by Claudia Rose
For almost a minute the two men circled, while the cries of the audience grew increasingly shrill. There was a collective intake of breath as Greer abruptly pounced. De Vos wasn’t there. He’d sidestepped smoothly, and as Greer stumbled past him grasping at empty air De Vos delivered a vicious rabbit punch to the region of his opponent’s kidneys. The crowd’s screams of delight failed to drown out Greer’s amplified bellows of pain.
Again they circled, and again Greer charged his opponent, desperate to get close enough to fasten on and inflict damage. This time De Vos made no attempt to elude him. Instead, a split second before contact, he dropped his shoulder a fraction so the point of impact was with Greer’s sternum. There was an audible thud as the two massive bodies collided. De Vos didn’t move an inch, but through the cage’s sound system Helena could hear Greer’s breath forced out of his lungs. He staggered backwards and collapsed on the floor of the cage.
Surprisingly, De Vos made no attempt to press his advantage. Ignoring the shrill chanting of the crowd to “Kill, kill, kill, kill,” he simply waited until Greer was back on his feet and ready to continue.
This time Greer approached cautiously, having changed his strategy to an attempt to wrestle his opponent. De Vos made no attempt to evade Greer’s hands. Instead he met him head on and for what seemed like ten minutes, but was probably less than one, the two huge men stood with their arms locked, nose to nose, chest to chest, every fiber of muscle straining. Gradually the huge crowd fell silent. The women watching realized that what they were seeing was a battle of titans, with neither of these fearsome champions prepared to give a quarter. In an unusual moment of clarity, Helena knew what Greer’s next move would be. That scarred forehead read like a book, any second now he was going to attempt to smash De Vos’s face with a head butt. At the moment she formed the idea, Robson Greer reared back like a snake about to strike.
Helena gave an involuntary scream—”No!”
The next few seconds played out in slow motion. As Greer reared back, great diamond droplets of sweat sprayed from his long hair. His lips drew back in a snarl and his eyes radiated hate.
In contrast, the impassive gravity of De Vos’s face never altered. He watched carefully as his opponent commenced his strike, and at the last instant he did the one thing he could do to avoid having his septum crushed, he dropped his chin firmly onto his chest. Instead of colliding with De Vos’s face, Greer’s battle scarred forehead impacted with the solid top of his opponent’s skull. The noise of the collision was fearsome. Both men staggered back, stunned. Again Greer had come off worse. The scar tissue on his forehead had ruptured and great rivulets of blood streamed down his face.
Around Helena the crowd bayed like hounds scenting a kill. She glanced at the stadium clock and realized the bout still had ten seconds to run. Everything had happened in less than three minutes.
The failure of his key weapon enraged Greer beyond all reason. With a great howl of fury he charged at De Vos, intent on destroying him. Once more De Vos eluded him, this time by executing a massive standing jump and a perfect somersault, right over the head of his astonished opponent. De Vos landed lithely on both feet and turned gracefully to face the other man. Greer, by contrast, came to a clumsy halt and lurched around with flailing arms in an effort to locate De Vos. The crowd roared with laughter at his humiliation.
At that second, the bell rang to signal the end of the round, and without further ado De Vos turned on his heel and headed for his corner. It was his first mistake, and very nearly his last. Beside himself with frustration at not being able to inflict damage on his opponent, and furious at being made to look ridiculous, Greer launched himself at De Vos’s broad back, intent on murder. Despite the warning scream of the crowd, De Vos wasn’t quick enough to stop Greer knocking him to the floor of the cage, kneeling heavily on his back, and attempting to break his neck.
Helena was appalled as she watched De Vos’s head pulled upwards and his spine bent beyond any possibility of endurance. Her horrified screams of denial joined those around her. She expected, any second, to hear De Vos’s neck snap above the din. But no, the ring announcer was alert and prepared for such an eventuality. As quick as Greer was, he didn’t have time to inflict the ultimate damage before he was knocked senseless by a charge from a hand-held stunner. The charge knocked him clear of De Vos, who lay choking and writhing in pain, while his almost-assassin spasmed uncontrollably on the mat next to him.
Calmly, as if nothing untoward had happened, the announcer addressed the audience.
“Sorry about that Ladies. Just goes to show you should never turn your back on a cage-fighter. Don’t worry, we’ll have them both back on their feet in no time.”
Chapter Five
So much for being an impartial observer, thought Helena ruefully. She felt sick in her stomach at the thought of seeing De Vos die, as it seemed he would. No man that handsome should be defeated by a thug like Greer. Evil should not triumph over good. Yet his injuries were so bad he couldn’t do more than sit limply in his corner. The efforts of handlers to repair the damage were in vain.
Greer recovered quickly from the stun gun. He paced around his corner like a wounded bear, glaring at De Vos and snarling. Helena felt a visceral hatred for him. It was such an unfair way to win, attacking a better man from behind after the round had ended. The promoter should stop the fight.
The announcer walked back to the center of the cage.
“Your attention, ladies. Our medicos have done their best, and now it’s time for round two.”
The bell sounded.
His handlers lifted De Vos to his feet. He staggered towards the center of the cage, shambling as if drunk, one side of his body apparently paralyzed.
The sight aroused no pity in Greer. With an incoherent bellow he spread his arms wide and charged at the man he had already hurt so badly, intent on finishing him off.
Just before impact De Vos seemed to crumple towards the floor, but instead of collapsing as they all expected, his legs straightened like steel springs and he executed another tremendous standing jump.
This time, instead of somersaulting over Greer, he leapt straight up to grasp onto the roof bars of the cage almost a dozen feet above the mat. Greer staggered on clutching at empty air, then swung around, temporarily unsure where his opponent had disappeared. It was only a second’s hesitation, but it was a fatal second. De Vos’s mighty legs wrapped around Greer’s neck. With one fearsome twist he snapped it. The sound of shattering vertebrae echoed around the stadium.
A deathly quiet descended. De Vos, doomed seconds earlier, had won in little over a round, and won with ease. His injuries were simply a marvelous piece of dissembling. Ignoring the crowd, and the body, De Vos walked calmly back to his corner and sat down, to all appearances oblivious to anything else around him. Helena realized she’d been holding her breath. She gave a long quavering sigh. The good guy had won. Evil didn’t have to triumph. The elation she felt surprised her.
The crowd was less elated. In one of those strange quirks of mob behavior the people that had been supporting De Vos seconds earlier began blaming him for having tricked them, and for having caused the fight to finish so quickly. A murmur of dissatisfaction swelled around the stadium. Fortunately the promoters were well versed in what could go wrong. The announcer scurried out into the middle.
“Well ladies, Convict Brandt De Vos has just confirmed why he’s New Washington’s number one cage-fighter. But don’t go away, we’ve got more to come yet. A surprise bout, just for your delectation, in which four convicted serial rapists go up against an elite squad of female prison guards. The action doesn’t stop until all four are hanging by their balls.”
The mood lightened, and the disappointment at the fight’s outcome gave way to cheerful anticipation.
“But first, we’ve got a prize to draw. One of you lucky ladies gets to take the deadly and delectable Brandt De Vos home for a week. So hold onto your seats and let’s find out who it wil
l be.”
A giant screen lowered from the roof and numbers and letters began flashing across it, then the first letter slotted into place.
“It’s going to be someone from block X!” The twenty thousand women around Helena screamed, while the rest of the stadium groaned and booed.
“If you’re in block X you’ll need to be sitting in section A.”
Every woman in Helena’s sector, with the exception of Helena herself, erupted to her feet screaming, “Pick me! Pick me!”
“Finally, if you’re in section A, make sure you’re in row ‘L’ because that’s where the lady is sitting who is taking Brandt De Vos home tonight.”
The screens around the stadium were flashing “XAL, XAL, XAL.” Helena shut her eyes. She felt sick to her stomach. With an unshakeable sense of déjà vu she knew exactly what was going to happen next.
“And the winning seat is…NUMBER 443!”
Helena sobbed.
Fireworks erupted from the top of the cage. The screens flashed like strobe lights—”XAL443…XAL443…XAL443” The women on either side of her glared down and said, as one voice, “That’s you!”
Six seats along she could hear the woman from behind the pillar screaming obscenities, “You bitch, you fucking stuck up bitch, that should have been me, and you took my seat, you upper-level slut!”
Worse was to come.
Helena’s seat began to levitate, and in front of the packed stadium containing almost two hundred thousand pairs of envious eyes, she drifted down to where the announcer was standing in front of the cage that had settled back to ground level. Inside the cage, Greer’s corpse lay where it had fallen, while De Vos still sat in his corner looking at the floor, ignoring what was happening. Helena’s positive feelings towards him wavered. Up close he looked abnormally large, and very scary.
“Congratulations,” boomed the announcer. “Your name is?”
“Uh… Helen,” replied Helena desperately. “But listen, I don’t want him. Can’t you draw the prize again?” Helena’s amplified voice echoed around the arena. An angry growl rose from the crowd.
The announcer looked shocked. He turned his microphone off and hissed at her.
“Certainly not, we could be sued into ruin. There was a contract made when you purchased your seat, lady. He’s yours for a week. If you don’t want him, he goes to serve the rest of his sentence, given he’s actually refused to fight for us anymore.”
“What’s his sentence?”
“Death. Brain cauterization for murder.”
Helena was staggered. She hadn’t come here expecting to have to make life and death decisions. This wasn’t some runt like Nigel. It was a man like no man she’d ever known. Her building didn’t even permit pets. Housing a huge, sweating, blood spattered, semi-naked murderer had to be worse than keeping an illicit budgie.
Around her the stadium full of women were starting to catcall and slow hand clap.
“What’s it to be Helen?” hissed the announcer. “I’ve got a crowd on the verge of a riot. If you don’t take him, I wouldn’t count on either of us getting out of here alive.”
“Okay, okay, I’ll take him,” replied Helena, desperately. As New Washington’s Chief Sociologist, it would look very bad if she were the cause of a riot.
She sighed. The easy way out would be to let them execute him while she scuttled back to her own world. But then she’d be no better than Greer. Evil would beat good. She glanced out of the corner of her eye at De Vos. Despite her predicament, she had to admire his impersonation of a Greek sculpture. He must be evil. Anything looking that good had to be.
“Isn’t that great, ladies?” boomed the announcer. “Helen here is off for a week with Brandt De Vos. Let’s hope he performs to her satisfaction.”
The cage containing the fighters began to sink beneath the floor. As the top of it reached floor level, the announcer took Helena by the elbow and ushered her onto a small platform. Together they sank out of sight.
Chapter Six
In the labyrinth of tunnels below the stadium, the announcer unceremoniously handed her over to another man with a clipboard before hurrying off.
“Okay lady, sign here,” the man said.
Helena scrawled something on his clipboard.
“Now, hold out your wrist.”
He snapped a small bracelet on, then pointed to De Vos still sitting in the cage across from the man he’d killed.
“He’s all yours. Corrections will collect him from you in a week, probably around mid-afternoon next Thursday. Have fun.” He turned and began to walk away.
“What? Wait!” shrieked Helena at the man’s back. “You can’t just leave me here with him. Isn’t he dangerous?”
With an exasperated sigh the man turned back to her.
“Look lady. You’re wearing a control bracelet tuned to a Correctional Department chip implanted in his brain stem. He knows the rules. The bracelet monitors both you and him. If he kills you, he dies too. As long as you’re alive, he stays alive. Also, he can’t leave your side. As long as he stays within 100 yards of you and the bracelet, he stays alive. If he tries to harm you, or pisses you off, or even if you’re bored and want a bit of entertainment, you can give him a jolt.”
The man demonstrated what he meant by taking Helena’s wrist and pressing a small silver button on the inner surface of the bracelet. Inside the cage Brandt De Vos roared with pain and collapsed to the floor. He sprawled next to the man he’d just killed, his limbs making small convulsions.
“Okay, okay, enough!” Helena jerked her wrist out of the man’s grasp before he tried again. He chuckled at her squeamishness.
“Well how do I get him out of the cage, and where are his clothes?” she demanded.
“Cage door’s open, and there’s some standard prison issue over there. Now if you want my advice you’ll take your toy boy and get out of here fast before the final fight finishes. There’s a few thousand women in there who aren’t real pleased with either of you at the moment.”
This time the man walked off and didn’t look back.
Helena was keen to get away before anyone recognized her and made the connection that the Chief Sociologist had just won a murderer as a prize. She hurried to the bars and called out to De Vos, who had come to and was resting on his hands and knees, shaking his head in a dazed fashion.
“De Vos, hurry up! Get out here and put some clothes on.”
After several minutes of panic, she got him dressed. He followed her out of the stadium complex to the sky-cab dock.
Which was how the bewildered Dr. Helena Jewel came to be in a sky-cab across from the stinking, hulking, battered figure of Brandt De Vos, convicted murderer and cage-fighting champion.
Outside, Helena kept as far away from him as possible, although she was painfully aware of his every move. She felt stunned, as if she’d been given a jolt along with De Vos. Events rushed by—had De Vos hurled a thief to his death? She was too numb to react. Only in the close confines of the sky-cab did she begin to gather her thoughts.
For a long time De Vos sat in silence, looking out at the city skyline, ignoring her. Helena was finding him much harder to ignore. His smell was like a physical thing. It made her dizzy. She glanced at his large hands lying relaxed on his thighs. They were the hands of a man who’d killed another man less than an hour ago.
Unbidden, the image of De Vos naked flashed into Helena’s mind. She gave herself a talking to. Don’t think of that. Control this situation. You have to put up with him for a week. So penetrate his shell of silence. Assert your authority.
“Why are you scheduled for execution, De Vos?”
She was surprised at his reaction. He lifted his head and looked directly at her with disconcerting green eyes, his brow furrowed into a quizzical frown.
“Is this a ploy?”
His deep voice rumbled softly in the small cab of the auto jet, surprising Helena with the clarity of his diction. At least he was no ill-educated thug.
“I mean you know who I am. You’ve manipulated things to get me under your control. Ergo, you must have some ulterior motive for an otherwise stupid question.”
“What on earth are you talking about?” Helena got angry. “I haven’t manipulated anything. I don’t wish to be alone with you. In fact, if you recall, I tried to get them to give you to someone else.”
“You’re good. If I didn’t know better I’d almost suspect you of telling the truth.”
“Goddammit you ignorant thug, one more insult and I’ll stun you from here to kingdom come! I am telling the truth. I don’t know why you’re going to be executed, and I don’t actually fucking care. They can terminate your stinking carcass tonight if they want.”
Helena sat back in her seat, pale with fury.
De Vos stared at her for a long time, and then something truly surprising happened. He smiled. It was a beautiful smile that reminded Helena of the sun breaking over a tropical horizon. The smile broadened until she could see his perfect white teeth. Then he began to laugh, a deep, melodious laugh that filled the cab. She felt mocked and she didn’t like the feeling.
“Stop it!” she shouted. “Stop laughing at me. What’s so funny?”
“You really don’t know who I am, do you, Chief Sociologist Helena Jewel.”
Helena was taken aback.
“How do you know who I am?”
“How could I not know?” he replied, still chuckling. “I’m the man who got you your job.”
“What on earth are you talking about? Stop speaking in riddles and answer me properly!”