In the center of the forest was a clearing some thirty feet in diameter. The audience waited breathlessly for something to appear in it. Behind the holograms, a gate slid open, and a creature was released from its cage. It was reluctant to leave its den and had to be persuaded with blows from hidden electric prods. It lurched forward through the holographic trees, bellowing its rage at the delighted crowds. It burst out into the clearing, and the first clear sight of it stunned the audience into silence. It was twenty-seven feet long from jaws to tail, a huge erect biped with a hell of a lot of lizard in it. It bulged with muscles under its glistening scales, standing rock-steady on two vast legs, with a long barbed tail lashing back and forth behind it. There were four gripping arms high up on its chest to hold prey steady while the great jaws tore at it. The huge wedge-shaped head was mostly mouth, stuffed with jagged teeth. The creature spun round in a circle, moving disturbingly quickly for so large a beast, searching for the audience it could sense but not see. It roared deafeningly and stamped its clawed feet on the disguised sands, and the crowd loved every minute of it. And then the creature froze as it sensed another presence close at hand in the holographic jungle.
It looked back and forth with its circle of eyes, muttering to itself, and the crowd waited with bated breath to see what kind of creature the Arena masters had chosen to stand against such a formidable foe. It took them a while to realize it was already there. The second alien was a great cluster of writhing vegetation some forty feet tall. It seemed to be mostly long creepers of twitching ivy surrounding a bulky central mass. If it had sense organs, it was keeping them to itself, but the central mass of the creature slowly orientated itself on the great lizard. Long strands of creepers shot out like tentacles and fastened on the lizard. It bellowed angrily and tore the creepers like paper, but there were always more, wrapping themselves around the huge lizard like so many enveloping arms. The two aliens struggled together while the crowd went wild with delight and the bookies made a killing. The smart money was on the vegetation, if only because it didn't seem to have any vital points the lizard could attack.
"Aren't they marvelous?" Constance sighed happily. "Don't you just adore aliens? Do you suppose they're intelligent?"
The Wolfe shrugged. "Who cares?"
The lizard had practically disappeared under a crawling blanket of creepers and was being dragged slowly but inexorably toward the central mass of the vegetation. The lizard was still struggling, but its arms were trapped against its chest, its legs were weighed down with ivied chains, and only its lashing tail still had room to move. More creepers lashed out at the wedge-shaped head like flails, and blood flew on the air. The crowd oohed and ahhed.
And then the lizard stopped struggling and lunged forward, its vast muscular legs forcing it deep into the heart of the vegetation. Its head burrowed down past the lashing creepers, and its great jaws fastened like a steel trap on the hard central mass of the plant creature. The vicious teeth sank deep into the leathery carapace, and the lizard settled its weight, raised its head and lifted the whole plant off the ground. The creepers lashed hysterically in every direction, but the lizard ignored them. It shook the plant like a dog shakes a rat, and strands of greenery flew clear to lie twitching on the ground. The lizard's teeth closed remorselessly as the great jaw muscles bulged, and the central carapace of the plant shattered under the pressure. The lizard tore at the exposed heart of the plant creature, and the whirling strands suddenly went limp. The lizard raised its wedge-shaped head and roared its triumph at the holographic sun, and then pulled itself free from the creepers and set about methodically tearing the plant apart, chewing great mouthfuls of the quiescent vegetation.
The crowd cheered and roared in return, even those who'd bet against the lizard. It had been a good fight, and they did so love a winner. The lizard ignored them, intent on its meal. The crowd slowly settled as they realized the handlers hadn't appeared to guide the lizard back to its pen to await its next fight. The Game wasn't over yet. The audience stirred in anticipation as a gate opened and a lone figure walked out into the holographic jungle. It was a man with a sword, walking unhurriedly through the great trees toward the central clearing, and the crowd went quiet for a moment as they recognized Investigator Razor. A slow murmur began on the stands as the crowd weighed up the chances. The lizard was huge and ferocious, a natural born monster of a killing machine, but Razor was an Investigator, after all…
"They can't be serious," said Stephanie. "He's already had his fight for the day. And even if he was fresh and rested, he still wouldn't stand a chance against that monster. It'll tear him apart!"
Jacob smiled at her fondly and patted her arm comfortingly. He hadn't missed the rising excitement in her voice. "If you're going to place a wager, my dear, I strongly suggest you put your money on Razor. Killing aliens used to be his job. The Campbells must have spread around a hell of a lot of money to set this up. Normally the Arena would expect to get twenty or more fights out of a creature like that. It has potential. I wonder who asked for the match originally… the Campbells, for the prestige, and a chance to make a killing with the bookmakers? Or did Razor ask for it to prove he's still the best?"
"I don't care if he is an Investigator," said Daniel. "That lizard's going to chew him up and spit out the pieces. Nothing human could stand against anything that size armed only with a sword."
"Whoever said Razor was human?" said Valentine. "And besides, that isn't just a sword he's carrying."
The crowd quieted down as Razor emerged from the trees and stepped out into the clearing. He stared calmly at the huge lizard, which suddenly lifted its great head from the carcass of the plant creature and sniffed the air loudly. It spat out a half-chewed mass of greenery and spun round quickly, its long barbed tail swinging wide to balance its weight. Its scales gleamed brightly under the crimson sun, and shining teeth showed clearly as the lizard put back its great head and roared out a challenge. Razor lifted his sword as though in acknowledgment, and for the first time the audience clearly saw that it wasn't just a sword. A faint but distinct blue glow surrounded the blade, showing it had a monofilament edge, only a molecule wide. Which meant that particular blade could cut through anything it had a mind to as long as the sword's energy crystal maintained the field that supported the edge. Such swords weren't common. They were extremely expensive, the energy crystal ran out extremely quickly, and most people disdained a monofilament edge as being not really honorable. It was doubtful Razor gave a damn about such niceties. Investigators were a practical breed.
The lizard lowered its head and charged right for Razor. He rose lightly on his toes and ran to meet it. They came together, the great jaws whipping down to snap together where the Investigator had been only a moment before. But at the last moment he'd changed direction and speed with almost impossible grace, and he darted to one side, moving in beside the lizard's left leg. The glowing sword spun round in a flat arc and punched through the lizard's thigh and out again. Blood fountained, and the lizard roared in pain and rage. It spun on Razor, but he was no longer there, and the alien stumbled for a moment as its crippled leg almost collapsed under it. The monofilament edge had cut through skin and muscle in a moment and scored a deep groove in the bone. The lizard's leg still supported it for the moment, but only just.
While the creature was sorting that out, Razor darted in again, and his sword slammed into the lizard's heaving side and out again in a welter of gore. He neatly sidestepped the jetting blood and moved smoothly to stay on the creature's blind side. It stamped awkwardly back and forth, favoring its wounded leg, the head swinging this way and that as it tried to find its tormentor, its great jaws snapping shut again and again like a malevolent steel trap. And then Razor was suddenly right there in front of it, and the huge head swung down, jaws gaping. Razor ran forward, jumped lithely up onto the lizard's good leg and thrust his sword deep into the creature's throat. Blood sprayed his face and chest, and more gushed from the gaping mouth. The In
vestigator ignored it and hacked left and right with two quick, economical sweeps, and the alien's head fell away. The neck had been cut clean through by the monofilament edge.
Razor jumped down from the shuddering leg and backed away to give the lizard room to die. The head lay on its side on the bloody sands. The holographic jungle disappeared, now that the fight was over. The jaws opened and closed a few times slowly, but life had already faded from the puzzled scarlet eyes. The headless body stamped around the sands, blood fountaining from its open neck. Razor avoided it easily. The gripping hands clustered high up on the chest opened and closed spasmodically, as though trying to grasp the enemy that had hurt it. But finally the body realized it was dead, and it collapsed in an ungainly twitching heap. The crowd went mad, but the Investigator was already walking back to the side exit, ignoring their cheers. He hadn't killed the alien for them.
In the Wolfe's private box, there were mixed feelings. Constance squealed with delight, bouncing around on her chair. Jacob laughed and called for more wine. Daniel was sulking. He'd bet heavily on the lizard. Stephanie looked at her father and then at the huge creature lying dead on the sands. And if she made a connection between the two in her mind, she kept it to herself. Valentine took another sniff of his blue powder, and his thoughts were his own, as always.
Handlers appeared in the Arena, slipped antigrav units under the dead lizard, and towed it quickly away. It disappeared head and all through the main gates, and the crowd gave it a mocking farewell. They had no time for losers. The head would be kept as a trophy; the rest would be butchered and rendered down to provide protein for the other aliens waiting in their pens.
Microorganisms in the sand ate up the fallen blood and dispersed it evenly as the handlers raked the sands till they were tidy again. They finished their work and got off the sands as quickly as they could. The crowd tended to throw things, and some of them had a nasty sense of humor. The audience reluctantly settled down, conversations still buzzing here and there, and looked to see what was coming next. It took a lot to satisfy the Golgotha crowds, and they were always greedy for more.
The recorded trumpets sounded again, a man strode out onto the sands, and the cheer that greeted him eclipsed everything that had gone before. The crowd went insane, jumping to their feet to cheer and wave and hug each other in anticipation. There was no announcement; everyone knew who he was. He was the Masked Gladiator, undefeated champion of the Games, the darling of the Golgotha crowds. Everything else had been warm-ups. He was what they had all come to see.
No one knew who he really was. He could have been any age, from any background. He was tall and lithely muscular, wore a simple anonymous steel mesh tunic and carried a sword that was almost as famous as he was. It was long and slender and entirely unaugmented. It was called Morgana. No one knew why. A featureless black steel helm covered his head completely, and he had never been seen without it. In his three-year career as a gladiator, he had never even come close to being beaten or unmasked. He specialized in winning against impossible odds, and the crowd loved him for it. His identity, and his reasons for concealing it, remained a mystery, though there were any number of rumors. Some said he'd been dishonorably discharged from the Army and sought to regain his honor through combat. Others said he was an Investigator who had somehow lost his nerve and sought to reforge it in the Arena. There were those who spoke of a lost or dead love and said he sought the comfort of forgetfulness or death in battle. And some at least suggested he was a noble, seeking thrills and excitement he couldn't find anywhere else.
No one said that last one too loudly, of course. If it were true, it would be a major scandal. The aristocracy settled their disputes only through champions or the code duello. Anything less would have been beneath them. The elite were above and beyond the lesser drives and emotions of the lower classes. They were special, untouchable, unattainable. It was vitally important that the gap be maintained.
But whatever the secret of his face, the crowds loved him, and they conspired with the Arena staff to keep his secret and preserve his identity, even from the Empress' security people. Which was probably unique in the Empire. So far the Empress had declined to press the point, which had given rise to a whole new batch of rumors.
He fought always with the sword Morgana, disdaining monofilament edges or other energy weapons. He was a superb swordsman, with speed and skill and trained reflexes beyond anything outside the augmented men. There were still those who claimed he had to be a cyborg of some kind, or at the very least a product of the body shops, but the Arena staff said not, and they were best placed to know.
The Masked Gladiator took up his position in the center of the Arena and waited patiently for his opponent to come to him. The giant holoscreen showed a closeup of his featureless helm and ran columns of statistics from his previous fights on either side of it. The figures were impressive: never beaten in a hundred and thirty-seven combats. Only wounded seriously twice, in his early days. Present odds against his current challenger: one thousand to one, in his favor. The odds kept small fry from wasting his time, but there were always challengers.
The latest in a long line stepped out of a side gate and strode confidently toward the waiting champion. The crowd gave him a good-natured cheer. They admired courage, and fresh blood was always welcome. His name was Auric Skye, and he wanted to become a bodyguard for the Lord of Clan Chojiro. But since that was one of the top jobs in the bodyguard market, the only way to jump to the top of the queue was by committing some great act of courage and skill. Auric had chosen to challenge the Masked Gladiator. He didn't necessarily expect to win, but if he put up a good enough fight, the crowd would very likely turn their thumbs up for him, and he would become one of the very few people who'd fought the Masked Gladiator and survived. Clan Chojiro would come looking for him, then.
And besides, he might win. He had an ace up his sleeve, and everywhere else, too.
Skye was young, extremely muscular, and almost offensively blond and handsome. Like the champion, he was armed only with a sword. Clan Chojiro were somewhat old-fashioned in that they didn't approve of clones or espers or any other deviants from the human norm, but they had no objections to the gifts of technology. In this case, Skye was known to have had steel plates inserted under his skin to cover all his vulnerable areas and steel webbing everywhere else. A kind of internal armor, with no weak spots. The weight slowed him down, but he had ways of dealing with that. The Masked Gladiator had never fought such an opponent before. Even so, hardly anyone was betting against him.
Skye advanced on the champion, who bowed courteously to him. Skye broke into a lumbering run, his sword stretched out before him. His weight left deep footprints in the sand, but still his movements were eerily fluid, and he covered the intervening distance surprisingly quickly. The champion smiled inside his helm. Whatever body shop had provided Skye with his exceptional muscles had done an excellent job. The Masked Gladiator stepped forward suddenly, catching Skye by surprise, and swung Morgana round in a whistling arc. Skye couldn't get his sword up in time, and the double-handed blow slammed into the side of his neck. The blow would have decapitated anyone else, but Skye just stood there and took it.
He grunted softly at the impact and lurched one step to one side, but he had his balance back in a moment, and his free hand shot up to grab Morgana's blade. His bare hand closed on the steel like a vice, and the Gladiator had to use all his strength to pull the blade free. It emerged jerkily from Skye's fist, the sharp edges slicing through the skin only to grate against the steel webbing beneath it. Skye grinned quickly, ignoring the pain and the blood from his hand and neck, and brought his own sword up in a dazzlingly swift thrust at the Gladiator's gut. The champion blocked the blow as though he'd known it was coming, but had to fall back a step to do so. Skye pressed forward, and the Gladiator backed away. The crowd couldn't believe it.
The champion quickly turned the retreat into a circular motion, and the two men circled each other,
looking for an opening. Skye charged forward, and the two swords rang loudly as they slammed together again and again. Skye had the advantage in weight and strength, but the champion had the edge in skill. Again and again he turned aside blows that seemed unstoppable, but try as he might, he was unable to mount a counterattack. Skye wouldn't allow him the time or the space, pressing home his attacks with unflagging energy. The champion doubted Skye could maintain the attack for long, but then, he probably wouldn't have to. The Gladiator only had to make one mistake, and the match would be over.
Unfortunately for Skye, the Gladiator didn't believe in making mistakes. Choosing his moment carefully, he stepped inside Skye's blows and launched a blistering attack. Morgana seemed to fly at Skye from every direction at once. He blocked most of the blows, but some got through. Morgana cut him again and again, but to the crowd's loud astonishment, he didn't go down. Wherever Morgana pierced flesh, it found only steel plates or webbing. Hardly any blood flowed, and Skye's face never flinched once. He and pain had become old friends in the process that had given him his internal armor. And then the Gladiator was just a little too slow in pulling back from a lunge, and Skye's spare hand shot out inhumanly quickly and closed on the champion's arm. Muscles bulged, and Skye threw the Masked Gladiator thirty feet across the Arena.
He landed hard and rolled quite a way, but was back on his feet in a moment. Behind the featureless steel helm he could have been panting or scowling or grimacing with pain, but his stance was firm and his sword arm was steady. Skye lurched into a run again, building momentum like a runaway truck. The Gladiator shook himself once, as though to settle himself, and then lifted Morgana and waited for his opponent to come to him. The crowd were going wild at the prospect of finally seeing their champion beaten, humbled, perhaps even killed. They screamed warnings and advice and encouragement to both fighters, standing on their seats for a better view, and there was a flurry of last-minute betting as people changed their minds.
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