Page 39 of Galaxy Games Four-Book Box Set (Galaxy Games)

39

Let’s Get This Over With

T itan

She’s found us. Or the network has. They’ve become the same entity in my mind. Inextricably tied. Seeing her face appear to be looking right at us makes my stomach cramp.

“Surprise!” She’s recovered from her shock at the Resistance’s interruption. She’s on the offensive again. “Did you really think we didn’t know where you were? Your slave collars are chipped.”

One fingernail clicks impatiently on the desk in front of her.

“Our intel didn’t discover you two were part of the resistance. If we had known, we would have tried harder to kill you. Well…” She shrugs. “What’s done is done. Let’s get down to business, shall we?”

Katann Hahn joins her, pulling a chair to sit next to her behind her sleek TMN desk.

“You’ve caused far more trouble than you’re worth,” he sneers. “I should have finished the job in the bathtub the other night. Beating the shit out of you was so much more satisfying than this… fiasco.”

Yes. One thing I know about this male is that he likes his power and control. It must have felt horrible for him to have the network’s signal hijacked by hackers, especially since the impromptu programming showed him in such a bad light.

“We want The Game over with. Our market share is dwindling, and we want to come out on top of the ratings war.”

“Let me translate that for you,” I interrupt. “You want to kill us quickly so you can get on to the sequel with more cooperative lackeys, I mean players.”

He gives my collar a quick shock. It’s excruciating, but feels halfhearted, as if even torturing me isn’t fun anymore.

“You two are going to march out of your hidey-hole in one hour. You’re going to make your way to the flag.”

The screen changes to a map, then live-action video.

“Here’s the route to your goal. Here is where your four opponents are hiding.”

“Trent and Scurge.”

Pictures of the two males, both insectoid-like Frains, in an abandoned building on the seventh floor. The room is littered with food wrappers. They must have gotten to their spot near the goal the first night and have been picking off opponents as they arrived. I have no idea how they finagled it, but they have an ion cannon on a tripod sitting between them as they lounge on a couch.

“Must have been viewer favorites,” I mumble for Blaze to hear.

“I guess they didn’t have all their credits stolen every time they turned around,” her voice is bitter.

“Monteen,” Zedd announces with detachment when the vid feed changes.

He’s in a building directly adjacent to the courtyard where the flag is planted. It’s unclear what weaponry he has.

“And here’s Drezin.”

The vid shows an Anthen male sitting in an armchair in another building ringing the courtyard. He, too, has an ion cannon.

My stomach drops. My balls tighten. Our enemies are ensconced. Just waiting for us to arrive. We’ll be easy to pick off.

“Like shooting fish in a barrel,” Blaze says. She sounds emotionless, revealing her defeat.

“I want this over with by nightfall,” Hahn says. “If you think you can just sit this out and wait for them to kill each other, you’re wrong. If you don’t make your way to the flag within twelve hours, I will personally, and with much enjoyment, turn up your collars to the ‘kill’ level. And trust me. As much trouble as you two have caused both me, the network, and our investors, I will do it as slowly as possible to inflict the most pain.”

For perhaps the first time since we met, I see his lips tip into a smile.

“To review. You will leave your little Resistance hideout within one hour. You will go to the flag. You will follow the only rule The Game has: you cannot harm civilians. If every hacker on the planet didn’t know where you are, Altair’s place would be bombed off the map. Sadly, that will have to wait until the eyes of the planet are off this disaster.”

The vid goes black, then returns to regular TMN programming.

“We’ve got to get you and Sprout safe,” Blaze says to Altair as she moves to action. “How can we get you out of here? Do you need Titan to carry you up the steps?”

Blaze

“We’ve got a plan. Don’t worry.” He looks pointedly at a few of the screens. Yeah, I guess they’re bugged somehow.

“Here!” Sprout says as he returns from his uncle’s room with a red t-shirt for Xzavic.

It’s clearly too small for him, but the gesture is so touching, he tries to pull it over his humongous body.

“Wait!” I grab a knife from the kitchen and make a slit in the arms and down from the collar toward the navel. When he pulls it on, it clings to every muscle and hunky bulge. It’s sexy.

“Sprout,” Xzavic says. “How old are you?”

The boy stands taller and puffs out his chest. “Eight. Do you want me to come along with you? Help keep you safe?”

Hot tears spark behind my eyes at the sheer poignancy of the boy’s eagerness to help us.

“I do need your help,” Xzavic says seriously. “Red is the mascot of the Resistance now. He’s more valuable than Blaze or me. He’s the face of the movement, the thing people will rally around. Are you up to the task of taking care of him? Keeping him in food and water?”

Sprout’s face lights with pride as he nods his head solemnly.

“Yes, Sir. I will keep him on my shoulder and make sure he has food and water.”

“Good. Very good.”

“Here you go,” Altair says as he loads the last canister into the backpack, then pulls it out again as he motions me over. He nods his head, encouraging me to look. The canister in his hands, as well as the others in the pack, indicate a full charge.

“Thanks,” I say, careful not to say what for. I’m sure the network—or whoever—is still listening in.

“We’re all set,” Xzavic announces as he hands me my backpack and grabs our two swords.

Altair has been typing on his keyboard at the speed of light. Perhaps he’s reaching out to friends and family with requests to help him and the boy leave their hovel before it’s bombed to oblivion.

“You need to wait.” He holds both hands up and flashes his fingers to indicate ten. “Then go.”

“Why?” I ask.

He points his chin to one of the screens, reminding me that Hahn and Zedd heard everything we said.

My thoughts are flying as I try to strategize our next moves, but Xzavic and I can’t talk. Not here. We’ve got to wait until we’re on the road.

Finally, Altair nods his head and points to the stairs. I take Red, who has been clinging to my shoulder since Hahn and Zedd’s little pep talk, and place him in Sprout’s upturned palm.

“Bye, Crimson,” I say, purposely giving Xzavic an opportunity to play-argue with me to lighten the mood.

“Bye, Red,” he says, his voice gravelly.

We slowly mount the steps, Xzavic pushes up the hatch, and we’re back in the abandoned room at street level that serves as Altair’s cover. After settling the hatch back down and making certain it’s covered with a threadbare rug, we open the door.

My mouth actually falls open when I see what’s outside.