Gwen Lark! Arion calls to me. You need to give me your choice now, quickly! Show me the animal form or I may not touch down on the plateau!
“Oh God, oh God. . . !” I mutter, regaining focus. “Okay, I need a fast, fast antelope, or something else very fast.”
The cliff rises before us, and now I can see the top edge, at the distance of only a hundred feet . . . seventy five feet. . . .
Show me, now!
“I can’t think!” I scream.
Fifty feet . . . twenty-five feet. . . .
And yet you are always able to give factual answers. Arion’s tone of thought is hard to describe. Quickly—what is the fastest land animal on Earth?
“Huh? Oh,” I say. “It’s the cheetah!”
Show me this cheetah.
And I do.
My mind immediately floods with memory images of the big cat running down antelope prey . . . incredible, limber long-bodied feline with many small spots on its golden tan coat . . . powerful muscles flexing, striking in a short burst of lighting speed as it brings down the victim.
Just then we rise up to the top and scale it, following the line of hovering beacons that straighten out accordingly to hover in a horizontal line along the flat surface of the plateau.
Not too far ahead, I see Contenders riding birds that are transforming into classic pegasei. The equine shapes take over, claws retracting, wings folding, legs extending. They land with precision within the specially marked strip of rock with a border of low-to-the ground rainbow beacons beyond which is the designated third and final zone of the race course. And without skipping a beat they gallop. . . .
Arion hurtles toward the beacon-marked section of the rock and begins to transform.
Hold on tight, arms around my neck!
In mere fractions of a second the equine form beneath me changes, elongates . . . muscles soften and then harden again, while a thick short coat of fur grows, and the wings fold inward and disappear into shoulder blades . . . long legs with hooves thicken into limber and powerful paws.
Overhead, deep inside the grey cloud layer, cracked lightning flashes. . . .
The great cheetah cat shape beneath me strikes the ground of the plateau just as a peal of thunder breaks the sky.
“Run! Run!” I cry out involuntarily, lying low and flat against the furry coat, face down.
And then the cheetah begins to move, with long undulating motions, stretching out impossibly with each surge of leg muscles as it pounds the ground in perfect, terrifying silence.
In seconds, our speed is amazing. . . .
“Go, go, go!” my thoughts continue to pound in tandem with the running motion.
When it hunts, I recall, the cheetah can reach speeds of almost seventy miles an hour, but only for very short bursts of speed and for a short time.
“Oh, crap!” I think-say. “The cheetah can’t keep up this kind of crazy speed for long!”
In my mind, Arion smiles.
I am not a cheetah.
“Then, go!” I exclaim, with a surge of wild emotion.
Go!
And we fly like a bullet along the plateau.
Thunder!
With each undulating bound, we gain ground impossibly. Lying flat against the feline back I watch out of the side of my eye as we soon catch up to the rear-most Contenders and their galloping pegasei who are in the back of the field.
And we start passing them.
Lightning!
The cheetah’s paws strike the plateau, and with each bound it shortens the ground between us and the others.
I see Contenders turning heads sideways, staring at us, faces showing looks of surprise and confusion.
Thunder!
Soon, I begin to recognize familiar people. There goes Chihar with Lolu, riding the same great blue-gray pegasus. They watch me and my cheetah with wondering looks as we pass them, and Lolu waves and grins with disbelief and joy, calling out my name.
But I’m too afraid to react or reply, clutching the fur and the neck of the great cat for dear life.
Lightning!
Just up ahead, Kateb and a few others ride hard, and beyond them the middle group is exchanging gunfire.
The cheetah bounds past them, eating up the ground, and I catch a glimpse of Sofia Veforoi’s intense face as she sees me flying past her in a blink of an eye.
Keep your head down, Arion tells me as we enter a crossfire zone. I see Deneb’s former teammates firing at several of Hedj Kukkait’s allies who return fire, and then deal with gunshots from up ahead coming from Thalassa’s team.
“What happens if they hit you?” I ask.
Nothing. This form is not a real animal in the same physical sense as you, Arion thinks reassuringly at me. The projectiles pass through me without causing harm, and my shape returns. But you are vulnerable, so you must stay low. I will try to carry you through safely.
And the cheetah surges forward wildly, with even more rapid undulating and expanding motions, through the line of fire, while I squeeze my eyes shut and pray.
Zing, zing, zing! Projectiles whistle nearby. At one point something hits my side. The impact is painful but my viatoios armor holds. With a sudden bitter pang of grief I think of Zaap and his poor man’s armor that could not protect him. . . .
No. . . .
I open my eyes just as we start gaining ground on the group of Contenders toward the front.
Suddenly there’s Brie, galloping wildly at the rear of the leader pack. She turns her head and then her eyes widen at the sight of me, and her jaw drops. There’s no time to speak, and I pass her like she’s standing still.
Next, more of Thalassa’s people including my rival Vocalist Fawzi Boto. Thalassa herself is at the very front, and just behind her, Leetana Chipuo, neck and neck with the elusive Artist Rurim Kiv whom I didn’t notice previously, riding a silver horned antelope. They are followed closely by Hedj Kukkait on an ebony black pegasus, and then, of all people, Kokayi Jeet, fiercely riding his rainbow one.
There are a few other Contenders I don’t know—mostly astride pegasei and just a few on other Atlantean antelope or horse-like herd animals—and right now I don’t care who they are.
Right now, I am gaining on them all. . . .
The great cheetah beneath me flies though the middle of the pack, cutting a swathe through the pegasei and their riders.
Three more bounds and we are abreast with Kokayi. He looks at me with amazed satisfaction and nods.
In that moment, there’s more gunfire. . . .
I look up and see Thalassa turning around to gauge the field of competition behind her, and seeing me coming up hard and fast.
An indescribable expression comes to her beautiful face. It solidifies into pure hatred.
My heart beats violently with a surge of grief and fury at the sight of her.
This bitch killed Zaap, by firing several cowardly shots in his back. I should’ve killed her when I had the chance, when she was wrapped up in my razor net, instead of stupidly playing with her shoelaces like a child.
I should’ve killed. . . .
Suddenly Thalassa’s hand lashes out in my direction and she fires several shots.
One projectile flies just past my ear, the other goes wide.
Thalassa checks her gun and points it at me again.
That’s when I hear a crazy volley of shots coming from just behind me. The lightning-fast projectiles strike Thalassa in the chest and in the neck, and one goes in her head.
It all takes only a split second . . . and instead of beauty there’s a mess of scorched flesh and blood-covered blue hair. . . .
Thalassa goes limp, slumping over her pegasus. She slides sideways then falls from its back, while her pegasus careens sideways and loses its rhythmic pace.
Just like that, Tiamat “Thalassa” Irtiu is down, and dead, and out of the Games.
I look around and see Kokayi Jeet holding up his gun with a fierce look of completion. Seeing me turn, he exclaims,
“For Zaap!” And then he bares his white teeth in a feral grin and finishes the triumphant effect by kissing the barrel of his gun.
I nod at the Entertainer with gratitude, while my heart surges with a bittersweet swell of resolution—not only relief for my own sake, not merely vengeance taken, but justice served.
It doesn’t bring Zaap back, but at least it’s something.
“Go, amrevet, ride!” Kokayi exclaims to me, seeing that I’ve slowed down a bit.
I don’t need to be told twice. The cheetah beneath me surges forward once more and widens the strides.
In two bounds I pass the leader of the pack, Leetana Chipuo.
And then I keep going.
Chapter 90
The cheetah continues to run at an incredible speed, and suddenly the way ahead is empty of any competition.
There’s only the pale, dust-beaten surface of the plateau before me, and the rows of beacons on both sides. They are flashing past us, creating the optical illusion that they’re the ones moving and we’re frozen at a standstill.
I glance back and see the pack of Contenders, galloping hard behind me, and yet receding quickly. . . .
Also receding is the sound of their hoof beats pounding the ground, the noise of frequent gunfire, and the yells of the wounded.
It is all replaced by a strange, peaceful silence and the wind blowing hard in my face . . . punctuated by the occasional peals of thunder.
I lean into the wind and let the power of the great cat beneath me propel me forward.
A few moments later there’s a new sound coming from behind—a distant swelling roar.
I glance up and suddenly see several Games audience platforms rapidly approaching along the sides of the race course, following alongside and above me. With them comes crowd noise in the form of a screaming roar. Now that they’ve seen me make the unprecedented breakout dash past the rest of the competition, they are interested and hungry for more.
I hear the amplified voices of the commentators babble and the swells of chanting. . . . My name is repeated, “Gwen Lark! Gwen Lark!” Interspersed with it are the familiar cries of “Shoe-lace girl! Shoe-lace girl!”
And then something new happens.
I hear the Games crowd begin to chant, “Im-pe-ra-tris! Im-pe-ra-tris!”
A strange electric chill of awe passes through me.
Why are you surprised? Arion says. They are acknowledging you.
I shake my head in disbelief and give a muddled thought in reply.
Arion laughs and continues running.
The plateau before us is a haze of pale whiteness, an infinity of narrow snaking ground surrounded by a blazing white sky. A localized band of low-hanging clouds is on one side of the plateau, while the other portion of the sky is clear.
We’re so far ahead of everyone else that when I look behind me, there’s the same empty road as what lies before. My mind struggles to grasp this impossibility.
There seems no end to this race course. . . . And yet in a few more minutes we see the beacons tapering to a bright rainbow stripe coming up in the distance.
The Finish Line looms wide, with the four-color beacons blinking in an attention-grabbing rhythm.
Beyond it, in the center of the roadway, stands a slim pedestal with the Yellow Grail blazing in the sun. And about fifty feet behind it, low over the ground, hovers a large transport shuttle.
In seconds my cheetah flies past the four-color strip of lights, triggering the alarm siren which blasts into the sky. . . . We run a few more feet past the Finish, past the Grail, driven by sheer momentum, then slow down and stop with the crazy suddenness of smooth feline muscles hard at work.
We circle back, padding on soft paws, and the cheetah stops at the pedestal, allowing me to breathe about three seconds as I remain lying along the length of its back, heart pounding, face turned into its fur.
And then I tumble off and stand up, reeling from tension. For a moment I’m so dizzy that I’m terrified my legs will buckle under me.
I step toward the pedestal and put my hands on the smooth metallic chrome surface of the Yellow Grail. And then I lift it with both hands and hold it up before me.
In that same instant the audience roars.
What happens next is a numbing and yet intensely focused emotional haze. I walk alongside the cheetah, leading it on its radiant leash, and carry the Yellow Grail in the crook of my arm.
Several Games officials and guards stand at the open doors of the shuttle, watching me approach.
About twenty feet away from the entrance, I stop.
“Arion,” I think-say. “What will happen now—with you?”
They will reclaim me and continue to hold me in captivity, the alien being says. I can sense a fine subtext of sorrow in the mind images it conveys.
I frown, stricken with the implication. Over the last few days of our training I had wondered bitterly what to do about Arion at the end of the Race—if we actually survived that long—but Arion always seemed to want to change the course of our thought conversation whenever the subject came up.
And now. . . .
Gwen Lark, I trust you because I know you, he says to me. It doesn’t matter what happens, we are bound.
“You know very well what happens,” I mind-reply with a burst of emotion.
And then I bend down and pat his soft pale golden fur. Then, under the guise of continuing to caress the ears and the back of the cat head, I quickly untie the multiple clever knots of the quantum containment harness. Tugging at the cord, I let it unravel.
“Oops! Oh, no . . .” I say out loud, biting my lips, at the same time as Arion explodes into a plasma light cloud around me.
Thank you, he says in a caressing voice inside my mind. I am never too far from you. Remember the frequency. Think of me. . . .
And Arion swirls and rises over my head, fading softly into the white sky.
I try to look sheepish as I approach the Games officials at the shuttle.
“Congratulations, Contender!” I’m greeted as they pass a gadget over my chest, scanning my Contender token inside my uniform pocket. “The Games are Forever!”
Yeah, right. Not if I have anything to say about it . . . I think as I enter the shuttle.
I sit in the shuttle alone for about five minutes, twiddling my thumbs. Right now I’m basically stupefied, numb with exhaustion, grief, and general confusion. Mostly, there’s disbelief.
Holy crap.
I just won the damn Triathlon Race . . . and the Yellow Grail . . . and Stage Four of the Games of the Atlantis Grail.
Holy crap. . . .
I won.
But what does that mean?
Soon I hear voices outside as more Contenders finally arrive, having crossed the Finish Line. One by one, they get scanned and enter the shuttle then notice me sitting there quietly. I get many curious complicated looks.
I see Hedj Kukkait who nods at me and takes a seat not too far. Then Kokayi comes in and heads directly toward me, plopping down in the seat to my right.
“Well done!” he whispers in my ear and smiles, but I can see the exhausted grief under his own façade.
“You too!” I reply.
Then I see Brie who rushes inside, looking wild, and sits down next to me on the other side. “Lark, what the holy hell was that? You won the Yellow Grail! And you rode a cat!”
In answer I snort tiredly. And then I turn my face to Brie and say, “Walton, it’s good to see you. And I do mean it. I want to thank you for everything—for what you did to keep me going—for saving me a dozen times over in these Games. No matter what happens now, I won’t forget—”
“Hey!” Brie interrupts suddenly, watching me with a complicated expression. “You—you’re okay yourself. And yeah, I won’t forget either. So—thanks.”
A few more people pile in. I see Reds, Blues, Yellows, Greens, but no other Whites.
There’s Kateb, Chihar and Lolu. They take nearby seats and acknowledge us with short
looks of relief. Chihar’s injured hand really needs medical attention, but he just nods and gives me a long-suffering smile.
They are followed by more bedraggled-looking, dusty, blood-covered Contenders. Among them two Whites arrive, both unfortunately in my Category.
The first of the Vocalists is Sofia Veforoi, looking frazzled, who sits down next to Hedj and looks at me with a painful expression. The second is Fawzi Boto, and he also gives me an unhappy look as he takes a seat farther away.
We continue looking at all newcomers warily, analyzing our chances. It’s a safe bet everyone’s praying for no more people in their own Categories to show up.
“So how does this work, now?” Brie whispers. “There’s at least forty people here! Who won?”
Kateb leans forward from the seat behind her. “They scanned us as we came in. So they are probably still counting.”
“In other words, you don’t know!” Brie says, rolling her eyes at him.
“How long does it take to count?” Lolu says with a frown. “It’s all instant computer scoring.”
“Patience,” Chihar whispers.
“It’s all for show. They have the numbers, but want to maintain the stupid drama,” Lolu says in an angry whisper. “Or maybe they don’t want us to kill each other if we learn who won.”
“Yes. But we can deduce at least some of the Champions by a process of elimination,” Chihar says.
In that moment the transport doors close.
“Contenders, take your seats!” an official tells us. “This is the Champions Shuttle and we are about to return to the Atlantis Grail Stadium in Poseidon. Notice that there are fifty-three of you on board—all who remain in the Games as of this moment. There are winning Champions and runners-up among you. When we arrive, those of you who are neither will be dismissed and allowed to exit inside the stadium.”
Tired faces of Contenders turn to look at each other.
“The rest of you will be taken to the arena for the Champions Ceremony where some of you will have to compete one last time against your Category rivals,” the Games official continues. “By the time we arrive in Poseidon, those of you who are undisputed Champions will have your uniforms light up. The others will be informed if they are in still in the running.”