Just a Lick
Blaze
“Have you wondered why those three Halckons were heading south, toward us, when the flag is northeast?” I ask to change the subject when we’re back on the desolate path heading north again.
“I have my theories.”
“Do tell.”
Before he can explain, the red lights flick out on both our drones.
We stop walking, both of us staring at the drones intently. Just as I’d suspected, those three red fuckers didn’t come upon us accidentally.
When I look at him expectantly, waiting for him to spill his thoughts, he gives me an almost imperceptible shake of his head.
Got it. Don’t trust the red light.
A tight smile graces my face as I recall my early education on behavior modification. They thought they could modify our behavior by their red lights? Trick us into spilling our secrets because we thought we were off camera? Very smart.
Just not smarter than us.
Of course they’re filming everything. At one point in time, they were filming one hundred feeds at once. They couldn’t all be streamed at the same time. It’s all filmed, it just isn’t all broadcast.
Two can play, evil network. Two can play.
“So,” I say as I turn to Titan and use one of my superpowers, the ability to wink either eye. I wink with the eye that doesn’t face the camera. “I have a theory.”
Disinformation. I learned about it in army training schools.
“Yeah?”
“My hypothesis is those three thought they might get extra votes if they took you down, you know? You’re a pretty well-known gladiator, aren’t you?”
Oh boy, two birds with one stone. Not only are we tricking them into believing they fooled us, but I just set Titan up to recite his curriculum vitae to the planet, thereby earning sympathy.
“I’m not a premier gladiator, by any means,” he says.
Good move, don’t want to be too boastful. There are only ten premiers in the galaxy.
“But I worked hard for my masters. There’s a lot more to being a gladiator than the matches people watch.”
The red lights turn back on. Good.
“I lifted weights for hours a day, ran for miles, and sparred with weapons of all kinds, not just the three-footgladiusthat was my trademark.”
That’s it? Come on, Titan, ham it up.
“There weren’t any unorthodox training methods?” I ask, giving him the head thrust that would be an obvious encouragement to run with my suggestion if he were my boyfriend in an American rom-com. I get nothing. He’s clueless.
“After you gave me a trip to heaven in bed last night, didn’t you whisper in my ear about all sorts of unorthodox training methods you used?” I ask, hoping he’ll get the hint.
He gives me a pathetic questioning glance, obviously unable to play along because he’s never had the good fortune to seeRocky OnethroughRocky Fifty-Three.
“You know, you told me about them taking you into a meat locker where you beat up all the sides of meat with your bare fists?”
“Oh yes, of course. It built strength and endurance.”
“And don’t be shy. Tell the folks at home how you would run in the pool for hours, building up powerful leg muscles.”
