Brimstone

Chapter Fifteen

Saul stood alone on the raised platform. He wore a jacket of a sparkling material that caught the spotlights perfectly. If he’d had a top hat he’d have looked like an Ringmaster — as it was, Sheppard thought of Vegas again. He expected trained animals, or jugglers, or maybe some steroid enhanced wrestlers to appear. Saul smiled, and the platform slowly turned, rising even higher above the open expanse of the arena. Rings of lights circled the space. At first, only the very lowest ring of lights illuminated, then they grew brighter, and the next row followed suit. The process slowly gained momentum until the lights rippled up the walls and brought the floor of the arena to life.

By some trick of projection, the brightly lighted walls shifted color and reformed, creating the image of large blocks of hewn stone. The doors, which had already seemed large, now appeared arched and their surfaces had the aspect of thick, carved wooden planks. Wrought iron rings were set in the surface that had not been there moments before. It was a grand illusion, and its effect wasn’t lost on Sheppard or his team

“Welcome,” Saul cried. “Welcome one and all to the latest and the greatest, the finest entertainment Admah can offer. Ready your bets and prepare to be amazed. Most of you know me so well you could stand here and speak the words for me, steal my very soul and breath. Tonight, though, is different. Can you feel it? Tonight there are strangers among us. Tonight there is new blood in the audience, and I — for one — can almost taste it.”

The words flowed with practiced ease. Sheppard glanced around him and saw that the citizens of Admah leaned forward in their seats. Their eyes were open wide, their lips parted. They appeared fascinated, though the fascination held an edge of desperation. Whispered comments rustled through the air, and more than once Sheppard caught money changing hands as bets were laid. Whatever they expected to see tonight, on some level, they also expected to be let down and disappointed. For Sheppard and the others, the entertainment was new. For the people in the stands, it seemed to be a shot at something new — something unique and interesting. Something to talk about.

Then the lights brightened another level, and all his attention was focused on the floor far below.

“Without further ado, I bring you the first of the night’s contests. From the far off world of Celzin, with five wins under his belt, the challenger — Alden Zane!”

Saul’s voice echoed through the speakers and reverberated from the walls. A loud grinding sound arose and one of the huge sets of wooden doors rolled slowly open, splitting in the center and widening to reveal a darkened tunnel stretching off into the lower levels of the city. There was a low murmur and a smattering of applause. The audience knew what was coming, but they savored it. They waited. Finally, a figure emerged from those shadows, and the applause grew from a hum into a roar.

Alden Zane was tall. He had blond hair and he wore it swept back over his shoulders, which were bare except for the leather straps holding a breastplate over his torso. His arms and legs were encased in leather and he wore a huge, gleaming sword on his belt. He looked for all the world like a warrior stepping out into an ancient Roman gladiatorial battlefield. He didn’t seem frightened. He seemed eager. He turned and waved to the crowd, fanning their applause into serious flames.

“What is this?” Sheppard whispered, leaning closer to Mara. “Who is he?”

“Didn’t you hear?” Mara said, confused by the question. “He is Alden Zane. He is one of the favorites of the entertainment. He has fought many times, worked his way up through the ranks of the contestants. His last five battles have been amazing victories. The betting on him will be heavy.”

“But who is he?” Sheppard said. “What…?”

Mara shushed him as the crowd grew silent once more.

“Despite a most impressive string of victories,” Saul’s voice boomed, “tonight our champion must take his game to a new level. Tonight he will face a challenge that ten men before him have attempted — and failed. Tonight he will do battle with a servant of darkness, born of the hunger of the Wraith and the miracle of science. Stronger than any ten ordinary men — and very hungry. Wonder, or abomination? It is not for us to decide. A creature undefeated in mortal combat since his creation — could this be the night that it all comes to an end?”

“His creation?” Rodney said, looking right and left as if to see if the others had heard. “Did he say —?”

“Shhh,” Mara interjected.

“The Woard,” Saul concluded with a flourish.

Across the arena from Alden Zane, who stood his ground bravely, another set of doors slid slowly open. The creaking and groaning sounds piped through the speakers were campy, but effective. The opening portal revealed yet another tunnel. Within that tunnel, something growled. The sound was deep and resonant. The room actually shook, and though the effect was caused by speakers and amplification, it sent a thrill of fear rippling through the audience all the same. The growl was very real, and in an entertainment thus far built on showmanship and glitter, that bit of realism lent tension to the moment and brought the crowd to the edge of their seats.

The Woard was slower in exiting the shadows than its opponent had been. It moved with deliberation, one powerful, reverberating step at a time. Rather than staring at its opponent it swung its huge head in a semi-circle, taking in the crowd far above, and the walls surrounding it, with blank indifference. The creature’s eyes were huge and pale; there was no hint of emotion reflected in their depths. The head and shoulders were those of a Wraith, with the blue skin and a forked, silver beard, but they were much larger than any Wraith had a right to be and were perched on a grotesquely huge body — it was a giant. A giant mutant Wraith!

The creature was so large that Alden Zane, who was himself a large man, had to crane his neck to gaze up at it. The two were so mismatched in size that it seemed a foregone conclusion the huge creature would prevail without much of a fight. It roared again and the room shook, and this time, despite its seeming indifference, it moved more quickly.

The Woard lunged and struck out at Alden with one fist, hoping to swipe him against the wall. Its attempt at stealth failed. The smaller man was too quick, and had anticipated the attack. He leaped back, avoided the blow, and swung his blade in a lightning swift arc that opened a deep slice behind the Woard’s huge, pale knuckles.

“Nice,” Ronon said.

Sheppard turned on him, eyes wide.

He shrugged. “What?”

Against all apparent odds, Alden Zane took the fight to his adversary. He was fast, much faster and a good deal more agile than the Woard. His blade, though he wielded it with strength and skill, seemed to bite deeper than his blows should have driven it. Light, Shepherd noticed, flickered up and down the length of the blade.

“It’s more than just a sword,” Rodney said. He almost sounded excited. “There’s something more — some sort of technology. Look at the energy rippling along the blade.”

“Of course.” Mara smiled at Rodney. “Alden would have no chance at all against the Woard if all he had was a blade of steel. He’s strong and graceful — very quick — but the Woard is genetically designed for battle. Its only purpose is to fight and to kill. Hardly a fair contest, under normal circumstances. We’ve worked a very long time to carefully even the odds in the entertainment. If we knew for certain that the Woard would win, or that Alden Zane would win, there would be nothing to bet on.”

“You call this fair?” Sheppard scoffed. “You throw them into an arena together, force them to fight to the death, and you talk about how it’s fair? Tell me, what does the winner get?”

“He lives to fight again,” Mara said. “He receives adulation, food, drink — whatever he desires — unless of course the Woard wins. I’m afraid there’s not much of a mind there to work with. His one desire is to feed. He lacks the organs to drain victims, as the Wraith would, but his hunger is — intense.”

“And the loser?” Sheppard pressed. “He goes home to his own room at night, eats with his family, listens to music or hangs out at the card tables back in your big game room?”

“Of course not,” Mara replied. “It is, as you said, a fight to the death. But the warriors are not citizens. We could not produce a warrior strong enough, or an opponent dangerous enough, to be interesting by simple genetic selection.”

Sheppard recoiled, disgusted. “So what do you do? Make the visitors trapped here fight your monsters? Take them apart too, like the Wraith, and play God with their genetic codes? Is that how you make them strong enough to fight?”

“We don’t — ”

“Yes,” a voice cut in from behind them. “I’m afraid that’s exactly what we do, my dear.”

Sheppard turned to find Saul standing in the doorway. He held a drink in one hand, sipping from it as he watched them all carefully.

“It’s a voluntary service,” he said. “We don’t force visitors to our city into the arena. Everyone who comes here is given the chance to choose citizenship, join us in our revelries, and share in the good life we’ve managed to create for ourselves. We can’t offer them a way home to their own people, but we can make them comfortable. Over time, most make that choice. There are others, though — those who are more difficult — who never come around. These find their way, eventually, into the arena. Some of them have donated their genetics to the creation of the ‘adversaries,’ as we like to call them — others can’t get the desire to fight out of their minds. Men like Alden.”

“So you let them fight, for your entertainment?” Sheppard rose to his feet, struggling to keep a lid on his revulsion. “You watch men die for fun?”

Saul smiled. “Not only men.” His gaze slid across them all, lingering briefly on Teyla, then returned to Sheppard. “Our warriors are given many years of training — both martial and psychological. We are not barbarians, Colonel Sheppard, we don’t send them straight into the arena with an adversary like the Woard. In fact, most never earn such an honor. It’s one thing to defeat another human warrior, or a wild animal, it’s quite another thing to face off against something like that.” He tilted his chin toward the arena and took a sip of his drink. “We use the entertainments themselves to weed out those who can, and cannot, sufficiently entertain us.”

“And what about the ones who don’t make the grade?”

“They either change their minds and join us as citizens, as consumers of the entertainments, or…”

“Or they die fighting one another in your arena,” Teyla guessed. Her eyes flashed and she started to stand. Ronon put a hand on her arm and held her in place.

“That is their choice,” Saul said. “We give them every opportunity to join us. It’s very simple, really, and none are allowed to choose the arena until they have witnessed several entertainments for themselves.” He took another sip of his drink. “But this is wearisome. I trust you are enjoying the show?”

As if in response, a huge roar of defiance rose from the floor below. The Woard had stalked Alden Zane until it seemed that he had the man trapped. Zane’s back was to the wall, blood trickled from a wound on his cheek. The Woard had deep cuts and gouges all over its huge, misshapen body, but none of them seemed to have slowed it. It drew back one huge hand and drove it forward with deadly force, intending to squash its opponent into the stone wall.

Zane moved with incredible speed. He narrowly avoided the Woard’s strike, slipped between its legs, and as he did so he lifted the huge blade and swung it in a wicked arc across the Woard’s ankle. He caught the creature on the back of its Achilles tendon. The blade cut deep and the Woard screamed. It tried to spin, but one ankle no longer supported it. Even as it fell it swung at Alden Zane, who jumped back nimbly. He held his ground and then, when the moment was perfect, he made his move. With a battle cry half rage and half desperation, he launched himself, came down with both boots on the Woard’s chest, and slashed the creature’s throat with a single swipe of his blade.

Everything grew still in that moment. The crowd was silenced and the air was thick with tension and disbelief. Zane stood for a long moment atop his fallen foe, and then, as if coming out of a trance, he leaped off. He was no fool. As certain as the Woard’s death seemed, he hit the ground in a roll and came up in a defensive stance.

The crowd went wild. The roar of applause was stunning. Sheppard turned to Saul, who shrugged. The man leaned in close.

“The Woard has long been considered unbeatable. A lot of money has just changed hands and the stories will be told for some time to come. This is probably the finest moment the entertainment has produced in a decade — and you were here to witness it. It was a great battle; it’s what they live for.”

“We have to talk,” Sheppard said.

“Tomorrow, Colonel. There will be plenty of time for us to discuss whatever is on your mind tomorrow. As exciting as this was, it is only the beginning of the night’s festivities. I’m afraid I have to take my leave.”

Before he left, he turned and stared at Teyla. She met his gaze with a fierce glare and after a moment he shook his head and left the room.

Mara touched Sheppard’s arm. “We should go,” she said. “There will be several more battles, but none like this one. They will be drunk and they will celebrate late into the night.”

“Yeah,” Sheppard said, glancing down at the sweaty, victorious warrior and the huge dead body of the Woard. “I think I’ve seen more than enough of what passes for entertainment in these parts. Let’s get the hell outa here.”