Page 63 of Galaxy Games Four-Book Box Set (Galaxy Games)

63

Locked Out

S adie

I check my wrist-comm. It says we have a little over a minute left. 1213 comes over and tries the door. It won’t open for him either.

″We still have time!” I scream. “We still have time!”

He scoots me to the side, takes a step back, and kicks his booted foot against the wooden door so hard it splinters. Reaching in, he unlatches the door from the inside, opens it, and pulls me through.

He locates one of the camera drones hovering right inside the doorway and thrusts his wrist at it.

″Five seconds to spare!” he thunders. “Five seconds!”

Not forty feet away, in the remains of what looks like it was once an opulent lobby, there’s a dinner table set for thirty. Zedd’s ferociously beautiful face is floating above it on a six- by eight-foot holo-vid screen.

Normally unflappable, her narrowed eyes and down-turned lips express her displeasure.

″Guards, escort these two out.”

Two guards wearing hard-shelled body armor as well as laser pistols and rifles, move in our direction.

″See?” I hold up my wrist-comm. “There must be something wrong with Miss Zedd’s timer. My watch says we got here with seconds to spare.”

I assume every contestant who remains alive is sitting in this room. There are no other vid feeds to cut to. The audience must be watching this live. The network will have to let us live. Won’t they?

For a split second, Zedd’s face looks like she’s sucking on a lemon, then she recovers her aplomb and says, “The little Earther’s right. My equipment malfunctioned. Look at that, females and males, a last-minute reprieve. How exciting.

″When you think back on The Game: Down to Two, I’m sure this will be one of the highlights. Speaking of highlights, we’ll be playing some of today’s most exciting moments after this word from our sponsors.”

The cameras’ red lights blink off and Zedd ceases all attempts to cover her irritation.

″How nice of you two to dress for dinner,” she scolds, her lips pursed in disapproval.

I have to look down at myself to realize what she’s talking about. I’d completely forgotten I’d stripped down to my underwear to survive the zipline.

″Consider yourselves lucky you’re still alive. I don’t know why, but you’re a crowd favorite. They’re showering you with credits. If it weren’t for that, you’d be outside feeding the animals right this minute.”

She inspects her perfectly manicured nails—tonight they’re royal blue—and then consults her notes.

Now that my pounding heart is down to a dull roar, I take a moment to get my bearings. This room looks like it survived the apocalypse. Obviously fancy in its day, it’s been uninhabited for a long time.

Other than the banquet table set for thirty that runs through the middle of the enormous room, no one has made much effort to pretty this up. Today, we discovered the planet is teeming with life. Much of it must have inhabited this room over the years. Webs encase the chandeliers up above and desiccated feces litters the floor.

There are fourteen couples dining around the table, which is lit by silver candelabras. By the look of things, the others aren’t much happier with this predicament than I am, although I’m sure we’re all relieved to still be alive.

Those still eating are stabbing their food and bringing it to their mouths as if it’s the enemy. I don’t think there’s a person at the table whose clothes aren’t torn and whose skin is still intact. Everyone is either still bleeding or has been cut, scratched, or attacked during some part of today’s entertainment.

I’m shocked anyone survived the dino feeding frenzy.

″Sit,” one of the guards gestures at two empty seats with his rifle. A robot brings us two plates of mystery food I have absolutely no intention of eating.

″Watch some entertainment while you dine,” Zedd says with a smirk.

There are large vid screens in every direction. They’re playing today’s “highlights.”

The show begins with the morning’s disaster where people were pushed off the exit ramp before it set on the ground. I see 1213 jumping with me to safety, then taking off at a run so fast it doesn’t look possible.

The camera lingers lovingly on the carnage, showing the exact moments when a neck was broken, or a limb was severed by the ramp mechanism. Then we’re treated to the deaths of the other fifty participants: death by T-Rex, death by raptor, and death by a troop of monkey-things with five-inch canines.

The most disgusting thing on the screen is when my deepest fears are confirmed. There is a quick montage of laser death by hard-shelled guards for those who lost their partners.

I shutter my eyes and dry heave, my body folded as I aim for the floor in case something actually escapes my stomach. Considering I haven’t eaten a bite since Twelve forced me to eat a nutrition bar while we waited at the top of the chasm, it’s no wonder I’ve got nothing to heave.

″Eat,” Twelve says without a hint of sarcasm when I finally straighten in my chair.

″Surely you’re joking.” I reach for the water bottle and guzzle it.

″Eat, Sadie.” His face is possibly more serious than right before we left that branch to zipline through the trees when neither of us really believed we’d make it.

″Look at what’s playing on the screen, Twelve. Certainly you don’t expect me—”

″Certainly I do, Sadie,” his words are harsh but his tone is soft. “I suspect what happened today was just a warmup for what they’re going to throw at us tomorrow. You’ll need your strength. Eat.”

In answer, I push my plate toward the middle of the table as I toss him a challenging stare.

He picks up my plate and slams it in front of me, causing every eye in the room to focus on us. “You’re going to eat, Sadie, because you need to live.” When I thrust out my chin in defiance, he adds, “If not for you, then do it for me.”

Jerk. He knew that would clinch it. Picking up my fork, I do what everyone else in the room had done before me. I convey food to mouth, chew, and swallow.

In my mind, I call Twelve an asshole for my first two bites. Then I realize he’s trying to save my life.

″Sorry,” I mumble around a bite of food. “You’re right.”

″We’re going to do what we must because we want to live,” he says as he scoots his chair closer, drapes an affectionate arm around my shoulders, and wraps his tail around my ankle. “This food tastes like sawdust. We’re not eating because it tastes good, or because we were told to, or to entertain the masses. We’re eating to stay alive, Sadie.”

He’s right. And he should know. From the little he’s told me about his background, this is what he’s done his entire life.

″You’re a good male, Twelve. Sorry I was a bitch.”

″Female canine?” He cocks his head in question.

I’m getting to know his expressions. He understood the nuances of the translation and just made a joke. It’s not very funny, but he’s trying to distract me from the carnage still playing in 3D on every screen in the room.

″Welcome back females and males,” Zedd’s face now fills the screen. “Let’s bid farewell to our contestants so they can retire to their rooms. After what we observed from our Halckon couple and a few others last night, I imagine we can expect some after-hours entertainment almost as exciting as what we’ve watched throughout the day.”

I glance at the two red humanoids who are unfortunate enough to share the same species as the psychopathic announcer. I don’t know their stories, but they must have encountered those mean black birds that tried to prevent us from reaching the front door a few moments ago. They look like they’ve both been pecked on their faces and upper arms.

I guess they should consider themselves lucky. There are seventy contestants who aren’t joining us for dinner. At least this pair seems to have bonded. That will serve them well for the coming challenges.

All the couples look fatigued, but I won’t count any of them out. I hate thinking of all these people as my rivals. It’s cruel that everything comes down to two.

″Trust me, if there’s anything worth watching,” Zedd continues salaciously, “those of you who paid extra for the Passion Package will be treated to every minute of it.”

I sense the cameras are going to stop filming any second, so I stand up, hope they pan to me, and say, “I hope my partner and I gave you your credit’s worth today.” I gesture down my body. “I imagine it was fun to watch us zipping almost naked through the trees earlier, but in order for us to compete fairly tomorrow, we’ll need clothes. You wouldn’t want to give our competitors an unfair advantage, would you?”

I pause long enough to ensure my body fills the vid screens.

″Please send us enough credits for clothes and blankets? We’ll give you a good show tomorrow.”

Jahzara Zedd

I barely kept my face a mask of calm when the Earther forced my hand on galaxy-wide vid and made me allow them to stay in the hotel. I thought it would be an easy way to get rid of the pair. I only relented when I glanced at the vid feed and was reminded the audience’s screens contained a prominently displayed time clock. There are many things I can do to stack the deck, but I don’t want to be caught cheating for all to see.

I’m glad I’m off the air. When I get irritated like this, my nostrils tend to flare and it’s not an attractive look.

Donations for the pair are coming in so quickly, I can hardly pretend they didn’t receive enough for additional outfits and blankets.

That’s okay. They’ll bring in extra credits for the network—and my bonus—by their bed play tonight. What I have planned for them tomorrow will finish them off. I can’t see how the little Earther will survive it, then her partner will have to be euthanized—that should make riveting entertainment.

I take a deep, cleansing breath. This season of Galaxy Games is going better than I’d planned.