After the Fall

By Michael Rothwell

When the Earth finally reaches it breaking point and global warming has melted the polar ice caps, a full one third of the population is wiped out and at least a third of the North American continent is submerged. From the disaster a new form of government is born and new, more stringent, laws are passed. Every offence is punishable by death. The death sentence is carried out in a gladiatorial arena in the Western Sector and it is televised to every home in America. The Gladiatorial Games serve two purposes: there are no criminals walking the streets and there are no prisons to maintain. The Games also serve as a graphic warning to the population. Want to smoke a cigarette? If you are caught you will get a death sentence. Don’t want to watch the Games? Fine it’s a free country, turn off the TV. But you WILL be arrested and forced to entertain the rest of the population as a gladiator

• Language: English
• Publisher: Michael Rothwell
• Release date: Jun 3, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476426891

Michael Rothwell

Terence Rothwell is also the author of Check Out Day, which won First Place in the 2008 PEN America Contest. His debut novel, After the Fall has been awarded Honorable Mention in the 79th Annual Writer’s Digest writing competition.

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Prologue

Western Sector

Before The Last Orientation Day

The flocks of seagulls and vultures amassed at a certain point on the cliffs of the Palos Verdes Peninsula. Even the sharks that patrolled the alley between Catalina and the mainland seemed to grow restless waiting for the bounty that was to come from the cliffs. They sensed that soon there would be food enough for all the creatures to gorge on.

Bare bones stacked at the bottom of the cliff where land and sea collided. The tide would bring the seawater crashing against the rocks as it had for untold millennia. And for the bones that weren’t washed away, the salt bleached them a pure white.

In the last days of the old order, the rich men, who lived in the splendor of what they called the entertainment industry, squandered their opulence on building enormous levees on either side of the Palos Verdes hill, a natural barrier even the rising ocean couldn’t pass, in a vain effort to save their grand estates. Those men were long gone; however, their efforts left a dry gulch of what was once called the Los Angeles Basin after most of California had flooded. After the fall.

But the people still came, enticed by the beauty of the West Coast, among other things. This time they didn’t come to settle the virgin region; but rather to resettle what some still thought was paradise. Just as many of the people that were lured to old Hollywood by the promise of fame and fortune ended up as empty husks of flesh with broken dreams, so it was for the new residents of Angel City.

Chapter 1

Western Sector

25 May 2052 2100 hours

Procurator Melvin Eliot wanted to put the cyanide in his guest’s drink without being noticed. He had practiced this many times until he could do it smoothly and it looked like a natural part of mixing the cocktail. The trick was not to touch the deadly pill with his bare fingers. He had placed the BB sized pellet of poison on a tiny silver spoon with a set of narrow surgical forceps a few minutes before his guest, the newly appointed Vice Procurator, James Stills, had arrived. Now he deftly slipped it into the glass.

A soothing voice said from a speaker on the wall, ...All citizens in the Western Sector are required to report to their job assignments on time and perform their duties in a diligent and conscientious manner...

Eliot eyed the younger man from behind the wet bar’s counter, and said, How strong do you like it? Do you want a little rum in your Coke or a little Coke in your rum?

Just a shot, sir. I don’t normally drink when I’m on duty.

The voice in the background continued almost unnoticed, ...And, of course, never burn anything. Do not run or unnecessarily exert yourself. Save and preserve our precious oxygen...

Well, you’re always going to be on duty out here in the real world, son, the Procurator said. He hoped that didn’t sound too condescending. He didn’t want to arouse the young man’s suspicions any more than they were already.

Eliot came out from behind the bar and casually handed the toxic drink to Stills. Did he see a flicker of paranoia? Should have. At least according to his psych profile which Eliot had gone over thoroughly. Like Eliot, Stills was a functional sociopath. On the extreme end of the scale.

...Strive to be a good citizen. The government always has your best interest at heart..., the patter in the background continued.

Let’s get down to business, Eliot said as he sipped his drink. Stills walked towards the divan in the center of the plush room. He sure didn’t live like this back at the Academy. He didn’t take a drink.

Sit down, make yourself comfortable, Eliot said. Well, as comfortable as you can be before you double over in agony in a few seconds. That is if you’re foolish enough to drink it, Eliot thought.

Eliot had it all planned out if Stills was hesitant to raise his glass. I need a little more booze in my Coke, and the Procurator went back to the bar. He purposefully kept his back towards Stills as he retrieved the bottle of rum. He slid a panel back, revealing a small LCD screen. The unseen camera on the ceiling automatically focused on the only moving object in the room, and as Eliot poured more rum into his glass, there it was. Quick as a cat, Stills dumped his entire drink into the base of a houseplant next to him. Eliot was, in a way, pleased. Stills passed the test. Eliot would have done exactly the same thing in his place. And he was once a Vice Chancellor.

...Obey lawful authority, make an effort to get along with others, and remember, we’re all in this together...

Turn that crap down, would you? Eliot said as he put the bottle away.

Stills dutifully sprang up and approached the speaker. The rather old-fashioned knob had a built-in marker. It was already down to the lowest point allowed by law. The volume was set on 3 out of 10.

Sir, it won’t go down any further. Stills watched Eliot walk towards him. He sure didn’t look like a man who just tried to poison his new underling. Perhaps his eventual replacement. But it was better to be on the safe side, Stills thought. He turned back towards the speaker, raised the empty glass to his mouth not quite touching his lips, and pretended to drink.

...Don’t consume more than your government allotment of calories. Always chew fully before swallowing food. Brush and floss after each meal. Remember, it’s for your own good...

Eliot came up beside him and turned the knob to zero. The always calming voice went silent. It was a felony and Stills visibly stiffened. It was almost unfathomable to Stills that a man of Eliot’s stature would so blatantly break the law.

You’ve never wanted to do that, even when you’re alone?

No, Stills lied. Stills thought about when he and his brother were growing up and they would dare each other to turn the prop box off. They took it right down to the allowable line, sometimes even a hair too far, but there was a cushion built into it so they didn’t get in trouble. He often wanted to turn it off, and he knew this set him apart from other people. Most folks just got used to, and accepted, it as a part of life. After all, the things spoken out of it, when music wasn’t playing, were always for their own good.

Eliot said, It’s a free country. What’s stopping you?

Stills had a feeling he was receiving his first lesson, and answered, Of course, anyone can turn their propaganda box off, but there are consequences for our actions. The law’s the law.

Ah, good company answer, Eliot said, but the propaganda isn’t targeted at us. In fact, one of your first duties will be to choose which of the new propaganda from Main Control will be broadcast in this Sector.

The entire Sector? Wow. Stills hadn’t thought he’d be given such weighty responsibilities so soon.

Yes. I requested you specifically because of your qualifications. Now he lied. I’m getting older and want someone I can transfer some of the day-to-day workings of the job to. Actually, he was told by Main Control they would be assigning him a Vice Procurator. They didn’t ask. If they kept pushing, sooner or later there was going to be a war. Oh well, one had to make the best of a situation. And the Procurator could be charming when he wanted to. Always a good trait to have for a politician.

The Procurator mused it might be tempting to have someone help shoulder his heavy workload. Stills reminded him a lot of himself as a young man. So far, Stills had reacted to the situation and said exactly what the Procurator would have about 30 years ago. But back then, Eliot didn’t have to, in essence, replace anybody on his way up. On their way up. They got in on the ground floor after things went bad. He and his brother were right there when the old order collapsed, positioned perfectly for a power grab.

Let me give you the company line... And it’s all true. Our job is to maintain direct order over the Sector by whatever means necessary.

Stills fidgeted. Eliot reached over and turned the knob back to low. The voice became audible again.

...Always watch your neighbors to see what they’re doing. Report suspicious behavior to the appropriate authority. In the long run, it’s all for your own good. Now, enjoy the music chosen by you, the people... Tranquil electric music began to play.

It takes a while to get used to the silence, he paused, but it’s nice once in a while.

Stills weighed his options. He could report this felonious behavior directly to Main Control. But what would they do; what could they do? They were out in the boonies over a thousand miles away from real civilization. After all, it was Eliot’s Sector. This was his first assignment and he didn’t want to blow it. Better to let this play out and see where it led, he thought.

Sir, you said we program the propaganda? He believed everything was directed by Main Control.

Most, not all. Some issues we have are unique to our Sector. No doubt you’ve heard of the Sav situation we have out here. Stills noticed he didn’t call them a problem, like they did in most places. Everyone knew the highest number of Civs gone Sav were in this Sector. It was rumored that a guy could quit the civilized life and make a lot of money as a Sav out West, maybe even amass a small fortune. But they said it was dirty work. Real dirty. And it was common knowledge that Eliot had an almost magical way of keeping the Savs, the self-called Freemen, under control.

The propaganda out here needs to have a, shall we say, heavier slant towards our Sav population. I, and now you, will program a lot of what comes out of here, he said pointing to the speaker. It doesn’t happen by itself. This is a hands-on operation out here. Not everything is directed by Main Control.

Yeah, that’s why they sent you, Eliot thought. But did they tell you how dangerous your job was, Mr. Stills? Obviously not, because you seem to be relaxing. Yes, I’ve still got the touch, he told himself.

Your drink’s empty, and he took the glass out of Stills’ hand. I’ll get you another.

That’s plenty, sir.

I insist. We’ll be working a lot together and I think you’re gonna be okay, Stills. I was a little concerned; you never know what those bureaucrats back at Main Control are gonna do.

Okay, sir. Just one more.

Eliot dropped the contaminated glass behind the counter of the bar. It landed on a towel without making a sound. Hidden by the bar, he got another glass without Stills noticing, and mixed another drink. This time without poison.

Stills accepted the second drink and thought about how he could get around not sipping it without offending his host. However, the Procurator made it easy for him.

Eliot, just beginning to feel the effects of the first drink, said truthfully, I drink only on special occasions, and guzzled down the contents of his glass.

You know, sir, Stills said, the excitement of being here, starting this new assignment... My stomach’s a little queasy. I don’t think-

Eliot cut him off.

Don’t think anything of it, kid. Gimmie that. Eliot took Stills’ drink and gulped it down. Stills had passed the test again. He could easily make the grade on the paranoia scale for doing Eliot’s job.

I want you here at 0600 hours sharp tomorrow morning. All my staff will be here. And don’t worry, I have a strict Pharaoh’s protocol in effect. Actually, you should worry, Eliot thought.

Stills looked back blankly.

They didn’t tell you? He smiled. It means you can trust the staff with your life. At least I can, he thought.

The prop voice droned, ...And remember, you can trust your government. You are us. We are you. We are all in this together. We always have your best interests at heart...

Eliot couldn’t have timed it better if he tried.

I’ll show you out. Eliot walked with Stills to the entrance and opened the door. I’m looking forward to seeing you in the morning. We’re all in this together. There was enthusiasm in his voice and kindness radiated from his eyes. Maybe that was what put Stills at ease just enough.

Stills had been warned by Main Control to be careful when dealing with a man as ruthless as Eliot. But they didn’t tell him he would be in any immediate danger at their first meeting. His vigilance up until then had all been a part of Stills’ natural caution, and was one of the reasons he had been handpicked by no less than a Vice Chancellor for this mission. Yet, he was still a little wary as he reached for the other’s extended hand, and said, Yes, sir, we’re all in this together.

But Eliot had said and done just enough for him to slacken his guard, and think about what they were going to be doing tomorrow. But tomorrow would never come for this Stills.

Eliot was fluid as a cobra. In one fast movement, he swept with his left hand and knocked Stills’ right arm away from his body, exposing his chest. With his right, stealthily as a magician, he produced a dagger with a stainless steel blade and plunged it deep into Stills’ chest, piercing his heart on the first try.

Eliot couldn’t shoot him with a gun inside his house as it would set off the cordite detectors designed to protect him, and if he shot him outside, his guard down the hill at the Western Sector Headquarters would come running at the sound of it. So he got up close and personal with the new Vice Procurator.

Stills was still able to form thoughts in his brain before he hit the floor. He never thought the old man would actually do this. So crude. He thought Main Control had implanted a variant of a Pharaoh’s protocol (and yes, he knew what it was) somewhere surgically inside him, even though they wouldn’t tell him what it was in case he was subjected to a polymeter exam by Eliot. He thought Main Control would somehow help him if he got into trouble. But his legs were already gone, he was falling without any power to stop it, and he instinctively knew that no one in the world could help him now. His blood pressure dropped to zero from his punctured heart that could no longer beat. But his eyes could see for just a little while longer. The last thing he saw was Eliot’s face. All warmth was gone from it and his eyes had turned into two malevolent orbs. Eliot had transformed into a dispassionate executioner plying his trade. Nothing personal. But it sure seemed like it to Stills.

Eliot bent over and pulled the knife out of Stills’ chest and then sunk it in twice again in close proximity to the original wound to be sure the deed was done.

One alive and one dead, both men were covered in blood.

...Always exercise good manners. It’s what makes us civilized people. And remember, we’re all in this together... It’ll be a few minutes before I can turn off that damn prop box, Eliot thought.

The metallic odor of blood assailed his nostrils. The smell of blood always triggered memories of when he was a young man, when the fall came and the killings began. He did it then to survive, and in his mind, he did it now for the same reason.

He took a step over to a cabinet under a table, opened it, and retrieved a towel and phone he had put there earlier. A quick wipe got some of the blood off him. He pushed a security code into the phone and waited for the connection.

Chapter 2

Central Sector

25 May 2052 1835 hours

The music coming out of the prop box usually made Stills a little sleepy after work, but he always had time to spend with his kid.

Polar bears used to be real? the child asked.

Yes. And not that many years ago.

Why did they die? The kid always had plenty of questions each day after work. Questions that they sometimes didn’t answer in school.

The polar ice where they lived melted, and there wasn’t any place for them to go. That sounded better than saying most of them drowned. You see, the men that used to be in charge of things allowed great damage to happen to our planet from the use of hydrocarbons. But of course she knew all that. At first they didn’t realize what they were doing and the harm the burning caused. But then, even after they did, they did really nothing to stop it. They were out only for themselves. That’s why the laws are a little stricter now. That was an understatement.

People revolted against the old order. They got rid of the men that cared only for their own greed. No need to tell her what actually happened to them, once the people realized what was really going on. And that’s when things, well, they changed. Different people are running things now, and they want to save our planet. And they want to bring the polar bears back through science. Cloning, I think.

In actuality, the fall created a power vacuum that fostered opportunities for men like the Eliot brothers (among others) to seize power.. And they didn’t care much about polar bears; although they might say they did.

The prop box music ended and the voice came on.

...Your duty is to be a good citizen. Always follow instructions from your government. It’s for your own good...

Turn that down, sweetie, Mark Stills said to his daughter as he lounged on the sofa. It had been a long Saturday working on the assembly line at his factory. As an afterthought, he said, Be careful not to go past the line.

But the little girl had already turned it too far. The prop box voice was barely audible as Stills jumped up and ran to the knob, turning it back up well past the minimum.

That was too low, Jinks!

Stills didn’t waste a second and immediately punched in 911 on his cell phone.

911, the voice on the other end said. Are you reporting an emergency or a crime?

A crime.

Violent or non-violent?

Non-violent.

Person, property, or government?

Government.

ID, please.

Stills, Mark Edward. Date of birth 2-19-25. Federation Security Number 325-452-557.

Just a moment, please. And that’s all it took. Another voice came on the line.

What’s the nature of the crime, Mr. Stills?

Propaganda volume. I accidentally turned it down too low for about three seconds.

Why would you do that, sir?

I was showing my daughter how to adjust the volume and I got distracted for a moment and went too far. I didn’t mean to.

Daddy, I’m sorry, Jinks said.

Stills raised his fingers to his mouth and made a silent, but emphatic, shushing gesture.

Sir, did your daughter turn the knob? Even single parents are responsible for their children’s actions. A weekend of mild electro-behavior modification could do wonders for her and save you a lot of grief.

Of course, his file would be instantly accessible to whomever was on the other end of the line, and it would show he was a single parent. It would also show what Marie did.

No, it was me. I am sorry. It’s the first time this has happened. I take full responsibility. Are the police coming? He would have to get a neighbor to look after Jinks while he was questioned. He didn’t want her to be taken, too.

Not this time, sir. But there will be a detective contacting you for a follow up investigation. You may have to spend a weekend at a loyalty seminar. Do you have any problem with that?

No, of course not. We’re all in this together.

Yes, sir. We’re all in this together. Be careful of your volume control. Good night. And the line went dead.

It was difficult for Stills to raise a child alone. Especially with the child’s mother, Marie, having run off to become a Sav. There was no fixing the Civ world, she said, as the men who ran it were a bunch of cutthroat lunatics. It was better to live free, truly free, out in the hinterlands away from society, such as it was, rather than to have her soul stifled by the endless regulation of so-called civilization. And she hated the incessant monotony of the prop box, and let her feelings be known to way too many others. Her seditious talk had nearly landed him in behavior modification seminars more than once (if not outright jail), and in many ways, it was a relief when she left.

He hated to admit it even to himself, but in a way it was even more of a relief when he received notification of her death. Leukemia. It might have been treated in a civilized hospital.

Recent strides in medicine were advancing to almost pre-fall levels, and they were supposed to be doing wonders out in Angel City. But when you got sick out in the Sav lands, you either stayed sick, got better on your own, or died. Unless, of course, you could afford to pay for treatment. They lived a natural life, all right, like people in the Stone Age. He felt relief at the news of her demise not so much because of any animosity towards her, but more because he was always a little afraid she might try to snatch Jinks someday and indoctrinate her into their madness. Even though these feelings caused him some degree of guilt, he was glad the death certificate he received had said simply, Body Not Available. It was one less thing he had to deal with about his ex-wife with Jinks. Mama was in heaven, that’s all she needed to know. But he knew the hard questions would come later. Someday. I’ll deal with it then, he thought.

Stills always made a point of telling people, truthfully, he was a widower, without mentioning she went Sav. He certainly wasn’t the first guy it had happened to, but he still felt a sense of shame because of it. And she had wanted to take Jinks with her, but fortunately he had the full weight of the government behind him on that. If she wanted to throw her life away and live in harmony with nature, as she said, that was one thing, but thrusting such insanity on a child was another. It wasn’t going to happen, so long as one parent was sane, anyway.

Jennifer, Jinks always knew to listen carefully when her proper name was used, you have to think about the effects of your actions. The prop box can be turned down, even off, but there are serious consequences if you do.

But Daddy, why don’t they just make it to where we can’t turn it down? Only a child would ask such a naive question, her father thought.

Because our government places great value on freedom and liberty, Jinks. We’re free to do the wrong thing, but if we do, we get in trouble for it. See? He hoped she could grasp the abstract concept; she was a pretty bright kid. And she didn’t miss a bit of it.

Can’t you get in trouble for lying on the phone?

Time for damage control. Yes, I can. And that’s why you’re gonna tell anyone that asks that you never touched the knob. you’re too young anyway. We won’t make a practice of it, but this one time it’s better for both of us for me to say I did it.

He thought it might actually be good for her to have a little electro-condition training. Like a vaccination, it could save them both a lot of misery in the long run. But she was still so young, and she really was a good kid. Besides, he didn’t want to give the authorities any reason to reject her application to relocate to Angel City to get her leukemia gene fixed; an unintended gift from her mother.

As if on cue, the prop box voice said, ...Angel City has all the latest amenities for eligible retirees and those with special medical needs. All medical bills will be waived. Everything is provided for free in Angel City. There are unlimited resources nearby, and the Federation is able to fully support those lucky enough to be selected to a life a luxury. Remember, there are always more applications than spaces available, so if you are eligible, apply now. You could be one of these people...

Then a recording of the Western Sector Procurator addressing a throng of people came on, ...Welcome new residents of Angel City! How do you like it so far? And the crowd cheered wildly, making Angel City sound like it was the greatest place on earth.

...And it only gets better! Melvin Eliot shouted back to the frenzied crowd.

It was the first time Mark Stills heard the voice of the man who would murder his brother that night.

Chapter 3

Central Sector

25 May 2052 1959 hours

Jinks, it’s almost 2000 hours. Time for you to go to bed. said Stills.

But Daddy, I want to watch the gladiators with you.

The wall screen flipped on automatically. It had the same audio as the prop box.

...The following program contains graphic material and is intended for adults...

Then, a long shot of an arena full of people going wild, seeing that things were finally getting underway. The CGI face of the prop voice, resembling a nondescript woman in her mid-thirties, was superimposed over the screaming crowd.

...This show is not recommended for children under 12 years of age. While not mandatory, it is advised that you remove any children from viewing this broadcast...

The government always gives you a choice, Stills thought. But if you wanted to be a good citizen, it was best to do what was recommended.

Skedaddle now, you need your sleep, kid. you’ll be able to watch it in just a few years. She didn’t realize it, Stills thought, but it would be here before she knew it.

Okay, Daddy, and with a quick kiss good night, she was off to her bedroom. I am blessed, he thought, and hoped the mistake she made earlier with the prop box volume wasn’t going to haunt them. He had a perfect record up until then.

Jinks heard the beginning of the evening’s presentation as she closed her bedroom door. She couldn’t wait to be old enough to watch the grown-up stuff with her father.

The prop voice with the CGI face dissolved and was replaced by the event’s emcee, who was down on the playing field. He said, This show is brought to you solely for the entertainment of our audience... The citizens of the new Federation!

Continuing in a self-important voice, the announcer said, My name is Shep Stone, and in the time-honored tradition of warriors down through the ages, this competition pits man versus man for the ultimate prize: Life itself! We strive to be fair. We don’t feed our losing gladiators to the lions, although we’ve tried a variation of that with hungry grizzly bears. He made a distasteful expression on his face reminding the crowd of one of the more gruesome ways the gladiators could be executed. The crowd tittered, and Shep went on, But each and every one of our gladiators here will get a chance to live a full life!

Cheers and applause from the crowd. Stills sat back and relaxed. He was ready for some mindless adult entertainment to take his focus off his worries. That damn prop box. But if his brother did well in his new political career he was just starting out West, it shouldn’t matter. He thought that with a little luck, James should be able to pull a few strings to get Jinks the genetic therapy she needed to insure she doesn’t suffer the same fate as her mother. A Vice Procurator who loved his niece as much as he does should be able to get them a ticket to Angel City. Especially with him working there in the same Sector. But right now, he just wanted to lose himself in the TV, and watch people deal with a lot more pressing problems than he had. At least for that night.

Shep continued, The rules are simple. There are 16 gladiators pitted against each other two at a time. The gladiator who survives four rounds of competition is crowned the night’s gladiator champion, and will be set free. The other 15 will die in front of you tonight!

More cheers and applause.

And ladies and gentlemen, don’t feel too sorry for the gladiators that forfeit their lives tonight for your entertainment. All are condemned criminals. Society will be rid of 15 undesirables tonight, but in an equitable way that wasn’t afforded the condemned before the fall. Each one of them has a chance to live. And we’ll find out who it is before the evening’s done. It just doesn’t get any more exciting than this, folks!

The crowd screamed at an even higher pitch. Even though the cameras covered much more detail on the TV, there just wasn’t any substitute for being there in person and feeling the excitement that ran through the crowd.

Shep was ready to go, and said, Without further ado, let’s bring the first contestants of the night out right now!

Two men, strapped into simple oversized wooden chairs that were placed on low carts with wheels, were rolled out from opposite sides of the arena to the center of the field near where Shep was standing by a control panel. With dramatic fanfare, he said, Let’s play electrocution tonk rummy!

The crowd didn’t know exactly what that was, but judging from their applause, they liked the sound of it. Shep walked around the two men, as technicians hooked up various cables to them and the chairs.

These are authentic replications of actual electric chairs used a century ago to execute criminals. But tonight, we have a twist for you. The audience always loved a twist. Instead of just a couple of thousand volts to slowly cook a person... We’re gonna use a million volts pumped in directly from the local nuclear power plant. One million volts! the announcer repeated. The unlucky guy, or lucky, however you want to look at it, won’t feel a thing. He’ll blink right out into eternity. And we have super high speed video cameras to capture it all as it happens. Then he used a mock-serious voice, We haven’t tried this on a human being yet, we couldn’t find any test volunteers, the crowd groaned, but we expect it to be quite spectacular.

Stills yawned at the usual prelims. He wished they’d get to it.

Shep directed his attention from the crowd to the men with their heads strapped rigidly still. Now, both you men volunteered for this, right?

The men, being unable to nod, in turn said, Yes.

You’ve both read, signed, and agreed to the rules for this competition, right?

Yes.

Yes.

Before we begin, let’s talk with our first two gladiators. To the one nearest him, who looked barely old enough to be prosecuted as an adult, Shep said, Sir, what is your name, age, and where are you from?

My name is Alvin Gephart, I’m 19, and I’m from the Eastern Sector. It sounded, and was, rehearsed.

So Alvin, what are you in for? Why are you condemned?

I turned down the prop box.

That got Stills’ attention. He perked up on his couch and listened closely.

Whoa, the emcee said, feigning surprise, even I’m shocked that a young man, like yourself, would be sentenced to death for a mere volume infraction. Is there more to it than that?

Well, it was the third time I had completely turned it off, after being through shock treatment and allegiance training. So I guess I really messed up.

Oh, now we see, Shep said as the crowd booed and hissed at this obviously defective individual. There’s always a little more to it than meets the eye. It’s a shame that such a young man would throw his life away, but people, and he looked around the sides of the packed old football stadium, we really can’t have someone like him living in society with us!

Nooo! the crowd rumbled back.

Well, the emcee said and turned back to the condemned teenager, You aren’t dead yet. Our new order, in its infinite wisdom and fairness, has seen fit to give you one more chance right now. Or, you may just get a dose of the ultimate electro-shock treatment, one million volts... That’ll cure you!

The crowd roared with laughter. The night was starting well.

Shep leaned in close, as if he were talking to Alvin alone, but was careful to make sure his microphone picked up everything he said, Don’t worry, kid. If you lose this round, you won’t feel a thing. It could be a lot worse in the later rounds.

Alvin didn’t look too relieved.

And you, sir, Shep strolled over to Alvin’s opponent, what’s your story?

My name is Marshall Wyenth, I’m 32, originally from the Western Sector, and I got caught smoking tobacco.

The crowd recoiled only slightly less than if Marshall had announced himself to be a baby killer.

Stills wondered why they even gave people like that a chance to save themselves through the gladiator competition.

The emcee attacked, So, you’re one of those people who don’t care about our air. Our precious air. After all we’ve been through from pollution, and as you just said, you actually burn tobacco! You might us well ride around in an internal combustion car. Burn lots of gasoline. Heck, they used to have gas stations that sold it by the gallon, and you could just go and buy as much as you wanted to burn. He paused for effect. And it’s because of people like you, Shep was pointing and screaming at the condemned man now, We’re in the mess we’re in!

Shep was doing a fine job of whipping the crowd up to a frenzy. Angry shouts from the stands were directed at Marshall.

It was my first offense, the man strapped in the electric chair said.

You mean to tell me, to tell this crowd and all the people at home watching this show that this was the first and only time you ever smoked? I think you should weigh your answer carefully, sir, as you may very well be dead here in a matter of minutes. I know I wouldn’t want to go to my fate telling lies as one of the last things out of my mouth.

Marshall strained against the leather straps holding his head, and, mostly by moving his eyes as far as they could go, looked for CC. There she was, on the sidelines with the other sponsors. Shep had a point; there was no sense in lying now.

I said it was my first offense that I got caught. Then, with some difficulty, he confessed, Yes, I’ve smoked before. He looked, but CC’s expression didn’t change. He wondered, what did he expect? It felt like a weight had been lifted off him. Confession really was good for the soul, he thought.

Shep said, At least he’s not going to his maker lying if he loses. But in any event, he just admitted he’s not only a smoker, but by definition, a chronic smoker. In fact, in just a few minutes, he might be really smokin’ himself, and I mean smokin’ all over!

The audience screamed in anticipation of what was coming. And rightfully so, Shep said seriously. This guy used to be a nuclear technician. Talk about a betrayal of the public trust!

The show was going well so far, Shep thought. These guys both seemed to be worthy gladiators. It hurt ratings when those who were about to die did such unmanly things as crying. It turned the crowd ugly when that happened. Here were a couple of guys that didn’t go Sav (although they probably should have for their own sake), and while they were certainly deserving of the ultimate punishment in the crowd’s mind, if one of them survived tonight, they could live with that.

Shep stayed in control, Okay guys, serious business now. We’re going to start the contest, and one of you is gonna die in just a few minutes. Then, with a flourish, But first, let’s bring out the Gladiator Girls!

Three girls, clad in skimpy showgirl bikinis, strutted to the center of the stadium. There was fierce competition to be chosen as a Gladiator Girl, and these three were among the best looking. And they could usually follow simple instructions.

Shep said, Welcome Minnie, Misty, and Micci. They were greeted by enthusiastic whooping from their many fans in the charged up crowd.

"Let’s play electrocution tonk. All right, girls, take your places. Misty, you’re gonna deal the cards. The contestants know the rules. Minnie and Micci will pick up the cards for the contestants, but only the gladiators can make their play. Lowest declared hand wins.

Spreads of 3 or more of a kind, or runs in suit of 3 or more can be laid down in turn, and also played on by your opponent. Hit and hold is in effect. A declarant caught with the same or less loses. Face cards are worth ten, and every other card is their number value. Aces are worth one. The winner of the hand lives, the other dies right now. Okay, you both understand the rules? They had been prepped the night before in rehearsal.

Yes.

Yes.

Shep said, And remember, we’re all in this together, right?

Marshall said, "We’re all