Win

  “Well, it’s definitely more gory, and kind of yucky,” Gracie says, with a glance at Manala who is mostly not watching the screen and appears to be engrossed with her fingernails.

  “Whoa!” Gordie points at the levitating TV panel in front of him. “Did that guy just jump like ten feet?”

  Anu grunts. “Yeah, and he can go even higher. That’s Deneb Gratu, he jumps so high he can almost fly. You should see him play skyball!”

  Manala winces.

  “All right, now what exactly are the basic rules of the Games of the Atlantis Grail?” Gordie looks away from the action to focus on us. “Want to fill us in here?”

  “Sure,” Gennio says.

  But before he can continue, the Imperial Prince’s bedroom door opens violently, and Aeson enters, looking grim as a thundercloud.

  “Aeson!” I exclaim, while everyone else except for Manala gets up and bows or salutes.

  But Aeson ignores them and heads straight toward me.

  “We need to talk in your room, now . . . please,” he says to me, and immediately I rise and follow him back inside my bedroom.

  The door shuts and Aeson stands before me, frozen and silent, his expression dead. He is barely breathing.

  “I failed you, Gwen,” he says softly. “I talked to my Father, and—I failed you.”

  His eyes . . . oh, his eyes are raw, wounded, mad. . . . They are filled with perfect despair.

  “What happened?” I ask, reaching out to him, putting my hand lightly on his arm.

  But he stands unresponsive, looking at me.

  “Aeson! Please!” I say, and squeeze his arm. “What happened? Tell me!”

  He breathes faintly, as though going into shock. And he looks down as he speaks without meeting my gaze, in a hollow lifeless tone. “I—I talked to him. I tried reasoning with him, desperate and stupid. Stupid even now, because I actually forgot that you cannot use any emotional arguments with him, that’s how desperate I was, that I forgot. . . . There’s no use trying to engage him on a personal level, no use trying to reach his so-called affections which are so damaged, so messed up. . . . You can only use cold diplomatic tactics and practical incentives to persuade him. And my Father—my Father listened and apparently enjoyed my despair very, very much.”

  “Oh, Aeson . . .” My voice comes in a whisper.

  He glances up at me at last, and his eyes are glistening.

  I stare at him in terrible wonder, while a surge of emotion rises in my own chest, so that I feel like I will burst with pain, seeing him this way. . . .

  “Gwen . . .” he says, in a voice so faint that it almost does not sound. He continues breathing, regaining control. And then, gathering himself, he says, “In the end, I offered to break off our engagement—in other words, I offered him a deal—a retraction of my Choice of you as my Bride and Imperial Consort, in exchange for your guaranteed safety. My Father—he smiled and told me it was an excellent decision on my part, and he would certainly retract his ‘gift’ to you—but only if he would then have you as he originally intended, a subject to be studied in his research facilities. Which puts you back at square one—a death sentence of a different sort. . . . In many ways it would be worse. So I said, ‘no.’ No deal.”

  “Good!” I place my other hand against his chest, close to his heart. “First, you were crazy to offer him our breakup—again without asking me first! And second, I’m so glad you ultimately told him no . . . because, to be honest I’d rather have a clean death in the Games than a long extended torture session as a human lab rat.”

  At my blunt words, Aeson blinks, and I feel his chest rising and falling and his pounding heart.

  “Oh, Aeson, no, sweetie, no!” I hurry to say. “I’m so sorry! I don’t mean it that way at all, I mean, hypothetically, what’s the lesser of two evils, me having a fighting chance, or me being used up for your science? I am not giving up hope, and in fact I’m kind of worked up about it, because—”

  Here I pause for emphasis, and wrap my arms around his neck and bring his head down closer so that I can kiss him on the cheek, with a loud smack—not the sensual kind of kiss, but the kind that’s loving and very warm. “—Because I think that somehow I can do it. I can survive this thing.”

  Survive how? I have no idea, but Aeson does not need to know it. For that matter—if I tell it to myself enough times, maybe I’ll start believing it too.

  But the next moment I meet his eyes, I see that Aeson is looking at me with impossible wonder. “Do you really think you can?” he says.

  I nod silently, clenching myself on the inside so as not to give away all that suppressed and hidden terror.

  Aeson’s lips part and he watches me with admiration and amazement. He reaches with his hands to cup my face, stroking my cheeks with his warm fingers. “Gwen Lark, you are insane and wonderful. . . . You make my spirit sing. . . . I don’t know what it is about you, but—I believe in you. And I will do everything within my power to help you. I am going to train you myself. And not only that—I will make sure that everyone I know trains you to the best of their abilities in their special areas of expertise.”

  “Oh, wow . . .” I say. “Thank you!”

  “And I mean, combat, weapons, strategies, techniques, physical endurance—anything and everything that will give you an advantage,” he says with intensity. “Problem is—we don’t have that long to accomplish it. We have only about eight weeks to train you—”

  “Eight weeks? But that’s great!” I say, struggling to sound enthusiastic.

  “—Which might sound like a long time, but you need to remember that an Atlantean week is only four days. This gives you only the month of Green Pegasus and the first two weeks of Green Mar-Yan. A total of thirty-five days, before the Games of the Atlantis Grail Commencement Day on the Ninth Day of Green Mar-Yan.”

  “It’s okay,” I say with a brave smile. “A lot can happen in thirty-five days. Including miracles.”

  Seeing my smile, his expression seems to warm up in turn. As though a great burden has been lightened slightly, or at least shifted on his metaphorical shoulders, Aeson watches me with energetic clarity and focus.

  However, I notice that his lips are held in a straight, tight line, which is a subtle indicator of his exerted control—something I’ve learned to recognize. And this tells me he is working very hard to maintain a positive front for me also. Behind this show of hope-fueled energy, lurks a fine layer of despair, a darkness. . . .

  But the show must go on—on both our parts.

  “Let’s do it!” I say, while hoping for some crazy miracles indeed.

  Chapter 16

  When we return to the workroom, my friends have arrived. Laronda is sitting on the sofa next to Gracie, Hasmik, and Manala, while Gordie is rummaging through the pantry cold box and handing food containers to Dawn. Blayne is levitating upright on his hoverboard, paused next to the desk looking over Anu’s shoulder while Gennio calls up data.

  “Gwen!” Laronda looks up with concern as soon as we come in. She springs up to salute and acknowledge the Imperial Crown Prince, along with everyone else, then rushes toward me. “I’ve heard the rotten news! Oh lord, I’m so sorry!”

  Dawn and Hasmik also crowd around me.

  “Thanks, guys.” I nod, biting my lip, and let go of Aeson’s hand, while he stops in the middle of the room, looking at everyone gathered.

  “All of you are going to help Gwen. Whatever skills you have, whatever you’re good at, she is going to need you now,” Aeson says in a resonant voice. “I’ll be training her, and so will other people with expert skills. But we don’t have much time. Today is day twenty-five of Green Amrevet, and tomorrow is the last day of the month. Then there’s Green Pegasus, and the first two weeks of Green Mar-Yan—that’s it, that’s all Gwen has. Games Commencement Day is on the ninth, and the Games begin.”

  Everyone starts speaking all at once.

  Blayne looks up from watching the computer display. “Lark, I think you mi
ght want to hear this—we’ve been discussing the various elements and rules of these funky A-Games. And here’s the rundown.”

  “Okay, yeah?” I turn to Blayne.

  He in turn nods to Gennio. “Want to repeat to her, please, what you’ve just explained?”

  Gennio glances at Aeson for permission to speak, as a courtesy, then proceeds to summarize, with frequent interruptions from Anu.

  “This is how it works,” he says. “The Games of the Atlantis Grail is an ancient tradition that allows a few people every year to become full Citizens of Atlantida, by competing against each other in all kinds of nearly impossible dangerous contests. There are hundreds of contestants and only ten Champions—”

  “Thousands,” Anu corrects. “And they get weeded down to hundreds very soon, during the Pre-Games Trials. The lucky ones don’t make it past the Trials stage, and get to live. Those who go on into the Games do so knowing that they forfeit their lives.”

  “That’s right, yes,” Gennio continues. “Now, anyone can enter the Games—as long as they are not a Citizen. That means, any ordinary Civilian or Fleet military person from Atlantis, or any Civilian or Cadet from Earth is eligible to enter.”

  “Okay, who exactly are your Citizens?” Gracie asks. “Is it just the nobility? Or what?”

  Gennio nods. “All the original ancient noble Families are Citizens—original, meaning their ancestors were already considered nobility when they first arrived and colonized Atlantis. Also, all the more recent noble families—new ones are created when extraordinary individuals who have contributed to society in a big way are recognized by the Imperators over the centuries. Then, their children inherit the noble rank and with it, Citizenship.”

  “Basically it’s the rich and powerful club, the fancy people, right?” Laronda says.

  Anu gives her a look. “Heh, not really. Many rich and powerful people are not Citizens.”

  “Okay, then, weird.” Laronda barely glances at Anu.

  “Just different,” Gennio says softly.

  “Anyway, continue please.” Blayne taps Gennio’s shoulder.

  “Right. . . . So anyway, Citizens have the right to vote, to participate in government and the highest levels of other social decision-making. They also have access to the best society has to offer in terms of technology, resources, education, medical care—”

  My heart starts pounding at the mention of medical care, and I immediately think of Mom and her advanced cancer. As the mother of the Bride and Imperial Consort, she will now have full access to all that high-tech care! Must ask Aeson later about the status of their rescue from Earth!

  Meanwhile I resume paying attention to Gennio.

  “So, because of all these advantages, people want to become Citizens. But this process is guided by a very ancient law. By this law, people must be tested first before they can become full Citizen members of society—something about proving their worthiness, I guess.”

  “Hmmm,” Dawn says. “Who decides who’s worthy? This is ridiculously unfair.”

  “I tend to agree,” Gennio says. “But this is how it’s been always, and I don’t think anyone can change it, not even the Imperator, or the Imperial Executive Council—maybe they could if they voted together, but that’s not going to happen any time soon.”

  “Oh really?” I say. “So this whole system can be overturned?”

  “Gwen . . . it is impossible.”

  I hear Aeson’s deep voice and turn to him. Aeson stands with his arms folded at his chest and watches me with a grave expression. “Unfortunately our political system is as badly complicated—some might say, broken—as the ones you’ve left behind on Earth. Reforming and amending fundamental laws of Atlantida is very difficult, if not impossible. And this is one of the oldest ones, deeply ingrained in our society. Many attempts to get rid of the Games have been made over the centuries. The IEC is either deadlocked or votes against it, and the Imperator of the time never chooses to cast the deciding vote.”

  “Oh . . .” I say. “How can this kind of cruelty be legal or even morally acceptable?”

  “No, it is not acceptable.” Aeson’s dark sorrowful gaze is upon me, and I feel the full weight of its intensity. “It is in fact archaic, inhuman, and should have been abolished centuries ago. And yet, due to special financial interests and powerful lobbies, it persists. But—we will speak of these ugly politics another time. Now, we need to get back to the rules. Gennio, you are doing a fine job of explaining—please continue.”

  “Yes, My Imperial Lord.” Gennio takes a look at the display screen before him. “I just called up the Games detailed info-site. It’s got everything you need to know, you might look at it later, Gwen—sorry, My Imperial Lady. But for now, here are the basic rules. In the Games of the Atlantis Grail there are Four Stages of competition. Each Stage lasts a week and presents you with tests in the form of Challenges and Ordeals of varying difficulty—completely different ones every year—and you have to either complete and pass everything they throw at you during each Stage, or survive long enough for the Stage to end. As you participate in the Games, you earn Atlantis Grail Points, or AG Points, for everything you do and how well you do it. The number of AG Points at the end of the Games determines the winning order of Champions—”

  “—and contributes to an insane amount of both legal and illegal betting and gambling, as the entire city of Poseidon loses its collective mind,” Manala says, with a sad glance at Anu, who wisely avoids her eyes.

  I glance at Gennio.

  “Right.” He nods and continues. “In order to enter the Games you must first choose a category that reflects your special talent or skill, and you sign up as a team member of that Category. There are Ten Categories: Warrior, Athlete, Entertainer, Scientist, Technician, Entrepreneur, Animal Handler, Vocalist, Inventor, Artist.”

  “Okay,” I say. “So how exactly does it work? If I choose ‘Warrior,’ does it mean I have to only fight other Warriors? If I choose ‘Vocalist,’ is there a sing-off?”

  “Not quite. You get to face people from all Categories. But depending on what kind of tests each Stage gives you, your talents may help you beat others who don’t have your abilities in that area.”

  “I see.”

  “Basically each Category is a ‘slot.’ It simply means that in the end there can only be one winner or Champion in that Category. Ten Categories, Ten Champions. The Games end when only one entrant in each Category remains after having passed all Four Stages of the competition. For example, if there are three people left in Warrior while all the other Categories are down to one person, and it’s the end of Stage Four, the Warrior Category is given a special additional tie-breaker challenge, decided by the judges. All the other Categories wait for them to fight it out. Usually the Categories with several people still remaining at the end are the physical ones—Warrior, Athlete, Entertainer—which means their bonus challenge is violent. The winner ends up killing the others in their Category. Well, technically they only have to render the opponent unable to compete, but that usually means death or coma or severe bodily damage. . . .”

  “So you might get to live, but you’ll be wishing you were dead,” Anu says.

  “Though, sometimes the judges decide to be perverse and give weird tie-breakers that force them to do things they’re not good at,” Gennio muses. “A Warrior might have to do something artistic, or technical, or an Artist might have to fight. Things like that.”

  “But what if all people in a single Category accidentally get killed before they even get to Stage Four?” I ask, beginning to feel ill. . . .

  Anu snorts. “It happens. But, don’t worry—they have a waiting list of hundreds of alternate entrants. They just send in the next two persons on top of the list to enter the Games at any moment—two people, so they still have to compete against each other. That’s why there are the Pre-Games Trials, so they can have all these well-qualified stand-ins ready to go.”

  “Wow. Okay.”

  Ge
nnio resumes. “As I said, the Games have Four Stages. The last person remaining in each Category must have advanced past all Four Stages of the Games, before they can be called a Champion. But if they fail and die early, someone has to fill their vacant Category slot. So, new alternates from the waiting list enter the Games in their Category, to continue in their place, at whatever Stage they happen to be.”

  “That’s what I just said,” Anu mutters.

  “This sounds insane,” Gracie interrupts. “At this rate the Games would never end, if they keep sending in new people!”

  “The way it works out is, each Stage lasts one week. If you merely survive the week, without completing all the tests in that Stage, you advance to the next Stage, but with serious demerits—they take away a bunch of your hard-earned points. It’s not common—since they do everything possible to get you killed if you don’t actively participate in completing the Challenges—but it happens. If at the end of Stage Four there is a tie or more than one person left in a Category, they stop the Games and do a final tie-breaker challenge that determines the winners. The Games have to end at noon on the last day of Green Mar-Yan. So if you survive that far, even with a tie-breaker event, you get to live, even if you’re not the Champion!”

  “Lucky me,” I whisper, shaking my head.

  And as I glance at Aeson in that moment, I see his tragic expression, filled with raw intensity, which he hides very quickly from me—but not quick enough.

  “Okay, now,” Gennio continues, missing our silent exchange of glances. “The Four Stages are theme-based on the Four Cornerstones of Atlantida, same as the Four Quadrants. Stage One is Red, Stage Two is Blue, Three is Green, and Four is Yellow. Which means that the kinds of tests you get in each Stage reflect the Cornerstone properties.”

  “An example, please?” I say.

  Gennio pauses to think.

  “Easy,” Anu says in his stead. “Stage One is usually all about fighting and kicking ass, and physical abilities. Stage Two is complex problem solving and using your brain power. Stage Three is determination and endurance—that’s where you get most of the Ordeals instead of Challenges. And Stage Four is just insane, you never know what you get—it’s filled with weird stuff, impossible surprises, things that force you to use your creativity.”