Revolution

by Shawn Davis

  “Gladiators, prepare for battle,” the echoing voice of the announcer blasted through the arena. A short pause ensued, and then, “Commence fighting!”

  Rayne watched from a distance of fifty yards as the two silhouettes converged on each other. The silhouette on the right, Reynolds, was big, but he still looked like a pee-wee compared to his massive opponent. Again, the fight looked like it was going to be one-sided.

  Rayne watched Reynolds make the first move against the enormous gladiator, coming straight at him swinging his sword. Crawford was surprisingly agile for such a huge, apparently muscle-bound man. He blocked the attack with a classic parry of his Roman short sword. The clang of steel resounded across the arena as the weapons struck, shooting sparks.

  Crawford then launched an offensive, beating back his opponent with a flurry of vicious sword strikes. Reynolds was able to parry the blows, but he was clearly being forced backwards. Thunderous cheering erupted from the stands.

  Peter suddenly felt sick as he watched the two men swinging wildly at each other. The clanging of the swords made him want to throw up. Clutching his stomach, he turned away from the bars. In the aftermath of his adrenaline rush, the horror of what he had done to his opponent caught up to him. Now that he had a moment to reflect, he thought that his opponent might not have been a real criminal.

  After all, my friend, Henry Johnson, wasn’t a real criminal. I’m not a real criminal. For all I know, the guy I killed was also a member of Campion’s underground organization.

  Rayne’s mind switched to a different track.

  That muscular guy fighting in the arena can’t be Sinbad. My former Floor Supervisor must have been transferred to another section of the warehouse after receiving his DP’s. I only assigned him two DP’s. You need to get ten DP’s to be sent to one of those Work Prisons, and Sinbad had an impeccable record before that. How could he have possibly ended up here? My overstressed brain must be imagining it.

  Peter went to the far corner of the cell and vomited. He felt wretched as he lost what was left of his last meal. Trudging over to the opposite wall, he sat next to his quiet cellmate.

  “Are you some kind of terrorist?” his cellmate asked him.

  “What?”

  “I said, are you some kind of terrorist? Only terrorists know how to fight like you,” the bearded man said, sneering at him.

  “Yeah, actually I am. You got a problem with that?” Rayne growled, staring the man down.

  “No, not at all,” the bearded man said, changing his attitude as he noticed a maniacal expression on Peter’s face.

  Peter stood and moved several feet away.

  The last thing I need right now is an argument. I need to rest before my next fight.

  Peter closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall, trying to clear his mind. It wasn’t easy. Thoughts of his failed mission kept running through his brain like a skipping record. He imagined Campion glaring at him from behind her office desk at the rebel’s headquarters. The many atrocities he had witnessed in the past few months flowed consecutively through his mind like a non-stop horror movie.

  I have to clear my mind, Peter thought, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to think of something positive. Maybe I can actually win this gladiator contest. Maybe I can win this thing and they’ll let me go. After all, they don’t know I’m part of the rebel underground. They think I was just an ordinary tourist in the “wrong place at the wrong time.” Maybe I can start a new life after winning this game and receiving the ten million-dollar prize money. I can forget all about the rebellion and everything that’s been going on in my life. I can start over, start new.

  Who am I kidding? If I make it out of this alive, the first place I’m going is back to Hovercrafts International to get another mission. It’s in my blood now. I don’t want to lose. I don’t want to give up. We’re right and they’re wrong. It’s as simple as that. We have the moral high ground. We deserve to win.

  Rayne kept repeating the phrase over and over as he began drifting off to sleep. We deserve to win, we deserve to win, we deserve to win, we deserve to win, we deserve to…….. his mind faded to oblivion. He sought out and found the only possible escape. Peter didn’t know how long he slept before he heard a loud shout interrupting his tranquility.

  “Wake up, grunt!” a metallic-tinged voice roared at him.

  Rayne opened his eyes to see a blue-armored Shock Trooper standing over him.

  “You’re up next. Get up,” the Trooper commanded through his metallic voice filter.

  “Okay, no problem, officer,” Rayne said, standing and grinning into the Trooper’s reflective black faceplate.

  The Trooper handed him a shield and a sword.

  “Thanks, asshole,” Rayne said, snatching the weapon and shield from the guard’s armored hands. He turned on his heel and left the cage for the arena before the guard could respond.

  Taking one step onto the field, he was greeted by the thunderous cheers of the holographic spectators. Rayne nodded to the fake audience, saluting them with his sword as he walked toward the center of the arena. He guessed he must have slept for a while because he felt wide-awake and refreshed.

  I’m ready for action. There’s nothing more invigorating than a good power nap.

  Rayne grinned darkly as he strode across the field. He stopped when he reached the makeshift circle in the center and looked around for his opponent. His eyes locked onto a familiar-looking Herculean silhouette standing in a cage below and to the left of the emperor’s box. A cold chill prickled up the short hairs on the back of his neck.

  Rayne couldn’t suppress a horrified shudder when he recognized the massive form stepping out of the cage. There was no mistaking the muscular giant stalking toward the battle circle. It was Sinbad, his former Floor Supervisor from the Breechlere Corporation. Inexplicably, he found himself facing his old nemesis.

  How did he end up here? Peter wondered, amazed. That can’t be him. But somehow, it is.

  Rayne gripped his sword hilt tighter, lifting his shield in front of his chest. He watched Sinbad lift his sword in a defensive posture as he approached the battle circle.

  Suddenly, a look of recognition flooded Sinbad’s stern features.

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” he growled in a deep voice as white-hot fury glinted in his single eye. “Peter Rayne, as I live and breathe. Today must be my lucky day. If my eye isn’t deceiving me, then this is what is known in literary circles as Poetic Justice,” Sinbad grinned and tensed up his enormous shoulder, arm, and pectoral muscles. “Rayne, ever since they threw me in jail for telling them you were a spy, I’ve been praying for this moment to come. Every hour in my cell I prayed to God to stand face-to-face with my tormentor. Apparently, my prayers have finally been answered.”

  “Sinbad, what the hell are you doing here?” Rayne asked.

  “Funny question, Rayne, since you’re the one who put me here. I’m going to enjoy this,” Sinbad’s grin widened as he tightened his grip on his sword hilt.

  “Sinbad, I didn’t have anything to do-”

  “Shut up, pipsqueak. I’m going to carve you limb from limb,” Sinbad said, glaring at Peter furiously with his one good eye.

  Here we go. Round two. Let the games begin.

  “Gladiators, prepare for battle,” the loudspeaker voice announced, allowing for a dramatic pause. “Commence fighting!”

  Rayne’s former Floor Supervisor stalked forward like an advancing lion, keeping his center of gravity low. Peter went out to meet him, doing the same.

  Sinbad must have seen what I did to my previous opponent because he’s holding back cautiously, waiting for me to make the first move.

  Rayne suddenly became angry.

  I’m not the one who put him here! I don’t know how he got here and how I ended up facing him, but I didn’t put him here. I have to take him down. I have no choice. It’s him or me.

  Rayne launched a vicious thrust to Sinbad’s abdomen. Sinbad blocked it with his shi
eld and swung his sword at Rayne in a sideways arc. Rayne recovered from his lunge and used his sword to block Sinbad’s swing. Sparks flew as the swords collided. The crowd went wild. Sinbad launched another sideways attack - parried by Rayne’s sword.

  Rayne swung and was parried by Sinbad’s shield. The back and forth began in earnest, with both opponents attacking and defending in his turn. The two gladiators appeared to be equally matched, until Sinbad used his superior strength to push Peter back when their swords locked. Peter stumbled, but quickly recovered. Sinbad came at him with a heavy overhead swing, which Rayne narrowly parried with his sword. Sinbad swung again, forcing Rayne back.

  Rayne was distracted when he heard the stadium announcer’s voice blasting over the loudspeakers.

  “And now for something extra! To motivate our combatants!” the loud voice shouted.

  Rayne was taken off guard by the sudden announcement, leaving himself open to attack. Sinbad capitalized on his weakness by initiating a vicious diagonal slice. Peter was narrowly able to deflect the blow in time, but the tip of Sinbad’s sword caught his left shoulder. Warm blood trickled from the gash in his shoulder. Peter hoped the wound wasn’t as bad as it felt. He resisted the urge to drop his shield and cover the wound with his hand. Instead, he went after Sinbad.

  Rayne launched a whirlwind flurry of sideways, vertical, and lunging blows at Sinbad in an effort to capitalize on his own superior speed and agility. Sinbad was taken aback by Rayne’s quick and aggressive moves, stepping back as he parried with sword and shield.

  Rayne used all his energy to concentrate on his opponent, looking for an opening. Sinbad looked like he was tiring. His motions were slower and more desperate. Rayne was just getting started. He went on the offensive, forcing his opponent back.

  Peter was distracted by a loud grinding sound emanating from the perimeter of the battle circle. Glancing to the side to see what the noise was, he saw a section of dirt slide away to reveal water beneath. The dirt floor around the circle disappeared and was replaced by a moat of water encircling the two contestants. The moat completely surrounded the battle circle, trapping them within its perimeter.

  Sinbad also appeared distracted by the sudden appearance of the moat. There was an abrupt cessation in hostilities as the two antagonists stepped back and observed the circle of water surrounding them.

  Rayne tried to estimate how much space he had behind him to maneuver before he hit the water. He didn’t know how deep the moat was, so he thought it was probably advantageous not to fall into it. He estimated from the curve of the circle of water that he had at least twenty feet to maneuver. Looking past Sinbad, he saw at least fifty feet of dry land.

  Sinbad also appeared to be making mental calculations. His maniacal grin widened. Rayne thought Sinbad was probably imagining pushing him into the moat and skewering him as he plunged into the water. Sinbad lunged at Rayne with a renewed fury.

  Sinbad’s brief rest seemed to have recharged him. He used his superior strength to push Peter back when their swords were locked. Peter had no choice but to retreat toward the water. The Roman short swords clanged together in a flurry of blows, shooting out white-hot sparks. Peter guessed that he was approaching the edge of the moat. A few more steps and he would be in the water.

  I have to act now or I’m finished.

  Rayne stood his ground as Sinbad fired off a barrage of heavy blows to his sword and shield. He brought his right leg back to the edge of the moat and felt water lapping at his heel. He balanced himself on his right leg and twisted his body around to make it look like he was off-balance. At that moment, he knew what he had to do.

  Sinbad seized the opportunity to lunge at him with some heavy blows. Rayne parried and sidestepped, allowing Sinbad room to charge forward. Rayne initiated his ultimate strategy; he moved into Sinbad’s blind spot.

  When Sinbad reached the edge of the water, Rayne launched his attack. He put all his remaining energy into a flurry of blows meant to make Sinbad lose his balance. Sinbad had difficulty seeing his opponent because Rayne kept moving in the direction of his bad eye. Sinbad swung his sword wildly at Peter’s blurry image and teetered at the brink of the water. Rayne went after his shield, smashing it with all his might.

  Sinbad lost his balance and tumbled waist-high into the water. Rayne was contemplating going in after him until he saw something skim across the water’s surface. It looked like a half-submerged green log with sharp ridges along its top, darting across the water toward Sinbad. He decided not to go in the water.

  Sinbad screamed as the green object struck him, clamping massive jaws into his muscular left forearm. He swung his short sword at the crocodile, but the blade only rebounded from the creature’s scaly back. The crocodile launched an offensive, using its jaws to pull Sinbad under the water. It fell on top of him with all its formidable weight, pinning him to the ground beneath the water.

  Peter shuddered when he saw blood soaking the water around the crocodile’s thrashing body. He caught a quick glimpse of a human leg breaking the surface and then the water became red. Glancing to the right and left, he spotted more of the “green logs” shooting like torpedoes toward the bloody turmoil in the water. The crocodiles converged on the scene of the slaughter, fighting each other to get to the remaining bloody scraps.

  Sorry, old friend. It was you or me.

  Rayne turned away from the sickening sight and stumbled toward the center of the battle circle. He was dimly aware of the announcer shouting something over the loudspeakers, but he felt dizzy and weak. When he reached what he estimated to be the center of the circle, farthest away from the encircling waters, he sat down and tossed his sword and shield away. Now that he had a moment to rest, he listened to the stadium loudspeakers

  “- proven himself to be quite a formidable contestant! We look forward to seeing him in the third round!” the loudspeakers announced.

  Rayne heard the familiar metallic grinding sound that presaged the forming of the moat and saw thin metal panels sliding back over the water. He heard the panels clang shut when they struck the edge of the circle.

  He was dimly aware of armored forms converging around him. Looking up, he saw a Roman centurion reaching down to give him a hand up. Peter took the man’s armored-gloved hand and stood. The noise from the stands was almost deafening. He followed the fake Roman guards over to the Imperial Box, repeating his previous salute before bowing low to the ground. The centurions pulled him to his feet when he looked like he wasn’t going to stand back up and dragged him across the field toward his cage. Stumbling along with them, Peter relinquished his sword and shield when they asked for it.

  Rayne found himself back in the familiar cell with his wide-eyed cellmate. He ignored the man’s incredulous stare as he trudged across the floor and sat down, leaning against the concrete wall. Closing his eyes, he tried to imagine he was someplace else. He tried to ignore the annoying grinding noise of the cage bars being lowered over the arena entrance.

  Well, at least I made it to round three. Maybe I can actually win this thing. I wonder who else is left?

  As if in answer to his question, the cage’s iron door rushed open and a Shock Trooper stepped through.

  “Mr. Rayne?” the guard asked through his metallic voice filter.

  “That’s me,” Rayne replied, wondering what this guard’s sudden appearance meant.

  “Come with me,” the guard commanded.

  Rayne didn’t reply, but he stood reluctantly and walked over to the guard.

  “Walk,” the guard said, pointing down the jail corridor.

  Rayne did as he was told. He walked forward. The guard fell into step behind him as they moved down the hallway.

  “Go right,” the guard instructed as they arrived at a four-way intersection. Rayne took a right. They traveled down a long, narrow corridor with no apparent end in sight.

  Where are they taking me now?

  Rayne couldn’t figure out how the sudden appearance of the guard figu
red into the game show.

  I’ve made it to round three, haven’t I? Surely, the next round didn’t start this fast. I haven’t even recovered from my last fight yet.

  “Take this next left,” the guard said as they traveled down the corridor.

  “Sure, no problem,” Peter said. The fact that he couldn’t see the Trooper behind him, but could hear his heavy boots striking the floor, was making him uneasy.

  Where are they taking me? Have I won a special prize for being a good fighter? Are they going to interview me on national television? Maybe ask me about my fighting techniques?

  “Take a right here,” the guard said.

  Rayne took a right. They walked down a short corridor until they reached an elevator.

  “Get in,” the guard commanded.

  Peter stepped in the elevator without comment. The guard motioned for him to stand on one side, while he stood on the other next to the control panel. Peter guessed the guard was taking him to the announcer’s box to be interviewed for national television. He didn’t mind the prospect. The idea of a computer nerd like him becoming famous because of his battle skills appealed to his sense of irony.

  I’ll bet their ratings go up after the show I gave them. That last fight couldn’t have been any more dramatic.

  Chapter 27

  The Alias

  The guard pressed a button for an unknown floor and the elevator ascended. Rayne was surprised when the guard reached up and lifted off his helmet. He held the helmet by his side like a relaxed motorcycle rider. Peter found it hard to believe that the guard actually looked like a normal human being; he was in his mid-twenties, had short blond hair, a moderate tan, and clear blue eyes.

  “Listen to me very carefully,” the guard said, glaring at him. “We are traveling up to the ninety-eighth floor of the Frump Presidential Tower in New Washington. You must follow my lead and do exactly as I say.”

  Rayne’s eyes widened with surprise.