Wine glasses clinked together after yet another toast. It was a beautiful night, a night of business and of pleasure. Padromo understood that those two didn’t mix well, but sacrifices had to be made. That’s what great leaders did in his opinion. Well, at least that’s what had to be done when you wanted your cash cows to be satisfied. He had gathered all the current sponsors of the tournament, along with their acquaintances, in the penthouse of Hotel Trident. The governor had rented out the place for a measly amount of zens, and looking around, he remembered what his advisors had told him: that this was an opportunity to network and attract even more financial support for his project. As if half of the room wasn’t on the State’s payroll. A potbellied man sat next to Padromo. He was stuffing his face with seafood. It was impossible to ignore his loud chewing and gulping; he had even burped once or twice. He licked his fingers.

  “Mm, the food is great, Padromo! Real tasty stuff, I’m telling ya’!” He addressed the governor.

  “I’m glad it’s to your liking,” Padromo replied. His plate remained full.

  “This tournament… it’s gon’ be great, Padromo! You… you’ve done great things for Kybernan, truly great!” the fat man began.

  “I appreciate your support, Dasim.” Padromo thanked him, sipping from his glass.

  “How’d ya’ manage to find that many fighters?”

  “Well, it wasn’t entirely my doing. My elite recruitment team did most of the work…I just pointed them in the right direction.”

  “Ahh, you’re too humble! It was your idea, that’s not an easy task, not easy, no!”

  “I guess so.”

  “I’ve heard that the tournament has attracted a lot of eyes, Padromo, a lot! That’s good right? We want all the attention we can get, right?” Dasim asked and grabbed a large piece of corn. The chatter of the guests was constant, and the robot waiters kept leaving and returning to the dining hall with trays of freshly poured wine and appetizers. The banquet table was laden with various dishes, exotic fruit, many kinds of beverages, expensive champagne—even cigars were available.

  “Certainly, even planets which aren’t under the State’s jurisdiction have shown interest. After all, it’s one of the oldest forms of entertainment.”

  “Entertainment, yes! It’s going to be entertaining, for sure!” Dasim roared as he was munching away on the food.

  In all honesty, Padromo couldn’t stand the blob of a man. Everything he did was sloppy, no manners at all. It was in no way how a businessman was supposed to conduct himself. The man had money though and that couldn’t be debated. He was one of the bigger supporters of the tournament and had invested a hefty amount in the realization of Padromo’s project. Dasim only had one condition—he had requested that his son be drafted among the hundred men who would compete in the tournament. The governor hadn’t objected to the idea and had taken the necessary measures to bring it to fruition. One couldn’t actualize such a big event without doing some favours. Padromo, of course, couldn’t say no to one of the biggest alcohol tycoons in the galaxy.

  The son in question was in the dining hall with them, sitting at the opposite end of the table. He had two cyborg mistresses coiled around each arm, while he was conversing with the other guests. Word had gone around that Dasim’s son was to participate in the upcoming tournament, and naturally he had attracted a lot of attention. There was a rumor involving the use of heavy steroids, and if one observed the son closely, he could see that it was clearly no rumor. The guy was even fatter than his father, a known side effect of a certain type of steroids that were imported from Planet-67.

  “Have you talked to my son yet?” Dasim asked.

  “No, didn’t have the opportunity,” Padromo said.

  “Butch! Hey, Butch!” The fat man shouted, calling his son over. He had yelled so loudly that the chatter in the room ceased for a moment. His son pushed the women caressing him aside and stood up, taking his chair with him. Butch was the tallest and heaviest person in the room. A giant of a man. He had a big, shiny bald head and a thick, meaty neck to support it. The resemblance to his father was uncanny; they both wore the exact same bulldog expression. He placed his chair between his father and the governor, then plopped down, sighing. He reeked of alcohol.

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  “What?” He nodded towards his father.

  Dasim slapped the back of his head. “What do you mean ‘what’, ya’ mutt? Introduce yourself to the governor and quit fucking embarrassing me!” Dasim spoke through gritted teeth, spit flying out everywhere.

  “Oh, Mr. Padromo! I’m—" He received a second slap.

  “Governor!” Dasim corrected.

  “Governor Padromo… I’m Butch. It’s nice to meet you. The food here is bangin’. I’m impressed! Oh, and don’t worry about the tournament, I’m going to crush all those guys!”

  “Why the fuck would he be worried about that?” His father shouted. “Padromo, I apologize, the boy is just—”

  “Oh, Dasim, please. There’s nothing to apologize for, your son’s probably excited to compete.”

  “Yes, excited! He’s very excited…and thankful! Thank you, Padromo.” Dasim elbowed his son.

  “Thank you for the opportunity, Governor!” Butch repeated.

  “It’s my pleasure.” Padromo smiled.

  “Don’t let my son’s looks fool you, Padromo. He’s a strong one, Butch. He’s been wrestling ever since he was a little kid. He even lifted an elephant over his head one time! Crazy strong, I tell ya’!”

  “Impressive.”

  “Tell him, son.”

  “It’s true…I did it… wasn’t too hard. Can I go now?” Butch asked.

  “Why must you embarrass me like this?” Dasim struck the table with his fists, spilling some wine.

  “Dasim, it’s fine! Let the boy enjoy himself!”

  “Thank you, Padromo. You get outta here, Butch!” Dasim pulled his son close. “And get rid of those fucking whores before I go over there and make a scene!”

  The father turned back to Padromo. “I’m sorry. What can I say? He’s a good kid, just needs some polishing.”

  “Do not worry yourself, Dasim. We were all young once.”

  “Right, we were!”

  “Excuse me,” Padromo said, leaving his seat and hurrying to the bathroom. He couldn’t breathe. He rushed into one of the stalls and found himself down on his knees, searching through his clothes for the valve on his stomach, beads of sweat were trickling down his forehead. He grabbed the metal cork and began twisting. How cruel it would be if he died right there in the bathroom, without living to see the project he had worked so hard to create. Little gulps of oxygen found their way into his system. Padromo exhaled, and his muscles convulsed, nearly making him hit his head on the toilet bowl. Somebody knocked on the door and he kicked, went back to twisting. The governor was panicking, he was about to die…

  Back at the dining hall, some of the guests had started leaving, not staying around to say goodbye. Butch and his father had disappeared also, it was well past midnight. The waiters were throwing away the leftovers and cleaning the stains. Padromo woke up with a loud gasp, holding his chest. He lay there, face-first on the bathroom floor, slowly coming to his senses. The governor tried to sit up at first, but his hand slipped, he cursed, took a few breaths and tried again. Once he managed to sit up and collect himself, he was out of there in an instant. He splashed some water on his face and made his way to the dining hall. All heads turned towards him when he entered, Padromo saw a glass of champagne in front of him and took it, lifting it in the air. He cleared his throat.

  “I’d like to say a few words.” Padromo waited until he had everybody’s attention. “First and foremost, I’d like to thank every single one of you for honouring this event and coming here tonight. To our sponsors and future sponsors, thank you also. The tournament is now a fact, and it wouldn’t have been possible without your support and the tireless efforts of the High State. We have an exciting few months ahead of us, and I’m absolutely ecstatic to be in one room with people whom I share the same vision and ambition for growth with. To Kybernan Magnus!”

  “To Kybernan Magnus!” The little audience toasted, and they all drank. There was admiration on all their faces, they truly regarded Padromo as their leader, and the governor took full advantage of their blind loyalty. The little circus he had arranged with their hard-earned money wasn’t set up to fortify the planet’s security. They already possessed the best men in the galaxy, yet he had carefully tailored the illusion that the State was in dire need of new additions to its arsenal. The truth was that Padromo was afraid. Afraid that his son would try and take over his position. That fear had led him to send his own child to Nexum-0, where he was serving a sentence for conspiring against the government. Padromo’s time would soon be up, and he had had to devise a plan. The tournament was his final product.

  The governor resumed his seat as if nothing had happened, and the festivities continued until early morning. Drunken stories and half-truths were shared throughout the night. Even Padromo had permitted himself to talk about some of his earlier days. He had personally accompanied every guest to the exit of the penthouse and dismissed all the personnel. He was sitting alone at the table, plotting. His breathing levels had evened out. It was a close call, Padromo thought.

  His phone rang, and he grabbed it, not answering immediately. He went out to the terrace, leaned on the railing, then picked up.

  “This call is from a person currently in Medusa in Nexum-0. All calls are logged and recorded and may be listened to by a member of Medusa staff. If you do not wish to accept this call, please hang up now.” Padromo waited…

  “Hello, father. I just thought I’d let you know that I’ll be getting out soon—”

  The governor hung up, then snapped the phone in half.