Race to the End: A Tale of Modern Barbados

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The sky was so blue it threatened to switch off gravity and pitch everyone up into the sky. The sea was another blue coming in from a horizon a million miles away. The palm canopy wet bar opened early. Tourists were already tramping down the paths from the cabanas and the main hotel. Already the shiny black Rec stewards, skinny and buff and all but naked in their speedos were raking the sand.

The circle the girls would be fighting in was backed up to the end of the jungle, muscular mercenary types in EMT uniforms yawning and sipping beer and scanning everyone like the suspicious muthas they. Were. Already in secret clubs all over the World rich folks were sipping their own champagnes and martinis, keeping an eye on the wall sized hi res TV screens that would be carrying this, what would be a very sexy and very secret and very deadly ultra high stakes fight.

A grudge fight, the gossip had it. Race was an issue. The girls actually loathed each other. You know how the pre fight patter goes. Those in the know watched the every changing odds read out across the bottom of the screen. Old Vega hands, Mobbed up, Arab royalty in sunglasses and miles of purist white robes. Razor thin German businessmen. Rich Americans fat as hogs and sweating in the icy air conditioning. Bitches of both sexes sliding in and out of the assembled party goers like greyhounds. The countdown/round clock popped up on the upper right hand side of the screen making a treble pass though the crowd. Licks were licked. Whispers whispered changes in bets into cell phones the size of match books.

The prospect of violence and the kill made the men and women hard and wet in anticipation. Out on the beach a circle was forming around the circle, video-drones bobbing and weaving over their heads, piping Super High 3-D feeds up to satellites for heavily encoded distribution. I strolled into the sand, my shoes in one hand, my gimlet in the other, special guest pass on the lanyard round my neck. Two official thugs opened a break for me in the circle of the spectators. One of the bitches was out of my stable. Not the most experienced gladiatrix, but as she was my Mistress, I wasn't going to watch from the room...

I checked my watch. The Prelude was just about over. :cool: