Revolution (33 page)

    Rayne had mistaken the awesome sound of hundreds, possibly thousands, of people thunderously cheering for the sound of waves crashing against the shore. It was a massive stadium of some sort, an arena. Peter shivered as a chill crept slowly up his spine and prickled the short hairs on the back of his neck. He turned toward his cellmate.

    “Where the fuck are we?” he asked.

    His cellmate continued to stare straight ahead like a lobotomized mental patient.

    “Hey, buddy, I’m talking to you!” Rayne shouted. He walked over to the bearded man and stood over him. “I said I’m talking to you!”

   The man looked up at him with bloodshot eyes.

   “I know you can hear me,” Rayne insisted. “Where are we? What are we doing here?”

   “Dead,” the bearded man mumbled.

    “What?”

    “We’re dead.”

    Rayne was taken aback by the man’s pessimistic answer. It made him angry. Reaching down, he grabbed the man by the shoulders and shook him violently.       

    “Hey! What’s your problem?” the bearded man asked, showing the first sign of life Peter had seen so far.

    “So, you are awake,” Rayne said, pulling him to his feet so they were facing each other eye-to eye.

    “What do you want?”

    “What’s with the attitude?” Rayne asked.

    “Attitude? You would have an attitude too if you had just been tortured,” the bearded man said, sneering derisively at Rayne.

   “Let me guess. They used electric shocks on you, right?” Rayne asked.

    “How did you know that?”

    “It was the same thing they used on me. Isn’t it obvious? We’re both political prisoners.”

    “You don’t look like you’ve been tortured,” the man grumbled, looking him up and down. Rayne appeared to be as fit as any healthy person. “There’s no use talking. They’re going to kill us now,” the bearded man added, gloomily.

    “What did you do to wind up here?” Rayne asked, ignoring his cellmate’s statement.

    “I wrote an unfavorable newspaper article about the government,” the man said.

    “You’re a journalist?”

    “I was. Not anymore.”

   
This guy is incorrigible
.

    “Where are we?” Rayne asked.

    “Haven’t you seen the show?” the bearded man asked, surprised.

    “What show?”

    “The new game show – “You Bet Your Life.’ It’s the show where convicted criminals fight each other to the death for a chance to win their freedom and a ten million dollar prize.”

    “Are you serious?” Peter asked.

    “Can’t you tell? There’s a Roman gladiator arena outside our cage!” the bearded man exclaimed. “This month is Gladiator Month. Last month was Wild West Month. Before the arena, they set up an old deserted town and people shot each other with ancient pistols.”       

    “How does this show work? I’ve never seen it.”

    “When our turn comes, they’ll give us primitive weapons and usher us out of the cage into the arena. Then we have to fight someone to the death.”

    “Sounds simple enough,” Rayne commented, narrowing his eyes..

    “There are over twenty men competing in this round alone. The chances of one of us surviving are next to nothing.”

    “Speak for yourself,” Rayne said, annoyed.

    “I don’t think you get it. We’re about to be executed.”

    “What are you saying? The show is rigged?” Peter asked.

    “Probably.”

    “But you don’t know for sure?”

    “Everything about this government is rigged.”

    “I can’t argue with that,” Peter said.

    Their conversation was interrupted by the sound of trumpets blaring. The cellmates approached the bars of their cage. Looking out, they saw a crowd of people assembling below the Imperial Box on the far side of the arena. Rayne assumed they were people dressed like Roman centurions from the way the sunlight reflected off their golden armor.

    “I was captured inside the Powerdrome, in Virtual-world,” Rayne said. “How about you?”

    “They came and got me at my office in the city.”

    “Are we on the mainland now?” Rayne inquired.

    “No, we’re in New Washington.”

    “How can that be possible? They don’t have an outdoor gladiator arena in New Washington.”

    “You’re right. They don’t,” the bearded man said. “But they do have an indoor sports stadium at the base of the Presidential Tower. They make it look like an outdoor arena with holographic special effects.”

    “At least they’re consistent,” Rayne muttered.

    “What?”

    “Never-mind.”

    Rayne strained his eyes and could just barely make out the small figure of a white and purple robed man standing in the middle of the Imperial Box.

    The Emperor, I presume
.

    They heard a loud voice booming over the loudspeakers.

    “Let the games begin!”

    At that moment, the metal door behind them rushed open and two Shock Troopers entered the cage. Rayne heard a metallic grinding sound and realized the bars of the cage were lifting to the ceiling, allowing them access to the outside arena. One of the Troopers threw a short sword and a shield onto the floor with a loud metallic clatter.

    “You, on the right,” the Trooper said, pointing at Peter with his electric baton. “Get out of the cage. It’s your turn to fight.”

    “Okay, no problem,” Rayne said, grinning at them.

    If he was going to be bossed around, he figured he could at least have some fun with them. He picked up the short sword and shield from the floor. Winking at the Troopers, he turned on his heel and exited the cage. He stepped into the colossal arena to the thunderous cheers of the bloodthirsty audience.

Chapter 26

    “You better get down to my office right now,” Connelly’s voice spoke anxiously over the intercom.

    “Why? What’s going on?” Campion asked, irritated.

    “You better come down and see for yourself.”

    “All right, all right,” Jane muttered, standing from her desk.

    She looked down once more at the map of New Washington. She had studied it so many times that she knew every building and road by heart.

   
This better be important
, she thought, turning away from the map and leaving her office.

    She stalked down to Connelly’s office, thinking about the map.

   
We have a good plan. Charlie Squad will attack the city from the east, while Delta attacks from the west. That leaves Bravo to come in from the north. My squad, Alpha, will engage the police headquarters on the south side of the island and then rendezvous with Bravo in the northern sector of New Washington. It’s a good plan. It could work. We used our connections to obtain the most modern assault choppers available to carry it out.

   Campion arrived at Connelly’s office, smashing impatiently on the door with her fist.

    “Come in,” Connelly’s voice spoke over the intercom.

    Jane shoved the door open, striding in.

    “What’s up? I’m going over the battle plans,” she said, stalking over to Connelly’s desk like a panther.

    “You’re not going to like this,” Rick said, staring at a small 3D television screen on his desk.

    “Not going to like what? Spit it out,” Jane replied.

    “See for yourself,” he said, pointing to the TV.

    “What does that have to do with-” Campion stopped herself in mid-sentence as her mouth dropped open.

    “This is one of the few times I’ve actually seen you speechless,” Connelly observed, raising a gray eyebrow.

    Jane leaned over the desk to get a better look at the television screen. She stared at it with wonder and consternation. She had been rendered mute by pure shock. She stared at the face on the screen without listening to the words of the announcer.

    “Is that – how did?” she asked Connelly.

    “It is. And I don’t know how,” Connelly answered.

    “How could he be there?”

    “I don’t know. It doesn’t make any sense.”

    “How could he be there?” Campion repeated, eyes wide.

    “He must have been caught.”

    “Caught? Already? He just started the mission this morning!”

    “What can I say? He works fast.”

    “Works fast? What are you talking about? How did he end up on this show?” Jane asked.

    “Hold on. The announcer is going to describe him,” Rick said, turning up the volume on the television.

    Campion circled lithely around the desk and seized the chair in front of it. Dragging it to Connelly’s side, she sat next to him and glared at the television screen with horror. They listened to the game show announcer’s booming voice on the television speakers.

    “Our first contestant is an ordinary white-collar criminal who is not expected to make it to the second round,” the announcer said as the camera focused on a close-up of Rayne’s face. “Peter Rayne was a computer expert for the Breechlere Corporation. He was caught embezzling money from his employers and given a life sentence. He was generously offered the chance to appear on this show as an alternative to his sentence. As you can see, he accepted. Our second contestant is a hardened criminal from the Frump Federal Penitentiary. His long list of convictions include-”

    Campion reached over to the television and turned down the volume.

    “His cover still hasn’t been blown! They don’t know he’s working for us!” Jane exclaimed.

    “Yeah, but what good is that to us now? He’s about to be killed,” Rick said.

    “You think so? Look at that joker,” Campion said, pointing to the TV screen where a short, squat, disheveled-looking man with unkempt black hair stood on the dirt floor of the gladiator arena, nervously clasping a shield and short sword. He stood facing Rayne at the edge of the circle in the center of the arena.

    “You do have a point. He doesn’t look too tough. And we know our guy can fight,” Connelly agreed.

    “He can definitely make it to round two. Probably further,” Jane stated, confidently.

    “He probably will. But I think we have to face the fact that his mission is over.”

    “Nothing is over!” Campion shouted, standing from her chair and shaking a fist at her colleague. “I have an undercover operative working as a guard at the Frump Sports Stadium! That’s where the show is being held! Correct?”

    “I think so, but I don’t see-”

    “Contact our Sports Stadium operative. We have a new mission for him.”

********

    Rayne stared down his opponent in the center of the immense gladiator arena.

    I doubt this guy’s had as much sword practice as I’ve had in the past twenty-four hours
.
The broadsword I found in Dark World was nicer than this Roman short sword, but both work on the same principle: stab and slash for offense, parry and block for defense. I doubt they teach those skills at the Frump
Penitentiary
.

    Rayne smiled grimly. The other contestant looked terrified.  His opponent, in actuality, was no “hardened” criminal. He was a lawyer who was jailed for filing a lawsuit against the government.

    Rayne focused all his concentration on the other gladiator and psyched himself up for battle.

    This guy’s not going to end my mission. That job will be for someone bigger
and badder.

    “Gladiators, prepare for battle,” a booming voice announced over the loudspeakers.

    “You got it, pal,” Rayne whispered, tensing for action. He didn’t realize that he was still grinning like a maniac.

    “Commence fighting!” the loudspeaker voice shouted.

    Rayne advanced toward his opponent.

   
This guy looks like a deer caught in the headlights.

    The contestant didn’t take a step forward or back. He stood in place with an expression of shock and horror. Peter quickened his pace across the arena’s dirt floor and lunged for his opponent.

    He’s not even holding his sword the right
way
.

    Rayne launched a fake thrust to his opponent’s mid-section. The contestant clumsily blocked it with his shield and drew his sword back. Rayne sliced at his antagonist’s exposed arm and struck the elbow joint. The man’s forearm sliced cleanly off and struck Rayne in the chest like a wet piece of meat.

    His unlucky opponent was beginning to scream as Rayne impaled him through the throat. The man’s scream was replaced by a sickening gurgling sound as he fell face-down on the arena floor. He lay in the dirt in a widening pool of blood.

   
That was too easy
, Rayne thought, looking down at the corpse.
The Dark World
robots fought better than he did
.

    Rayne looked up from the body when he heard thunderous cheering from the stands. He felt a rush when he realized they were cheering for him.

   
I could get used to
this
, he thought, lifting his sword into the air in a makeshift victory salute.

    The cheering from the stands increased in volume and intensity. Rayne turned in a slow circle, facing each section of the audience in the stands. He knew the stands and spectators were just a holographic projection, but he figured there must be real people somewhere watching his performance on television.

    The familiar booming voice blasted out over the loudspeakers.

    “Our first contestant, Peter Rayne, has won his first match in a record 6 seconds! He officially goes on record for the fastest slaying in arena history! It’s clear that Mr. Rayne has been seriously underestimated!”

    The cheering from the pseudo-spectators grew deafening. Rayne smiled at the fake crowd, bowing to each section.

    They want a show
?
I’ll give them a show! The announcer said earlier that I wouldn’t make it to the second
round?
I’ll make it to the fourth round. And the fifth. I’ll show them
how it’s done. I’ll win this thing
.

    Rayne felt high on the adrenaline rush of victory.

   
After spending more than two hours fighting in the various Powerdrome attractions, this arena doesn’t seem that difficult. I’m used to sword fighting. I’m
used to the holographic backgrounds. The only thing I’m not used to is having a real opponent. However, if there is one thing I’m good at, it is adapting to new situations.

    Rayne’s elation dampened a bit when he saw a squad of gold-armored Roman soldiers moving toward him from the Imperial Box. He strained his eyes to see the faraway white-robed figure of the emperor at the summit of the high Imperial box.

    Did the emperor give me the infamous “thumbs down”? Are these guards coming to kill
me?

    Rayne tensed for action again as the guards approached. He counted eight of them.
This isn’t going to be easy
, he thought. He bent his knees to lower his center of gravity, clutched his shield to his chest, and lifted his sword in preparation.

    “Put down your sword, gladiator. We are bringing you before the Emperor,” the lead guard said, sternly.

    Peter did as he was told and felt chagrined when he heard thunderous laughter erupting from the stands.

    “Apparently, Mr. Rayne thought he was in for another fight,” the announcer’s voice echoed over the loudspeakers.

    Rayne felt his face redden as the laughter from the stands increased in volume. The guards surrounded him and gestured for him to walk forward with his sword lowered at his side.

   
These guys better not be messing with me
.

    Rayne kept a tight grip on his lowered sword, watching his escorts with his peripheral vision. As they approached the emperor’s box, Rayne could see the purple and white toga and the green laurel leaves circling the emperor’s head.

   
They don’t spare any
details.

   
The guards motioned him to stop below the box.

    “Bow before the emperor,” the lead guard instructed him.

    Rayne had a sudden moment of inspiration. He had a flashback to when he was a kid watching the History Channel on television. He remembered how the Roman soldiers’ saluted their superior officers. Peter held out his hand palm down, struck it against his chest, and raised it toward the emperor. The crowd went wild. He then bowed down and remained in place.

    “You can stand up now,” the lead centurion instructed him, as the cheering from the stands reached a fever pitch.

   
I must have done the right thing
, Peter decided, standing.

    “Follow us,” the lead soldier said.

    They escorted him across the wide dirt arena until they reached the cage. Rayne saw that the cage bars had already lifted into the ceiling.

    “Wait in the cell until you are called for the second round,” the lead guard said. “And please hand over your weapons,” he added, reaching out.

    Rayne reluctantly handed his bloody sword and metal shield to the guard. He turned and walked into the cage. As he stepped into the cage, the iron bars in the ceiling began lowering with a metallic grinding sound. The pseudo-spectators continued to cheer raucously as he entered the cell.

    “Our first contestant has proven to be more exciting than we anticipated!” the stadium announcer’s voice blasted across the arena. “Now, we must introduce our next two contestants.”

    Rayne hardly noticed his old cellmate sitting against the wall as he returned to the cage bars, searching the field for the new contestants. He didn’t see anyone yet, but he could hear the announcer’s voice describing them.

     “Matthew Reynolds is a convicted murderer,” the loudspeakers announced. “He was given the opportunity to compete in this arena in lieu of a death sentence. You, the people, voted for this rare opportunity on our sister show,
Monday
Night Justice
. As you probably remember from last week’s episode, Mr. Reynolds robbed a bank at gunpoint, killing five Federal Police Officers before he was finally captured. You, our television audience, voted. You clearly admired his strength and courage under duress, so you voted for him to compete on America’s number one game show,
You Bet Your Life, Gladiator Edition
. I’m sure Mr. Reynolds is thankful for his second chance.” 

    Rayne’s eyes squinted and focused on a distant human silhouette on the far side of the arena, to the right of the emperor’s box. The figure was tall and stocky. He watched the stocky silhouette bow before the emperor’s box to the thunderous cheers of the crowd.