come rushing at his face.

  Swain held the fluorescent tube like a baseball bat and he swung it hard.

  The swing connected. The tube smashed against Bellos’ face, sending glass shards flying everywhere, and showering the big man’s face with a strange white powder that had been inside the fluorescent tube.

  Bellos jolted slightly with the impact. But despite the spectacular explosion of the tube across his face, he remained unmoved—uninjured by the blow, save for the layer of powder on his jet-black face—and simply stared coldly down at Swain.

  ‘Uh-oh,’ Swain said.

  Bellos hit him.

  Hard.

  Swain bounced into the elevator doors, just as the elevator stopped and the doors themselves opened. He stumbled backwards, out onto the floor of the Stack. Bellos stepped out of the lift after him, walked over to him, and picked him up by his shirt.

  ‘Yes, yes,’ Bellos said. ‘Begged for mercy, that’s what he did. And do you know what my great-grandfather did when this human begged?’

  Swain didn’t answer.

  ‘He decapitated him,’ Bellos moved his powder-covered face close to Swain’s. ‘Tore his arms from his body, too.’ Bellos stroked his golden breastplate. ‘And then he took this. A glorious trophy from such an inglorious creature.’

  Swain looked at the breastplate more closely. Indeed, upon closer examination, it looked like . . . like the gilded armour of a Roman centurion.

  A Roman centurion? Swain thought. In a Presidian? Two thousand years ago? My God . . .

  Bellos raised Swain higher so that his sneakers were a full foot above the floor. He carried him over to the crumpled outer doors of the other elevator. When the Karanadon had climbed out of the broken elevator at the bottom of the shaft, it must simply have crashed through the outer doors to get out.

  Bellos threw Swain through the open outer doors and he landed heavily on what was left of the roof of the destroyed elevator, resting at the base of the shaft. The roof was a good five feet below the floor level of the Stack.

  Bellos leapt down onto the roof after him. ‘Well, human?’ he said. ‘Do you beg?’

  Swain coughed. ‘Not in this life.’

  ‘Then perhaps in the next,’ Bellos said, picking him up again and hurling him into the concrete wall of the shaft. Swain hit the wall and fell to his knees, aching, coughing.

  ‘Are you thinking of yourself now, little man?’ Bellos said, circling Swain. ‘Or are you thinking of what I will do when you are dead? Which is worse? Your death, or the prospect of what I will do to your little one after you are dead?’

  Swain clenched his teeth, felt the warmth of his own blood in his mouth.

  He had to do something.

  He looked up and saw the other lift, hanging above them like a big square shadow in the blackness of the shaft. There was a dark gap beneath it. Maybe . . .

  Bellos moved in close again—and suddenly Swain came to life, launching himself quickly forward, tackling the big man around the ankles, throwing Bellos off balance, sending them both falling toward the edge of the roof.

  They fell.

  Both of them.

  Off the roof of the destroyed lift, out into the shaft underneath the working elevator.

  The drop was about ten feet and Bellos landed heavily on the concrete base of the elevator shaft. Swain landed on top of him, the big man’s body cushioning his fall.

  Swain got to his feet immediately and looked around the base of the shaft.

  Solid concrete walls on two sides—a series of counterweight cables on one of them. Opposite the counterweight cables was the battered side wall of the destroyed elevator, lying crumpled at the bottom of the shaft. On the fourth side of the shaft, however, Swain saw the most unexpected sight of all.

  A pair of outer doors.

  There was another floor down here.

  The working elevator could come down.

  And if it could, then . . .

  ‘Holly! Selexin!’ he called desperately. ‘Are you still up there! If you are, go to the buttons! Press anything below SL-2!’

  Inside the elevator, Selexin was still sprawled on the floor, bloodied and dazed. Holly was huddled in the corner.

  Then strangely she heard her father’s echoing voice and she blinked back to life. ‘—anything below SL-2!’

  What?

  She ran over to the button console and scanned the buttons there:

  3 2

  1 g

  sl-1 sl-2

  SL-2 was the lowest it went. There was nothing below SL-2!

  What was he talking about?

  Groggy, Bellos got slowly to his feet. The fall had hurt him.

  Swain called up again. ‘Anything below Sub-Level 2! Just press it!’

  Holly’s voice floated down the shaft. ‘There isn’t anything! There’s nothing below that one!’

  Christ, Swain thought. I can see the doors. There has to be!

  He called again, ‘Look below the buttons! Is there a small door in the wall! A panel of some sort! Something like that! Anything like that!’

  A few seconds.

  Holly’s voice. ‘Yes. I see it! I see a little panel!’

  Beside Swain, Bellos staggered against the side wall of the destroyed elevator. On the other side of the shaft, Swain saw the five or so counterweight cables running vertically up the concrete wall. They were taut and greased and they appeared to run all the way up the shaft, past the elevator hovering above them. ‘Holly!’ he called urgently. ‘Open the panel! If there’s another button there, just press it!’

  Holly opened the small white door set into the wall beneath the button console. Inside she saw several switches that looked like regular light switches.

  Underneath them, though, was a mouldy green button, beside which was scrawled in white chalk the words: ACCESS TO STORAGE BASEMENT.

  ‘I found one!’ she called.

  ‘Press it!’

  Holly pressed the green button and immediately felt her stomach lurch.

  The lift was going down.

  The cables running up the wall of the shaft suddenly came to life, some going up, some going down—all moving too fast to tell—as the complex pulley system of counterweights burst into action.

  Swain looked up as the elevator fourteen feet above him began to move.

  Downward.

  Toward them.

  That was good. He’d needed to do something, to provide some sort of—

  And then abruptly he was slammed onto the concrete floor. Bellos had thrown himself into him and both of them went sprawling to the ground.

  Swain hit the floor hard and rolled quickly just as a big black fist came plunging down into the concrete right next to his head.

 
; Bellos roared in pain, clutching his fist.

  Swain leapt to his feet. He looked up at the slowly descending elevator. It was close. There wasn’t much time.

  You can’t fight Bellos. You have to find a way out of—

  Then suddenly Bellos was on his feet again and he launched himself at Swain, driving him back against the side wall of the destroyed elevator.

  The moving elevator edged downward.

  Twelve feet off the ground.

  Bellos punched Swain in the stomach. He buckled over.

  Eleven feet.

  Bellos hit him again. Swain gagged. Bellos was just too damn big to fight.

  Ten feet.

  Bellos glanced up quickly at the descending elevator and then all around himself for an escape. He saw the rapidly moving counterweight cables by the wall. There seemed to be enough space there to stand . . .

  Nine feet.

  The bottom of the lift scraped Bellos’ horns and he ducked.

  Eight feet.

  And Swain saw the speeding cables, too. Beside him, Bellos was crouching now, bent over at the waist, facing the other way, looking at the cables.

  It was a chance.

  Swain seized it.

  He moved in quickly behind Bellos and kicked him hard in the back of one knee. Bellos dropped immediately, fell to his knees.

  Seven feet.

  Swain dived in front of Bellos, scrambled for the counterweight cables.

  Got to get out.

  Have to get out.

  Going to die.

  He was almost at the cables when suddenly—violently—a big black hand clasped his ankle. Bellos had his foot in a vice-like grip, and was dragging him away from the cables!

  Six feet.

  Swain broke out in a cold sweat.

  Bellos was holding him tightly, pulling him backwards—so that now Bellos was closer to the counterweight cables.

  There was nothing Swain could do! It was obvious Bellos was going to hold him until the last moment and then roll to safety near the cables, leaving Swain to be crushed underneath the elevator. There was no way out this time, no way to break Bellos’ grasp. The elevator came slowly down.

  It was then that Swain saw Bellos’ trophy belt right next to his eyes—saw Hawkins’ chemical Mace canister hanging from it.

  The Mace . . .

  But it hadn’t worked for Hawkins before . . .

  Five feet.

  And then Swain saw the white powder on Bellos’ face. The white powder from the fluorescent light tube that Swain had smashed across his face.