'Aren't they marvelous?' Constance sighed happily. 'Don't you just adore aliens? Do you suppose they're intelligent?'
The Wolfe shrugged. 'Who cares?'
The lizard had practically disappeared under a crawling blanket of creepers and was being dragged slowly but inexorably toward the central mass of the vegetation. The lizard was still struggling, but its arms were trapped against its chest, its legs were weighed down with ivied chains, and only its lashing tail still had room to move. More creepers lashed out at the wedge-shaped head like flails, and blood flew on the air. The crowd oohed and ahhed.
And then the lizard stopped struggling and lunged forward, its vast muscular legs forcing it deep into the heart of the vegetation. Its head burrowed down past the lashing creepers, and its great jaws fastened like a steel trap on the hard central mass of the plant creature. The vicious teeth sank deep into the leathery carapace, and the lizard settled its weight, raised its head and lifted the whole plant off the ground. The creepers lashed hysterically in every direction, but the lizard ignored them. It shook the plant like a dog shakes a rat, and strands of greenery flew clear to lie twitching on the ground. The lizard's teeth closed remorselessly as the great jaw muscles bulged, and the central carapace of the plant shattered under the pressure. The lizard tore at the exposed heart of the plant creature, and the whirling strands suddenly went limp. The lizard raised its wedge-shaped head and roared its triumph at the holographic sun, and then pulled itself free from the creepers and set about methodically tearing the plant apart, chewing great mouthfuls of the quiescent vegetation.
The crowd cheered and roared in return, even those who'd bet against the lizard. It had been a good fight, and they did so love a winner. The lizard ignored them, intent on its meal. The crowd slowly settled as they realized the handlers hadn't appeared to guide the lizard back to its pen to await its next fight. The Game wasn't over yet. The audience stirred in anticipation as a gate opened and a lone figure walked out into the holographic jungle. It was a man with a sword, walking unhurriedly through the great trees toward the central clearing, and the crowd went quiet for a moment as they recognized Investigator Razor. A slow murmur began on the stands as the crowd weighed up the chances. The lizard was huge and ferocious, a natural born monster of a killing machine, but Razor was an Investigator, after all…
'They can't be serious,' said Stephanie. 'He's already had his fight for the day. And even if he was fresh and rested, he still wouldn't stand a chance against that monster. It'll tear him apart!'
Jacob smiled at her fondly and patted her arm comfortingly. He hadn't missed the rising excitement in her voice. 'If you're going to place a wager, my dear, I strongly suggest you put your money on Razor. Killing aliens used to be his job. The Campbells must have spread around a hell of a lot of money to set this up. Normally the Arena would expect to get twenty or more fights out of a creature like that. It has potential. I wonder who asked for the match originally… the Campbells, for the prestige, and a chance to make a killing with the bookmakers? Or did Razor ask for it to prove he's still the best?'
'I don't care if he is an Investigator,' said Daniel. 'That lizard's going to chew him up and spit out the pieces. Nothing human could stand against anything that size armed only with a sword.'
'Whoever said Razor was human?' said Valentine. 'And besides, that isn't just a sword he's carrying.'
The crowd quieted down as Razor emerged from the trees and stepped out into the clearing. He stared calmly at the huge lizard, which suddenly lifted its great head from the carcass of the plant creature and sniffed the air loudly. It spat out a half-chewed mass of greenery and spun round quickly, its long barbed tail swinging wide to balance its weight. Its scales gleamed brightly under the crimson sun, and shining teeth showed clearly as the lizard put back its great head and roared out a challenge. Razor lifted his sword as though in acknowledgment, and for the first time the audience clearly saw that it wasn't just a sword. A faint but distinct blue glow surrounded the blade, showing it had a monofilament edge, only a molecule wide. Which meant that particular blade could cut through anything it had a mind to as long as the sword's energy crystal maintained the field that supported the edge. Such swords weren't common. They were extremely expensive, the energy crystal ran out extremely quickly, and most people disdained a monofilament edge as being not really honorable. It was doubtful Razor gave a damn about such niceties. Investigators were a practical breed.
The lizard lowered its head and charged right for Razor.
While the creature was sorting that out, Razor darted in again, and his sword slammed into the lizard's heaving side and out again in a welter of gore. He neatly sidestepped the jetting blood and moved smoothly to stay on the creature's blind side. It stamped awkwardly back and forth, favoring its wounded leg, the head swinging this way and that as it tried to find its tormentor, its great jaws snapping shut again and again like a malevolent steel trap. And then Razor was suddenly right there in front of it, and the huge head swung down, jaws gaping. Razor ran forward, jumped lithely up onto the lizard's good leg and thrust his sword deep into the creature's throat. Blood sprayed his face and chest, and more gushed from the gaping mouth. The Investigator ignored it and hacked left and right with two quick, economical sweeps, and the alien's head fell away. The neck had been cut clean through by the monofilament edge.
Razor jumped down from the shuddering leg and backed away to give the lizard room to die. The head lay on its side on the bloody sands. The holographic jungle disappeared, now that the fight was over. The jaws opened and closed a few times slowly, but life had already faded from the puzzled scarlet eyes. The headless body stamped around the sands, blood fountaining from its open neck. Razor avoided it easily. The gripping hands clustered high up on the chest opened and closed spasmodically, as though trying to grasp the enemy that had hurt it. But finally the body realized it was dead, and it collapsed in an ungainly twitching heap. The crowd went mad, but the Investigator was already walking back to the side exit, ignoring their cheers. He hadn't killed the alien for them.
In the Wolfe's private box, there were mixed feelings. Constance squealed with delight, bouncing around on her chair. Jacob laughed and called for more wine. Daniel was sulking. He'd bet heavily on the lizard. Stephanie looked at her father and then at the huge creature lying dead on the sands. And if she made a connection between the two in her mind, she kept it to herself. Valentine took another sniff of his blue powder, and his thoughts were his own, as always.
Handlers appeared in the Arena, slipped antigrav units under the dead lizard, and towed it quickly away. It disappeared head and all through the main gates, and the crowd gave it a mocking farewell. They had no time for losers. The head would be kept as a trophy; the rest would be butchered and rendered down to provide protein for the other aliens waiting in their pens.
Microorganisms in the sand ate up the fallen blood and dispersed it evenly as the handlers raked the sands till they were tidy again. They finished their work and got off the sands as quickly as they could. The crowd tended to throw things, and some of them had a nasty sense of humor. The audience reluctantly settled down, conversations still buzzing here and there, and looked to see what was coming next. It took a lot to satisfy the Golgotha crowds, and they were always greedy for more.
The recorded trumpets sounded again, a man strode out onto the sands, and the cheer that greeted him eclipsed everything that had gone before. The crowd went insane, jumping to their feet to cheer and wave and hug each other in anticipation. There was no announcement; everyone knew who he was. He was the Masked Gladiator, undefeated champion of the Games, the darling of the Golgotha crowds. Everything else had been warm-ups. He was what they had all come to see.
No one knew who he really was. He could have been any age, from any background. He was tall and lithely muscular, wore a simple anonymous steel mesh tunic and carried a sword that was almost as famous as he was. It was long and slender and entirely unaugmented. It was called Morgana. No one knew why. A featureless black steel helm covered his head completely, and he had never been seen without it. In his three-year career as a gladiator, he had never even come close to being beaten or unmasked. He specialized in winning against impossible odds, and the crowd loved him for it. His identity, and his reasons for concealing it, remained a mystery, though there were any number of rumors. Some said he'd been dishonorably discharged from the Army and sought to regain his honor
