Games of the 120th olympiad

• Michael Lane, Grade 10
• Short Story
• 2005

2372, Games of the 120th Olympiad. The stadiums of Itaco City sat in waiting of the opening ceremony that night, the thousands of fireworks in place. This was to be the first Olympics to be held within the colonial cities of Mars. The glorious chrome towers of the Martian capital city looked down upon the venues as the population of 70 million eagerly awaited the boom of tourism and wealth. For the first time, Mars was going to compete; their team of athletes with as much chance as any other.

Derrick Henderson stepped through the Itaco shuttle-port terminal and heaved a sigh that only an Olympian can muster. Mars. A dusty ball of rock and capitalism, thought Derrick. Seen as a haven away from the pollution and radiation zones of Earth a hundred years ago, the planet was now just an echo of Earth, covered in corporations and devoid of ethics. Derrick heaved another sigh.

With adequate force to decimate a 17th century city, the fireworks of the opening ceremony splurged across the sky, putting the stars to shame. Showers of pyrotechnic genius blasted across the sky, with spectar that could only be rivalled by a supernova. Derrick didn’t see the fireworks, something that would have horrified him ten years ago. He was training, as always, and a mere fireworks display wouldn’t distract him. The teams no longer marched at the beginning of the games, as there were so many it would take days to accomplish. To twentieth century men, the modern Olympics would be as amazing as space travel to cavemen.

Running, swimming, they were outdated. With 14 billion people in the solar system, sponsors wanted something more entertaining. Humanity had done away with brutal warfare, using negotiations to resolve conflict after witnessing a nuclear war, and this left a wound in their primal instincts. And so evolved the modern Olympics. Combat.

All the eyes of the planet, the solar system, were on him. "No pressure", Derrick lied to himself, as he ascended the platform. Twenty metres away stood his opponent, Kirk Pavel, one of the Martian team. He looked of German origin, broad and blonde. In his hand was the claw staff, the weapon of the most popular sport in the Olympics. Derrick glanced at his; it suddenly seemed much shorter than before. However, he didn’t have time to check, a piercing siren sounded and the duel began.

Derrick wasn’t conscious of what he was doing, his instincts guiding him. The duel lasted, seven minutes, though to Derrick it seemed like 7 eternities. His shoulder bleeding, his rib broken, Derrick held the barbed pole with his good arm. Pavel, however, was much worse. No one dies in duels; the judges stop them when the fighters are exhausted. Two agonizing minutes passed as the judges collaborated, before announcing the winner. Pavel. Mars always had been corrupt, but Derrick, and the rest of people watching, knew the winner, and with that, Derrick was content.