[Brackets] (16 page)

“Well, General Studblood, at the moment I have some things to do inside the arena for a project that I’m planning. If I could leave you for a time, I will take care of my affairs and return to you later to finish our conversation. If you will excuse me…”

“Sure,” said the General, flattered, confused
,
and relieved.
He dwelt for a moment on the idea that the Great Ahau thought he was special
,
until he noticed the time. Three more minutes
.

“Everyone set? It’s almost time. Any minute now,”
the General
broadcast to his officers.

“Where’s Noh?” asked Killergremlin anxiously.

“He had to go do something. We’re clear. Now we just have to find Tula. If you see her, get her to me.”

Noon.

The General was approached from behind by a figure. He was surprised to see Tula dressed exactly as she had been at the Café. He gripped the holster of his gun and turned off his comm link to make sure no one else could hear what he was about to do.

“We are pleased that you are here for the demonstration, General Studblood. Have you and your tribe decided on membership with our organization?”

The General drew his weapon quickly and whispered harshly. “You have to answer one thing first. Did you promise
leadership of the alliance to the Scarmada? Tell me now or I blow your head off.”

Tula laughed, entirely undaunted. “Of course not. We have made no offers to anyone nor received any promises of allegiance prior to today.” She stood close to him as he felt his
real
face go red. “Are you interested in leadership
positions
within the Mascaab? Opportunities exist, and we reward loyalty and effectiveness.”

The General hesitated and felt himself sweating within his mask.
Then he made a decision: a rash
and potentially costly decision
, but one that thrilled him. This
was what great leaders did
, he told himself. They decided.

“Yes, the Warriors of Tsepes will join the Mascaab alliance of tribes.” The General remotely accessed the money from his personal account, drained it, and handed it over to Tula’s outstretched hand.

Tula smiled. “Excellent. The rules are these. The Mascaab will begin an attack on all of the Ahtzon patrols in the arena simultaneously. You will be in position to attack the ones that are two tiers below. You will use this.” From apparently
nowhere, she produced a spear-
like weapon, as long as a rifle, with a trigger button in the handle and an elaborate tip that looked like the open jaws of a beetle. “
In one minute, go down to that patrol beneath us
. We will have people watching you. If you attempt to betray us, or run away without fulfilling your duty, we will destroy your tribe. Understood?”

The General didn’t appreciate the threat,
but nodded that he understood.
Tula
nodded back before disappearing
into the crowd. The Gener
al opened a channel to his officers and took a deep breath to fortify his resolve
.

“Listen up, change of plans. I just made a deal to join us up to the Mascaab, and they gave us our first new weapon. Our assignment is to…”

“
What
?!” Killergremlin screamed into the headset. “Why? We decided
not
to do that, remember?”

“I changed my decision,” said the General in as commanding a bellow as he could
muster
. His tolerance for insolence from Killergremlin
was at an all-time low
. “This is the best move. Now
shut up and calm down.” Without allowing
for further argument, and
there was definitely one coming, he opened a channel to the whole tribe.

“Listen up, everyone converge on my position right now. We’re going to take out this entire squadron of Ahtzon on my mark.” There was cheering and whooping from the warriors, and the General felt a surge of ambitious joy as he charged
down
to the Ahtzon contingent
, his men behind him
.

Some of the Ahtzon turned to look at him
as he ran down
, including Halley. He gave them no chance to pull out their weapons.
With a wild yell, h
e raised the spear and activated it. Instantly, dozens of flaming blue darts shot out of the tip and sliced into the entire mass of Ahtzon like a swarm of steak knives, tracing curved, glowing paths in the air as they
flew
through
and circled back in a frenzy. Everyone in the patrol was
dead in a matter of seconds.

At that moment, the General knew he had been right.
This weapon was for real, a treasure worth the price.
He heard cries from the bewildered
crowd
s
as similar weapons were released on patrols
throughout the arena.
The game on the court stopped.
The recruits of the Warriors of Tsepes let out a whoop and began to hunt down anyone that looked like a foe.
Many
in the stands began to flee while
others
cheered
the unexpected spectacle of carnage.

The General felt an exhilara
tion he’d all but forgotten.
He ran through the tiers, his spear burning in his hand as he sought
single-mindedly
for
more Ahtzon to eliminate or
Scarmada to punish.
He relished every kill
.
There was no doubt that he had delivered, that this was his great moment
.
His mind raced through
his ascension to the top of the alliance,
a move that would
dramatically chang
e
the balance of power between Atzon and Tri
be forever. He thought of the look Ohmen would have on his face when he realized that his attempted threat had badly backfired. He thought of Myung-Ki Noh, wherever he was, who now had the assurance that the General was as unique as he had hoped. He thought of
the morons at the clerk’s office
who
would
have
be
en
shocked to see him in his element, not the lazy, unproductive sloth—their words—that they had unfairly accused him of being. Maybe he would tell them.

A warning from Killergremlin
snapped
him
out of
his emotional high.

“The doors are closing! Everyone out of the building!” he
yelled.
The General
spun around and saw that the tunnel doors were indeed being sealed
.

“Everybody out!  Fall back!” ordered the General as he
scrambled to the closest doors
.
B
ut it was too late.
The lighted symbol in his viewer made clear that everyone was marked; there could be no escape to reality
.
They had to stay and fight what was coming. “All Tsepsians, rally to me!” he called out. Raising his spear, he let loose his war cry. “No fear!”

The arena went silent.
The lights and music stopped, the flash and pop of the M
ontezuma’s special ambience
disappeared.
The Warriors of Tsepes rushed to consolidate themselves, using corpses to form makeshift trenches in the stands.

The sound of large, grinding machinery filled the arena.
The hoops on the court retracted, the stone walls gave way, and the entire floor split in half. From underneath rose a platform
the size of the court,
covered with Ahtzon, more than
the General had ever seen together
. In the center of the army were four large artillery turrets,
all pointed at the pockets of tribal warriors
around them. The barrels of the turrets began to glow and seemed to release steady beams of
light that joined in the center, becoming
a blinding, ethereal pillar like some violent tear in the fabric of space.
Standing transfixed, the General knew he
had seen
the light before. He couldn’t remember where, b
ut he
felt intuitively
that this light signaled something awful a
bout to happen. He ordered himself to run,
but found
he was completely
immobilized.

From below, the command came
: “Fire!”

The turrets unleashed their barrage into the stands, four streams of instant death streaked with yellow flares. The legion
s
of Ahtzon were
unleashed into the stands under the cover of the guns and began to clear each
tier.
Those tribes that tried to wield their new spears against the onslaught were quickly mowed down.

The General found himself powerless. The Ahtzon were just one tier away, and there was no place to run. He called for a final attack, but no one answered. He crouched alone behind a stack of Ahtzon bodies, clutching the worthless spear. Things had gone so horribly wrong so quickly.

The Ahtzon came into view on his tier. He rallied himself for one final attack, raising the spear and knowing that as soon as he
fired, he would be shot at. But there was nothing left to do. He ran at full speed
toward
the army. Then without warning, he was on the ground, shot from behind and above. His arms and legs no longer functioned. He lay still, alive but helpless as the squadron of Ahtzon passed behind him.

They were no sooner gone than someone came and turned his body over. Into his view came the
face
of a warrior
wearing a Scarmada uniform. Ohmen. His voice sneered in glee.

“You made a choice. And it was bad. Now you have to pay for that.”

As he spoke, two Ahtzon officers and t
he bearded face of the Scarmada
leader
also came into view. The General opened his mouth to yell, but
the
Ahtzon grabbed his body by the shoulders and dragged him away. From his earpiece, he could hear as the final
shouts
of Killergremlin
and
Psychopedia pronounced the end of the Warriors of Tsepes.

It was an act of utter, humiliating
surrender for Perry to stay in his mask
and
watch as his broken body was solemnly dragged
down to the floor of the court
and through the tunnel that led to a columned walkway. From his compromised vantage point, the General could see the city of Kaah Mukul
appearing
between the columns, its metal, glass
,
and stone facades gleaming in the daylight.
Then they
were in an elevator, ascending
to a platform high atop the Central Temple
under an elaborately
carved
roof. Cameras were set up on
either side
to
broadcast the proceedings to the viewing screens
outside of the Montezuma
, where people applauded the spectacular capture of those w
ho had so vainly disturbed the tournament
.
The General’s
body was dropped onto a massive alt
a
r, facing up, and his chest armor was stripped off. A solemn, diabolical figure, an older man in a business suit, apron, and feathered headdress, approached the altar and looked down piteously. He spoke the name of General Studblood, accused him of sedition, pronounced him guilty, and plunged a shiny black dagger into his chest. The image around
him
began to lose clarity, and the last thing
the General
saw was his beating, disembodied heart held out for the entire city to see, and then his body being thrown off the altar and down the long, long steps of the temple to a pit under the sidewalk.

General Studblood was dead.

Perry removed the mask. He still felt immobilized, a passive observer
to
the destruction
of what was, to him, his greatest achievement
.
Very slowly, he stood up from his chair and
placed his gear in his duffel
bag, beginni
ng with the red and black banda
na from his arm. Behind him, Killergremlin and Psychopedia
pushed back from the table, both livid.

“Nice call, Stud. Really nice call. Why didn’t you just do what we agreed to? We lost everything because of you. Now we have to start almost from scratch...” Perry ignored them and finished packing. Without a word,
he walked out of the room
with
his head bent dow
n
and closed the door behind him.