Stiles’s use of the word “normal,” especially to include himself, seemed wildly misplaced.
Raine ached from the race. His body was still bruised and banged. He had felt the nanotrites kick in as soon as he lay down, and was nearly healed by morning, the dark purple bruises themselves all but faded. Yet there was still lingering pain.
Stiles leaned forward.
“From what I hear, you don’t have much choice. About being here.”
“That might explain my lack of enthusiasm.”
Stiles looked at him, the producer’s face now lapsed into a sneer. He wants to say something really nasty, Raine thought. But he’s holding back.
For now.
The nastiness, Raine guessed, would come in the arena later.
Which brought another, more chilling thought: This man might have the power to kill me.
And then I better find out just what the hell I am getting myself into here…
“Want to explain to me what I will be doing?”
Stiles nodded, his scowl in place.
“Sure, why not? You’re gonna be a star, Raine-at least for a night. Might as well show you how it all works.”
Stiles had indicated a seat next to him, and then gestured to the largest monitor in the studio.
“What I’m going to do is show you some clips from a past Bash. A greatest hits, if you will. Just a taste…”
A porky index finger came down and the screen unfroze, and now Raine saw the arena, not much larger than a hockey rink.
Aerial cameras panned the area, showing boxlike structures painted with colors and giant numbers. Round beach balls the size of small trucks sat in one corner.
A playpen for a giant baby.
Then a cut-someone in the arena, holding something like a curved sword in one hand and club in the other.
“You can select up to two weapons of your choice from our stock. No projectile weapons, of course. See, that gives you an advantage already. Each mutant gets only one weapon.”
This made Stiles begin laughing again.
The man in the arena went up to the nearest box. He smashed at the sides, hitting the numbers dead center.
“You see that-what he’s doing there?- that’s important. Each bash has a hidden message. It’s a puzzle. You can’t just go in, run to the other side, and get out. You have to figure out the puzzle, and do something. This guy-well he had a number puzzle. The audience loves it. They play along at home.”
“But without the mutants? I thought-”
Another cut, and now the same guy was encircled by four mutants who moved around him counterclockwise.
“The better you do with the puzzle, the more muties get released. Or is it the worse you do?” The fat man giggled. “I can never remember.”
But Raine was now focused on the guy in the arena. The muties had him spinning, turning, trying to keep his eyes on the tightening chain of mutants.
“Always one against a bunch?”
“No. You never know. I mean I do. But not the basher. Sometimes there is team play. But this one here is a newbie. He has to get through alone. Not experienced mutants, though. A new batch. He should have done-”
A cut. And one mutant had charged and smashed the guy on the back of his head.
Didn’t knock him down.
Raine heard a cheer.
“-better.”
“You got an audience in there?”
“Oh, yes, that’s part of the excitement. A live studio audience. VIPs. Tell you, it’s hard to get a seat to the live show. ’Course, you’ll have the best seat in the house.”
The guy in the arena spun and stabbed at an attacking mutant-exactly the wrong move, as now the other three had a clear shot at him.
More blows from a mutant behind him, and the guy went to his knees.
Raine wanted to look away.
“And you don’t stop it? I mean, the guy lost.”
Stiles shook his head. “And deprive our faithful viewers?”
Sick world, Raine thought. What exactly made it this sick?
“Besides, Mr. Raine, you see… when they witness what happens to that poor fellow, they now want payback!”
Stiles had raised his voice.
“They wait for the next bashers to enter, for the rest of the story, so the mutants will get what they deserve, live and in color!”
Raine now had the thought that maybe running to some other settlement, no matter where, might be the better option.
But then again, he had faced mutants. He had certainly killed them before.
He had a chance here. That is, if Stiles didn’t rig the show against him.
Stiles killed the monitor.
“Okay, a few last details… then you can get ready, Mr. Raine.” • • •
Somehow Stiles had been able to get his mammoth body out of its chair and walk over to what turned out to be a model of the arena.
He waved a hand over the open, empty space.
“You won’t know what’s in there until you get in. Once you enter the arena, we give you the puzzle and you will have to figure out what to do. Shouldn’t be too hard for someone smart like you to figure out.”
“And when I’ve solved it?”
“ If you solve it-and you can fight past the mutants and head to what we call ‘home’ ”-he pointed at one end of the arena, where a door stood in the middle of the wall-“then you walk behind the outside walls and emerge in our studio for the post-Bash interview. Done by me, of course.”
Raine leaned forward. It wasn’t far from one end to the other. So that wasn’t the challenge.
“Do I have to kill all the mutants in the arena before I go through?”
Stiles shook his head. “No. Once you have shown us the solution to the puzzle inside the arena, you are free to go ‘home.’ If you can get there.”
Raine nodded.
There were things this bastard wasn’t telling him, he was sure of it.
Stiles’s nasty grin and piggy eyes did nothing to dispel that thought. “Nearly showtime, Mr. Raine; you best get ready…”
And suddenly the assistant was there, clipboard in hand, ready to lead him away.
THIRTY-SIX
Raine looked at the table of weapons.
The selection didn’t seem to matter, not when you had an array of clunky clubs and homemade bladed weapons. He picked up the longest blade he could find, more of a pike with a sharpened tip and not much of an edge. For a club-he gave each one a heft. He wanted something light that could be whipped around easily. He found one that felt right.
“I’ll take these two.”
The assistant wrote down something on the clipboard.
“You gotta take a jacket.”
The assistant pointed to a rack with jackets, all bright colors.
“They all have tonight’s sponsor on them: SuperStim.”
“I have to wear one?”
“Yes. It’s in your-” He flipped through some pages. “-your contract. Somewhere.”
“I didn’t sign one,” Raine said. “Late addition to the program.”
The assistant misunderstood, the dialogue exceeding his intellect.
“No, you will be on first. You are the first Bash.”
“Which means-I guess-that I’m not expected to get out alive?”
At first the assistant said nothing, but then: “The outfits give you an extra layer. That could be helpful. Good way to think about it.”
Raine went over and picked up a blue jacket with the words S UPPER S TIM! on the back. He put it on.
I feel like a race car with ads plastered on its side.
He zipped it up. Not much protection. But the guy was right. A few millimeters extra padding.
“And the puzzle?”
“Oh, Mr. Stiles will announce that when you enter the arena.” The guy put a hand to his earpiece.
“Yeah, right. Okay, we go live to air in three minutes. When that door pops open, out you go.”