Page 133 of Galaxy Games Four-Book Box Set (Galaxy Games)

133

It’s a Race

V alor

The TGN staff are bustling. We only have a few minutes before the next challenge. I rise and return to our tent, making certain we grabbed everything we need. The tablets, capsules, and small roll of bandages are in one of Willow’s coverall pockets.

I see nothing left behind, so I tear one of the tent’s metal poles out of its moorings, then use my teeth to rend the orange material into a strip about ten feet long and two feet wide. Those items in hand, I stalk back to our table. Two TGN security personnel in their hard-shelled armor accost me on my way, but I muscle through until I get to my seat.

“I figured you’d need a walking staff,” I say out loud so the viewing audience knows what I did. “Put it on our bill,” I toss over my shoulder at the security guards.

One of the assistant producers orders the guards to back down just as Zedd’s beautifully evil face fills the screen.

“Welcome back, viewers. We’ve got a big finale organized for you for the day after tomorrow, and after last night’s scorching viewing…” she exaggeratedly fans herself, “I thought I’d let our contestants off easy today.”

I think that means it’s going to be an insurmountable task, I say, although I don’t think either of my teammates needed my commentary to figure that out.

As Zedd continues to speak, I fashion a grip out of the fabric, wrapping it around the round metal bar, then tearing the end down the middle so I can tie it to itself. I imagine it will need to be re-done at intervals because it will tend to slide down the metal, but it will get the job done.

“Let me invite our contestants to follow my drone.”

The large screen, supported by four drones that carry her six-by-eight-foot visage, moves away from the encampment.

Braveheart rises, but has to support himself with the back of his chair. I hurry to his side of the table and hand him the staff. As we follow the drone at a slow pace, I watch his movements. The way he’s favoring his right leg isn’t subtle. I doubt he can make it a mile.

I may have to carry you, I say.

I’m a geneslave. I’ve been in worse condition than this before. I walked out of the firefight on Chaldea.

We’ll argue later, I say when Willow gives me a pointed look. I have the ability to broadcast to either or both of them. Although I was only speaking to Braveheart, she sensed something was wrong.

We’ll talk later, I tell her.

Braveheart is limping badly by the time we get to the top of the rise. We’re gazing down at a bowl-shaped canyon that looks like it might have been formed by a meteor strike. We’re standing on a flat spot where we camped last night, but the rest of the bowl is edged by jagged rock peaks.

Down below is flat and dusty, with very little vegetation.

“Probably more serpents,” Braveheart says with a shake of his head.

“Aye.”

The bowl is big, but if I’m not mistaken, I can see The Game flag on the far side. It would be easily walkable in a few hours if Braveheart wasn’t injured. Still, we can get to the flag by the end of the day. Unless the event is timed, we’ll be in good shape.

“As I said, this event will be less challenging than most, in a run-up to the big finale. All our contestants need to do is make their way to the beautiful TGN flag. However you get there is fine as long as you arrive by sunset which will be…” She consults the screen built into her clear desk. “1932.”

She shrugs with a smile as if that were all of the instructions. I’m certain there’s not a living being watching who isn’t waiting for the big reveal. We all know there has to be a catch.

“There are 31 triads, 93 contestants still in the running .” She emphasizes the word. “Only the first ten teams to get to the flag, and have all three members touch the pole, will be allowed into the next round. All others will be eliminated .”

It’s a race. Losers will be killed. And my teammate can barely walk.