“Huh?” I say, trying to sit up, despite his warning.
“I said, stay still,” he repeats, this time in a hard voice that makes me freeze.
I blink and watch him, his hand hovering in front of my face. Gaunt, long, bony fingers. There’s a gold ring on one of them. I notice it just as he moves his palm over my face. There is something odd about his movements, as though he wants me to see it, to look at the ring.
What?
I blink, and then I glance at the gold band, and twisted away, the small round seal that’s a part of the band. It’s turned around so that the seal is facing down, same direction as the palm, and furthermore there’s a small locket-hinge that’s open, pointing down also. He moves his hand slowly over my face again, and this time the faint light catches the gold inside the hinged compartment, and I see a tiny etching there, gold against an ebony background.
It’s in the shape of a familiar mask.
Oh my God . . . I think, it’s the same mask used by the Rim! Could it be, Hedj Kukkait is with the Rim? Who are they? And what does it make him? Enemy or secret ally?
He must see the confounded expression on my face, and the fact that I finally see what he’s been showing me.
“Are you—are you with—”
“Yes,” he interrupts me before I name the rebel group, and this time his hand is gone, back at his side, the seal locket shut away against his palm. It occurs to me, he must be very careful to keep this ring with its incriminating mask-seal away from the nano-cameras. Even now, just showing me what’s inside that hidden compartment, he took a big risk. . . .
“You need to rest,” he says. “Apologies for hitting you this hard, but it was necessary to get you out of there.”
“Okay,” I whisper, while my thoughts race to match the pounding in my temples, evaluating the changed nature of my situation.
“You are safe, My Imperial Lady Gwen Lark,” he says, to reassure me again. “You have my word.”
His face does not change expression, and his eyes do not warm up.
But for the first time in days I feel a profound relief. And I believe him.
I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and fall into a hazy sleep.
The next time I wake up, it must be hours later, because the lovely acapella sounds of the Games choir rise over the stadium, singing the hymn that indicates the end of thirteenth hour and the beginning of Midnight Ghost Time.
I move and open my eyes, and feel the same dull headache as before. At once I see Hedj Kukkait, sitting cross-legged with his back to the wall, watching the surveillance screens casually, while he cleans and sharpens one of his long jagged sword blades. No one else is in the shelter with us.
“Water?” I say, barely cracking my lips from dehydration. My mouth feels like cotton.
Hedj looks at me, and nods, then gets up immediately and brings me a water flask.
I sit up with some difficulty, groggy and ill, and he raises the flask to my face. “Drink,” he says in a commanding voice.
I take a tentative sip.
“Again.”
I take another, then gulp several more.
He watches me seriously, and then, as I pause drinking, nods again to indicate I drink more.
“Are you sure?” I say.
He merely watches me with his unblinking bird eyes.
I finish drinking the whole flask. Stupidly I wonder how many water ration points he’s just lost by giving me all that water. . . . But no, wait, I’m confused—you don’t lose points for freely sharing your water, only for taking what’s not yours in the first place. So, if he gave it to me, then he doesn’t get penalized, and neither do I. All right, enough nonsense thoughts, Gwen, you dehydrated idiot. . . .
“Now, feel free to rest,” he says, taking the empty flask and returning to the surveillance wall. “No one will harm you for as long as I am here.”
“Okay,” I say, watching his back and the fall of his white hair. “What happened to my teammates? The ones who were with me when you attacked?”
“One dead, the other—I don’t know. Probably dead also. My team was left behind to clean up.”
I gulp. “By clean up you mean—”
Hedj barely turns his head so I see the lean hawk profile. “You ask too many questions. Enough, rest.”
I nod and sit back against the wall, adjusting my equipment bag. “One last thing. . . . Thanks for helping me. I really appreciate it. I don’t have too many friends in these Games.”
This time he turns around all the way. “You’re mistaken. I am not your friend. But I have given my word to keep you safe, tonight and all of tomorrow. I intend to keep it.”
And that’s the end of our conversation.
I wake up on day four, the last day of Stage One, and to my amazement, the Safe Base is neither being demolished, nor are we under imminent attack. Instead, I feel much better rested, and my level of dehydration is no longer critical, but just a dull general ache. Drinking that whole water flask the night before had really helped.
I see that during the night, three of Hedj’s teammates have arrived, two women in Technician Blue and Animal Handler Green, and a man in Athlete Red.
The Animal Handler is watching the surveillance screens, while the others, and Hedj himself, are sleeping in bundles on the floor, lining the wall perimeter.
As soon as I stir, the Animal Handler glances at me, but pays no other attention. She’s a pretty younger woman with river-red clay skin and vibrant green eyes that I find unusual in a human. Indeed, I’ve seen that iris color before, but in an Earth reptile. . . .
I get up and, again, there’s only a spare glance for me from the bright green eyes, as I make my way to the toilet hole, wrap myself in a privacy blanket and use the facilities. When I close the sewer hatch and return to my spot, the others are awake too.
“Nefero eos,” the female Technician tells me in a surprisingly civilized voice. She is tall and large, with pink-white skin, shoulder-length gilded hair and brown eyes. The male Athlete nods also. He’s a big dark-skinned man with a super-muscled physique of a bodybuilder. His demeanor is businesslike, without any hostility.
Immediately I get the sense that I’m in a different kind of group.
While Deneb Gratu’s team seemed to be predominantly bullies and thugs, Hedj Kukkait’s team is mostly calm professionals. No one is posturing, no one is trying to intimidate.
However, I don’t make the mistake of assuming that anyone here is any less dangerous.
The next few hours are surprisingly free of any major events. Hedj and his team’s plan of action for this last day of Stage One of the Games seems to be rather conservative.
“We’ll stay inside and wait it out,” Hedj says to us. “No need to waste energy and resources hunting for Gratu and the Red Grail. We all have sufficient points to end this stage with a good score.”
“Agreed,” the bodybuilder Athlete says.
And so the team takes turns watching the screens, and occasionally they leave the Safe Base to retrieve rations or range the perimeter of our structures. I find it rather fearless of them, and somewhat unnecessary, until I’m told that a few of the surveillance cameras directly outside the Safe Base are damaged, so that there are missing corner views and gaps in our general ability to see our surroundings. Good thing there’s almost no one out there in the open at this point, and only occasional sounds of gun battle. Smart and sensible Contenders are doing the same thing we’re doing—hiding or staying in a safe place.
So Hedj Kukkait’s people go outside and quickly come back, all throughout the morning and the afternoon. There are a few gunfire exchanges in the clearing below, but no major attempts to storm the Safe Base defenses. Twice, the Games announcement system signals Hot Zone changes, but it doesn’t seem to affect our immediate vicinity.
Hedj himself remains inside, and periodically glances in my direction, saying nothing. He makes sure that I get water and some rations each time the group eats. As for the ot
hers, they treat me with basic courtesy, but do not engage me in much conversation. I assume they’ve been told I’m under his protection, but have they been given the reason why? Are they with the Rim also?
“Only eight more hours left,” the woman Technician says as the afternoon grows to a close. “And then Stage One is over! We just need to survive until the end of thirteenth hour!”
“Easy, if we don’t leave this comfy hole,” the Animal Handler says with a slight smile that does not quite reach her unusual green eyes.
“Not everyone seems to share this opinion,” the Athlete says, as he watches a view of a distant section of the arena where several prominent Contenders have decided to have a hand-to-hand combat showdown after all, near the water-filled moat that delimits the boundary of the Game Zone. The stadium crowds are egging them on with chants of “U-jas-te! U-jas-te!” and “Tha-las-sa! Tha-las-sa!”
Apparently, Tiamat “Thalassa” Irtiu is trying to make up for yesterday’s loss of the Red Grail and Deneb’s Safe Base with sheer numbers of kills.
Soon it gets ugly and gruesome, and I look away.
Just a few hours, I think. Just as few more awful hours. Could it be, I’ll actually survive this thing?
I move my hand over my chest where Aeson’s black armband rests in a hidden pocket, millimeters away from my skin. And for the first time in days, a dark layer of depression and fog lifts somewhat, letting in a ray of personal hope.
And I realize something, allow myself to realize: I’ve been without hope for so long now that I don’t know how to handle it.
Chapter 53
The realization is weird and powerful—for days and days, indeed, all of this past month and longer—I’ve been dead and numb inside. I stopped believing in myself, in anything that mattered. The grim knowledge of the big picture has been leaching me of initiative. . . .
All my actions have been on auto-pilot, and even now, here in the Games, I am locked in that weird, narrow, moment-to-moment survival mode. On the other hand, maybe it’s why I’m still alive?
If I am honest with myself, the only thing keeping me going has been the need to keep Aeson from experiencing heartbreak.
I’ve never believed I’d get this far in the Games.
But now, something inside me is awakening again, something.
With a sense of relief, of wonder, I think these thoughts, think of Aeson, my family and friends, as I while away the weirdly dull hours. . . . Dull is good! Thank God for dull!
And then just like that, “dull” is over.
Hedj is the first to notice the strange chemical smell in the room. It’s early evening, the beginning of teal twilight, when the arena lights haven’t been turned on yet, and the sun is still sinking.
He raises his head and pauses whatever he’s doing with his equipment bag. “Can you smell that? Something’s wrong with the air.”
Immediately we pay attention. There is a thick cloying smell that’s rising from the floor, and it’s not coming from the threshold of the doorway.
We get up to investigate.
“Right here!” The Athlete points to the corner with the sewer line.
There, we see fine grey wisps of soot vapor rising from the floor. It seems to be coming directly from the closed hatch of the sewer drain.
“This is strange,” the Animal Handler says. “The hatch is closed and the seal looks tight.”
The Technician and I both approach to look closer. As we do, we both begin coughing from the noxious fumes.
“Oh no, this is bad!” the Animal Handler says, backing away from the corner, unlike the rest of us. “I know that smell, it’s poison gas released through burning of dried xavu moss!”
Hedj watches the curling vapor. The expression on his gaunt face is unusually grim. “Yes, I recognize it also. What I want to know is, where is it coming from?”
The Technician and I try not to breathe, as we lean in to examine. My eyes begin tearing immediately. I blink repeatedly, but it doesn’t help.
I lean down and put my hand on the handle of the hatch.
“Stop!” the Technician says. “It might be worse if you open it!”
But I shake my head and raise the hatch anyway, revealing the sewer hole. As soon as I do that, the smell of noxious poison is reduced immediately, and is replaced by a normal sewer smell, a whiff of human waste.
“Interesting,” the Technician says. “Okay, close it again.”
I lower the toilet hole cover. The poison smell returns.
“Open, again.”
I lift it up once more.
“All right, keep it open,” the Technician says after a thoughtful pause. “I think I know what’s happening.”
“What?” I say.
“Look at that hatch cover, around the edge,” she says, pointing at a tiny pattern of holes around the border. That is our air vent!”
“So that’s where it is,” I say. “Weird place to have it.”
The Technician nods. “The air vent circles the outside of the sewer pipe. It’s probably a slightly larger duct pipe enclosing it, which allows pressurized air to be pushed here from a distance, parallel to the sewer. See how the cover hatch is wider than the pipe, and its lid is almost too thick, as if it’s made of two vertical sandwiched layers, and the upper layer has holes circling the sides?”
I nod, staring at the raised bulky lid resting against the floor where I’ve set it down next to the open sewer pipe.
“The way it works is, when the hatch is down, the bottom layer portion of the lid is solid and airtight, and it seals the sewer pipe. But the upper section of the lid, has vent holes, and inside there’s hollow space—a flat, hollow chamber with side holes that open into the adjacent air duct, and top holes that connect to the room.”
“Wow, economical design,” I say.
The Technician pauses to point to the donut-shaped area around the sewer opening. “There’s also a mechanical ring guard circling the air duct inside, a kind of spring-loaded plug. It’s sitting flush against the circumference of both the inner sewer pipe and outer vent pipe. Once you lift the lid to use the toilet, this guard ring pops up to floor level, to block the side holes and plug the air vent, blocking all air flow, top and side. When the lid is down, the guard ring is pushed back down again, and the vent is open.”
“Very clever,” Hedj says. “Now we know the location of this air vent. We also know that it’s been compromised.”
“Someone figured out where the air vent duct begins on the outside, and is trying to smoke us out,” the Athlete says.
“If we keep the hatch open, the poison gas should be contained,” I say.
The Technician clicks her tongue worriedly. “Not necessarily. The ring guard might not be sufficiently airtight, and with time, enough poison might leak in here to seriously contaminate this room.”
“So what are the options?” the Animal Handler says. “We open the door to ventilate?”
Hedj shakes his head. “Whoever did this, will be expecting us to open the door. They will be waiting outside for us.”
“Are you saying we can’t leave?” The Technician’s expression shows more anxiety.
Hedj’s face on the other hand is a stone-cold mask of composure. “I am saying we proceed as we please, but expect an attack.”
We pause to digest this information. Meanwhile, whatever noxious fumes initially came through the vent before we plugged it, have spread throughout the room, so the air is unpleasant but generally breathable . . . for the moment.
Hedj returns to the surveillance screens and starts scrolling through the limited views that are available to us. In the dusk, the arena lights are coming on, blooming into being softly. But there are quite a few locations where the shadows are overwhelming. A few figures can be seen moving below, on ground level near our structure.
Hedj turns to look at the Technician. “Knowing what you do now, about the plumbing and air duct system from this end, where do you suspect is the other end of
the ventilation? Ideas?”
“It would have to be accessible from the arena,” she replies. “Most likely on ground level, though it could be on the roof of the base structure that’s holding us up.”
“Should we just follow whoever’s out there and see?” The Athlete folds his beefy arms at his chest in a menacing manner. “I can go out there and take a look.”
“That would be the simplest way,” Hedj says. “Unless the vents are all in a central location, networked together. In which case it might make sense to first check if other Safe Bases around the arena are affected.”
“Oh, I see what you mean!” the Animal Handler exclaims. “Whoever figured out the vents could be smoking out everyone everywhere, all at once, for maximum impact!”
And so we flip around the surveillance views in an attempt to gauge the extent of this attack. Is it just us and our Safe Base, or have others been targeted too?
By now, the artificial stadium lights are fully lit and the arena is clearly visible. However, nothing appears out of the ordinary, so it’s hard to pinpoint the source of our poison gas attack.
“Oh, there’s Thalassa. . . .” The Animal Handler points one annoyed finger, as she coughs, then clears her throat from the noxious air we’re stuck breathing. “I hate that evil bitch and her crew. Her whole attitude is crap. Looks like they’re operating near the Red column in the center. Right there—see all those suspended ducts on the second level of scaffolding? That has to be it, and maybe—wait, are they burning something? Yes!”
We zoom in and stare, and apparently this is indeed the source of our present trouble. Stacks of visible grey smoke rise, filling the clearing in the center of the arena, as Thalassa and several others fan the flames. They’re all wearing gas masks.
I cough also, while the Athlete clears his throat too. Damn this air!
“All right,” Hedj says, as he zooms in on another Safe Base where the door is thrown open and several Contenders hurry outside, coughing. We can’t hear them obviously, but they’re doubled over, and their breathing is obviously compromised. “This is proof enough. A general attack.”
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