*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 65938 ***

                           THE COSMIC BLUFF

                           By Mack Reynolds

              As Earth's Champion, Jak had challenged the
            Invaders to a duel in the Arena. It was a grand
           bluff, but they called it--with one of their own!

           [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
              Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy
                             October 1952
         Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
         the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]


To everyone in the Solar System I was a big shot, understand? Everyone
but two--the two that counted most. One of the two was Suzi, and the
other was me. The difference was that Suzi made no bones about telling
me I was a fake; in my own mind the knowledge was there but more or
less subconscious.

On this particular occasion Suzi was standing in the center of the half
acre living room of my new penthouse on top the two hundred story
Spacenter Building in Neuve Los Angeles. She had her hands on her hips
and was glaring around at the furniture, the pictures, the statuary.

She said bitingly, "Jak, you're a phony."

"A what?" I complained. "Listen, Suzi, don't start calling me those
prehistoric names again."

"A phony," she said, "a humbug, a four flusher, a quack, a faker...."

She'd finally got to a word I knew. "Hey," I protested, "what's this
all about?"

She indicated the portraits of me hanging on the wall. She pointed out
the statuettes. She picked up a magazine and showed me the ad on the
back page--me, endorsing a boomerang. I'd got a thousand credits for
that.

She went over to the bookcase and pulled out a copy of "How I Became
Champ" and the first volume of "Gladiator Technique". Both by me. That
is, ghost written for me; but my name was on the cover. She indicated
two or three other books I was cashing in on.

"You're a phony, Jak," she repeated. "You used to be a nice quiet
fellow, actually more shy and retiring than was good for you. Now your
head is swollen beyond bearing."

I was getting a little hot about this. For the past few months I'd been
acquiring the habit of having people look up to me, admiring me, asking
for my autograph, that sort of thing.

"Look here," I said. "Just because you've known me for years and
just because for most of that time I've been chasing you, doesn't
mean that the Gladiator Champion of the Solar System is a nobody." I
finished with what I thought would be the clincher. "Let me tell you,
there isn't one girl in a billion who wouldn't be glad to be in your
shoes--engaged to Jak Dempsi."

       *       *       *       *       *

It was the clincher all right. She took her hands from her hips and
folded them over her breasts and glared. "Oh yes there is," she told
me. "There's exactly one girl who isn't interested in being engaged to
you Gladiator Jak Dempsi. Me," she snapped.

I glared back at her. "Are you crazy?" I asked. "We're going to be
married the day after tomorrow."

"That's where you're wrong," she snapped again. "I became engaged to a
nice, quiet, thoughtful, second-rate gladiator. A mistake happened and
he wound up Solar System Champion--and a stuffed shirt. The engagement
is off."

"Second-rate gladiator...." I blurted indignantly, but she was already
on her way, stamping across the Venusian Chameleon rug to the door.

I was so surprised I stood there, letting her go. It took me a full
minute to understand that Suzi had just run out on me. _Me!_ The
victor at the Interplanetary Meet. The sole survivor of the scores of
gladiators who fought it out once every ten years to see which planet
of the System would dominate interplanetary affairs.

I went over to the bookcase and wrenched out one of the many books on
prehistoric times that Suzi was always insisting I read. That's Suzi's
bug, if you didn't know. Prehistoric times, customs, history, language,
legends--all of a period that most people don't even know ever
existed, and don't care.

The book was "Glossary of Ancient Terminology." I thumbed through it
and finally found my words.

"Stuffed shirt!" I yelped indignantly. "A _stuffed shirt_! Me?"

       *       *       *       *       *

Ten minutes later I was in the Gladiator Room of the Spacenter Building
and already had three or four slugs of _woji_ under my belt.

"A stuffed shirt, yet. Me! Solar System Champ." I grunted sarcastically
and made with a curt flip of my hand to the bartender. He was a
Venusian spiderman, who of course, make the best barkeeps in the System.

"Another woji," I ordered.

A guy drifted down to me from the other end of the bar. "Hanging one
on, Champ?" he asked. "You must be out of training."

I looked him up and down. I'd never seen him before. However, in my
position you have to be nice to the fans.

I said, "Woji doesn't bother me. I _train_ on it." Suzi's words were
still burning. I added, out of the side of my mouth, "If you really got
it, you got it, and if you haven't you haven't and all the training in
the world won't give it to you."

I flexed my muscles. "Woji isn't going to hurt a man like me."

He blinked in admiration. "Guess you're right at that, Champ," he said.
"It's the second-raters that have to be watching everything they eat,
everything they drink, everything they do."

"Right," I told him, condescendingly.

He climbed up on the stool next to me.

"Have a woji?" I asked him. I was glad to have his company; at least
it'd keep my mind off Suzi.

"No thanks," he said, shuddering. "But I wouldn't mind a bloor."

So I ordered him a bloor and another double woji for me.

My new friend said hesitantly, "Champ, what'd 'ya think of these
visitors, explorers, or whatever you want to call them, from Centaurus?"

How is it that when you become a celebrity--no matter in what
field--your opinions on every subject seem noteworthy to everybody
else? I'd read a little about the Centaurians, seen an item or two on
the viziscreen, but I didn't know anything about them worth mentioning.
I was too busy with my own rapidly developing affairs to spend much
time keeping up with Solar System news.

"What about them?" I asked, noticing that my tongue was at last
beginning to get a bit thick. I ordered another drink. The bartender
started to protest, but then shrugged six of his shoulders and began
mixing it.

"Didn't you hear the latest?" the guy asked. "They're looking for room
for colonization and the Solar System attracts them."

It was shortly after this that the fog rolled in, and it didn't roll
out again until the following morning when my manager gave me a
dealcoholizer.

       *       *       *       *       *

He was hopping mad. And when I say hopping mad I mean just that since
Mari Nown, my manager, is a chicken-headed Mercurian _Bouncer_. A
nationalized citizen of Terra, of course, but a Mercurian with all
their characteristic excitability.

When my head cleared, he was jumping up and down in front of me
and waving a sheet of newspaper he'd torn off the recorder on the
viziscreen.

"Simmer down," I told him. "My head still aches, and besides, I can't
understand what you're yelling about." I added nastily, "In fact, I
can't understand how anything could happen that you'd yell about. All
you do is sit around and let ten percent of everything I make roll into
your pockets. You're probably the richest gladiator manager in the
system and--"

He stopped hopping long enough to fix me with a beady eye. Finally
he became coherent. "And that's exactly what I want to remain!" he
shrilled. "You stupid _makron_, what're you trying to do, get yourself
killed?" He waved the news sheet again.

I began to catch on to the fact that I must have done something the day
before while under the influence of--ugh, I couldn't even think of the
word without my stomach churning.

"All right," I said. "What is it? I don't remember."

He was prancing again. "You don't remember! I'll say you don't
remember! If you did, you'd be hiding under the bed."

That got to me. I raised up indignantly. "Hiding under the bed? Me? I
don't have to hide from _anything_. I'm champ!"

"That's pronounced _chump_," he whistled nastily. He tossed me the news
sheet.

The headline read: _Interplanetary Champ says issues between Solar
System and Centaurus should be settled in the arena._

"Did I say that?" I said interestedly. "When?"

He was almost hopping again. "To that cub reporter in the Gladiator
Room, you stupid _makron_!"

"Don't swear at me," I growled. "I didn't know he was a reporter.
Besides, what're you so excited about? Maybe it'd be a good idea."

"Look at that next head," he shrilled.

It read: _Centaurians accept challenge of Jak Dempsi._

"Hey," I said, "that ought to be quite a fight. Who do you think we'll
have representing the Solar System? A _Slaber_ from Jupiter would be a
good bet. He--"

There he went again. He screamed, "Of course! Of course, a _Slaber_
would be best, _but you're the champion! A stupid idiot--but
champion!_"

       *       *       *       *       *

I gaped at that, then let my eyes go down to the news account. He was
right. As champion, I was scheduled to meet the Centaurian gladiator.
On the outcome would depend the fate of the System.

"Well," I said slowly. "Guess it makes sense at that. I _am_ the best
gladiator in the System."

He closed his little bird eyes in anguish.

I added, "As a matter of fact, I could use the exercise. I haven't had
a meet in months." I eyed him accusingly. "What kind of a manager are
you? Here I am, Solar System Champ and you haven't got me a fight since
I won the Interplanetary Meet. The biggest drawing card in--"

He'd got to the point where he was so mad he wasn't hopping any more.
Just breathing real deep.

He said, "The reason you haven't had any meets since you became champ
is because I'd rather have a live champ making a good living endorsing
Callipso Snak-goat Cheese--and me getting ten percent--than I would
have a dead champ."

"What'd'ya mean?" I scoffed. "Nobody gets killed in an exhibition
match." I flexed my muscles. "Besides, I can take care of myself up
against any earth-side gladiator after--"

He glowered at me. "Anybody who killed the champ, by accident or
otherwise, in an exhibition match, would have a nice reputation for
himself. _You_ might go into the arena with the idea of not killing
your opponent, but would _he_?"

I shrugged uncomfortably. "I can take care of myself--"

"Look," he shrilled, "let's go back over a little recent arena history.
Less than a year ago you were a second-rater fighting at the state
fairs. You went to Mars to watch the Interplanetary Meet which is held
once every decade to decide interplanetary affairs. The ship carrying
Terra's gladiators was lost in space and you were tossed in as an
emergency replacement."

"Sure," I said. "The first time a Terran ever won an Interplanetary
Meet."

He whistled disgustedly, "The first time a Terran ever lasted more than
five minutes."

"Well?" I said proudly.

He pointed a few fingers at me. "BY A FLUKE! By using a lot of ideas
you got from that quotation spouting girl friend of yours, you won by a
fluke! Among other things, you _played possum_, as you called it, under
a heap of corpses until all the others were either killed or wounded
and then got up and finished them off. The fans throughout the system
are still screaming about that."

"Well, I'm still champ," I said truculently. "I licked them once,
and...."

"Aw, shut up," he shrilled. He whirled about and started for the door.
"I'll see what I can do."

       *       *       *       *       *

I didn't know what he meant by that, but I shrugged and rang for
my breakfast. The twinge of conscience I felt inside, I manfully
suppressed. I suppose that I really knew he was right, but I'd been
getting a good deal of ego-boo the past months and it was hard--almost
impossible, in fact--not to listen to it.

By noon the dealcoholizer had completed its work and I felt more or
less normal. I suppose I should have been worrying about the bout with
the Centaurian, but I wasn't. Not particularly. I was worrying about
Suzi.

Suzi worked for a chain of publications as a female sports reporter
covering the gladiator meets from the woman's angle. What she wanted
to do was write books about primitive culture, and for years that had
been the barrier between us. She couldn't stand the fact that I wasn't
particularly interested in the ancients and spent half the time we
had together in trying to fill me with the lore she thought the big
interest in life. She'd even given me my professional name, explaining
that the original Jak Dempsi was one of the outstanding gladiators in
ancient times.

At any rate, I knew where she usually had her lunch and made my way
there, hoping to be able to patch things up. She'd promised to marry
me, after I'd won the championship for Earth, and if there was anything
I could do about it, I was going to see her hold to the engagement.

The Interplanetary Viziscreen Service, the I.V.S., occupies a building
in Neuve Los Angeles nearly as large as Spacenter. Almost all of the
I.V.S. people eat in the Auto Cafe, and it was there I made my way.

Soft music was playing as I entered and looked over the three acre
expanse of tables. Of course, I didn't have to check them all--Suzi
always sat in the sport section with perhaps a few hundred others.

The soft pleasant dining music cut off abruptly and the autorch started
blaring out an earsplitting tune that brought back enough of my
headache to make me grimace.

Several thousand heads came up and looked toward the entrance where I
stood. A movement started somewhere or other and before you knew it,
everybody in the place was standing on his feet and slapping his hands
like crazy.

Everybody but two.

I could spot them now. Suzi and Alger Wilde were sitting at a table in
the sport section. I made my way toward them.

       *       *       *       *       *

Alger Wilde, I might as well explain here, is a _makron_ from the
word _glorm_, if you'll pardon my language. He's been trying, in his
smirking way, to get in with Suzi for almost as many years as I have,
and until I won the championship was doing at least as well as I. His
strong point was the fact that he was even further around the corner
in regard to the ancients than was Suzi. They could sit and talk for
hours about the primitive comic books and other cultural matters that
the average person had no interest in whatsoever.

I still didn't know what all the clapping was about, and I still didn't
like the raucous music, but I ignored it all and made my way toward
their table, rehearsing to myself what I was going to say to Suzi.

When I got nearer, the two of them, self-consciously, also came to
their feet and both made with feeble applause to the extent of clapping
their hands together once or twice.

I said, "What goes on here?"

We all sat down--with me congratulating myself that Suzi didn't
object--and Suzi, her eyes shining, gushed, "Oh Jak, isn't it
wonderful?"

I said, "I guess so. What?" I looked around the room in irritation.
"What's all the noise about? I can hardly hear ourselves talk."

Alger Wilde said stiffly, "It's the new anthem, _The Solar System
Forever_. Very patriotic. It was just completed by a staff of more
than three hundred of the System's outstanding musicians. I understand
that it's being played on every viziscreen on nine planets and twenty
satellites. On order of the governments of all Solar System League
members, the musicians rushed it through."

"It sounds like it," I growled. At least everybody had sat down again
and were eating their lunch.

The stars were still in Suzi's eyes. She said softly, "It's dedicated
to you, Jak."

"Huh?"

Alger Wilde bit out, "Why'd you think everybody was clapping? You're
the hero of the System." He added, barely audibly, "They know not what
they do."

It was beginning to dawn on me. My mind had been so full of Suzi that
I'd almost forgotten about the Centaurian fight.

Suzi cast her eyes down to the table and said softly, "I'm sorry about
yesterday, Jak. When I heard about your heroic challenge I realized how
wrong I was."

I scowled and said, "I didn't exactly challenge them, just suggested
that the whole thing ought to be settled in the arena. Maybe a _Slaber_
or a Saturnian gladiator, or--"

Alger said, satisfaction oozing, "But you're the Champ, Jak."

And Suzi gushed, "So you'll certainly have the honor. Oh, Jak, our
engagement will have to be postponed until after the fight."

       *       *       *       *       *

There was a gleam in Wilde's eye. He said, "And _after_ the fight the
marriage can take place. Only the brave deserve the fair, and; to the
victor belongs the spoils, as the ancients used to say."

I knew what he was thinking. If I was killed in the arena, he'd be back
in the running for Suzi. I growled, "What the _kert_ do you mean by
that, Wilde?"

Suzi placed her hands over her ears. "Please, Jak, your language."

Alger Wilde said indignantly, "Yes, what the hell is the idea talking
that way before Suzi?"

I said disgustedly, "I'll be a _makron_"--she covered her ears there,
too--"if I understand how you two figure. I say _kert_ and you're
shocked. Five seconds later Wilde says _hell_, an ancient word meaning
practically the same thing, and it's all right."

Wilde said indignantly, "It's an entirely different matter. _Hell_ is
now a scholarly word, and quite acceptable. Of course, in ancient times
it wasn't and when a cultivated person wished to use a strong expletive
he said _Hades_, which was still a more ancient word meaning the same
thing. Using the scholarly expression made it all right."

"I give up," I said and turned to Suzi. "Let's get out of here. I want
to talk to you."

She said demurely, "Yes, dear."

I grunted a goodbye to Wilde and arose. There was applause again and
the autorch started blaring _The Solar System Forever_ as we left.

"You could get awfully tired of music like that," I said.

Suzi said, "Not me, Jak."

The usually crowded street outside the I.V.S. Building was curiously
empty, but I didn't pay much attention. I was trying to figure out
some way of talking Suzi into marrying me before the fight, so it was
several minutes before I noticed what was out of whack.

A hundred yards before us, a hundred yards behind us, and across the
street, were several scores of white uniformed officers, Solar League
police, clearing the pedestrians, and even vehicular traffic from our
way.

I started to say, "What goes on here any--"

But Suzi looked at me soulfully and said, "Your guard of honor, Jak.
There's been some talk that the Centaurians might try to get at you
before the meet."

To quote one of Suzi's favorite primitive exclamations, _Oh, Brother_.

"Look," I said. "I can't talk to you in front of all this. I feel like
a parade. Let's go into a theatre, take a box and have this out."

Suzi wasn't disagreeing with anything today.

       *       *       *       *       *

We entered the theatre and made our way as quietly as possible toward a
sound-proof box where we could be alone.

Suddenly, the three dimensional figures on the stage faded, the
lights went on and the autorch started blaring that confounded tune
again. Everyone in the theatre turned, spotted us and arose and began
whistling and clapping.

I winced, but Suzi seemed to be in her glory. I hurried her along and
we entered the enclosed box where at least we couldn't hear them after
I'd turned off the sound device.

Finally, the lights went out again. Instead of resuming the play,
however, we had a flash of the face of the President of Terra. He spoke
very seriously, very earnestly--and I had to sit through it after Suzi
had switched on the sound again. He pointed out at some length that we
all must maintain faith and calm and hold in our hearts the image of
the champion of the Solar System, our own Terran Gladiator, Jak Dempsi.

The President's face faded and was replaced with a still of mine.

The audience rose to a man, faced our box and applauded like crazy. I
had a sneaking suspicion that the show wasn't going to go on as long as
Suzi and I were there.

I said, "Let's get out of here before that autorch--" but I was too
late. It started blaring _The Solar System Forever_ before we reached
the door. Everybody was singing too, which made it worse. I hadn't
known before that it had words.

Otherwise, it was a successful evening. Particularly after I convinced
the Solar System League officers that there was no need for around a
dozen of them to be stationed in my apartment. I told them that they
could patrol the corridors, my roof, and the street outside to their
hearts' content, but my apartment was out. The officer in charge took
another look at Suzi and evidently decided I was probably right--there
are things more important than personal safety.

The rest of the evening was spent by Suzi proving that she still loved
me. She offered some excellent evidence. Anyway, it satisfied me....

       *       *       *       *       *

I was awakened again the next morning by Mari Nown who, as he had the
morning before, was waving a sheet of newspaper before my eyes. This
could grow into a very unpleasant habit.

But at least he wasn't hopping this time. In fact, he seemed quite
pleased with himself.

I turned over on my other side and growled, "Go away, I was having a
beautiful dream about Suzi."

He whistled happily, "I've done it for you, Jak. Everything'll be fine
now."

"That's good," I began sleepily, but then I sat upright in bed, with
quick suspicion. "You've done what?" I grabbed the newspaper from his
hand. It read, _Champ's Manager reveals he has Venusian Elephantiasis_.

I stared at it and then at him. "What in _kert_ is Venusian
Elephantiasis, and where'd you get the idea I have it?"

He shrilled proudly, "I had to do a lot of research. It's one of the
few diseases left in the system that's incurable. So rare, for one
thing."

I was still half asleep. I shook my head.

He said, "Don't you get it? You won't have to fight now. You can retire
from the arena, as undefeated champ, and make a top notch living for
the rest of your life endorsing--"

I jumped out of the bed and dashed to the telo, but even before I could
reach it it glowed on and Suzi's face, cold as a winter day on Pluto,
was there.

Her eyes seemed to focus about three feet beyond my head and she said,
"Jak Dempsi, you're a phony. A cheap, petty, _cowardly_ phony. Venusian
Elephantiasis, indeed!" Her voice dripped scorn. "I never want to hear
from you again."

"_Suzi_, wait a minute. I can explain," I yelled. "My manager--" But
the screen had died.

I spun on him, but he wasn't at the side of the bed where I'd seen him
last. Instead he was over at the Viziscreen, the glee gone from his
chicken-like face, and anxiety beginning to become evident.

He shrilled, "They can't do this to me. We're being robbed!"

       *       *       *       *       *

I started for him, my fingers stretched out like claws. Here was one
Mercurian _Bouncer_ who was going to have his neck wrung, like the fowl
he resembled.

Something in his attitude stopped me. I came up beside him and growled,
"What now, you _makron_?"

He pointed at the news sheet which had recorded the item.

_Forty-three thousand Solar System scientists working on cure for
Venusian Elephantiasis._

He shrilled despairingly, "They'll have you cured in days."

I snorted, "Especially since I haven't got it in the first place.
Listen, what gave you the idea I wanted to get out of this fight,
anyway? I'm not afraid--"

He started hopping at that. "_You're_ not afraid! You're too stupid,
too conceited to be afraid. _I'm_ afraid, understand? I'm your manager;
I know how good a gladiator you are, and I'm afraid. I'm afraid first
that you'll get killed and I'll lose the best thing I've ever had, but
even more than that I'm afraid that this Solar System isn't going to be
fit to live in after you lose this fight and the Centaurians take over."

I growled truculently, "I can whip anybody in the Solar System and I
can whip--"

He flung two of his wing-arms up in despair. "We have _Slabers_, we
have fast moving Spidermen, we have four armed Martians; but who do we
get to represent us in the most important gladiatorial fight in history?
A second-rate, inflated, balloon headed--"

"Hey...." I protested indignantly.

But he'd stopped of his own accord and clicked his heels in the
Mercurian version of snapping of fingers in sudden inspiration.

"Look," he whistled. "If they can put forty-three thousand scientists
to work figuring out a way to cure a disease they think you have, why
can't they put ten times that number--a thousand times--to work on some
new weapons you can use against this Centaurian _makron_?"

I scowled at him, not getting it. "You know better than that. In the
arena the only weapons allowed are primitive ones, swords, spears,
battle axes, boomerangs--"

"Yes, yes," he shrilled excitedly, beginning to hop again. "But this
is different. They--the Centaurians--don't know that." He clicked his
heels together again. "It's the solution! We'll devise, in the next
month, some sure thing weapon. You can't lose!"

But I was worried more about Suzi than about the fight. I growled at
him, "I don't need anything but my short sword. All I want to be sure
about is that I'm in that fight, see? If I'm not I'll never see--"

But he was already darting for the door.

       *       *       *       *       *

Well, within the week the scientists had "cured" me of the disease that
Mari Nown had dreamed up. I was scheduled for the fight again.

But no word from Suzi. And no way of getting in touch with her. I tried
everything, but Suzi just wasn't having any of me.

We started my training, and it became more or less of an Earth-wide
secret that the scientists were fixing me up with some secret weapons
which would guarantee the victory. Most of the sportswriters who came
to the training camp were tight lipped and disapproving about it--not
quite playing the game, you know--but the governmental big shots who
were trembling in their boots over the Centaurian threat, made it clear
that anything was going to go to insure Solar System victory. So the
reporters didn't print the stories they might have.

Except for Suzi.

Evidently the word got back to her about the weapons I was learning
to use, and she let loose at me in her column. Nothing that the
Centaurians would understand, of course, but the digs were there. She
made it pretty clear that Jak Dempsi was a phony and that only with the
use of unsportsmanlike weapons would he consent to go into the arena at
all.

She had some nasty comebacks, because sentiment was running pretty high
throughout the League planets, and anybody saying a word against the
Champ was apt to find himself mobbed. They were frightened, understand?
The whole Solar System was frightened, and they couldn't bear the
thought that I was less than their saviour.

But Suzi kept it up. She was the only sports reporter in the system who
dared point out what they were all probably feeling.

The great trouble in the training was that we hadn't the vaguest idea
of what the Centaurians looked like. Their tremendous ship, several
times the size of the greatest of ours, hovered motionlessly over
Krishna-Krishna, the Venusian capitol city, but thus far not one of
them had been spotted. They communicated with us, blank-screened, and
we had nothing to go on to decide whether or not they were humanoid, or
even if they were air breathers, although the latter would seem likely
if they wished to colonize the Solar System since all our life forms
are based on oxygen.

The only thing was to provide me with several weapons, one each for the
various different types of creature our Centaurians might be. In fact,
it was only by dint of argument that I was allowed to take my short
sword with me into the arena when the day finally arrived. The managers
who'd had my training in hand wanted to use the space and weight the
sword would take up to carry another half dozen atomic grenades.

I growled at them. "Listen, if these grenades are going to work--and
how the _kert_ they could possibly fail to work, I don't know--_one_ of
them will do the job. I'll take my sword along if only for a good luck
charm; I've never been in an arena without it yet."

And I added sarcastically, "This is going to be some fight, this is. I
feel like a murderer."

I kept the sword.

       *       *       *       *       *

Needless to say, the amphitheatre was packed. Tens of thousands must
have pauperized themselves for fare to Venus and for the highly priced
seats. But whatever the cost, the stands were packed beyond belief.
And, of course, throughout the system every man, woman and child, every
brim, mador and loet, every--but you get the idea. Every intelligent
living thing in the Solar System was glued to his viziscreen.

And above the arena floated the Centaurian ship, silent, sinister.

There were no preliminaries. That would have been too much.

Instead, when the moment of conflict arrived, I came out into the
arena--staggered, might have been the better word. I had a burden of
weapons that was just about all I could carry.

When the stands first saw me enter, they came to their feet and began a
cheer that should have echoed and reechoed--but didn't. It died almost
before it began. When they saw my equipment, the cheer faltered, then
died in shame.

They realized, those citizens from all over the Solar System, what was
happening. The stakes were too high. The Solar System was trading honor
for security. Instead of being armed with the traditional sword or
spear, battleaxe or boomerang, I was laden with the most deadly devices
our scientists could develop.

As I said, the cheers died almost before they began.

Maybe I flushed a little. I don't know. But I tightened my jaw. At
least they didn't boo. Everyone in the stands knew the issue; however
he writhed in shame there must be no indication to the Centaurians that
we weren't playing the game, that we weren't living up to our own rules.

I stood, my back to the judge's stand, and waited. To the left was the
sports box, and I could make out Suzi, even at that distance. Her face
was expressionless.

A great helicopter suddenly and deftly detached itself from the
Centaurian ship and gracefully swooped down. It was beautifully
handled, settling to the opposite side of the arena as gently as a
butterfly.

A large door in its side opened, the Centaurian emerged, and a gasp
from the stands went up; a gasp louder than the cheer that had
originally greeted me.

Of all Solar System intelligent life forms, Jupiter's _Slaber_ is by
far the largest, and, for that reason, that and its natural armor
shell, Jupiter had been winning the Interplanetary Meets two out of
three times for centuries.

But this hulking brute made the _Slaber_ seem a babe in arms. It
resembled somewhat a six legged turtle, roughly twice the size of a
Terran elephant. It had two lobster-like claws and four other limbs.

       *       *       *       *       *

Evidently, it had decided to end the battle as quickly as possible,
because without either salute or warning it headed for me, the dust
churning up behind it as it came. Its legs were short but fantastically
fast. They seemed a blur of speed and before I had got over the
surprise of its appearance it was half way across the arena toward me.

A shout, almost a moan, of warning went up from the stands, and
suddenly those citizens of the Solar System were no longer ashamed of
the weapons I carried, no longer contemptuous of my honor.

I grasped my atomic grenade from its hook on my belt, dropped the
projectile thrower to the ground to give my arm free play, and threw.

Half the total acreage of the arena went up in a gust of dirt, dust,
gravel and colored smoke. Seconds later I had been thrown prostrate
by the blast. Probably half the amphitheatre's occupants had been
similarly treated, and how many blast casualties might have been among
them, I couldn't know.

But at least, I thought, the fight was over and I'd done the Solar
League's dirty work for it. I'd never be able to hold up my head again
in a circle of gladiators, but the System was safe.

I came to my feet and turned to go.

A shout, incredulous, unbelieving, arose from the stands, drowning out
the cries of those wounded by the blast of my grenade.

I spun and stared.

Crawling laboriously over the lip of the crater my grenade had caused
was the Centaurian. One of his many limbs seemed limp and useless, and
his shell was battered and begrimed, but he was still alive, and not
too much the worse for wear.

When it got to level ground again it seemed to pause momentarily,
seeking me out.

I grabbed up the heavy submachine gat--as Suzi tells me they called
them in the old days--and threw it to my shoulder. The projectiles it
threw were only half an inch in diameter but each of them packed a
charge of atomic explosive.

       *       *       *       *       *

I trained it and held the trigger down. The two hundred round drum was
exhausted in less than a half minute, and the sound of the projectiles
exploding against the shell of my foe was ear shocking in intensity.
Once again, a cloud of smoke and dust enveloped the Centaurian. And
only after the last cartridge had been expended and the submachine
gat now useless, was the sigh of relief that went up over the stands
audible.

But through the smoke, of a sudden, charged the six legged Centaurian
and my eyes almost bugged out of their sockets. He was seemingly not
further injured.

I dodged quickly to one side, stumbling over the gat I'd thrown away,
thinking the fight over, and it uselessly empty. It was only the
stumbling that saved me. I rolled to the side and it was past me and
spinning about for another attack.

The Centaurian growled in a thunderous voice, "And now the fight
begins, Terran _makron_." Its bulk evidently was no indication of
a lack of intelligence. It had already not only learned to speak
Amer-English, but could swear in our language.

I had one more major weapon in my deadly arsenal. I whipped the
blunderbuss-nosed, pistol-like device from my belt and trained it.
Even though shielded with my especially designed ear plugs, the
subsonic sounds flowed over me, enveloped me, terrified me. What it was
doing to the enemy I could only guess.

Shaking my head in an attempt to clear it of the desperate, soul
shaking fears brought on by the subsonic vibrator, I stared in the
direction of the Centaurian.

He seemed to be watching me, questioningly. And suddenly I understood
that he was waiting for the weapon to work! He wanted to see what it
was going to do.

_It wasn't doing anything!_

A quarter of a mile away, on the other side of the amphitheatre, and
supposedly out of range, spectators were fainting in droves, literally
thousands of them screaming or keeling over. But a few yards before me
he stood unimpressed.

I swore and threw the thing down, ripped off the rest of the belts and
equipment they'd foisted upon me and reached for my sword.

It dashed forward, extending a tentacle from its body that formerly I'd
been unaware of. I swung desperately and the sword clanged against the
limb. I darted backward, noticing a large dent in the cutting edge.

Like a flash one of the lobster claws snapped out at me, nipping a cut
in my left side, just below the ribs. Had it been another six inches
over, I would have been cut in half.

       *       *       *       *       *

I dashed to one side and it rushed past, stirring up a breeze as it
went. How such a large creature could get up momentum so rapidly was a
mystery to me.

I grated out one of Suzi's slogans to give myself courage. _The bigger
they are, the harder they fall._ And then it came to me that the
trouble was that if they're big enough perhaps they don't get around to
falling at all.

It was about and after me again.

I stood in its path, sword in hand, waiting. A massive groan went up
from the stands.

Just before it reached me, I darted forward, crouched low, and dashed
under its belly. Here, if anywhere, was the soft spot. As I ran, I
thrust desperately upward with all my strength, then I was suddenly
completely under and beyond it.

I spun around and stood there panting and staring at the end of my
broken pointed sword.

It turned too, as though looking to find my trampled body, and
surprised that I'd survived. It was about thirty feet away, and
seemingly resting.

Suddenly from its mouth gushed forth a stream of flame, reaching out
for me.

It was only by the merest chance that my grenade-made crater was
immediately behind me. I tripped again and fell backward, and the sheet
of flame passed over me.

A sigh went up from the stands.

Suddenly, over the ridge it came tearing. Hoping, evidently, to catch
me before I recovered from my fall.

It had miscalculated and passed a good six feet to my right. I sprung
to my feet and dashed over in time to deal its tail a smashing
blow--and to accumulate another dent in my blade.

At this pace, my strength was rapidly giving out, and his seemed as
great as ever--but I was still quicker in that my size and build
enabled me to turn, spin, dodge, more effectively.

He tried twice more to get me with his flaming breath, and both times I
was able to avoid it by inches. Or nearly so, at least. I kept my life,
though hair and clothes were singed.

       *       *       *       *       *

I had worked my way, involuntarily toward the press boxes, and took
time to shoot up a desperate glance in Suzi's direction. Her face had
lost its coldness now; her lips were parted in fear.

Almost, I was able to smile. Suzi knew the signs--as did all the
rest of the reporters--she'd seen too many meets not to know when a
gladiator was using his last iota of strength and was on the verge of
collapse. She knew--possibly even better than I--how long I could keep
up this pace. And then--

Seeing her, recalled her way of finding a slogan, a quotation of the
ancients, for almost every situation that arose.

And in the recalling one came to me!

_Meet fire with fire._

The Centaurian was emerging from the crater where its most recent
charge had taken it. I ran with what speed I could muster to the
Judges' stand and grasped one of the sacred Venusian torches that
flanked the Judges' bench. I turned then and sped toward the enemy in
hopes of getting him as he climbed over the crater edge.

He saw me coming and tried ineffectively to scorch me with his flaming
breath, but he was either growing weak, or had utilized all the fuel
his body produced for the effort. The flame leaped out a mere six or
eight feet.

Holding the torch in hand, I dashed straight at him. As I had hoped,
one of the lobster claws darted at me. I leaped nimbly to one side,
bounced up upon the claw and scampered up it toward the four glaring
eyes. I thrust the torch out and into them, hearing as though from a
great distance, the cheer of victory that went up from the stands.

Then sliding, falling, tumbling, I was on the ground again and hurrying
as fast as possible from what I expected to be the painful, blinded
throes of the thing.

I turned and stared. It stood there, watching me. Showing no signs of
distress.

It rumbled, finally, angrily, "You can't fool me all of the time,
Terran. Soon you will tire, then I will get you--"

Suzi's books came back to me again. What was it I was trying to
remember? I stood there panting, realizing the ridiculousness of
standing exhausted in the middle of the arena and remembering odds and
ends that Suzi had told me about the ancients.

And then, just as the Centaurian headed for me again, it clicked.

A silence had settled down over the crowd. Arena wise, through years
of watching gladiatorial events, they knew my knees were sagging, my
reflexes slowed, my muscles screaming protest.

I stood there, sword in hand, directly in its path--waiting. It had
said, "You can't fool me all of the time, Terran."

And that's what had clicked.

_You can fool some of the people some of the time...._

       *       *       *       *       *

Praying that I had strength enough left for this, I waited until it
was nearly upon me, its lobster claws out-thrust, its six heavy feet
pounding. Then I jumped, to one side, back again. I bounded high to the
knee joint of the second limb on the left, as the Centaurian skidded
to a halt. A second scrambling leap and I was on its back. Half on my
feet, half on my hands, I scampered forward toward its head, even as
several tentacles made their way gropingly toward me.

No, I wasn't looking for a soft spot for my now dull sword. I knew
there wouldn't be any.

The tentacles were reaching, almost touching me, but I ignored them. I
found the tiny door right behind its massive head. I was right! I found
the lock and sprung it.

The door swung open and inside the tiny, leaded shielded compartment
the little creature occupying it looked up at me fearfully.

I grasped it by the scruff of the neck and hoisted it out of its seat.
The "Centaurian Gladiator" had stopped completely now.

I dropped to the ground and tossed the thing before me. It was about
the size of, and looked considerably like a small Terran pig. It was
pink, fat, and, as Suzi said later, cute. Right now I didn't appreciate
its cuteness.

"Please," it squealed, "don't touch me. I can't bear being hurt!"

I kicked it where its hams would have been had it really been a pig.
It squealed again and started out, hampered in its speed by its fat,
running across the arena with me after it, giving it _kert_ with the
toe of my boot.

It dashed for the helicopter and I gave it one last kick as it
scampered for the craft's door so that it flew the last four feet. In
the background I could hear the crowd roaring like thunder.

In seconds, the helicopter had taken off and returned to the spaceship
above. It was swallowed up and the Centaurian ship blasted off and
away. Evidently, it wasn't waiting to see what the Solar System fleet
would do when the farce was made known.

I turned, and for a moment stared at the robot the Centaurian had
occupied. Then my injuries and fatigue caught up with me. The fog
rolled in and I slumped to the arena sands.

       *       *       *       *       *

I explained later in the hospital room to the diplomats, the I.V.S.
reporters, and the others. And I made the explanation as short as
possible.

In the first place, how could a thing that big and awkward have handled
the helicopter so gracefully? How could _any_ organic creature survive
the explosion of an atomic grenade? How could it breath fire? How could
it stand a burning torch being thrust into its eyes?

But it was the quotation that had brought it all home to me. I suddenly
realized I was being fooled--and another of Suzi's quotations came
to mind. _This is a horse of another color._ Then it clicked in its
entirety.

_The Trojan Horse_, I had thought, something is inside. It's a robot, a
mechanical fighting machine, like the tanks of old.

Suddenly the diplomats and the reporters were gone and Suzi was there,
the star dust in her eyes again.

Before she could speak, I told her, humbly, "You were right, Suzi, I am
a phony. I'm no champ. I was scared to death out there, when I found
that all the super-weapons they'd made for me were--"

"But, _darling_, you won!" She knelt beside the bed, but I turned my
head away.

"Won," I said bitterly. "Sure, by a fluke again. I won against a little
half pint that could have been defeated by a child." I snorted in
self-deprecation. "I wonder what the crowd out there is thinking. I
enter the arena with enough weapons to depopulate a small planet, and
it takes me half an hour to find out it's all a hoax."

She remained kneeling there, but it was another voice that said, "The
crowd doesn't see it that way, Jak." It was Alger Wilde, who had
entered with my manager.

"Of course not," Suzi insisted. "You didn't know what you were against,
but you were in there all the time, taking on something worse than any
gladiator in the System.--You proved yourself, Jak."

Alger went to the window and opened it. "Listen to this," he said
grudgingly. From the distance I could hear the arena crowd singing _The
Solar System Forever_.

Even Mari Nown was happy. It seemed as though the judges unanimously
voted to make me Interplanetary Champ for the rest of my life. The
situation was obvious. Terra couldn't afford to let anything happen to
me now. As soon as I died, the next Interplanetary Meet would result in
a new champ and a new change in the balance of power. Terra wouldn't
allow me to fight--not even in exhibitions.

Mari Nown's chicken head beamed as he bounced back and forth on his
heels. "You're going to live to a ripe old age," he shrilled happily,
"and the most dangerous thing you'll ever do is sign endorsements for
Venusian Salt Water Taffy." He added, more happily still, "And I'll get
ten percent of everything you make."

"Everything but Suzi," I told him, sticking out an arm to encircle her.

Alger Wilde frowned. "You know, Jak," he grunted, "I think you're right
about that music. _The Solar System Forever_ is a raucous thing."

It was welling, ever louder, through the window.

"Oh, I don't know," I said as soon as I took my lips from Suzi's. "I'm
beginning to like it."

*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 65938 ***