The Newsline Tanisport studio was buzzing with excitement.
Jeffrey O’Rourke sipped his juice as he watched the execs racing around the floor. The BBC had just presented the scoop of the decade, and Newsline Tanisport had carried the feed to their viewers uncut.
It was one heck of a story. A detailed documentary into the politics, structure, and organization of the Hierarchy. With voice-overs from some of the world’s top scientists, and a five minute segment where the Prime Minister - the Prime Minister! - of the United Kingdom had personally spoken about the threat posed by the aliens, and how knowing their political structure was a major step forward in understanding how to deal with them.
“Sarnak,” he muttered to himself. “Raptor. Grizzeloid. Lynxian. Carnotaur.”
The names of the alien species that the British had coined were - catchy. If he covered an alien attack, he'd use them.
“Jeffrey!” yelled Milt Delawney, his boss. “You got something for me?”
“I was contacted by Belessar today,” he said. “Said he had some big news for the studio. Wanted a chance to do a telecast.”
“The definition of ‘big’ just changed,” grumbled Milt. “There’s no way we’ll be able to top the BBC.”
“Nobody in the world can do that, boss,” reassured Jeffrey. “We still owe him, though. Remember, he got us the front-row view for the Grunter courthouse battle.”
“That was a good day,” sighed Milt. “Ratings broke through the roof.” He paused. “He fought at New York, right? Think he can do an interview on the aliens?”
“I’ll check with him later.”
“All right, let’s hear him out,” said Milt.
Jeffrey sent the email. Seconds later, his phone rang. “Jeffrey here.”
“This is Belessar, Mr. O’Rourke,” came the ultra’s voice. It sounded like a low growl - had Belessar changed his voice synthesizer again? “I want to do a live telecast on your channel.”
“Live telecasts are a bit difficult to swing, Belessar.”
“I’m going to challenge Agni.”
Jeffrey scrambled to his feet. “Say again?”
“I said, I’m going to challenge Agni. On live TV.”
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Jeffrey stared at his boss. Milt was hyperventilating. “Can you assure me we won’t have her hitting the studio?”
“I will be at the studio in five minutes, Mr. O’Rourke. Get your producer to clear me a stage. I’ll issue my challenge, you’ll transmit it, and we’ll be done in ten minutes. By the time Agni reaches your studio, I’ll be long gone - and I don’t think she’ll bother, once you telecast what I’ve got to say.”
The line went dead.
Jeffrey glanced at Milt. “Can we get him a stage?”
“I’ll have to check with management…”
“You’ll have an ultra with a body count here in five minutes.”
“Bring him to Studio Eleven. I’ll get the place cleared.”
Jeffrey nodded and dialled security as Milt took off running.
Minutes later, a shaking voice informed him that a heavily armoured ultrahuman was on his way up.
Jeffrey saw Belessar's new armour as he stepped onto the floor. Greyish-white armour, ten feet tall, and a helmet painted with the image of a slavering hound.
A hundred conversations suddenly stopped.
Belessar stepped forward. In the silence, his feet slammed against the floor with a crunching sound.
Jeffrey took a deep breath. “Belessar? Over here.”
The ultra’s voice boomed across the room. “Jeffrey. Is my studio ready?”
“Yes. This way.” Jeffrey walked over to the Studio Eleven door and opened it. “Sir, Belessar’s here.”
Milt was yelling at someone: “.... the Shelley Cage show can wait, honey! This is more important…. Oh, hi, Jeffrey. Come on in.”
Jeffrey watched as the talk show host - the famous Shelley Cage - stormed over, fuming thunderclouds. “You! You’re interrupting my show!”
“I’m not,” Jeffrey raised his hands in mock-surrender. “He is.”
Shelley turned to face Belessar, who had just stepped through the door.
Belessar stretched up to his full height.
Whatever Shelley wanted to say, the words died in her throat. “Uh… Mr. Belessar?”
“The same,” growled Belessar. “I believe I’m using this studio?”
“Sure, sure,” Shelley said. “Please go ahead. Will you be long?”
“Five minutes, maybe ten.”
“A pleasure. Would love to have you as a guest sometime.”
“I’ll consider it.” Belessar stalked off towards the stage.
Shelley turned to Jeffrey. “You’d better come tell me when he’s gone.”
Like hell I will, thought Jeffrey. “Sure.”
Belessar had, meanwhile, settled himself in the studio. A mike was in one hand and the cameras were focused on him. “Are you ready to transmit?” he growled at Milt.
“Absolutely,” the producer replied.
Belessar nodded. “Start recording. I want this going out live.”
Jeffrey prayed Belessar didn’t have a habit of swearing on air - the last thing he wanted was Tanisport News getting fined or Milt getting fired.
The mike switched on, and Belessar began to speak.
“This is a message for Agni,” Belessar began. “You’ve been hunting me, I know. And I’ve been hunting you.
“I trust you’ve been watching the news. As you’ve noticed, there are bigger wars to fight than this thing between us.
“We need humanity to unite against the aliens, and that’s not going to happen if we’re busy trying to kill each other - and hurting a lot of other people in the process.
“So I’ll make a deal with you.
“Fight me fair and square. One on one, at Brahampton Stadium, this Sunday at nine a.m.
“Two of us enter. One leaves. And we finish this.
“To make sure it’s fair, I’m inviting the press to cover the fight. They can verify there aren’t any traps built into the stadium.
“If you have what it takes to fight me, meet me at Brahampton on Sunday. If you don’t come, I’ll know you were too much of a coward. If you show up and run away, I’ll know you don’t have what it takes to beat me.
“So if you have what it takes, meet me on Sunday. Or run away forever. Belessar out."