Page 156 of Galaxy Games Four-Book Box Set (Galaxy Games)

156

Willow’s Challenge

W illow

I’m no math whiz, so it’s a good thing TGN provides a running tote of this competition on the bottom of the screens. There’s only one way we can win this competition. I need to come in first.

Ha. First. Look at the other females.

They were all brought from women’s prisons. The movies always show how men in prison do little more than lift weights all day. Well, in outer space, evidently the women do it, too. Plus, these are the best competitors out of the 100 who started The Game . They all didn’t have geneslaves to carry them and help them pull their weight.

I can’t think of a single challenge I could survive, much less win.

My guys worked so hard to do well on their challenges, overcoming great odds. I hate that I’m going to let them down. My heart flutters in my chest when I force myself to acknowledge that letting them down means signing their death sentence.

The other eight females are huddled together, purposely excluding me. There’s no doubt in my mind that whoever wins this competition is going to choose to kill us.

Do your best, Braveheart says, his voice calm and reassuring. We love you.

Yeah, he’s not going to feel that way when TGN staff line him and Valor up to kill them because I fucked up.

“Females and males, welcome back after that word from our sponsor. Don’t we all want one of those new food replicators? I know I do.”

She had a costume change and is wearing emerald green. Even her nails have changed to coordinate with it. Her red skin and green dress make me think of Christmas. I push away the thought that I’ve seen my last holiday.

“We have quite an inventive challenge for you. You’ve seen enough footraces. Those competitions of male versus beast were enough to stop your heart a few times. Now for something completely different. Bring in the container.”

Oh shit. Crap, crap, crap. It’s a clear acrylic container about as wide and half as long as a coffin. Something is writhing inside it. Kill. Me. Now.

“Inside are melichore adders from Algaron IV. Pan in for a moment.”

I watch on the big screen to see the writhing, hissing mass of snakes. There are big ones almost as thick as my wrist and thin ones the width of my pinkie. There must be a hundred of them in there.

“We’ve got exactly one hundred of these lively creatures,” Zedd says with a beautifully evil smile. “The challenge is easy .”

Showman that she is, she pauses for the cameras to give another closeup to prove just how not easy it’s going to be.

“We’re going to drop large Galgonian cellots into the container. All our lovely contestants have to do is pluck the fruit out with their teeth. Any attempt to use their hands will disqualify them and they will get zero points. Any contestant who gets less than five will be considered giving up and will, along with her team, be eliminated. They’ll have three minutes to gather the most fruit.

“We’ve picked the order at random.”

Please, please, please pick me first. Watching will be torture, but even worse, I imagine every contestant will stir them up more. The last competitor will be sticking her head into a mass writhing even more energetically than it is right now.

“Oh.” Zedd shrugs and puts her fingers over her mouth coquettishly. “Did I forget to mention these adders are poisonous? Interestingly, the amount of venom in each serpent varies. The little ones can pack quite a punch. Some humanoid species respond more severely to the venom than others.”

She looks at the camera conspiratorially, then says, “We’ve added an additional element of excitement. Our Down to Three medic is standing by with anti-venom. However, treatment isn’t guaranteed. If one of our contestants gets bitten, we’ll give you three minutes to vote as to whether they should receive the lifesaving treatment or not. For only one credit per vote, you can weigh in as to the outcome. Only contestants with more yeses than nos will receive the anti-venom. This should be fun, shouldn’t it?”

Earth wasn’t always a happy place, but I can’t imagine we could do something like this in the name of entertainment. I shudder.

The eight other women are solidly in two camps. Four are looking stoically at the writhing mass of snakes. The only things giving away their fear are flaring nostrils and balled fists. The other four are screeching and tittering. The pink team’s female is stepping lively like a horse in the starting chute before its first race.

I don’t want to think about what I look like. I’m inside my head, trying to psych myself up.

If you’ve got a strategy, let me hear it, guys. If not, just let me be alone with my thoughts, I broadcast. No response is forthcoming, which is good. I don’t need even a taste of their fear for me.

“Pink team!” Zedd announces with glee. Chosen randomly, my ass. She’s choosing which contestant will make for the most exciting viewing.

The pink contestant, a sturdy silver-skinned Anderonian, keeps her feet prancing, but gets no closer to the snakes.

“Let’s get a move on,” Zedd urges.

Pink starts moaning, her eyes so wide the white shows all around the irises. Her feet are no closer to the tank.

“I’m going to have to institute a time limit. You have one minute to begin the challenge.”

The screens show a countdown, and urgent music now plays in the background. Her teammates are exhorting her, at first supportive, then desperate. Her legs keep pumping in terror. Finally, she makes her way toward the snakes, but balks at the last minute, moaning in terror.

I’ve never seen an execution on the screen. Not in our competition or in the previous two seasons. By the look on Zedd’s face, her eyes flaming mad, I wonder if this will be the first televised execution on The Game .

I feel a modicum of relief when two males in hard-shell armor pull her away. In the clutch of male contestants, four guards approach her pink teammates.

Although by the looks she’d been giving me, she had every intention of throwing me under the bus if she won, I feel a wave of compassion for her. This just underscores the surreal inhumanity of our situation.

Zedd calls the next female. This is the emerald green team who barely beat us to the flagpole yesterday. She’s one of the females who looks ready for the challenge. After taking a deep breath, she steps up and sticks her head into the large aquarium.

She’s like an automaton, leaning in, moving her head between the writhing snakes, nudging a large, grape-like cellot against the side of the tank so she can get hold of it, biting, then lifting it to spit into a bowl provided by a staff member. She continues until Zedd calls time. She got eleven cellots without being bitten. Emerald green is the team to beat.

Perhaps because I was wishing to be first, Zedd continues to pick others before me. The fourth contestant, from the black team, gets bitten. Because the snakes are a squirming mass, I can’t tell if it was a large assailant or one of the thin ones. Zedd said it didn’t matter anyway.

The medic, Balric, the same one who saved Braveheart, is standing by, barely able to contain himself from intervening, while black valiantly continues with her task. I’ve got to give her props for that.

When the timer rings, she stands, drops her last cellot into the bowl, and waits for the voting while Zedd narrates the highlights and lowlights of her participation in the competition.

Black doesn’t flinch. She just looks straight ahead, waiting while the galaxy votes on her fate. I’m in awe of her. I watch the running tote under Zedd’s excited face. She thrives on this. I wish it were her head in the pit of snakes instead of us.

I quit worrying about black. Her numbers are running good. She’ll definitely get the lifesaving shot, although she’s looking weaker and her blue skin is becoming paler as each second ticks by.

The three-minute voting period ends and the medic races to administer the shot. Black’s teammates carry her away, gently wiping her sweaty forehead. Right this minute, I hate this competition more than I ever have before. This is so sick. That female should get an award, not have to race tomorrow.

What am I worried about? I won’t be here to see it.