CHIMAERA

Part Three

“Looks like we got ourselves a fight,” Ayers said with a wide toothy grin adjusting the brim of his ten-gallon hat. He wasn’t a cowboy, but he enjoyed cultivating the image. He felt it suited him better than that of a rich Jewish kid from Cambridge with a business degree from Wharton.

 “Are you sure?” Kyle asked.

Ayers nodded. “Damn sure. I just got the call from the ARPnet brass. The tournament needs a title match and our Sting’s the top contender. This is going to make me a bundle – the promo hits have been through the roof,” Ayers said.

 Kyle sat down on the edge of the desk and looked out the window. Stretched out past the new business district, he saw the ocean, glistening with fragmented shards of moonlight.

 “If we win this, he’ll be the champion. Have you ever trained a champion before?” Ayers asked. His legs were propped up on the desk, champing on a vintage Cuban cigar like a bit.

 Kyle nodded, he had.

 “Oh yeah, that’s right. Well I’ve never owned a champ before. I’ve come close a dozen times, but I think this is it. We got the team, you, Jasmine, the monkey. We can’t be beat,” Ayers beamed.

 Kyle stood up. “I hope not.”

 “You got to have more confidence than that,” Ayers smiled.

 “I know what Solomenstev’s chimaeras are capable of,” Kyle said as he made for the door.

 “Well then, how do you reckon our chances?” Ayers asked.

 “Anything can happen,” Kyle said and left the room.

§

Austin was waiting for Kyle in the hall.

“I think I saw two of Solomenstev’s goons just now, so keep your eye out,” he said, then changed the tint of his shades to transparent amber.

 “Okay,” Kyle said, his thoughts elsewhere.

 “Where to now?” Austin asked.

 “We got the fight,” Kyle said.

 “Alright!” Austin gave Kyle a slap on the back.

 Kyle winced. “I need a drink,” he sighed.

 “How about some Nexus?” Austin asked, offering his tab dispenser.

 Kyle shook his head. “No.”

 “Well, going out isn’t such a great idea. I think you should lay low. You can hit the mini-bar in your room,” Austin suggested.

 Kyle sighed. Austin was probably right.

 “Anyway, you should get some rest. Do you want a wake up call for tomorrow?” Austin asked.

 “Yeah, ten o’clock,” Kyle muttered.

 “Okay, well let’s get you back to the hotel. We got a big day ahead of us.” Austin smiled.

§

 Kyle couldn’t sleep that night, he wasn’t even tired – he was too wired. He lay on his bed, drinking miniature bottles of liquor, trying to derail his train of thought. How could Martin win? He’d worked for Solomenstev for six years; he knew how dangerous his chimaeras were. They never lost, that is to say, they lost very rarely. In the arena anything could happen, a lucky blow could always be landed. That would be Martin’s only hope.

 “He’s only a monster,” Kyle said quietly, screwing the cap off a bottle of Jack Daniel’s. The words had become his mantra. By repeating them ad nauseam, he hoped they would seep in.