As Earth's Champion, Jak had challenged the
Invaders to a duel in the Arena. It was a grand
bluff, but they called it—with one of their own!
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy
October 1952
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
To everyone in the Solar System I was a big shot, understand? Everyonebut two—the two that counted most. One of the two was Suzi, and theother was me. The difference was that Suzi made no bones about tellingme I was a fake; in my own mind the knowledge was there but more orless subconscious.
On this particular occasion Suzi was standing in the center of the halfacre living room of my new penthouse on top the two hundred storySpacenter Building in Neuve Los Angeles. She had her hands on her hipsand was glaring around at the furniture, the pictures, the statuary.
She said bitingly, "Jak, you're a phony."
"A what?" I complained. "Listen, Suzi, don't start calling me thoseprehistoric names again."
"A phony," she said, "a humbug, a four flusher, a quack, a faker...."
She'd finally got to a word I knew. "Hey," I protested, "what's thisall about?"
She indicated the portraits of me hanging on the wall. She pointed outthe statuettes. She picked up a magazine and showed me the ad on theback page—me, endorsing a boomerang. I'd got a thousand credits forthat.
She went over to the bookcase and pulled out a copy of "How I BecameChamp" and the first volume of "Gladiator Technique". Both by me. Thatis, ghost written for me; but my name was on the cover. She indicatedtwo or three other books I was cashing in on.
"You're a phony, Jak," she repeated. "You used to be a nice quietfellow, actually more shy and retiring than was good for you. Now yourhead is swollen beyond bearing."
I was getting a little hot about this. For the past few months I'd beenacquiring the habit of having people look up to me, admiring me, askingfor my autograph, that sort of thing.
"Look here," I said. "Just because you've known me for years andjust because for most of that time I've been chasing you, doesn'tmean that the Gladiator Champion of the Solar System is a nobody." Ifinished with what I thought would be the clincher. "Let me tell you,there isn't one girl in a billion who wouldn't be glad to be in yourshoes—engaged to Jak Dempsi."
It was the clincher all right. She took her hands from her hips andfolded them over her breasts and glared. "Oh yes there is," she toldme. "There's exactly one girl who isn't interested in being engaged toyou Gladiator Jak Dempsi. Me," she snapped.
I glared back at her. "Are you crazy?" I asked. "We're going to bemarried the day after tomorrow."
"That's where you're wrong," she snapped again. "I became engaged to anice, quiet, thoughtful, second-rate gladiator. A mistake happened andhe wound up Solar System Champion—and a stuffed shirt. The engagementis off."
"Second-rate gladiator...." I blurted indignantly, but she was alreadyon her way, stamping across the Venusian Chameleon rug to the door.
I was so surprised I stood there, letting her go. It took me a fullminute to understand that Suzi had just run out on me. Me! Thevictor at the Interplanetary Meet. The sole survivor of the scores ofgladiators who fought it out once every ten years to see which planetof the System would dominate interplanetary affairs.
I went over to the bookcase and wrenched out one of the many books onprehistoric times that Suzi was always insisting I read. That's Suzi'sbug, if you didn'