Eye Candy (48 page)

“Thank you, sir. I’ve had a fair amount of practice.”

Danny turned so he and Bernard faced the arena.

The man was scooting backwards on his butt, kicking up a cloud of dust. The robot swung its sword at the man. The man took the blow on his shield. Sparks flew. The man fell on his back in the dirt. It was all he could do to hold the shield before him.

The robot swung again.

Sparks flew.

“What’s happening down there, Bernard?”

“Punishment via duel, sir.”

Danny coughed out his smoke. “Say what?”

“That man was convicted of assault with a deadly weapon. The judge gave him a choice: life in prison or a duel with a robot. The man chose the duel and was remanded into the custody of the Palace security forces. If the man survives, he is free to go.”

The robot swung again.

Sparks flew. The crowd roared.

Danny enjoyed another long gulp of his beer. “What’s with the sparks?”

The weapons are embedded with flint in order to create the sparks. It adds a dramatic flair which studies have shown the crowd enjoys.”

“They did studies on that?”

“Exhaustive studies, sir.”

“How long have they been fighting?”

“Fifty-seven minutes, approximately,” said Bernard.

“Is that a long time?”

“Longer than average. For most of the duel, the man ran away from the robot, searching for a way out of the arena. It appears that he is unable to continue running. I suspect the duel is nearly over.”

On the arena floor, flat on his back, the man kicked at the robot. Weak, ineffective kicks. He dropped his sword in the dirt, and held the shield with both hands. Sensing that the end was near, the crowd fell silent. The man’s wheezing, high-pitched breath filled the air.

The robot swung its sword.

The man thrust his shield up to block the blow.

The sword slid off the shield and struck the man’s hand. Several fingers flew through the air, illuminated in the spotlight’s white light.

The man screamed and clutched at his hand.

The robot swung its sword. The blade struck the man in the face. His body jerked. He let out a muffled cry.

The robot swung again. The blade struck the man in the face.

The man was still.

The robot also remained still.

Neither figure moved.

Despite his highness, Danny knew immediately what had happened. “It froze, didn’t it?”

“It would appear so,” said Bernard.

“How can a robot injure a human in the first place?”

“The laws are overwritten by a court order,” explained Bernard. “But sometimes the laws are stronger.”

“How do you feel about that?”

“About what, sir?”

“About a robot killing a human.”

“The human made his choices, all of which led him here. He has now borne the consequences. How I feel is irrelevant. But it doesn’t make me feel good.”

“May I ask why?”

“Life is precious. All life. It ought to be protected. Another beer, sir?”

“Please.”

Bernard went inside.

A handful of robots moved onto the arena floor. They loaded the bodies of the man and the robot onto a long flatbed cart and then drove out of the arena.

A man in a black leather jacket materialized from out of the darkness and trotted into the center of the dirt floor. A powerful spotlight beamed down on him.

“How do you like that?” he called out. His amplified voice filled the arena.

The crowd cheered.

“It’s a shame about the freeze-out, but did that slimy son a bitch get what he deserved?”

The crowd roared.

“I said, did that slimy sack of shit get what he deserved?!” the man screamed.

The crowd absolutely screamed back.

“That’s what I thought.”

Bernard returned to the balcony. “Your beer, sir.”

Danny took it. “Thanks. Say, Bernard, who’s this guy?”

The man on the arena floor turned in place and looked up at Danny. “For those of you who don’t know me, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Zammy Spry. I am the founder, owner, and proprietor of Robot Palace. I am your master of ceremonies!”

Sammy raised his hands in the air, spun in a circle, leaped onto his toes, and balanced perfectly on the tips of his pointed black boots. Illuminated tassels swung from the arms of his jacket, color-shifting from purple to red to blue to green to white and back again. His smiling face appeared on the giant monitors throughout the arena. The crowd cheered, eating it up.

Bernard reached out and tapped the power button on a wall-mounted monitor. The screen lit up, showing a close-up of Zammy’s face.

“Let that last match be a lesson to all of us,” said Zammy. “Think before you commit a crime. Our previous competitor could be up in the stands right now, enjoying a cold one,”–Danny was certain Zammy pointed directly at him–“but instead, he broke the law. Now he’s dead, and the only thing he’ll be enjoying is his new status as a permanent organ donor. Stupid bastard.”

Zammy looked down at the dirt. He shook his head.

After a moment, he looked up at the crowd once more. “But, life goes on.” He smiled. “So, are you ready for our next performance?”

The crowd cheered.

“Bullshit. I said, are you ready for our next performance?”

The crowd howled.

“That’s more like it. I hope you’re ready for something extra special, because we’ve pulled out all the stops for this one. You know ’em, you love ’em. . . . Put your hands together for . . . the Wrecking Crewwwwwww!” Zammy trailed off in grand fashion. His spotlight went dark.

Green lights appeared around the arena, whizzing in a circle along the walls above the arena floor.

The crowd went berserk.

Everyone was on their feet, arms in the air, cheering. Thousands of bluish-white lights filled the arena as everyone readied their mobile phones to record whatever was about to happen.

A grating sound filled the air, the sound of a heavy gate opening. A swarm of people ran into the arena. Some sprinted for the wall and began trying to climb it. Others staggered about, peering up into the darkness, wringing their hands, crying, and even sobbing. Still others collapsed into the dirt and hardly moved.

The sound of the gate closing filled the air once more.

“What is this, Bernard? Who are all these people?”

“It’s tonight’s main event, sir. According to tonight’s program, it’s the Wrecking Crew. But everyone here refers to it as the pedophile parade.”

“What’s going to happen?”

“Justice.”

Green spotlights shot from high up in the darkness, pointing straight down vertically, where they created brilliant green circles in the dirt.

Some of the people wandered into the green lights and looked up, investigating their origin.

Trap doors opened in the floor, directly under each of the green lights. Danny counted about a dozen. Large robots rose into the arena, each one glowing with green light. Danny recognized them at once:
Pagaz
-model military-grade attack units like the one he and Candy met at
Mechanical Man
.

When the
Pagaz
units reached the arena floor, everyone fell silent. The only sound was the clamoring and weeping of the humans mewling in the arena, scrambling about in the dirt, and leaping pathetically into the air in feeble attempts to scale the wall.

Every monitor in the arena lit up, bearing a large, green-glowing number:
5
.

The crowd chanted, “Five!”

The number changed to a bright
4
.

The crowd chanted, “Four!”

Then
3
.

“Three!”

2
.

“Two!”

1
.

“One!”

In unison, the crowd screamed, “
ACTIVATE!
”

The
Pagaz
units came to life. Their red eyes lit up. Each robot pulled two long, curved, samurai-style katanas from their sheaths. They stepped forward, targeted the nearest human, and swung.

The screaming began.

The
Pagaz
units seized upon person after person, katanas swinging in tandem. Limbs and heads were severed. Mortally-wounded people flopped about in the dirt, screaming in agony.

And the blood flowed.

Danny was shocked by the sight of it. It looked black in the green spotlights.

Some of the people mounted a combined assault on the
Pagaz
units, attempting to subdue and disarm them. One of the robots was successfully felled, but only after its twirling blades had chopped up nearly a dozen humans. A man in a business suit managed to remove a katana from the hand of the
Pagaz
. He turned to find another
Pagaz
bearing down on him. He held the sword with two hands and swung it with all his might. The
Pagaz
feinted, parried the blow effortlessly with its own katana, and sent up a brilliant spray of sparks. Much to the delight of the crowd. The
Pagaz
then criss-crossed its blades and in an instant the business man’s chest and shoulders separated from his lower body and legs. Both halves of the man fell into the dirt. He looked down at himself, screaming.

A man leaned over the wall above Danny’s private box and yelled and shook his fists. “That’s what you get for raping kids, you fucker!”

The severed business man’s image appeared in perfect close-up on all the monitors in the arena. He looked up at a hundred images of himself, sprawled in the dirt, his body in halves. He died with the sword still in his hand.

Bernard turned and went into the private box.

Danny followed.

But still the screaming was audible. Danny closed the door, and silence ensued.

“So all those people. . . .”

“Convicted child molesters,” said Bernard.

“And they chose to come here, like the last guy?”

“That is correct.”

“So this is what society has come to.”

“It would seem so.”

The white courtesy phone lit up, emitting a pleasant ring. Bernard answered it. He listened, said, “Right away, sir.” And hung up. “Your presence is requested, Mister Olivaw. I will escort you. Right this way.” Bernard opened the door to the suite and waited. “You may of course bring your beverage.”

On his way out the door, Danny took one last look over his shoulder at the monitor depicting the action in the arena. A
Pagaz
unit stood with one heavy robotic foot on the chest of a fat, hairy man writhing in the dirt while a second
Pagaz
filleted him. The crowd roared. They captured it all on their handheld devices.

Danny followed Bernard down the hallway to an elevator. Bernard pressed the topmost button, then entered several numbers on a virtual keypad. They rode upward for a few moments, and the door opened into a lavish black marble foyer decorated with tall black vases brimming with long-stemmed red roses. Their sweet, decadent aroma filled the air.

“Right this way, sir.”

Bernard knocked gently on one of the two gleaming black doors.

After a moment, the door opened a few inches. The face of a man with spiky black hair appeared. Dark sunglasses obscured his eyes. “What’s the password?”

Bernard and Danny exchanged a look.

The doors flew open. The man in the sunglasses held two large silver handguns. His long black trench coat fluttered around him. “Tell me the password or I’ll kill ya!”

Danny opened his mouth to reply.

The man began to laugh. “I’m just kiddin’. There’s no password. Come on in. Z’s expecting you.” He holstered his weapons inside his coat. “How the hell ya been, Bernard? It’s been awhile.” Bernard and the man shook hands.

“Indeed it has, sir.”

“We’ve been working a lot. Just got back from Borneo.”

The man turned to Danny. “You must be the great Daniel Olivaw.” He extended his hand. “Delilah informed us that you were here.”

Danny shifted his pint of beer to his left hand, wiped his right hand on his jeans, and shook hands.

“I’m Rukara. Pleasure to meet you. I loved your book. I didn’t agree with everything in it, particularly most of chapter three, but the rest of it was rock solid. No pun intended.”

“Nice to meet you, too,” said Danny.

Rukara lifted his sunglasses up to his forehead and peered at Danny with glowing red cyborg eyes. “I can’t tell who’s higher, you or me. Are my eyes red?” He dropped his shades over his eyes and laughed. “Come on.”