The runner-viewing room was located on the same floor as Hurd’s office and the council-meeting room, both of which were three floors down from the scent room. The entire floor of the room was covered with “L” carpet for a heightened enjoyment of the pleasures and the excitement of the action. There were ten rows of stadium-seating, high-backed chairs with twelve chairs to a row. The chairs were form-fitting for comfort, and they had rocking and swiveling capabilities. On the sides of the room were lounging areas with couches and chairs. There was a liquor and soft drink bar and a snack bar area. A small hall ran along side of the stadium seating to a door, which led to a kitchen where full course meals could be prepared. Hurd couldn’t understand why no one wanted to eat, but because of that the kitchen, more or less, fell into disuse. On the wall opposite the stadium seating was one large screen twelve feet by twelve feet with ten smaller screens—fon each side of the large screen.
During the run there was a man behind the bar to serve drinks, and there were two waiters to take orders for drinks, snacks or meals.
Bo and Tylr had already arrived and were sitting in the second row when Hurd entered the room with Went following. Juez never came to the view of the run. And as it turned out it was best that he hadn’t showed up for this particular run.
Hurd sat down in the middle of the first row, and as Went sat two seats further down Hurd flipped a switch that was set in the arm of his chair. On the wall in front of them the eleven screens came to life with a face filling the center screen, and, at the same time, most of the smaller screens were filled with the faces of the other runners.
Bo whimple quickly surveyed the screens, looking at them. His first thought was, as usual, Hurd was a barbaric monster for conducting such an inhumane form of execution. His second thought was brought forth when he looked at the smaller, bottom screen on the left: My God! Is that Sam Tybo? How did he get there?
The young man in the screen gripped his sword and looked out over the sandy stretch of the first zone.
Bo was certain Hurd hadn’t yet seen Sam, otherwise he would have said something.
"These damn rebels," said Hurd out loud. "If we would let them, they would tear our fair city apart. We have to make an example of them."
I don’t think that’s what they have in mind, thought Bo as he watched the bottom left screen.
The day before the run each runner was given a complete and rigorous physical and mental examination, which would allow the computers to determine the strengths and weaknesses of each runner and thereby ascertain the odds for wagering.
During the three years and some odd months that the run had been in existence only two runners had ever made it through the final zone. Of course, they were immediately whisked away and put in the city prison in solitary confinement where no one would ever see them. In a sarcastic tone, Bo thought, we can’t let those damn rebels go free to continue their havoc upon the city.
"Well gentlemen, let's see what we have." Hurd always started with stall number one and worked his way to stall number eleven. He opened his notebook and looked at the first page. "Ah yes," he said. “The man’s name in the number one stall is Perry Higley. He’s twenty-five years of age and unmarried. I see that he is a clerical runner right here in Hurd’s Tower. No gratitude. Absolutely no gratitude. I give him a good paying job, and this is how he thanks me. Well, now he will learn his lesson.”
Bo remembered how good the pay was when he was a stock boy in Hurd’s Tower—he could only buy the cheapest food. And not much of that, and other than his Hurd-tower uniform, most of the time he was wearing rags for clothes.
Hurd punched the button, and the number two stall came up empty. “It appears the computer has determined that no one is weak enough to be in this stall,” he said.
He punched the button and the number three stall came up empty. “Looks like we’re going to have a good one this time.”
He punched the button, and the number four stall came to life on the center screen. Hurd looked at the face, then turned to the next page in his notebook. “This man’s name is Renquai Smith. He is twenty-two years old and unmarried. He is a nurse at My Lady of the Saints Hospital.” Hurd paused, then said, “I just don’t understand how or why these people become involved with the nefarious rebels.”
Bo had never heard him use ‘nefarious’ in a sentence before. Must be his new word for the day, he thought.
Hurd punched the button and a face filled the center screen. He flipped to the next page in his notebook. “This man’s name is Joshua Mellenblast. He’s thirty-two years old, married, and has two children ages ten and eight. He works in the clothing factory making a great living, and now he’s thrown it all away.”
Hurd punched the button and the next man came onto the screen. Hurd flipped the page and looked down. “Halbert Bolsom,” he said. He’s thirty-five years old and married with no children.
Bo watched as Hurd’s face turned red. He jumped out of this seat. His notebook went flying onto the floor. He turned and faced the councilmen. “What the hell is going on in my organization. This man was a dispatcher for the city patrolman.”
Bo was wondering what was so bad about that, and then Hurd continued, “He was scheduled to go to work in the scent tower next week. My God, do you know what the consequences could have been.” He said to Bo, “Take a note—from now on all personal scheduled to work in the scent tower will take a lie detector test. And their personal histories will be double, triple, and quadruple checked by the Internal Affairs Division. Got that!?”
“Yes, sir,” said Bo with no intentions of doing any of it.
Hurd bent over and picked up his notebook, then he pointed at the center screen. “This man is about to go to hell, and he deserves to go there.”
“It’s most fortunate that we caught him,” said Went.
“No. Not fortunate. God is one hundred percent behind me and my regime. Always has been and always will be. God blesses me everyday, and He will make sure that we overcome these impertinent, intractable rebels.”
Hurd sat down. His hand was shaking with anger as he pushed the button and turned the page in his notebook. A new face appeared in the center screen. “This man’s name is Harold Blessings. Now that’s ironic, isn’t it?” Hurd’s anger had subsided. “He certainly won’t be getting his blessings today.” Hurd looked at the notebook. “Let’s see,” he said. “He’s thirty-two years old. He’s married with three children, and he also works in the clothing factory.” He shook his head. “These people are so stupid. I just wish we didn’t have to make an example of them. Now what will become of his family.”
Two more families the underground will be sending money and smuggling food to. Bo knew the underground would also be finding them jobs and helping with the babysitting. He knew this because this was one of his responsibilities in the underground.
Hurd pushed the button, but this time he didn’t turn the page of his notebook—he didn’t have to. Instead he half rose out of his chair with a stunned look on his face. The image that came up was a short man with blondish-brown hair and a red mustache, who was smoking a cigar. There was fire in his eyes.
Hurd looked at Went and Tylr as they made quiet exclamations. “As you must have heard,” he said in a solemn voice. . .
No, we hadn’t heard, thought Bo. And I’m sure we were never meant to hear about Sam.
Hurd sat down. “and much to my dismay, Juez' son was caught smuggling arms into the city." He paused. "It is sad for all of us, but I had rather thought he would choose the pits." And then he added, "Where he would have gotten light duty, of course."
"Of course," reiterated Went.
Of course, thought Bo. Now we know why Juez has okayed the Army and the Air Force.
“I would like to force him to go to the crystal mine, but the law is written that each man and woman will have a choice, and that choice will be honored. So, there is nothing I can do.”
Bo knew it wasn’t true. Since you wrote the laws
there’s no reason you can’t make exceptions when you chose. He wondered why Hurd would let Sam continue with the run. Did he hate Juez that much?
Hurd quickly jabbed the button switching to the next screen. Obviously he wanted to get the councilmen’s minds off Sam. After all he did need their votes to further his plans.
But Bo was still watching Sam on the smaller screen. He was not only surprised to see Sam in the run, he was even more surprised to see him in the number eight stall. Each runner was seeded according to the computerized predictions. Runner number one had the least chance of making it through the zones and number eleven the most. Obviously the computer predicted Sam had a good chance of making it.
Bo turned his attention to the center screen as Hurd said, “Look at this one, the muscular build, and the height, six feet four. He'll make a good wager.” Hurd looked at his notebook. “This man’s name is Gaal Liebman. He’s twenty-eight years old and unmarried. It says here that the computer put him into the nine slot because he is an avid reader, mostly non-fiction, and has a great memory, which will be an aide for him as he makes his way through the run. And . . .” Hurd suddenly made a brief pause, then blurted out in an angry tone, “What the hell is going on? This man is a city patroller.”
“Another lucky catch,” said Went.
“Not lucky. How many times do I have to tell you? It is God’s will. These rebels will never succeed because God won’t allow it!”
Hurd waited a moment as he calmed down, then he pushed the button again. And lo and behold this was a day of surprises.
"A woman," said Bo acting surprised. “This is only the second time a woman had chosen the run over the pits. And even more surprising the computer has slotted her number ten.”
“Yes,” said Hurd. “I know this woman. Her name is Dahms Rassiter. She works as one of the legal supervisors for Hurd Enterprises. She does a good job, and normally I would be surprised to see her here, but I remember her parents were sent to prison a number of years ago. So, it looks like a bad apple fell from the bad tree. Or you might say, ‘like parents, like daughter. She continues to pursue in their criminal ways.” Hurd’s face lit up. “And how exciting is this? She was put in the number ten stall. I know computers don’t make mistakes, but I can’t imagine a woman making it through the run. Can you?” He looked around at the council men.
“No, sir,” said Went.
Hurd punched the button for the final stall, and Ben’s face filled the center screen. Again Hurd didn’t have to look at his notebook. “Here we have a man by the name of Ben Hillar. He’s an off-worlder, which is most bewildering. Why would a man come from another planet and get involved with the rebels? They must have paid him.”
“Didn’t he come with the Galaef’s research team?” asked Bo.
“Yes, he did, which makes it even worse. We contacted the Galaef, of course, and we were told to treat this man no differently than we would treat any of our rebels.”
Of course, thought Bo.
“I am surprised, however, to see him in the number eleven stall. There must be something about him that I don’t know.”
You should keep up on sporting events, thought Bo. He’s only one of the top swordsmen in the galaxy. And I’m sure if he gets killed in your infamous run eventually the galactic games officials are going to find out. Then you’ll have hell to pay with the heads of thousands of other planets. His home planet will probably send a war fleet to blow you out of existence. And guess what? God will be looking the other way.
"This is the most unusual group of runners we’ve ever had,” said Hurd. “This will make a day for strategic wagering," he looked at the buttons on the left side of his chair. "Okay gentlemen, make your bets. And don't forget it was a number six and a number two seed who got to the final gate."
Much to his chagrin Bo started making his wagers. Someday Hurd will be thrown off his throne of infamy, thought Bo. He punched in a prediction of Zone Eight for Ben and Sam hoping they would get through.
Chapter Thirty-One