That last was addressed to the director, who shook his head and shrugged. “Well … in a double elimination tournament, it would be scored as a double loss …”
“There! You see?”
“… but I suppose we could have a fence-off to decide a winner. Perhaps a one-touch sudden-death bout,” the director rallied gamely. “It’s really up to you gentlemen.”
“Well …” O’Donnel hedged, removing his mask as he tried to organize his thoughts.
“Major. “
The word was said so softly that it took O’Donnel a moment to realize Jester had spoken it rather than it being a random thought flitting through his mind. Their eyes met.
“Take the tie.”
“What?”
His rival looked away, smiling at the audience as he spoke, like a ventriloquist, without moving his lips.
“Take the tie. We’ll split the competition … and the contract. I wouldn’t want to see either of our forces lose at this point … would you?”
Good combat commanders do not survive by agonizing over decisions, and O’Donnel was no exception.
“Tournament rules were agreed upon.” He shrugged dramatically, turning to the director. “The Red Eagles and the Space Legion stand by their word. Announce the double loss, sir.”
Turning on his heel, he marched unswervingly back to his men, barely remembering to unhook his body cord, as the director’s announcement echoed in the silent gym. Weak applause greeted the explanation, though the confused babble in the audience nearly drowned it out.
From the look on the faces of the Red Eagles, the audience wasn’t alone in its puzzlement.