Edryn Theys leaned back in his skybox chair, overlooking the great Azar Arena. Billions waited for the event to begin, millions of whom were here in person, packed upon mile-long benches, floating balconies, and tower tops, but Edryn barely heard them, snug in his plush and spacious private room. The only companions he tolerated were a few automated attendants; his daughter, Nira, who was dressed in a gown of crushed amethyst; and her newly acquired fiancé, Chet Dothal, who sported an elegant but uninspired chrome suit.
As usual, Nira leaned against the wide glass wall that dominated the front of the skybox, staring down at the derelict city below with eager eyes.
Edryn cleared his throat. “You have yet to tell me your bet, my dear,” he said to her back.
“Nor me,” Chet added, taking a sip of the pungent drink he had ordered from one of the attendees.
She barely turned but managed to catch them both with a flippant gaze. “It should be obvious.”
“The shaper?” Edryn said, unable to keep the disappointment from his voice.
“You see,” she said, looking back out the window, “you already knew.”
“Have you at least considered the other entrants?” he asked.
“Of course,” she said. “None were to my liking.”
“But he’s just so...obvious.”
“Is that a problem?” Chet asked to no one in particular.
“Only to Father,” Nira said.
“Ah,” Chet said, turning to Edryn, “you prefer to predict the dark horse of the lot? Is that it?”
“Hardly,” Nira said.
Chet frowned at her. “What does he bet on then?”
“Tell him, Father. You always love to.”
Edryn wanted to deny it, but she was right—he did get a thrill whenever he could reveal his unique betting style to someone. “I wager on the jumps,” he said to the young man.
If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.
“The what?” Chet asked.
Edryn pointed at the nearby apparatus they would all soon wear to mind-ride with the combatants. “The number of times I’ll switch hosts as they die.”
“I didn’t realize that was a betting option,” Chet said, raising one of his thick eyebrows.
“It actually wasn’t until a few years ago,” Edryn said, “since so few can afford the device. Not that it matters. I only bet with Nira.”
“She mentioned that,” Chet said. “Since she was five, was it?”
“Did she also tell you that it was her idea,” Edryn said, shifting in his seat, “and that she ended up winning?”
Nira gave him a look from where she stood. “You lost. There’s a difference.”
“Well, it was my first time betting on jumps,” Edryn said. “I just guessed.”
“And you don’t anymore?” Chet asked.
“Not at all,” Edryn said. “I analyze every available factor. Instead of just looking at the numbers, which any bettorwith a modicum of skill can do”—Nira snorted, but Edryn ignored her, leaning forward as he explained—“I consider how the various competitors will interact with each other. Who will likely defeat whom and in what order.”
“I see,” Chet said.
Edryn expected the young man to say more, but when he instead took another sip of his drink, Nira filled the silence.
“So, Father, how many will it be this time?”
“I wager twelve jumps,” Edryn said, sitting back, “starting with Zabel.”
Nira snorted again. “That girl won’t last a minute.”
“That’s why I’m going with twelve,” he said with a grin.
“Fine, and I’m going with the shaper Dar’lax.”
“Then the bet is set.”
“Not quite,” Chet said from the side. “My wager is that you both lose.”
“Excuse me?” Edryn and Nira said, speaking and turning their heads in near unison.
Chet looked calmly back and forth between them. “Is something wrong?”
“I suppose not,” Edryn said after a brief pause, “though that’s a rather odd condition you’ve chosen.”
“And one that is likely to end in your favor,” Nira said, her expression pinched.
“Not at all, darling,” Chet said, his wide smile revealing teeth just as blocky as his eyebrows. “I have to best two aficionados in a sport I am poorly versed. However, this way, one of us is sure to win. It guarantees a thrill, don’t you think?”
Nira looked far from convinced, and Edryn promptly decided that arena betting was clearly not the only pursuit that Mr. Dothal wasn’t familiar with.
As if to further the point, Chet asked, “Shall we trade account info?”
“That isn’t nec—” Edryn began, but Nira cut him off.
“It’s starting!” she said, hurrying to her seat so she could place one of the available linking devices over her head.
Edryn did the same, settling the nearest one across his brow. Instantly, the circular apparatus started to hum, a gentle vibration against his temples, and then everything fell away: Chet, his daughter, the room, and finally, nearly all of his awareness of self. Replacing it was a new consciousness he had preselected from the available arena entrants, someone younger, more vibrant, and of the opposite sex. Edryn didn’t resist the change, in fact he embraced it, letting himself become Zabel...