by Dan Davis
Bediako changed position again. One moment Ram was straining, his arm curling back in toward himself and the next the pressure was released and Bediako was sitting upright, straddling him, high on Ram's chest. The first blow came before he was even in position, smacking into Ram's eye. He saw a field of a million silver stars, cascading inward. The next blow was harder, smacking into his nose and then a mighty great blow to his mouth, mangling his lips against his teeth.
Ram got his hands up to protect his face and many of the punches hit his forearms. Some glanced off and missed, others glanced off and hit his face with less power than they otherwise would have. But more slipped through or around his arms and smashed into his face, over and over.
He knew he'd fucked up. He'd lost. He'd allowed himself to get swarmed immediately and he didn't know any clever techniques that came from years of practice. He had no muscle memory to rely on, it would never have worked, he could never have beat a man with decades of experience. The punches smacked into him over and over.
“Ram,” Milena was shouting. She'd been speaking for a while without him paying attention to her voice in his ear. “Ram, he is not hurting you. Can you hear me, Ram? Pay attention. You're not experiencing any pain, are you? Can you hear me? He's not powerful enough to hurt you.”
She was right.
Ram was astonished but she was right. The blows that smacked into his face and head felt dulled. Almost numb. The impact rocked his head. The crack of Bediako's knuckles against his skin was a sharp, high note of pain, sure. But it was not terrible. It was not debilitating. He could compartmentalize it, lock the pain away from his awareness. The realization filled him with a sudden joy.
He laughed.
The punches stopped for a fraction of a second and Ram looked up at Bediako's sweating, confused, offended face, the old man’s chest heaving with effort. And he laughed again.
Bediako grimaced and threw down punch after punch. Ram kept laughing. He'd never felt so invincible. The harder Bediako worked, the more Ram laughed.
“I'm sure you're enjoying yourself,” Milena said. “But do you want to win now?”
Bediako was tired. It was obvious. While Ram had been resting on his back, Bediako had been fighting to stay on top and had expended a huge amount of energy in his punches. Ram reached up and grabbed Bediako's upper arms, pulling him down and reaching both hands around the back of his neck and head. Bediako tried to wriggle away backward but Ram held him fast. He pulled him in close then rolled over so that Ram was on top and in the guard position. Bediako was tired and Ram's strength could not be denied.
Bediako grasped Ram's arm and twisted, trying to break Ram's hold but Ram simply twisted back the other way and bent Bediako's own arm at the elbow joint. Bediako roared in pain and Ram carefully snapped the old man’s elbow. The crack was so loud that the pop echoed off the walls and Ram kept twisting so that the joint crunched and ground against the cartilage inside. Bediako punched with his good hand but there was little strength behind it now. Ram threw his own fist into Bediako's contorted face, knocking the bastard’s head back.
It felt good. He hit him again and felt a surge of joy, of release, when Bediako's nose burst under his fist. It felt right when Bediako's lips split and when his teeth tumbled down his throat. Milena was shouting in his ear again but he couldn't hear her. Bediako's cheeks split over his cheekbones, the red blood splashing up with every blow, raining down onto the black ceramic floor. He wondered how long it would take to cave in the skull and smash his head into pulp.
Ram’s body went limp.
He fell straight down onto Bediako, his eyes landing next to his instructor's ruined face. Close enough to get the blood smeared across his eyes. Ram could not move a muscle and had to watch his instructor spit out a blood clot filled with teeth.
They had switched Ram off. Paralyzed him again to save Bediako from being beaten any further. Bediako lay under him, struggling to breathe through the mess of his face, panic in his eyes.
I won, Ram thought.
I bloody well won.
26. SUBJECT ALPHA
Two days later, they sat in Ram's new quarters around the meeting table, with Ram at the head.
Newly promoted Primary Subject Operator Milena Reis was in attendance and the joint Chief Executive Director / Managing Director of Mission Four - Zhukov to his friends - had come all the way over to Ram's swanky place to organize the plan for the final two months they had until the fight with the Wheelhunter.
“He would have killed him,” Zhukov was saying to Milena. “We would have lost yet another asset and it would have been your fault.”
Ram liked his new accommodation.
Without asking Ram they had assumed, correctly, that he would not wish to stay in the barracks any longer. The place where so many had died would be an empty and constant reminder of the violent tragedy so they'd converted the ludus counseling and medical rooms. Why stay in a barracks space designed to provide just the right level of conflict between twelve subjects? Now he lived somewhere that was designed to provide him the maximum level of comfort and recovery time. There was a bedroom, a shower and toilet room but also a living area, a small kitchen and a meeting room.
The whole place took up half of one ludus ring section. The ludus was still the best place for him to stay, after all, that was where he trained every day. Also, Zhukov and the other mission leaders did not want to take any risks with their last, best hope being the victim of any crazed attack by unknown elements in the crew.
In the days since Alina and Noomi’s attack, every crew member had undergone intense scrutiny but the investigation had uncovered no further planned breaches of security. Still, it would not do to take the chance of a lone wolf sleeper terrorist or psychotic break or a person with an undetected hacked behavioral implant being set off. Marines were now posted at all times at the entrance to the ludus and at the entrances to his section and entry was tightly controlled.
Ram found that being Subject Alpha led to a number of privileges. Not just in the accommodation but also in the way he was treated by the bosses. As the sole surviving subject, he could exert considerable influence.
And he meant to exploit his new power. He sat in his large chair at the head of the meeting table and decided to push Zhukov to see how far he would bend.
“It’s true that I may have overcooked the testosterone during the fight,” Milena. “It only takes an increase by a little to start the feedback mechanisms to start a cascade of release and uptake.”
“Your job is to know what you're doing,” Zhukov said, gripping his screen in both fists. “If you're not capable of doing your job correctly then I will have you replaced with Nurul.”
“You won't replace her,” Ram said, staring across and down at Zhukov. “In fact, you will make sure that Milena is my only driver, from now until the mission is complete.”
The Chief Executive was now taking Zuma's place as the Director of the mission itself and being completely hands on. Before, his job had been to provide on-site oversight of Zuma and to liaise with the UNOP HQ back on Earth. As the mission was so close to completion, he claimed he could do both jobs effectively and there was no need to promote someone internally.
“Oh?” Zhukov said, sitting upright, his top lip curling in disgust. “You are named Subject Alpha and twenty-four hours later you are throwing your weight around? Forcing your commanding officer to comply with your wishes? It is notable how those who were once weak abuse their power once they have it.”
Ram scoffed. “Hey, at least I'm not a fucking serial killer, right?”
Zhukov colored. “What do you imagine that you going to do to compel me to do what you demand? Go on strike if you do not get your way, just so you can keep playing with your little friend?” Zhukov pointed at Milena. “If this woman had told us about Alina’s plot to kill Mael then none of this would have happened.”
“That's bullshit, you know that. You're trying to make me angry. That would be a m
istake.”
Zhukov’s face flushed red and he grew so rigid he almost shook.
“Director Zhukov believes that anger improves performance,” Milena said, looking at Zhukov. “This is because he has a large well of deep rooted anger of his own and has a selection bias when observing successful individuals who also experience their own anger issues.”
Zhukov snorted, shaking his head at her. “And you, Milena Reis, would never have been selected to be an Alpha-level driver without this tragedy taking place. Your stepping aside for someone more competent would benefit this mission.”
Ram answered before she could respond. “We've had almost three months to get to know each other. She's steered me through every crisis I've experienced on this ship. It's not relevant that she's the only friend I've still got. She's completely competent in every way. This Nurul must have encouraged Mael’s insane and aggressive, violent behavior. I’m not working with someone like that. Only Milena.”
Zhukov’s top lip curled up, ever so slightly. “Your new-found arrogance is a result of your elevated testosterone, nothing more. Although, perhaps the parts of your brain responsible for humility were corrupted during one of your procedures. I could have your behavior surgically modified if I wanted to, so do not think for a moment that you are able to threaten me with anything, do you understand?”
Ram did what he thought would anger Zhukov the most.
He ignored him and addressed Milena. “Remind me again what would happen if you just cranked my hormones all the way to the top? Maxed them out?”
She glanced at Zhukov before answering. “You are thinking for the combat with the alien in the Arena?
“You said you turned them up further than you intended but it made me fight harder, better. So, when I'm out there in the Orb arena you can just crank me up as high as it goes because I don’t need to save anything for the way back.”
“It's not that simple. Obviously, hormones have a wide range of effects. Physiological effects, cognitive and behavioral effects. I list those as if they are different things but of course, they are not. Forgetting for a moment the complex feedback effects, if I could saturate your blood with testosterone and enable the uptake of it, flooding your cells with as much testosterone as is possible, it is likely that you would lose the ability to think clearly or even to think at all. You would be unable to fight. Unable to win.”
Ram leaned back in his nice big chair. “That's a shame.”
“And even if you survived the combat, there would be long-term effects on your body and mind.”
“Come on, we can stop pretending I’m ever coming back from this. Even if I did win, what happens to me is irrelevant.”
“Agreed,” Zhukov said, immediately, taking back control of the meeting. “Milena will take you close to the edge of the maximum your body and mind are capable of achieving in that final battle. It is your driver's job to manage your performance and she will do so. To the best of her ability, at any rate. But there are others here who will help you in their own ways. You will take full advantage of their services and yet we have so little time left to us. Now, I have sent the action plan to your screens, please review this closely. It has been developed with the utmost care and is designed to be the most efficient process possible, taking us from today right up until the Orb arena itself.”
“Hold on a second, don’t I get a say in this?”
Zhukov chopped a hand in the air to cut Ram off. “This is the plan and if you can control your arrogance for one moment, you will listen to it and you will agree to it and we will have your full cooperation, do you understand? Having consulted with my teams over the last few days, my recommendation is that you see Dr. Fo to schedule in your medical enhancements. He will upgrade every biological component that we can fit under the Zeta Line. He will give you the standard of augmentation previously reserved for Mael, swapping out your comms and endocrine support systems for the best, most reliable devices ever created. That should immediately result in nanoseconds improved response time. The day after, while you recover from the keyhole surgery, Captain Cassidy will set your physical training goals in consultation with the other drivers and experts. When you are not working on your physical fitness, I want Milena and you to research the Wheeler, come to understand everything about it, how it moves, what it is capable of. I want you to be humanity’s greatest expert on the alien. And you will pick up your training with Bediako, practicing the techniques you will need to fight the alien. I have ordered that the Mission Three device, a real life simulacrum of the alien, be brought from storage. Bediako will teach you how to use it.”
Ram pursed his lips and blew through them, wondering what it would be like to work with a man who he had humiliated and tried to kill. “How’s his recovery coming?”
“He’s had worse,” Zhukov said.
“Enough to instruct you in IRL combat,” Milena said.
“Is he okay with that?”
“He does not have a choice,” Zhukov said. “None of us do. The Victory is set upon its course, as are all onboard her. We must each of us play our roles to the best of our ability. We can do nothing else.”
“Bullshit,” Ram said. “Haven’t you learned anything from all that’s happened? You thought you could control everything that happened on this ship. You had psychological profiles, advanced algorithms and AIs projecting behaviors, you had process charts and backup systems. And despite all that you came a hair’s breadth from complete disaster. Shit, if I lose then it will have been a complete disaster. And still, here you are dictating to me every minute of the next three months. Don’t you understand that’s not the best way? People in real life are more than a few variables. Things change, you can’t predict everything just because you have the computing power to do it. That’s something that gaming has taught me. No matter how tightly controlled the parameters are, humans and the universe always find a way of doing something surprising.”
Zhukov was flushed red again. He rubbed his mouth. “A fine sentiment.” He clearly wanted to argue and yet he hesitated, as if getting himself under control. “And I take your point. What about this plan would you like to change?”
Ram sighed with satisfaction. “I want more time in Avar, for one thing.”
27. MISSION #3
The Wheelhunter cartwheeled toward Bediako, accelerating until the sound of the huge footpads thudded like a continuous drumroll on the floor of the arena.
A young Bediako ran from the alien at a full sprint, parallel to the curving wall of the enormous space. Dressed in a thin, skintight black outfit, his astonishing musculature shone in the ambient light, contracting and expanding like the pistons of some organic machine. He ran like an elite sprinter on the track, back straight, head up and arms and legs pumping with perfect precision.
Yet the Wheeler gained. It flung its legs over and over, the momentum of the heavy footpads swinging through the arc at the top, forward and down into the floor, where they drove off again, one leg pushing after the other in rapid succession. The arms sticking out on both sides of the central hub twirled around, the three-fingered hands at the ends flexed their wicked claws.
Bediako risked a glance over his shoulder as the Wheeler drew close to him. That glance lost him a fraction of a second and the Wheeler surged the final few meters. But the human prey swerved away, toward the wall. The Wheelhunter swerved to compensate, leaning over and using the arms to provide balance. Bediako changed back, dropping a shoulder one way, feinting a turn to the left again but instead charging to the right, his thigh muscles standing out in bunches as he stamped his foot to absorb his enormous momentum before accelerating again.
The Wheelhunter swiped a massive hand at the human, missing his back by a centimeter or two. After shifting again, leaning to the right, it gained on Bediako.
He turned, spinning with remarkable agility for such a huge man and charged at the alien, hoping to catch it by surprise.
The Wheeler lashed out with a long arm, throwing
its claws at him like a whip. Bediako had the fastest reflexes the best minds in humanity could engineer into a body, he had a lifetime of combat training and real world experience. He blocked the alien’s attack with his arm while charging. But the strength and mass of the creature could not be denied by skill and experience. The force of the blow threw Bediako to the side and the momentum of the alien continued.
Bediako’s arm was ripped off at the shoulder in a shower of blood. His war cry turned into a scream of agony and fury.
“And I’ll hold it there,” Milena said.
Bediako froze, his scream cut off. His face carved in twisted horror like a grotesque statue. The blood droplets and mist from his wound stayed suspended in the air and the final few strands of skin still stretched between the severed arm and the gaping hole in his shoulder, elongated beyond what seemed possible. The Wheeler loomed above, tilted at a wild angle, frozen in motion at a tilt that would have caused the alien to fall over if it tried to stay like it in real life.
In the Avar replay, Ram walked closer to the two figures and peered at the wound, frozen in time.
“Brutal,” he said, wincing at the sight of it.
Milena thought it important that he observe every tiny detail of every combat replay over the previous three missions, especially the last one. She was in his ear, as usual, urging him to immerse himself in the simulated reality of it all. Over and over again.
“Do you see how the middle claw got stuck between the radius and the ulna, right up in the radioulnar joint? If it wasn’t for that chance occurrence, who knows what might have happened. The anterior and posterior claws caused massive tissue damage in their own right, obviously. The anterior claw passed through the triceps and Bediako would have lost the ability to straighten his left arm. The posterior claw sliced through a number of the extensor compartment muscles of the forearm, which would have immediately impacted his ability to make a fist or to grasp with that hand and it also severed the radial artery. Blood loss from that wound alone would have been significant but with the enhanced coagulant function in that body, he could have fought on.”