Revolution Page 10

  This wasn’t a glitch. It was all part of the game. This fight was not on some far away fantastical plain, but in an arena, like where the gladiators of old used to fight. Bright sunlight lit up the sky and cast long shadows into the arena. She rode forward at a cautious walk. The crowd were screaming her name with delight. But as she got into the daylight, she realised that she recognised some of the faces. Carter and Mason, and along the line she noticed Rex as well. The crowd were not part of the scenery. They were the actual Vegas arena crowd, projected into the game. She got to a trot as she went along the line, the crowd still going wild.

  Finally, she spotted Zenner and slowed to a halt in front of him.

  “Everything okay?” he asked with a smile.

  “You brought the crowd in, but this is a Terminal game. Are they in danger?”

  She looked back for Rex, though he was lost in the sea of faces. Zenner was stilling grinning, although he could see the look of concern on her face, and that made him take it a little more seriously.

  “Only those wired into the Terminal consoles will suffer the effects of this game. For the rest of us, it is like any other game of Duel. Only you and Locke are running Terminal here.”

  She breathed a sigh of relief. The risk to her own life had barely crossed her mind, but the thought of others getting hurt was abhorrent to her. She just wished Rex had not come.

  “This is your day, Luna. You are a hero to these people. Make the most of it!”

  She looked around to see that he wasn’t wrong. The crowd were in awe of her. It was what she had always wanted, celebrity status, and recognition for her talent on a grand scale. She never imagined it could come quite so soon. She trotted back over to the centre of the arena, kicking up sand as she went. The arena was larger than the famous Colosseum in Rome, much larger, and with a vast crowd. The fighting area itself was almost a hundred metres wide in diameter. More than enough room to manoeuvre her horse to fight whatever was coming her way. After the Templars, she had expected some unusual challenge, but she had no idea what was to come.

  Gates opened on the far side, opposite her entry point, and she knew this was it. It was time to meet one of her heroes, and fight him for real. Locke strode out on a magnificent white steed. He was dressed as a French cuirassier, but also carried a lance. The gleaming armour on his torso bounced light in her eyes, and the plume on his head made him a towering figure. He was dressed to impress. Not only that, he had chosen equipment that fairly closely matched hers, without outright copying it. That was a statement, and she knew it. He wanted to beat her at her own game. She welcomed a fair fight, but this wasn't fair for the right reasons. She pulled at her reins and dug in her heels, moving back to her starting position. As she came to a halt, the announcer was yelling all sorts of things to get a rise out of the crowd.

  She was blanking it all out and focused on her opponent. In this moment, he was all that mattered. It was her ritual. There was no space for any thoughts for anything but your opponent in a duel, and she could not afford to have her mind wander. She studied his smug face. She'd always loved Locke as a showman, but it seemed as though he had let his fame go to his head. He didn't even see her as a threat, and that was a grave mistake. She knew he was a good fighter, and even though she couldn't know the extent of his skill, she was confident in hers.

  "Begin!" the call finally came.

  Her hearing returned as that command echoed in her ears like the crack of a starting pistol. She dug her heels in, and her horse launched forward in the exact moment that Locke did, too. They were galloping towards each other with ferocity, and the crowd was on their feet in excitement. She could see that his lance was coming for her with pinpoint accuracy. She kept her eye on her target. She could see no way she could miss. She was thundering forward. Sweat was dripping from her brow from the stress of the situation. She was concerned, but maybe not enough.

  At the last moment her opponent veered slightly and ducked low. Her lance glanced off the side of his helmet, and in a flash he was gone. The crowd gasped as she came about for another charge. But Locke had stopped on the far side, and that was when she spotted it. He was now holding half of his lance, which he threw to the arena floor. A pain was soaring through Luna's side, and she looked down. The rest of the lance was embedded in her side. She almost cried as the pain of it set in. It was like nothing she had ever felt. Even the pain modules added to the game recently had not prepared her for this.

  She looked up to the crowd to see that all eyes were on her. They were fascinated. Locke was good, but she wasn't done, not by a long shot. There was a score in her armour where the lance had slid up one plate and then found its gap. That had taken some blow out of the impact, and it hadn't gone in far, as the blade was wedged between the plates of her armour. She grasped the broken shaft and yanked it from her body. A spurt of blood gushed out, but it soon settled. It hurt like hell, and she cried out as it was wrenched out. She threw it down with disgust and looked up at her opponent to see if he were ready.

  He had clearly expected her to give up, for he was empty-handed. But she gritted her teeth and dug her heels in once again, letting out a coarse battle cry. Locke smiled wickedly. He drew out a long, straight broadsword and rushed towards her. Once more her point was on target, and this time she was determined for it to find its mark. But she also knew how cunning her opponent was. He was leading with his blade in front of the horse’s head, ready to engage her lance and carry it away. She wasn't going to let that happen.

  They were closing rapidly and at tremendous speed. In the last moments before the clash, she veered away sharply. The last thing anyone would expect when she had such a reach advantage. She spun the lance about like a staff and smashed it into Locke's nose. The power of her swing, combined with the speed of their horses, caused it to hit with tremendous force, and his helmet did not reach down any further than his brow.

  Locke was catapulted from his horse in what looked like an acrobatic move, but not one of his making. He crashed hard to the floor and rolled before coming to a halt. She wheeled about, finding that she had snapped her hollowed lance in two. She threw it aside and smiled, seeing the blood on her opponent as he stumbled to get up. He looked stunned, and his nose was clearly broken.

  "You fight dirty," Locke said, smiling.

  Blood was flowing through his teeth. He looked liked a mess. But it was clear that he was now going to take her seriously. She cast aside her lance and dismounted. She wasn't going to win this fight in any other way than would be seen as fair. If she was going to defeat one of the greatest champions of the game, there could be no doubt that she earned that victory. Locke looked both surprised and impressed by this gesture. She drew out her sabre and readied herself for the fight she'd been waiting for her entire life.

  For a few tense moments they circled one another as they planned their attack. Locke certainly treated the fight very differently now. But finally, he grew impatient. He went forward with two quick thrusts. She passed them off and delivered a mighty vertical cut. His sword came up to parry, but was smashed down by the broader sabre. Luna's blade cut into the leather helmet on his head, but his blade had taken the worst of the power out of it, and he went back to a safe distance.

  Locke was surprised by her speed and power, but he was no less determined. He came back at her, once again with a fast thrust with his cuirassier sword. She went to parry, but he stopped short and cut down against the wound in her side. The edge struck her armour and did not penetrate, but she felt the shock against her wound. She dropped down to one knee as she cried out in pain. But he didn’t let up, as he saw his chance. He thrust forward for her exposed neck.

  She parried the blade off a little, but the tip grazed her neck, slashing the strap holding her helmet on. She lifted her sword to strike, but he kicked her in the chest. She was thrown back into a tumble, but rolled nimbly back to her feet to oppose him as he rushed forward. Her helmet had been lost in the fall. Locke unclipped his, the
strap clearly chafing against his sore jaw from the beating she had given him. He did not put it down, but launched it at her as a distraction. She cut the helmet aside, not having time to recover the blade as a cut soared towards her head. She stepped to one side and narrowly avoided it, slashing back at her opponent as he went past. The blow fell short, as he was as nimble as she was. He came right back at her with cut after cut. His blade was more agile than hers, and so she was on the back foot throughout. Forced to merely defend, and with little chance to strike back.

  The light of the sun flashed back and forth as it bounced from their glistening blades. The audience was mesmerised. A few shouted enthusiastically, but most were silent, barely believing the fight that was unfolding before their eyes.

  For several minutes the two fighters exchanged blows without a single one landing. Cut and thrust, one after another, all parried with such finesse they could well have been dancing in a choreographed set piece sequence. Locke was starting to understand the true extent of her skills, and yet he was still every bit her match.

  Finally, in frustration he over extended, and she pressed forward. She grabbed hold of the hilt of his sword and smashed the knuckle bow of her sabre into his already bloody face. He recoiled backwards, but maintained a grip on his sword, and seized her hilt, too. She kicked down at his knee, but he shifted out of the way and yanked her back off her feet. She fell down once more to one knee, and struggled to stay up as he forced both blades towards her throat.

  They were locked together, applying all their force against one another. He was stronger than she was, but only slightly. Millimetre by millimetre her own sabre was drawn closer towards her exposed throat. That was when it dawned on her, quite what the consequences would be if she could not stop it. It wouldn’t mean defeat or humiliation, but death. It was a cold thought that swept over her, and her eyes widened, her breathing calmed.

  You aren’t going to die here!

  She released one hand, quickly reached down to Locke’s lead leg, and pulled it out from under him. He crashed down into the sand. He had lost the grip of her sword, but maintained his own. He slashed up at her, and the tip of the sword cut her cheek at the furthest extreme of his reach. She was thrown around and yelped with pain. She reached up to feel blood dripping from her face, and the pain intensifying. She was losing strength from blood loss, and yet she was also angrier than she had ever been in her life.

  “You fight great, but I’m a great fighter,” said Locke.

  He was already on his feet again. His sword wasn’t even up. It merely rested at his side. He was standing feet together and upright, calm and calculated.

  “You don’t have to die here, only lose,” he added.

  But she shook her head.

  “I already told you. I didn’t come here to lose!”

  She rushed at him once more, cutting with such tremendous force his parries barely held back her cuts as he stumbled backwards. She was moving forward more quickly than he could back off, and finally she closed down his right side, locked his arm, and pulled his sword out of his hands, while keeping hold of hers. He was disarmed, but he wasn’t ready to give up. He let out a cry as he ran forward, and she was too encumbered by both weapons to strike before he crashed into her. She lost hold of both weapons and crashed to the ground under the weight of him.

  The impact took the wind out of her and stunned her for a moment, but she soon lashed out with her right fist. A hook clipped Lock hard, but it wasn’t enough to throw him from her. The look on his face was one of a cold-hearted man that would do anything to survive. All remnants of humanity were gone. He wasn’t fighting for fun or for sport. He was fighting to live. He struck down at her, and she covered as best she could. The first few blows she stopped, but one hooked around her guard and struck her temple. It was almost enough for her to lose consciousness.

  That would have been a small mercy. But neither knew what would happen if one fell unconscious. It would surely be up to the crowd to decide, and their blood lust was unpredictable. Nobody had ever been here before, not in any living memory. The blows continued to rain down on her, and she knew she had to do something. She peered out between her guard so that she could time her move. She watched as Locke lifted his body up to deliver an almighty blow, that is when he would be at his most unstable. She mustered all her strength and pushed with her hips and her core. Locke was launched upwards, and she pushed further with her hands so that he went over.

  She rolled over and got back up to one knee. He had landed beside her sabre. He reached down, took it up, and stood up to come back at her. There was no sense of honour now. No rules, no niceties. They were each in it for survival. He rushed at her with murderous intent, ready to cut her in half. She quickly looked around and spotted Locke’s sword two metres away. She leapt and rolled nimbly. She grasped the hilt and rolled back on to one knee as she parried a tremendous cut, but he whirled in a second. It struck her armour at her flank, on the reverse side of where she had been stabbed. It didn’t penetrate, but it sure hurt like hell. She returned a thrust to Locke’s lead leg. The blade drove deep into his thigh, and he let out a scream in pain, but she had drawn it back out and moved away before he could lash out.

  He was hobbling now. She knew this was her opening. He charged at her as best he could, but instead of taking the parry, she backed off enough that his blade fell short, and the tip of hers rose up and thrust deep. It struck Locke’s eye socket and pierced deep into his brain. It exited at the back of his skull and helmet, finally coming to a halt. She let out a sigh in relief as she let the grip of her sword go, and Locke’s body collapsed lifelessly down to the sand.

  She was breathing heavily and hurting badly. That had been the hardest fight of her life, although she didn’t look particularly happy with her victory. The crowd were silent as they processed all that had gone on. One of them began to clap slowly, and she soon spotted who it was. It was Zenner, and the crowd soon joined in. The scene around her erupted with excitement as they clapped and whistled. They were hysterical.

  “Game over. Congratulations, Luna. You are the winner.”

  The view faded to black, and moments later she awoke in the real world in the chair of the boxing ring in Vegas.

  She looked over to Locke’s lifeless body in the chair beside her. Her restraints were being removed, and she sat up, but a deep feeling of sickness overcame her. She could barely hear what was going on, even though the crowds were screaming and yelling with excitement. Zenner took her hand and pulled her from the chair. He thrust her arm in the air triumphantly.

  “I give you, the first winner of a of Terminal duel!”

  The crowd loved every minute of it, but she couldn’t take any more. She stared at the body of Locke.

  What have I done?

  She was pale and felt as though she was going to faint, but not from the pain of her wounds. As Zenner had promised, they had been treated before she had even left the Duel world. But the stabbing pain was still there.

  “Well done, you’re a true champion,” said Zenner.

  But it was all too much, and she couldn’t take it any longer. She felt light headed, and finally dropped where she was standing. She was out cold.

  Chapter 9

  24 th July, 2071

  The South-East Frontier, Delta Sector

  “This is gonna be a real party, isn’t it?” Juan asked.

  “Bet your ass,” replied Victor.

  Axel and Ava were sitting opposite them in the tiny cabin of a small craft. Axel was looking at his console. They were flying at high altitude. They were fully armed and geared up, but wearing no insignia of any kind. No flags, not even their 'Global Intervention Specialists' company logo.

  “Let me get this right again,” began Juan, “We are being dumped into a suspected ILAN facility, inside the border of one of our allies. Not only that, but we are expected to rescue three hostages, and get them out, with what, some magical means?”

  “Yep, somethin
g like that,” replied Axel.

  “It’s shit. It’s a shit mission.”

  “We get it,” replied Ava.

  “Look, I know it sucks, but we are going to make it work. We’ll do what we always do. We improvise, and we make do.”

  “You know this could just as easily be bogus. If Newton wanted rid of us, this would sure be a simple way to do it. He’s feeding us to the wolves,” said Ava.

  “He wouldn’t need to try so hard if that’s what he wanted. No, he wants the ear of that Senator, and we are gonna get it for him.”

  “And risk our lives for that?” asked Victor.

  “His motives may suck, but let’s not forget the three kids we are going for,” said Ava.

  “Yeah, and our jobs,” added Juan.

  “It’s Newton.” Axel had noticed an incoming message. He accepted it, and their operation leader was projected before them.

  “I don’t need to remind you all how delicate an operation this is. In a few moments you will begin your descent, and not long after that you will lose all comms. Everything is jammed once you enter that zone. You will not be able to reach us for extraction, and even if you could, we couldn’t send anything in anyway. We cannot risk war, but it is also vital that you recover the three targets, alive. Do you get me?”

  “Yeah, we get it,” snarled Axel.

  “Good luck, then.”

  The signal ended.

  “That’s some cold shit,” said Juan.