Sweat beads over James’ brow, his shirt wet in the usual spots under the arms and down the back. The maul swings, landing heavier with each thud but the stake has to hold, or else.

Satisfied the iron stake is strong and deep enough, James clips on a cable leash exactly fifty-four feet in length to the swivel hook at the top. Taking the other end he walks out until it is taut and then scribes the perimeter of the circle. Outside the circumference lies safety. Inside the circle the fighting takes place. The entire galaxy watches him perform this ritual: one he had refused to give up even after making it big.

James devised the game right out of college. His friends, sick of lifeless holo-gaming, yearned for something real, extreme. Initially James used wild canines trapped on the planet but people soon tired of their predictability. The leashed wolfent or dinglet would simply run in circles with the line taut. Participants would dash in and out of the circle ahead of the canine with little chance of being caught. They played but—much like the ancient Running of the Bulls—it was an adrenaline experience, often coupled with chem-stims and depressors.

The game grew, became more popular, and then changed completely, making James a wealthy man in the process. Galactic Holo-Rights, adverts, and Chem sponsors all begged to be attached to the phenomenon viewed by over nine trillion sentient species across the galaxy.

The big change resulted when James switched from captured canines to imported Wildemans. They were ferociously clever and, once leashed to the stake, proved adept at catching and dispatching participants. The game became a life-or-death showdown each week, real in every respect. People actually died trying to dash into the circle and back out to safety. Points were awarded, teams formed. The viewership exploded, demanding more. Galactic betting ran rampant. James got a percentage of the action.

The Sentient Species Rights Alliance had made it tough for him in the early years. They claimed the Wildemans to be a sentient, free-thinking emotive species. As such they would be protected from atrocities and slavery, essential components of the game. About the time they began making headway in the Universal Court System a rumor circulated that James bribed authorities in high places. True or not, the whole thing suddenly blew over and dropped out of the news cycle. After all, Wildemans were ferocious—and they were big business.

Today Holo crews are everywhere. They capture every angle and nuance of James’ pre-game ritual. After all, it’s Galactic Cup Seventeen—the end of the seventeenth season and the final contest between the two top point-accumulating teams. Eighteen sentient beings from a dozen planets all willing to risk life and limb in exchange for points and honor.

The typical adverts, announcements, anthems, and hype all take place without issue until it’s time to leash the Wildeman. Normally a team of two dozen handlers would be involved, using infraprods and lasersticks to herd the Wildeman to the stake and force it to clip in to the leash system. Often handlers were maimed—even killed in the process. Today, Wildeman Number 43, especially chosen for its ferocity in former circle bouts, walks calmly into the circle on three legs and an overly long arm. The handlers show shock and relief when, at the stake, it clips in without help. Another surprise—it lies down when the Start Bell clangs.

The games begin with participants running in and out of the circle, eager to get easy points. The Wildeman lies nonplussed, almost asleep. Contestants dart in ever closer, trying to earn greater points associated with the higher risks. Still nothing from the Wildeman. The live audience boos. Nine trillion viewers scream at their HoloV’s—still nothing.

James’ face burns crimson as he storms from his private box to ringside; the million credits per second this costs him is his only thought. He grabs an infraprod from the nearest handler and charges into the ring, and viewers finally get what they want.

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Dave Morehouse writes music, poetry, and short fiction. His work has been published in Black Heart Magazine, Everyday Poets, Crack the Spine, Blink Ink, Every Day Fiction, and various online and print journals. He is the editor for the online zine Postcard Poems and Prose. In spare moments he plays fiddle and concertina by Lake Superior in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula.