Belligerent (Vicara) (3 page)

“You go first.”

When she was halfway to the exit, Ryan left his seat.

“Hey, kid! Where are you going?”

Ryan hopped down the stairs and sprinted through the employee door. He heard the door open behind him, but he was already down a few levels and into the locker area. The poor usher never had a chance.

In his haste, Ryan hadn’t considered the likely possibility of people in the room. He froze when he saw Eva and Logan along with a man who could only be their Owner.

“Who's this?” the Owner asked.

Logan eyed the newcomer curiously, but Eva was quick to answer.

“He's just some kid who snuck in here earlier,” she said.

Still dressed in the tight shorts that made up the bottom part of a Belligerent's armor, the top part of her armor had been removed in order to bandage her wounds until she could be taken to a pod. Ryan hastily and obviously averted his gaze from her sports bra, trying to concentrate on a new escape plan. Would they pursue him? With both of the Belligerents injured, he figured he could possibly outrun them.

“Give us a hand getting her to the car, and we'll help you escape,” the Owner said just as thundering footsteps sounded on the staircase.

Knowing a decent deal when one was offered, he crossed the locker room and helped Logan ease Eva to a standing position. Before he could ask why the Owner couldn't have helped her, Ryan noticed a cane in the man's hand. Despite the fact that the Owner couldn't have been much older than twenty-five, it was obvious the cane was there for more than a fashion statement. His gait was quick but with a noticeable limp as he led the way out of the locker room and to a long, underground hallway that connected to the parking deck.

When they reached the garage, the Owner pointed out a sleek, stretch, hover-car. “That one,” he said.

Once Eva was settled in the vehicle, Ryan scanned the deck for the nearest exit. Heavily armed disciplinary squad members stood at every entrance with their tablets in hand to check the identification of each person entering or exiting. Ryan knew that if they were to scan his face, an alert would seal his fate. After so many close calls with the local authorities, he’d surely spend at least a week or two in a holding cell.

“You said you would help me out,” Ryan reminded the man.

“We did. You're out of the coliseum. This is the parking deck,” the Owner said, grinning. “My end of the bargain has been fulfilled.”

“You're really going to pull that one? You're going to argue semantics while I'm running for my life?”

“You're not running for your life. You're running for your freedom.”

“It's the same thing!”

Logan and Eva remained silent, both watching the interaction with wary eyes. Ryan was unsurprised. He hadn't expected them to speak while their Owner handled the situation. They were just two more Belligerents with bands on their wrists to remind them of their place.

Ryan sighed. If he didn't escape soon there was a possibility that he would soon join in their fate. Or worse, he would be given an Omega status. He couldn't do it. He wouldn't allow them to enslave him.

“I can get myself out,” he growled and glanced around the parking deck.

No hover-bikes were in sight which was disheartening. There was, however, a small sleek car that more than likely belonged to some spoiled heiress, if the tiaras were any indication. While it was the exact opposite of any car he would ever want to own, Ryan knew it was his best option for escape. He could feel the eyes of the other three on him as he raced over to the vehicle and began deactivating its security code. He didn't have his usual tools on him, but there had once been a time when he couldn't afford tools and had to bypass everything by hand. Luckily those skills, though rusty, hadn’t completely abandoned him.

“You don't have enough time for that,” the Owner said pointing out one of the disciplinary squad members who had noticed his actions and was looking over at them curiously.

Ryan grunted. No shady Owner would tell him his business.

He squinted along the row of buttons and noticed which ones were slightly more worn than the others. This model of lock could take an eight digit code, but judging the car owner, Ryan guessed she used the minimum of three digits. Since three of the buttons were worn, she didn’t repeat any numbers. Crunching the math in his head, he knew that left only six combinations.

“Hey! What are you doing over there?” the guard called.

No time for distractions. Moving his fingers deftly, Ryan punched each possibility into the lock and released his breath when the fourth try illuminated the panel green and the door clicked open, yielding to him like so many other doors through the years. He yanked on the slim door and slid into the vehicle.

Guessing the helpful owner used the same code for startup, he punched the three-digit sequence into the dash and smiled when the engine hummed to life.

“Ditsy girls,” he said to himself as he closed the door and checked the glowing gauges. “Guess they’re good for somethin’.”

Ryan was speeding out of the garage before the disciplinary guard had processed what was happening. He drove straight through the security gate, glad that while the car was small it was built almost completely of a lightweight but durable metal. Two squad members jumped in their hover-cars to give chase. He knew they would report him if they didn't catch him first. Whoever the car's owner was would hand over their track number, and the car could be found in a matter of minutes. Well, it could have been found if Ryan hadn't already erased all of its tracking data from the car's memory as well as thrown the spare GPS out the window a few miles back. As long as they couldn't track him, all Ryan had to do was drive fast enough to get them off his tail.

He might have been only fourteen, but he was already a professional. He went in a seemingly random path through the city, speeding down narrow alleyways and pushing the hover-car to jump over road boundaries until he was certain he had lost the people chasing him. Only then did he head to the one place he knew he could safely ditch the vehicle. He swerved into one of the many warehouses located in the furniture factory district and parked the car before leaping out.

“Got room for another one?” he called out.

“Ryan, you didn't mention that you were coming in today,” Paul replied.

Mired in his early twenties which seemed to be treating him like he was in his early thirties, Paul was the person everyone went to when they needed a less than legal car part. He had a habit of hiring homeless children as nobody suspected children to be car thieves. Ryan had been just one of several children that Paul had come across and offered a job. He made the same proposal to Alex as well, but she loathed grease work and was a terrible driver. She was better at the business end of things, and she would sometimes help out with that to supplement her gambling income. Really, if they hadn’t met Paul, they probably would have starved to death a few years earlier.

“What have you got?” Paul asked, wiping his hands together. “Doesn't look like your usual pick up.”

Ryan shrugged. “Needed a getaway car. This was the best option. Lucky for me, the owner isn’t too smart.”

“And you want me to unload it?” Paul gave it a look. “I can probably sell the whole thing. If not, the parts will go for a decent price.”

“Thanks, man.”

“I'll log this into your account. You better get back before Alex starts to worry. I know she was probably in on whatever trouble you were up to.”

“Yeah. She's supposed to be waiting for me back at home. What about tomorrow?”

“I'll text you with a list of some of the things we're looking for, but you know anything will help.”

“Got it.”

On his walk back to the apartment, Ryan passed vendors as they prepared their stalls for the next day's events. Some officers joined them, marking off the parade route. Since it was Darton's first time hosting the Vicara finals, the city was overwhelmed with excitement. Even the Commoners like him, who would have to be content watching the game on a screen, were charged with anticipation. Those better off would enjoy the games inside the city's main coliseum, hooked into the virtual program alongside the combatants.

Ryan kicked at a piece of trash and continued home.

*

On the morning of the finals, Darton’s main street was packed with people dressed in apparel proclaiming different teams' names. Vendors were stationed on every corner selling pennants, hats, and everything else a person needed to show their dedication to a team. Other merchants provided the refreshments. The smell of funnel cakes, hotdogs, and popcorn filled the air. Ryan was balancing one of those funnel cakes on a thin plate as he tried to navigate his way through the excited crowd.

“You certainly took your time,” Alex greeted him from where she sat on their building's front steps.

They had claimed the stoop as their own around five that morning and had been taking turns making sure nobody else stole it. Alex was dressed in a light blue t-shirt with “OZ” written boldly across its front.

“I was beginning to think that you had been collected,” she teased with a laugh, but there was a hint of fear in her eyes. She was still anxious from their near escape at the coliseum.

“You're the one who wanted the funnel cake,” Ryan grumbled but smiled to soften the words.

“And I thank you for getting it for me,” she said, slipping into a mock formal tone as she reached for the plate.

Ryan shook his head and plopped down on the stoop next to her. Placing the plate in his lap, he tore off a large piece of the fried dough and shoved it all in his mouth.

“This is good,” he mumbled around the mouthful. It was too easy to tease her.

She kissed him on the cheek. “Now do I get my funnel cake?”

He cocked an eyebrow at her. “While I love your kisses, I want your mind right now,” he replied indicating the gambling site on her tablet.

She laughed. “You get both, but only if you give me my cake!”

“I don't know. This is pretty good.”

“Gimme!” Alex pleaded, and Ryan finally held the plate still long enough for her to tear off her own piece.

Chocolate syrup dripped onto her bare knee, but Alex barely noticed. Her attention was focused on the huge screen located on top of the seven story building across the street. The screen had switched from showing advertisements to showing nothing at all. After a long moment, the screen flashed back to life and the spokesperson of the games appeared.

“Welcome to the final week of the fiftieth annual Vicara games!” the spokesman said, greeting the spectators in the stadium and across the city. His suit and stiff way of holding himself in front of the camera proved that he was an Elite who had convinced someone to let him have the announcer position that day. The crowd cheered regardless.

“As you know, the victorious team will be declared the winner and will receive twenty million credits as well as lifetime passes.”

“I'd kill for one of those,” Alex murmured.

Ryan felt the same way. Lifetime passes were a dream for most Commoners. Since that wasn't likely to happen, they would have to be content with the free entertainment they were given during Vicara. It would take their minds off things for a little while, anyway.

The games were essentially a highly complex, typically gory, virtual reality version of “capture the flag” – two teams, two flags, first to bring the enemy flag to home base wins. During the first round, each team put up a significant entry fee consisting of either money or valuable objects which acted as their “flag”. At the end of each round the two lowest scoring teams were dismissed, while the others went on to the next week's competition until only one team was left standing to claim all the prizes.

The spokesperson continued, “The final round will start momentarily, but for now let's learn some more about the remaining players. Playing for Oz...”

Alex released an ear-piercing whistle along with most of the other residents of the city.

Round one had consisted of eight teams with eight members each, all with different specialties. By week four there were only two teams left in the running. The spokesman listed the sixteen contestants and conveyed the same information that had been playing constantly over the past four weeks. Ryan still couldn't remember most of their names, but Alex had her tablet and as usual wasted no time in noting her updated impressions about each player.

Ryan had once wanted to play in the Vicara games. Most small Commoner children thought it was the opportunity of a lifetime. They considered it their chance to become a celebrity and have a chance at winning the grand prize. However, like most other children, Ryan had quickly learned that the last thing they wanted to be was a Vicara contestant. Only a Belligerent could become a contestant in the Vicara games, and being a Belligerent meant that you were nothing more than a pawn who belonged to an Owner. Watching the grinning faces of the contestants being flashed across the screen, Ryan had to remind himself that all of them were acting. All of them were slaves and had been for most of their lives.

“Don't know why you bother copying all that stuff down since you're just going to bet on Oz as usual.” Ryan leaned close to Alex's ear, so she could hear him above the crowd. He could smell the generic shampoo that all the roommates tended to share as well as a hint of coffee. With fourteen teenagers sharing the same space, all keeping various hours and juggling odd and typically illegal jobs to make ends meet, there tended to always be the smell of coffee in the apartment, even if there was no other food.