by Jamie Doyle
Kris trailed off and fell silent. Abdullah stepped forward and around to face Kris squarely. Lifting his sun glasses to his forehead, he reached out and grasped her hand. The contact was gentle and soft and Kris did not flinch. Instead she looked into the Sheikh’s hazel coloured eyes and found instant comfort.
‘Max is both of this world and of another,’ Abdullah started, ‘and we need him to be both human and Nar’gellan at the same time. However, that has proven difficult for him up until now. The duels in the city last week brought his Nar’gellan instincts to the fore and when he unleashed those instincts, he finally realised what he is capable of. He can kill. The challenge for him now is to integrate the killing, blood lust instincts of his alien genetics with his human emotions. In effect he needs to balance his thirst to kill with his human compassion and reason. Only then will he be able to truly unleash and control his physical skills and compete in the arena. Max now knows what he needs to do to become what he was destined to be.’
‘And what is that?’ Kris asked. ‘What is he destined to be?’
‘Either the champion who saves humanity and frees the Nar’gellan race or,’ Abdullah said and paused briefly, ‘the tragic warrior doomed to die a glorious, but ultimately hopeless death. God only knows which.’
Kris looked down again, her face drawn and a little pale.
Abdullah smiled and squeezed her hand gently.
‘In the mean time,’ he said, ‘I can assure you that you have nothing to fear from Max. His dramatic improvements in the last week are evidence that he is in control. He is no danger to us or anyone else. He is adapting and he is adapting well. I think we are in for an exciting time and I envy you for being so close to him.’
Kris let a little smile crinkle the corners of her mouth. Abdullah let her hand go and stepped back to her side. Kris felt the warmth of his touch linger slightly on her hand. She also realised her heart was beating just a bit faster too.
Suddenly, one of the five instructors flashed forwards, an oblique strike of his sword slicing down towards Max’s back. Max deftly turned and deflected the strike away and then subtly shifted his weight to repel another instructor’s strike from his left side. One by one in a seemingly random sequence around the circle, each instructor attacked and each time, Max ably defended himself.
On and on the series of attacks continued with Max deflecting blow after blow, his style smooth and rhythmic. Kris stood mesmerized by the fluidity of the thrusting and parrying, transfixed by the dance of the six men as they integrated with no give or take. In contrast, Abdullah focused keenly on Max himself, studying his movements, but more particularly, his face.
Max’s attention was as sharp as his blade. His spatial awareness almost preternatural as he anticipated every attack, regardless of if he could actually see it or if it was coming from behind. His natural skill with the sword was uncanny, but this skill coupled with his instincts made him impenetrable. However, there was a problem.
Abdullah held up his hand and cried out, ‘Stop!’
Immediately, all five instructors shouldered their swords and stepped back. Max froze, his body still tensed for any attack and his eyes searching. In his right hand, his sword shone like a mirror in the sun, his grasp firm and surgically steady.
Abdullah glided forwards across the grass towards the group, while Kris looked on. Max lowered his sword and turned to look at his friend.
‘Max,’ Abdullah said, ‘it would seem you have a natural talent in wielding a sword and that sword in particular suits you very well. Like a glove if you will?’
‘Yeah,’ Max replied. ‘It feels good.’
‘And you move very well,’ Abdullah continued. ‘Your footwork and balance allow you to use your speed and strength to considerable advantage. The five gentlemen surrounding you right now are five of the finest swordsmen in the world and I assure you, their attacks in this exercise are nothing less than full blooded. Your defense is excellent, but I note, that is all you are doing. Defending yourself. May I ask why you have not attacked in return?’
‘I might be good,’ Max said in return, ‘but there’s only so much I can do with one sword against five blokes. I can’t get ahead of them.’
Abdullah nodded silently.
‘As I suspected,’ he said. ‘So, let us give you your wish. Inspect the hilt.’
Max cocked his head at Abdullah and paused.
‘Go ahead,’ Abdullah pushed, gesturing to Max’s weapon. ‘Inspect the hilt.’
Max lifted the hilt of his sword up to waist level and did as he was instructed.
‘You will find under the rear of the hilt,’ Abdullah added, ‘a small touch pad, which you can activate with your thumb by quickly adjusting your grip. The touch pad will only function via your thumb print, making it ineffective to any other. Press it.’
Max dipped the tip of the sword down, so he could look under the hilt. There it was. A small, orange circle, which he could indeed depress if he switched his thumb to the back of the handle and pushed up. Raising his sword back up, Max nudged the touchpad with his right thumb.
Instinctively, his left hand shot up to catch the handle of the new weapon that shot out sideways. In the blink of an eye, Max now held in each hand, identical swords that just a moment ago had been joined into one.
‘Seamless blades held together by reversible magnets,’ Abdullah said. ‘Depress the touchpad and the magnets switch poles to separate the weapons. Bring both weapons back together and the magnets will automatically reverse again to rejoin them. You asked for two swords and now you have them.’
Max inspected both blades and found they truly were identical, both in weight and appearance. He smiled and looked up at Abdullah, only to find Abdullah smiling back.
‘Now you have no excuses,’ Abdullah said.
Max nodded back and then turned to face his instructors again, his swords held wide. Abdullah’s smile widened. A few moments later, the clash and ring of steel refilled the morning air.
12:30pm, 14th October (1 day later). Everything
The walls of the studio green room stood plastered with posters of Sally Sainsbury, her sparkling green eyes glittering above a faultless, iridescent smile that blistered out of her artificially tanned face. Sally might just as well have had the word “fake” tattooed on her forehead, but there she was, the undeniable megastar and queen of day time television; the goddess adored by hundreds of millions of stimulus poor humans around the world.
Max decided to simply look at the ground. After all, he was just about to go out on stage and meet the woman in front of a live studio audience and countless viewers. He didn’t feel a need to overdose on her visage before experiencing her for real up close. Max was tempted to scratch his nose, but resisted. The make-up on his face had begun to dry and constrict making it feel like he had just emerged from one of Kris’ mud-saturated obstacle courses. It was fair to say, he was not enjoying himself. Not one little bit.
Elsa had convinced him that the best way to keep up his public relations profile and maintain the wild momentum of Team Max, was for him to do the occasional television interview. So, here he was dressed in apparently the most aptly styled blue jeans and fitted, white, short sleeve shirt and of course his trademark orange shoes, waiting to be summoned out into the limelight and exhibited like a prize trophy. At least it genuinely was for a good cause
The door opened.
‘Hi, Max!’ sounded a mousey little voice.
Max turned looked up. There in the door stood a tiny, doll-like figure, doing her best to be a miniature, Sally Sainsbury, right down to the glitter infused make-up and unnatural tan. A microphone headset and wired ear plugs graced her features, clearly indicating her to be some sort of stage assistant.
‘Sally’s waiting,’ she said, all chirpy like.
Max nodded and without a word, followed the miniature Sally out the door and down a corridor towards a pair of large, non-descript double doors. There the assistant stopped, holding a ha
nd up like some sort of army platoon leader, instructing Max to come to a halt behind her. Cocking her head, she listened to instructions in her headset. Max took the pause as an opportunity to again go over the questions he had been briefed on earlier, that Sally would be asking. He had winced then and he winced again now. This was not going to be a pleasant experience and in all honesty, he was struggling deeply with how this affair was going to support his public relations. Getting interviewed on international television by an animated, beauty pageant doll with an IQ of single figures was in no way going to help him.
Then the assistant’s hand came down and she stepped to the side.
‘You’re on,’ she said with infinite glee and a dazzling smile worthy of any toothpaste advertisement.
Again Max nodded. The double doors swung automatically open and instantly he was assaulted by a cacophony of crowd delirium and the Team Max anthem blasting out. Holding his discomfort in place, Max walked out and the assault intensified. Lights flared overhead. Cameras rolled all around him. Looking at the crowd, they were all on their feet, clapping overhead and stamping their feet in time to the anthem. It was a madhouse and for a moment, he had to pause to take it all in.
Letting his senses settle, Max absorbed the chaos and resumed his walk to the stage. Turning, he stepped up and came face to face with the undisputed champion of day time television.
Sally Sainsbury stood in front of him like a wax figure sculpted from perfect inorganic materials. She was faultless, if you liked heavily bronzed, intricately manicured and fulsomely figured blondes that is. Barbie was a poor representation of the perfect woman against this creature. Love or hate Sally Sainsbury, up close she was a sight to see and now that Max had seen her, all he wanted to do was turn and leave, quickly.
Remembering his offstage coaching from the support staff, Max accepted Sally’s proffered hand, but deliberately held off on kissing it. Instead he shook it briefly and then turned away to make sure his seat was behind him. Sally stood for a split second watching Max turn away, displaying her slight irritation at not getting the greeting she so clearly desired, but then shrugged and settled into her ludicrously oversized, leather chair, shuffling her notes. Max followed suit and lowered himself down into his own jumping castle sized chair, looking as comfortable as a man sitting in an electric chair. The crowd slowly settled as the anthem trailed off, having a couple of false starts at silence before eventually the chants of Max and Sally trailed off. The quiet that followed was as loaded as a gun and so Max waited for whatever came next and then the Sally Sainsbury onslaught began.
It started with the most remarkable, unblemished and blinding smile Max could ever have imagined. Sally’s glittering make-up set her features flashing beneath the stage lights and then she opened her mouth to speak. Before a single syllable passed her full, glossy lips, the crowd erupted again. The Max and Sally chants immediately reached fever pitch and Max noticed a dozen burly men appear from nowhere to stand along the front edge of the stage. A protection detail. Max wondered if they carried Peter’s skill sets and immediately doubted it, but at least now he had a little bit of comedy to put himself at ease. The crowd again simmered down and this time Sally actually managed to speak.
‘Maximilian Augustus Dyson,’ Sally started off, her voice crisp, clear and every shred of every word so sharply enunciated it was impossible to not listen to her voice. ‘You are without a doubt the most famous person to ever grace my stage.’
The crowd made a solid attempt to reclaim the airspace, but Sally waved them down.
‘Please, everyone? Please? I know it’s exciting,’ she said, gaining control again. ‘Gee, even I’m excited and I’ve interviewed the President, but as they say here in TV Land, the show must go on. So, let’s show a little Sally Sainsbury hospitality and hold the applause for just a little bit.’
The crowd obliged. Max waited his turn, wondering what on Earth Sally Sainsbury hospitality was.
‘Now, Max,’ Sally said, ‘as I said, you are the most famous person to ever grace my stage and I have to say, I hope that we can have an encore performance in January to not only celebrate the New year, but the saving of the world?’
It took Max a few seconds to realise it was his cue to speak. ‘Ah, yeah. That would be nice.’
‘Yes, it would because at the moment my January calendar is wide open, for obvious reasons.’
Max just nodded, dumbly.
‘So, you are something of a recluse, Max and I can understand that. Saving the world is not a vocation that would weigh easily on anyone’s mind. In fact it has to be the biggest responsibility anyone in the world has ever had to bear. How does it sit with you, knowing the entire world is looking to you to save their lives and the lives of their children?’
Max paused. He had been briefed before the show about the questions Sally was going to ask, so he had time to prepare answers, but here, now on the stage and in front of millions, his doubts about the purpose of this so called public relations exercise returned.
‘Um, it’s...it’s not really...’ and he trailed off, not comfortable with the answer he had crafted earlier.
‘Max, you can tell us the truth. It’s all we want,’ Sally said, her famous “mothering” face and tone appearing in full bloom. Despite its obvious falsity, Max chose to take the advice literally and simply tell her the truth. Suddenly, he was at ease.
‘I don’t wear the weight of the world on my shoulders,’ he said. ‘I don’t know how to because it has no meaning to me.’
‘I don’t understand, Max,’ Sally replied. ‘When you walk down the street, all eyes turn to you, not because you cut a striking figure, but because you are the world’s saviour. We all need you to win.’
Max paused before he replied. ‘Sally, the truth is I don’t know everyone in the world and I never will. I know everyone is putting their faith in me, I get that. How can I not, but that’s too much for me. It’s not tangible. It’s outside my reasoning.’
‘So then let me ask the question a different way,’ Sally said. ‘If you’re not saving the world for all of us, then why are you doing it? To save yourself?’
‘No,’ Max said abruptly, leaving a loud pause afterwards to hammer home his feeling. ‘I’m not afraid of dying.’
‘Then why are you doing it?’
‘For those that I care about.’
‘And who are they? Your wife and children?’
‘Yes, first and foremost, but they’re not the only ones?’
‘Who else?’
‘That doesn’t matter, but they know who they are because I’ve told them. What I will say though is that I only know them because of this whole...affair,’ Max said, waving his arm. ‘It’s crazy, but before I got singled out to go into the arena, I had only my family and to be honest, they were all I needed to be happy, but now with the fate of the world in the balance, I’ve had some of the finest people anyone could ever know come into my life and for that I consider myself blessed, so when I say I’m doing this for those that I care about, they’re on that list too and like I said, they know who they are.’
‘Thank you for sharing, Max,’ Sally said, with a tone Max could almost believe was genuine, ‘but don’t forget about us too okay?’
Max nodded while the crowd let a few stray cheers and whistles out.
‘What about your chances in the arena?’ Sally asked. ‘We’ve all seen you train and I have to tell you, Max, when you put on those orange sneakers, I get as giddy as any school girl watching you hurl yourself around. No one can deny your physical prowess. I particularly enjoyed watching you smash through that ice block challenge yesterday and you were so, so close to the one hundred metre world record. It has to be said that everything you do seems superhuman, but is it enough? Do you really think you can defeat all the alien opponents that will be placed in front of you in the arena? Do you really think you can win?’
Max glanced out at the audience hidden behind the lights and the cameras and then down at t
he stage. Then he answered.
‘I know you’d all like to hear me say something like, “hell yes, I’m going to kick those aliens right back into outer space” or “those aliens better have a God to pray to because they’re going to need all the help they can get against me”, but I’m not. I won’t say that because I can’t.’
‘Why can’t you? You don’t think you can win?’
‘I don’t know, Sally. It’s as simple as that. I have no clue who or what is going to drop out of the sky to try and tear me apart on New Year’s Eve. I don’t even know if they’re going to play by the rules. Instead of one alien per bout, they might drop two or three or ten and they might all have six arms or maybe they’ll all be clones of me and that’s not a good thought. I know for sure I wouldn’t want to fight me, let alone two or more of me, so do I think I’ll win? I don’t know. I really don’t, but before anyone thinks I’m giving up, forget that. I’ve never backed away from anything in my life and when someone, some alien threatens the ones I love, they better believe they’ve got the fight of their lives in front of them. If I lose, it won’t be because I didn’t use every shred, every ounce, every fibre of my being to beat them. I will absolutely not let my life leave my body without giving up all that I have to win, but if I die, so be it. I’m not afraid of dying. If I have to die to save those that I love, it’s game on. I know my wife is at home right now struggling to hear me say this, but she knows it as much as I do. I will lay everything down. Everything, even if it means running headlong into Death. That’s what I’ll do. That’s what I’ll do.’