44
The servant girls in the Royal Tower want to get rid of Honeybee. I tell them to buzz off and leave the poor bee alone.
Yes. I brought Honeybee along with me. I need a friend to accompany me, if I am going to spend the night in here. If the world comes down to this, that my last friend on earth is a bee, so “bee” it, and just let it “bee.”
The servant girls are all giggly at how dirty and blood-spattered my body is. Blood seems to make girls giggle these days. Like cybernetic Geishas, they point at my messed-up hair and laugh at each other. I look in the fancy, curvy mirror in this fancy, white-motif royal room and laugh too. My hair — or should I say, what’s left of it — is all dust, mud, blood, and mostly scraped out. I lost bits and pieces of it in every game I played, especially the last one when Carnivore slashed at it, and ripped some of it away.
I turn back to the girls and laugh. Poor beautiful Nines working as servants for Xitler, washing his clothes, rubbing his feet, and who knows what else. They are all dressed in white fluffy transparent dresses, have red manicures and wear red lipstick. All giggles, no brains.
Woo told me about those girls. I thought it was a myth. None of them knows she is a Nine. The iAm manipulates them into being ranked Fives, claiming they have some deficiency, so they can be Prophet Xitler’s servants. They are called Malikas. The public shouldn’t know about them. They are Prophet Xitler’s personal faeries.
The Malikas are here with me to wash me and prepare me, maybe give me a massage, and let me drink pink juice out of dandelion cups. It’s my last night before I die, you know. I can have whatever I want.
I walk barefoot among them, guiding Honeybee to a vase full of real dandelions I have just ordered — every other flower in the Royal Tower is plastic.
When the Malikas start to bug me, I ruffle my stiff hair and pose like a monster, clawing my fingers and making faces. They shriek and step back. One of them even cries when I do that.
“How many seconds would the likes of you last in the Playa?” I say to her, rolling my eyes.
They don’t reply. Malikas are mute. Don’t ask. I don’t know why. I have a headache from thinking about how to beat Carnivore.
The barber I have asked for arrives. He pulls out his machine and buzzes my hair away. Yes. All of it. I am bald now. I’d rather have full and beautiful hair, or have none at all. Besides, it will help in the Monsterium. I have a plan.
I let the Malikas strip me naked and wash me. They are more than happy when they do that. I would have kept the blood of the other Monsters on my body — I would have been honored — but I need to clean and shave every part of my body. Like I said. I have a plan.
They cut my nails and massage me after that, while I watch and re-watch Carnivore killing the Monsters in the games on my recharged iAm. There’s nothing really to see, like Xitler said. I understand why the viewers love and hate this part. The iSees were sent into the Monsterium to cover the game, roaming around helplessly, blinded by the white of the sands. Only occasionally and rarely does an iSee capture Carnivore running, or opening his red jaws at the camera. Only its roars are audible. But it seldom does, so it can attack its prey. Carnivore doesn’t want you to know where it is, until it attacks. It’s the poor contestants who are sent, wearing a flashy color, into the field, panicking so hard they could die from a heart attack, before Carnivore gets them.
That will be me, just hours from now.
Some contestants tried to get rid of their clothes, running naked in the sand. Naked or not, your butt still shines like a diamond in all that white.
How do you beat Carnivore in such circumstances? Let alone, it’s a fast and vicious tiger. How do you hide from it in the white sands? No matter how white you are, you’re not that white. And even if you are, it can still see the color of your eyes, it can see the color of your mouth, your hair, and your palms. And even if you manage to do all that, do you have the heart to look into the white void, wondering if it is hiding two inches beyond it?
The more I re-watch the games, the more I start to understand that all white, all bright, is just the same as all dark. No wonder these are the two colors which scientists don’t actually consider colors. The black absorbs all; that’s why they say you get sucked into the darkness. The white reflects all; that’s why I say the white will reflect all of your fears out there in the Monsterium.
“Hey, you.” I summon a Malika, showing her the white-themed Carnivore game on my iAm. She looks puzzled, with almost nothing to see but an occasional thin curvy line showing the edges of a dune here and there. Then the Carnivore slashes at a contestant, and blood spatters on the iSee. That’s when the Malika giggles.
I wish I were born in the Amerikaz. I don’t think the Amerikaz went down the drain as far as Faya.
I order the Malikas to leave the room and call Timmy. Before he picks up, the iAm shows me a world that is all awake, waiting for me. Prophet Xitler wasn’t bluffing. Viewers are seventy million worldwide, and they all bought ClairVos. There are flags sold with my picture on it, and there are ClairVos sold double the price because they are signed by me. I didn’t sign anything. But I am not that mad. Leo’s signed ClairVos are triple the price. Girls hug them when they buy them. Leo couldn’t have signed them either. Last time I checked on him, an hour ago, he was unconscious after they operated on him and saved his leg.
“Yes, my princess,” says Timmy smoothly. “What can I help you with?”
“I want my ClairVo,” I demand.
“You’ll get yours. Patience, my dear. Death is knock-knocking on your door. No need to invite it in now.”
“I want mine to be all white.”
“Most of the ClairVos are all white,” says Timmy. “Nice haircut, by the way. Are you trying to show us how bold you are?”
“Did you see that?” I grin. “All clean and shiny, so blood will look bright on me in the camera. Buzz off, Rabbit.”
“I cut my ears like you cut your hair.” Timmy sips on something. “I am not a rabbit anymore.”
“I also need a brand-new bow gun and arrows.”
“But of course,” says Timmy. “We don’t expect you to kill Carnivore with a five-star frog splash, or a five-finger death punch.”
“And a pocket knife.”
“You got it.”
“And you should know, I will be taking a couple of those buzzing syringes with me.”
“Sure. Planning to tickle the tiger to death? That I would love to see. By the way, a friend wants to see you.”
My door opens, and Ariadna comes in.
I run to her in my robe, and hug her. I think I hug her so hard, she’s choking.
“They said I could see you if I bring you this,” says Ariadna, showing me the traditional red dress I am going to wear when I play the games. “I am sorry, but it was the only way to see you.”
“A red glossy spaghetti string dress,” I muse, looking at it. “Dressed to kill, baby. Dressed to kill.”
Ariadna utters a painful laugh, as if she is a little shy laughing around me in this situation.
“This is the first time it’s a dress,” says Ariadna. “The last nine times, the Monsters were boys.”
“That explains why Carnivore wants me so much,” I say. “I’ll be his first girl. How about—”
Ariadna shushes me instantly. I was going to ask her if they found out about the call she made behind the Summit’s back. How foolish of me. She nods. I guess she got away with it, or how would she be here with me?
Ariadna checks on the cut on my arm. “This is bad.”
“They medicated it as much as they could, but I think I can still shoot with it.”
“That’s why I brought you this.” Ariadna shows me a bottle of pure honey. “Trust me. It’s proven that this can heal the wounds.” She pulls my arm, and starts pouring some of the honey on the wound. “In the Amerikaz, they were on the verge of finding out that honey can heal wounds. Now we know.”
“I never heard of it.”
“The Summit doesn’t want us to know these things,” Ariadna whispers in my ear.
“Hear that, Honeybee?” I talk to my bee friend. She buzzes twice.
“All you need is to cover it with some huge medical plaster now.” Ariadna looks around for one.
“You don’t need plaster,” I say. “Bring over one of those thin towels. The honey is sticky by itself—“
Then suddenly, I stop. A thought shoots through the wires of my brain.
“Are you all right?” Ariadna wonders.
“I am. Don’t worry about me.” I keep a mental note in my brain of that thought.
“So,” Ariadna sighs. “Big hug again?”
We hug for one last time. This time, she hugs me harder. There are tears in her eyes.
“Come on,” I say. “It’s not like I am going to leave you and go to college in another town. I am just going to kill a tiger.”
Ariadna sniffs and smiles. “You promise me that.” She points a finger. “That you’ll kill it.”
“I promise you,” I say. “It’s just a tiger.” I show her to the door. As she walks out, I slap her on the butt lightly.
“Move your butt with grace, princess,” I whisper to her.
It was the last time I saw Ariadna in my life.