They took turns going through the customs booths. While one was processed the other two stood guard. When all three had been cleared, they left the terminal and jumped on a shuttle bus. As it neared Pegasus, McCade's spirits began to soar. "We made it, by God!" For some reason the assassins had left them alone, and soon they'd be safely off-planet.
Then as quickly as they'd gone up, his spirits came tumbling down. "Looks like trouble up ahead, Sam," Phil said tensely. "There's about twenty marines waiting by the ship." McCade wished he had Phil's enhanced vision. Without it the marines looked like little dots.
"Marines?" McCade wondered aloud. What the hell were marines doing here? Could they be assassins disguised as marines? No, that was expressly forbidden by law. But it didn't bode well. Marines meant the government, which in turn meant Claudia, and all things considered, he'd rather deal with the assassins. At least you could shoot at them.
As the bus began to slow, they looked at each other and shrugged. "We'll have to play it by ear, gentlemen," McCade said.
"Somebody already played with his ear," Rico commented, inclining his head toward the marines. Rico was referring to the marine major who stood facing the shuttle, his back ramrod straight, a leather-covered swagger stick tapping one leg. Where his left ear should have been, there was only scar tissue. His bullet-shaped head was shaved in the style of the elite Star Guard, and his features seemed made of stone. A real hard ass. McCade knew the type and didn't like them.
"Citizen Sam McCade?" The authority in the Major's voice evoked the many years McCade had spent in uniform, and he almost replied with a conditioned "Yes, sir!" Instead he took his time, looking the Major over, as though examining a strange species of alien insect under the microscope. A scarlet flush started at the Major's stiff collar and worked its way up across his face. Finally, just when it appeared the Major might explode, McCade said, "I'm Sam McCade. Nice of you to drop in. Are you here to help with the luggage?"
By now a vein throbbed in the Major's forehead, and only his iron will, wedded to thirty-two years of disciplined service, was keeping McCade alive. The Major's eyes narrowed as Phil and Rico drifted off to each side. Three targets instead of one. They'd take on twenty marines by God! If only his orders allowed, but there was no point in wishing, best to just swallow his pride and get it over with. "Citizen McCade," he said formally, "I am Major Tellor. It is my honor to convey a message from the Imperial household. You and your companions are hereby invited to attend the finals of the 3-D games as guests of her royal highness, Princess Claudia. We are your escort."
McCade eyed the front rank of marines. They had a choice. Take on the marines, or accept the so-called "invitation." And McCade didn't like orders. But taking on the marines looked like a major project. Each held his energy weapon at port arms. Within a second they could bring them up and fire. And these were not recruits. They were hand-picked veterans. The choice was really no choice at all. "Well, Major," McCade replied lightly, "this is an honor. We'd love to come. Right, men?"
"Wouldn't miss it for the world," Rico replied with mock gravity.
"Charmed, I'm sure," Phil added in a bass growl.
McCade thought he saw a flash of disappointment in the Major's eyes as he murmured an order into his wrist com. Moments later, three helicopter gunships clattered in out of the sun and blew dust in every direction as they touched down. Climbing aboard the nearest chopper, McCade knew he'd made the right decision. Even if they'd managed to take out the marines, the gunships would have arrived a few seconds later and cut them to shreds. At least they still had their weapons and therefore a chance, however small.
It took about an hour to reach the Imperial Coliseum. McCade tried to use the time constructively by imagining what Claudia might say and how he'd respond. He quickly bogged down in all the possibilities and decided to watch the scenery instead. As they approached the coliseum McCade remembered that the ancient city of Detroit had been completely leveled to make room for it. First came the miles of green fields and forest which served as a buffer between the coliseum and the surrounding suburbs. Then came the vast parking lots filled with ground cars, aircars, hover cars, and more. They sparkled and glittered in the morning sun.
Then came the coliseum itself. It had been excavated rather than built. Layer after layer of earth had been carved away to create broad terraces, each cascading downward to the next, until finally reaching the flat playing field hundreds of feet below. Each terrace had been carpeted with variant green grass so tough it could compete with the strongest synthetic carpeting. Then the terraces had been divided into sections. Patrons could choose the type of seating they preferred. There were large sections of comfortable seats, complete with built-in holo tanks, on which they could watch the action below. Or, they could lounge about in the open grassy areas, appropriate for picnics or sunbathing. Tastefully placed clumps of trees offered shade and pleased the eye. Gone was the duracrete ugliness of most arenas. The whole thing was more like a park than a coliseum. Each terrace also offered a variety of restaurants and snack bars to serve the multitude of people who packed the place. People were everywhere. Their clothing created a multicolored moving mosaic that shifted endlessly over the green grass. McCade estimated there were at least a million people in the coliseum, and room for more.
At the very center of the coliseum stood a tower as tall as the arena itself. In spite of its location, the tower's slim profile blocked very little of the playing field. It too was terraced, offered a variety of seating choices, and a number of open-air restaurants. But there was more. This was the province of the rich and powerful. Streams and waterfalls cascaded down the sides of the tower, to feed countless swimming pools, and eventually fill the moat below. Miniature villas dotted its sides, each a small mansion in itself, each the private preserve of a wealthy individual or family.
Above, the climate-controlled blue sky promised only the best of weather, and below, the miles and miles of now-empty playing surface promised moments of excitement in otherwise dull and pampered lives. As their chopper lost altitude, McCade wondered what sort of games were popular these days.
McCade put those thoughts aside. Claudia was waiting somewhere below, and he wasn't looking forward to meeting her.
The chopper landed with a gentle thump, and they were quickly herded into some sort of a lift tube. The platform dropped quickly before coming to an abrupt stop. From the tube's banged-up interior, McCade got the impression it was normally used for freight. A subtle insult by Major Tellor? Probably.
They were led off the platform, and through a bewildering maze of halls and corridors. When they finally emerged into sunlight once more, they were standing on a narrow terrace, with an incredible view of the surrounding coliseum. However, the quality of the view suddenly deteriorated as Major Tellor stepped into it. His expression was anything but pleasant. Glancing around to make sure no one was listening, he spoke in tones pitched so low, they couldn't be heard even a few feet away.
"Now, you three clowns listen, and listen good. You're about to have an audience with Princess Claudia. For some reason she insists you be allowed to keep your weapons. I recommended against it, and was overruled. I don't like to be overruled, so I'm pissed. And when I'm pissed, I like to hurt people. I'd like to hurt you. So I'm going to watch everything you do . . . and if one of you even brushes a weapon with his hand . . . he's dead meat. Maybe one of you will give me an excuse—and please, God—let it be you." The Major drove the last word home by stabbing a stiffened index finger into McCade's chest. Because McCade was wearing body armor under his clothes he didn't feel it. He looked down at the Major's finger and then up into his eyes. Slowly he smiled his most insulting smile.
"Yes, mommy, we promise to be good. Now get lost."
For a moment Phil thought McCade had pushed the Major too far. Murder blazed in his eyes. With a major effort, Tellor managed to bring his anger under control, and take a step backward. "You've been warned, scum." With that he execut
ed a perfect about-face, and disappeared to their left. No sooner was the marine gone than a beautiful woman appeared. At first McCade couldn't quite place her. Then she smiled, and he realized it was Lady Linnea Forbes-Smith. She looked different with her clothes on.
In fact she was like another person, cold, distant, and imperial. As she introduced herself, she allowed no flicker of recognition to touch her features, and when she asked them to follow, it was more an order than a request. She led them toward the far end of the terrace, where McCade saw a single glass-topped table, and two chairs. One was already occupied by a young woman, who could be none other than Princess Claudia. He wasn't sure, because her face was shaded by a large disk of brightly colored fabric which hovered above her. He assumed it was kept there by some sort of anti-grav device.
They were still fifteen feet away from Claudia's table when Lady Linnea paused, and skillfully guided Rico and Phil into waiting chairs. Apparently the princess wanted to speak privately with McCade. Rico and Phil were more than a little relieved. Neither wanted to sit down and make polite conversation with Claudia. "Try not to do anything crude, Sam," Phil cautioned airily. "Rico and I have our reputations to consider."
"I'll keep your reputations in mind throughout," McCade promised dryly.
"The princess will see you now, Citizen McCade," Lady Linnea said tactfully.
"I think she means you should get your butt in gear," Rico suggested as he lit a cigar.
Linnea smiled in spite of herself, and said, "We shouldn't keep the princess waiting."
McCade nodded, and as he turned to go, he would've sworn he heard her whisper, "Good luck, Sam!" but couldn't be sure. As he approached Claudia's table, he was surprised to see how young she was. Thirty at the most. Somehow he'd thought of her as older than that. She had hard blue eyes, a long straight nose, thin lips, and shoulder-length blond hair. Her clothes were fashionable, but cut with almost military severity, and seemed too big for her thin body. She was playing with a silver stylus. He noticed that her nails were clipped short and blunt and her fingers were heavily stained by some sort of chemicals. Later he learned her hobby was experimental hydroponics. A little something she'd picked up in the navy.
She looked up at his approach, her eyes quickly taking him apart, and putting him back together. Having found no surprises, she smiled slowly and said, "Have a seat, Citizen McCade. You may address me as Princess, or Your Highness, whichever you choose. Based on your computer profile, I suspect you'll find 'Princess' to be more comfortable. It allows one the semblance of equality . . . and I sense that's important to you. After all, you've always had trouble dealing with authority, haven't you?"
McCade couldn't help but admire her style. In seconds she'd managed to take complete control of the situation, remind him of her powerful position, and put him on the defensive. He forced a smile as he sat down. "You're quite right, Princess. But perhaps my distaste for authority is something we have in common. For example . . . it's my understanding that your father chose your brother to rule the Empire . . . yet you're trying to take the throne. Aren't you acting against your father's wishes?"
Claudia's eyes narrowed momentarily. She wasn't accustomed to open criticism, and didn't like it. Nonetheless there was an opportunity here, and like her father she was a pragmatist, so she suppressed her anger. "You have a quick tongue," Claudia said dryly, pointing the stylus at him like a spear. "However I admire directness. It's one of the many military virtues." She paused, leaning forward slightly. "So, by all means . . . let's be direct."
As she locked her eyes with his, and focused the raw power of her iron will on him, McCade felt an almost physical impact. "You're right. I do intend to take the throne." As she spoke she jabbed the stylus into the air in front of her to emphasize her words. "First, because I'm best qualified; second, because I'm convinced my brother is dead; and third, because I want to, and there's nobody strong enough to stop me."
She leaned back as though giving McCade time to absorb what she'd said. When she continued her voice was calm, almost reflective. "Even though I believe my brother is dead, there's always the chance I'm wrong. And it's a chance I don't plan to take. That's the bad news for idiots like yourself who want my brother on the throne." She smiled humorlessly and said, "However, here's the good news. You don't have to die. In fact, I'm the reason you aren't dead already. Haven't you wondered why the assassins didn't attack? Because I ordered them not to, that's why. And I can cancel that level-three license altogether. Then you could even earn that bounty you're after. In fact," she added, leaning forward eagerly, "I'll add fifty thousand credits to whatever they've offered you."
"That's a lot to pay for not finding someone," McCade said evenly.
Claudia laughed. "You misunderstand me. If my brother's alive I do want him found. Better now than later." She paused for a moment, tapping the stylus against the palm of her left hand. "Yes, if he's alive, I want you to find him, and then I want you to kill him."
A chill ran down McCade's spine, and he sat speechless. He'd expected her to be hard, but not cold-blooded. Maybe the Emperor had known what he was doing after all. Whatever Alexander was like, he couldn't be as bad as his sister. She was waiting, so he tried to come up with a reply, but was saved by the resonant male voice which suddenly filled the coliseum. "Ladies and gentlemen, citizens of the Empire, fellow sentients of all races, welcome to the finals of Three-Dimensional Combat. Today's games are brought to you by Princess Claudia."
Right on cue, a boxy-looking robocam floated silently up and over the edge of the terrace, zoomed in on the princess, and flashed her picture to the thousands of holo tanks located throughout the arena. She smiled and waved. A roar of approval filled the coliseum. McCade was suddenly reminded of what he'd heard about the ancient Roman emperors. They too had traded games for public approval.
Then the camera was gone, and the announcer's voice flooded in over the applause. His voice had taken on a decidedly somber tone. "After months of bloody combat . . . only two of the original thirty-two teams remain. Many have died, or suffered permanent disfigurement for the sake of our entertainment. Others have fought valiantly but lost . . . and now dwell on some distant prison planet. I ask you, one and all, for a moment of silence, during which we can pay our respects to those who have fallen, or lost everything but their lives." His voice echoed away into stillness as the moment of silence began. McCade noticed Claudia was using the stylus to beat out an impatient rhythm on the edge of the table. The clicking sound seemed amplified by the surrounding silence.
Then the announcer was back, cheerful now, as he warmed up the audience for the coming events. "Now, ladies and gentlemen, fellow citizens and sentients, prepare yourselves for the unbelievable spectacle of the 3-D finals, as our skilled warrior teams take their respective positions. At the north end of the coliseum . . . it is my honor to introduce the Green Rippers!"
A tremendous cheer went up, as a forest of green lasers flashed, pulsed, and rippled across the north end of the playing field. Loud pulsating background music filled the air, its heavy bass beat throbbing and ominous, quickly building toward a climax of sound. As the climax came, so did a brilliant flash of green light, which slowly faded from McCade's retinas to reveal the Green Rippers. There were nine altogether. Each was dressed from head to toe in green. Three wore light armor and anti-grav belts which allowed them to hover in midair. Below them were three more, dressed in heavy-duty body armor suitable for fighting on the ground. They sat on three-wheeled vehicles. Rocket launchers had been mounted right in front of the drivers. The last three members of the team wore medium-weight armor and jump paks. McCade quickly realized they would make or break their teams. Their jump paks would allow them either short hops in the air, or sustained ground combat, whichever they chose. So being the most versatile players, they would be the most critical.
As the applause died down, the announcer came on once again. "And entering the south end of the coliseum—still undefeated after weeks
of grueling combat—are the Red Zombies!" There was a flash and the quick crack of an explosion. Red smoke filled the south end of the stadium. An eerie whine filled the coliseum, steady at first, and then pulsating. The smoke pulsed too, glowing now as though invested with a life of its own, so that when the Zombies emerged, it seemed as though they'd stepped out of hell itself.
Once again, the crowd went wild. Only this time the cheering was even louder. Apparently the Zombies were favored to win. McCade noted with interest that Princess Claudia applauded enthusiastically with the rest as the red-suited team took up their positions. Like the Rippers, they had an air squad, a ground squad, and three jumpers. McCade noted with professional interest that the Green Rippers' weapons were anything but uniform. Apparently each warrior was free to choose whatever weapons they thought best. A glance at the Zombies confirmed his theory. They too were armed with a bewildering array of weapons, including at least one ancient battle axe.
McCade glanced at Claudia, but she seemed intent on the upcoming contest, so he turned his attention in that direction as well. A member of the Rippers' ground squad stepped forward with raised hand. The crowd quieted and, in marked contrast to her warlike image, the woman's voice had a melodious quality, hinting at a less violent past. McCade wondered what she looked like. But whatever her face might reveal was hidden by the reflective visor covering her face. When she spoke, there was pride and determination in her voice. "Ladies and gentlemen, citizens of the Empire, fellow sentients, the Green Rippers salute you. Let victory be ours!" Then she stepped back between the other two members of the ground squad and mounted her vehicle as the crowd roared its approval. McCade found himself gripping the arm of his chair so tightly his knuckles were white. He wanted her to win.
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