I turn and look from Aeson to my siblings, as troubled thoughts of the horror I’ve survived come to me, in a jumble of sensory images. “And what about Brie Walton? She was there with me, you know,” I say, and then realize that of course they know—they’ve been watching the Games, probably close to every moment, and I still don’t know if Aeson himself took breaks to sleep or not. “Brie saved me also, in the very beginning, oh, Aeson! So much, there is just so much—”
But he puts his fingers over my dry, chapped lips gently. “Hush, now,” he says. “Here, drink some more, slowly, and then put the breathing mask back on. I will talk while you rest and listen.”
“All right.” I obey him and again the soothing medicated oxygen starts flowing over my face, and I inhale deeply.
“Gwen, we got you out of the arena as soon as they allowed us into the Game Zone,” Aeson tells me. “I believe Hedj Kukkait was being treated by the medics, and yes, he’s alive, and has my deepest gratitude for keeping you safe. Not sure why he decided to help you—”
I pull down the mask again. “Oh, he told me! He gave his word to save me, because he is with the—” and then I grow quiet, realizing that I probably shouldn’t mention the Rim and Hedj’s association to them, not with strangers present—such as the medical personnel and whoever else is in this flying transport. If anything, I owe Hedj this continued anonymity in exchange for saving my life. “I mean, he is—” I mumble, glancing around to check who else is listening.
“What?” Aeson says, his expression growing intense with concern.
“Never mind, I’ll explain later.” I extricate myself awkwardly from this turn of conversation, using a timely need to cough. “But what about Brie? And the rest of the Contenders who were on my team?” I say, recovering from the bout of coughing.
Aeson shakes his head again and his face relaxes with amusement. “Put your mask back on. Or take a drink and then put the mask back on, and I’ll tell you.”
I do as he says.
“I’m glad that Brie’s inclusion in the Games turned out to be a good thing,” Aeson continues. “I don’t have her exact status, but I believe she was alive and on the list of active Contenders in the last hours of the stage—the last time I checked.”
“There’s a list?” I say, pulling the mask down part-way.
“Oh yes! There’re so many lists, it’s crazy,” Gracie puts in.
“Yes, more than one, including various score breakdowns.” Aeson shakes his head at my inability not to speak and keep that breathing device on. His smile deepens as he never takes his gaze off me. “Please, amrevu, you must rest now. You need that breathing mask, and you need to try to sleep, because every moment counts before tomorrow—”
I run my hand over his upper arm, feeling his strength underneath. “I know. . . . We both need to rest. And you too!” I look meaningfully at Gracie and Gordie. “But I just need to know if these people are alive.”
“Give me the names and I’ll look them up, Gee Two,” Gordie says, taking out a pad gadget.
And so I list as many Contenders as I can, people that somehow started to matter to me. . . .
Hedj Kukkait. Brie Walton. Chihar Agwath. Zaap Guvai. Lolu Eetatu. Kokayi Jeet. Kateb Nuletat.
I probably mangle most of their names, and some of them I can’t clearly recall.
Gordie starts checking the statuses, and I wait, in a moment of lulled relief, with the mask back on, as the medicated oxygen starts again to work its magic on me. Momentarily my attention drifts, and I glance around in the soft light of the transport at the nearest windows, black with darkness. . . . A distant panorama of Poseidon city lights below greets me, winking multicolored gems sprinkled on the fabric of night.
Aeson must read my mind, because he says softly, leaning into my hair, “It’s close to the end of the first hour of Ra, and we’ll be home soon. There’s Phoinios Heights.”
My memories of arriving at Aeson’s estate are hazy, because I am so groggy. There’s probably some kind of sleep medication in the IV fluid or oxygen I’m getting. Aeson half-carries me inside the house, my filthy uniform and viatoios body armor underneath is removed to be cleaned overnight, and then I’m in bed. People fuss over me and all around me, treating my cuts and bruises, cleaning me up, while medical equipment hums, and I am told to rest and sleep. A med tech removes the anti-glare sun lenses from my eyes, which were so comfortable to wear that I’d forgotten all about them. Another tech gives me a nutritional supplement drink which I gulp down and immediately feel even more sleepy.
“What about tomorrow?” I mumble. “I don’t even know where I’m supposed to be for Stage Two, I don’t know what time to get up—”
“I will take care of everything,” Aeson says firmly, looking down at me with an expression that is rich with so many wonderful things unspoken, so much love and hope and warm impossibility.
“Im amrevu . . .” I whisper.
And then I’m out like a light.
As promised, Aeson comes into my bedroom and wakes me up gently out of a deep healing sleep when it’s nearly sixth hour. “I can’t let you sleep any longer, Gwen, we don’t have much time,” he says, caressing my cheek. “You’re supposed to be at the new Game Zone at seventh hour, so you need to hurry. The Games officials transmitted all the details late last night, and we have only a short drive, to the coast.”
Aeson is well-groomed, clean-shaven, wearing a sharp new outfit, but his handsome face does not hide his profound underlying exhaustion. Has he slept at all? Oh no, I’m so worried for him!
On the other hand, despite having less than five hours of solid sleep, I feel very well rested, without any body aches, and spring out of bed with a new burst of stress-fueled energy. Overnight, my body has healed miraculously, and I don’t see any signs of bruises or traces of scarring anywhere. They must’ve removed the IV line in the middle of the night, because there’s also no sign of the medical equipment anywhere in my bedroom.
“The coast?” I say. “Wow! What does it mean?”
“It means our destination is somewhere on the Golden Bay coast. But—we’ll talk on the way,” he says, then points to the perfectly clean and folded uniform and other clothing waiting for me. “Now, get ready, get dressed, and meet me downstairs. Your eos bread will be served in the car on the way there.”
I make a small stifled sound of alarm and Aeson grins at me, then leaves me to my morning ablutions.
For the next fifteen minutes I run around like a crazed fool, shower, brush, and dress, getting ready in record time. I put on the uniform and body armor layers, and a new identical pair of shoes with the special orichalcum shoelaces. A new pair of anti-glare lenses goes in my eyes, since I can’t afford to be thrown off by bright sunlight. I notice my equipment bag is not in my room, and guess correctly that Aeson has it ready for me.
Downstairs, Thebet Obwai, the elderly steward, and the servants of the estate stand ready, lined up at the main entrance, bowing to me with particular respect, seeing me off—I have never seen them act this way before, and momentarily I am thrown off. I smile and nod back at them, and then Aeson directs me outside, followed by all our usual bodyguards.
The sky is still grey with dawn as we get into the hover cars, with Aeson and me driving in his personal car once again. “Your sister and brother and friends will meet us there,” he tells me, anticipating my question as we start to rise above the trees into the sky of morning.
Once we’re alone in the vehicle and airborne, I turn to Aeson. “All right, now tell me everything!”
He makes a sound of amusement, and reaches in the seat behind him to take out a food basket. “First, here’s your eos bread, eat quickly.”
“You are like a mother hen, you know?” I say with a happy grin and open the basket to find aromatic baked pastry rolls and a plate of my favorite food, bottles of juice and water, and what looks like a thermos of steaming-hot fresh lvikao. Suddenly I’m ravenously hungry.
“I’m not familia
r with the Earth slang ‘mother hen,’ but I have a good idea of the meaning,” Aeson says, glancing at me with affectionate humor, and so much suppressed joy, that’s just bursting to come out. It’s as if he’s savoring these private moments with me in a kind of hungry desperation that suggests he does not fully believe he will see me again. . . .
No, must stop thinking this way. Stop it, Gwen. . . .
I tell him what ‘mother hen’ means with my mouth full as I chew and wash down the food with the lvikao. He shakes his head and laughs at me.
I chortle and giggle also, carefree in the moment, with my cheeks stuffed like a chipmunk, as I hurry to cram the food into my mouth before we arrive. . . . And then I tell him the serious things. I tell him how intense it was, and how close I came to giving up, and how I didn’t believe—I couldn’t believe I would make it past Stage One.
I also tell him about Hedj Kukkait being with the Rim, and the strange promise he made to someone there to protect me.
Aeson listens, watching me with raw intensity, with eyes that devour me, drink me in, consume me. “Good,” he says softly after the slightest pause. “Whoever this group is, whatever their motive, if they’re on your side, I am willing to forgive quite a number of things—for now. But, please promise me you’ll be careful. If anyone else in the Games reaches out to you with an offer of help or alliance, whether they claim to be affiliated with this Rim or anyone else—use your judgment, and never trust anyone fully.”
I nod. “I understand, believe me. Trust is—difficult. I’ve gotten so paranoid now that it makes me a little sick—sick of myself, of what I’m becoming. . . .” I pause and exhale deeply. “I’m a cold-blooded murderer.”
“What?” Aeson interrupts me. “Gwen, what are you talking about? You, of all people!”
And then he tells me something that stuns me, in a good way.
“Do you know, Gwen, that you currently hold the lowest score of kills in the Games?”
My lips part. “I do?”
Aeson smiles. “Yes. Want to know what your Kills Score is?”
“What?”
“Zero.”
My jaw drops completely. “What? But how? That’s impossible! I’ve been firing my stun gun, and the needle guns, and whatever else, I mean, I’m sure I’ve killed at least somebody!”
He shakes his head, continuing to smile. “No. According to the nano-cameras and the scorekeeping tech, you either missed your shots or you managed to stun, wound, and maim, but never scored a fatality. So, congratulations, I hope it makes you feel better. An amazing achievement actually, almost unprecedented in the history of the Games.”
“But—” I continue, “what about the time I was shooting point-blank, with Chihar, at this one Red Contender—”
Aeson chuckles. “It was not your kill. Or else, it was not anyone’s kill, and you both wounded the hostile.”
I make an amazed sound, and Aeson points to the food so that I continue my meal. I eat and glance out the window watching the city below, and the approaching blue-grey line of overcast ocean in the distance, as we draw closer to the shoreline of the Golden Bay.
“Now, this is the instruction we’ve been given for today,” he says. “The previously undisclosed location of the Stage Two Game Zone was finally transmitted to all the Contenders and their representatives, and all the ticket-holding audience members, late last night.”
“Really, even the audience? Such a ridiculous secret that no one knows it until they tell us. . . . Okay,” I say. “So where are we going? Is it one of the sites that have been proposed by the media gossips?”
“The coordinates are somewhere on the beach,” Aeson says, pointing directly ahead of us into the morning haze.”
“Ugh,” I say. “I am guessing it will have to be something in the water.”
Aeson glances at me. “I’ve considered this possibility. So I’ve packed a number of extras in your equipment bag. In addition to all the replaced items that you’ve lost in the last Game Stage, I’ve added a few portable floating devices.” And then he describes to me the various gadgets, new and old, that I now have in my bag.
“How cold is the ocean water this time of the year?” I say with trepidation.
“Not too bad, at least here in the Djetatlan Ocean which is the name of the body of water that lies beyond the Golden Bay. Similar to Earth oceans on the average, and we are in late spring, so it’s cold but not freezing.” Aeson looks at me gently. “Gwen, please . . . be careful, stay strong. Whatever it is they have prepared for this Game Stage, you can handle it.”
“I know,” I say confidently, for my beloved.
He can never know my doubts again, not any longer, not until this whole thing is over—that is, if I survive it.
And then, as we make our approach in the silver haze, the shoreline becomes distinct, and the strange yellow, mauve, and grey striated sands are now visible, curving parallel to the clouded blue-grey water with its white foaming surf.
The hover car starts its descent like a falling bird.
Chapter 55
Just as we get close enough to distinguish details, I see that the wide stretch of beach is bordering on a line of short cliffs of pale grey and mauve stone, no more than a hundred feet above sea level, which becomes a plateau running inland, sloping gently upward into the outskirts of the city. The cliffs are sparsely topped with residences and other structures, and there’s a rose brick-colored strip of some kind of material that could be a major roadway that runs along the shoreline.
Not sure why, but it makes me think of Pacific Coast Highway, or PCH, also known as California State Route 1, back on Earth. And then I think of Malibu and the coastal drive my family would often take through the Santa Monica Mountains going down Topanga Canyon, during my childhood. . . . Often there would be morning fog as soon as you emerged from the mountain pass, and then it would resolve into a silvery grey stretch of ocean. . . .
Focus, Gwen!
I stare at the sight of the alien beach below, the line of cliffs, and the distant foaming water of an alien ocean against an overcast sky. Soon, as the morning progresses, that sky will turn a fierce, blazing white. . . .
And then I see the endless rows of floating, hovering spectator platforms. They levitate gently just above the cliffs, some barely rising from the plateau, others nearly skimming the roofs of residences, others yet higher, in tiers. . . . Interspersed with them are giant smart board stadium screens, also hovering, lit up with scoreboard stats—but there are no live feeds just yet.
The beach is mostly empty, but up on the cliffs, people are everywhere along the plateau. Hover cars are gliding down all around us, as the Games audience arrives, and the platforms are already filled more than halfway. The air is filled with descending cars, just like ours—minus the Imperial guard vehicle entourage that surrounds Aeson’s car on all sides, and now waits not too far overhead. While the audience is confined to the cliffs above, some of the cars, including our own, descend to beach level—other Contenders are arriving at the Game Zone coordinates, as instructed.
Aeson lands us gently, coming to a hover stop a foot above the colorful sand. He gives me a look of desperate intensity that’s filled with a million things unspoken. “Gwen . . . I’m not permitted to go with you any further beyond this point. But I’ll be waiting for you, watching from up there.” And he points to the cliffs with the audience platforms and the growing crowd noise.
“Wait! What about Gracie and Gordie and the others!” I recall in a panic. “I didn’t even have a chance to see them!”
“Your sister and brother and all your friends are here too, unfortunately there’s just not enough time, we’re cutting it close as it is.”
I nod mutely, as my heart wrenches with regret. What if I never see them again?
“Please, be careful!” Aeson says, looking into my eyes bravely, holding back a flood of pain. “Come back to me.”
“I will!” I say, grabbing his hand, feeling the warm strengt
h of his fingers.
But he pulls me in suddenly and holds my face between his hands, then crushes his mouth against mine. The instinctive, passionate instant of contact between us reminds me of the first kiss he gave me before the Imperial Throne—a kiss which he called the Opening of the Mouth, and which seared me with desire. . . .
And now, again, I’m inflamed with overpowering sensation, a stab of need, a multitude of complex feelings for him. . . .
Desperate, I cling to him. Just for a moment, I dissolve, and forget, and sweetly die. . . .
And then I disengage from the embrace, forcing myself to let go. He, too, releases me against our common will.
I take a deep breath, charged with the burst of energy from him, take the equipment bag stashed behind my seat, and turn away from my love. A wild pulse pounds in my temples as I exit the hover car and jump onto the sand without looking back because I cannot bear his farewell look.
A cool wind from the ocean envelops me, carrying with it faint spray and a unique marine scent. I stand and listen past the gusts of wind to the additional soft change in aerial turbulence as Aeson’s car rises back up into the air behind me. . . .
My shoes sink into the sand as I take a few steps, and pause, watching other Contenders in various uniform colors approach, mill around, avoiding each other. I don’t see any familiar faces.
What now? Is this the Game Zone?
We’re all uncertain of what comes next. But we all know not to engage in fighting just yet, or even to make verbal contact.
Contenders continue arriving. Soon, there are hundreds of us, and we fill the beach in a rainbow of major colors. Our ranks have thinned considerably after Stage One, but when all are gathered, we’re still at least two thousand strong. And up on the cliffs, the audience roar is increasing. They are chanting the usual names of various high-profile Contenders, in anticipation of their arrival. Even my own name can be heard, as a small crowd notices my own arrival and picks up the cry.