Page 4 of Infala: The Bonding Games
The smell of fresh air—truly fresh air, not the crap pumped in through a ventilation system—flooded the compartment,blowing in through the bright light radiating through the open door. Something else came in at the same time. The sound. Everyone recognized it immediately now that it was not muffled by thick metal walls.
It was the sound of a cheering crowd.
“Come on. Out with you lot!” the gruff voice commanded, this time not over the internal speaker but from just outside the open door. “Step out, step down, and don’t trip. Then line up and stay quiet. No funny business, clear? You don’t want to find out what happens to those who disobey those orders.”
After so long stuck inside the same four walls, it was doubtful anyone would even have had the briefest of thoughts of acting up. Just the mere thought of getting out into the fresh air was enough motivation for them to behave. Threats were a totally unneeded additional incentive.
The crowd roared as the passengers exited one by one, each adjusting their eyes to the bright sun despite their brief shift in interior lighting. Ziana looked at the ground, diverting her gaze to give it a moment. Surprisingly, this wasn’t some super-nifty alien tarmac.
It’s dirt, she noted, forcing herself to look up and see where the noise was coming from.Oh, shit.
This wasn’t just some dirt field. This was an arena. A very high-tech, alien arena with bleachers around it in a U-shape, the open end leading out into a sprawling wilderness. Next to the impressive nature, however, was a city. A crazy one by any human standards.
This wasn’t old or new, artistic or cold. It was a mix of a great many styles and feels, the alien architecture blending both technological marvels with what looked almost fairy tale in whimsical design. Taller structures resembled castles in their own way, while smaller buildings spread as far as she could see. Of course, with the bleachers blocking most of the way, therewasn’t muchtosee. And those bleachers were full of a variety of alien races, not only cheering at the arrival of the newcomers as she’d initially believed, but also what seemed to be a small-scale footrace taking place around them.
“This way,” the lead guard said, urging them to move toward a shady area situated in front of the five luxury boxes just above the arena floor.
They were plush and well-furnished, from what she could see. Clearly the special seating areas for some alien big wigs. Ziana and the others marched ahead in a single line, coming to a stop just below them. She could see better now that there were some people in each of the luxury boxes, though they were in no way filled to capacity. And then, just like that, a few from each seemed to disappear, only to reappear moments later at ground level from behind a wall at what would have roughly corresponded with the back of the luxury areas.
Must be an elevator of some sort, she mused.
The people were opulent in their attire. A bit gaudy, when you got right down to it. And the way they looked at the rather odd group now stood in front of them, it was clear to see they thought themselves superior, so much better than these lesser beings they were looking down their noses at. At least, those who had noses. One of them, a purple and gray-skinned man with broad shoulders but a very unimpressive build despite his bone structure, had an almost smooth downward-sloping button where a nose should be. The others, however, did have more traditional ones.
“What is this, some kind of slave auction?” Ziana quietly asked the nearest guard.
“You are not to speak.”
“Yeah, I get that, but can you at least tell me what’s going on?”
Incredibly, the man glanced to either side and, finding it clear, spoke quickly and quietly. “You are in the city of Arval for possible selection to fill unexpected gaps in the Husken Games.”
“What are those?”
“Shh. Be silent,” he said, then walked away to give the line of prisoners one final review before presenting them.
“Shit. These are the Husken Games?” a silver-skinned woman with gills and reptilian-looking skin grumbled. “Nobody said we might be stuck in the Husken Games.”
“What does that even mean?” Ziana asked.
The woman shook her head, whispering out of the side of her mouth. “They take place every three years. A massive event comprised of tests of strength, speed, stamina, intelligence, agility, and resourcefulness. If that’s where we are, then those are the heads of the five ruling families who fund and oversee the games. Their offspring teams will compete against commoners, as always. If a commoner should win, they will ascend to the ranks of the elites, winning fortune and status.”
“Well, that doesn’t sound so bad?—”
“But despite the games being endorsed by the Dotharian Conglomerate itself, they can be quite violent, and the families will gladly do whatever it takes to win the valuable pigment the Conglomerate adds to the winner’s pot, adding it to their already vast fortunes.”
“They cheat?”
“Many believe so, though no one can prove it decisively. But given that no one has ever defeated the elites in longer than any can remember, I think that is a fair assumption. Commoners enter every time, just as they fail, though not for lack of trying.”
“How can they cheat if it’s an official Dotharian thing? I thought those guys were the big, bad top dogs of the law around here.”
“They are. But they are also not able to be everywhere at once. And there have been some conflicts elsewhere in the system, so they’re a bit spread thin.”
Ziana shook her head, taking it all in as best she could, but it really was a lot to wrap her head around. “But what’s this talk about filling gaps? If everyone is so gung-ho to play the games, what does that even mean?”
“Some entrants unexpectedly lose their partners.”
“So, it’s a team event?”
