No Contest

Just six miles into the twenty-one-mile race, the runners were limp with fatigue. The first third of the Extreme Outback Crocodile Habitat Marathon was designed to sap their strength before pitting them against the real dangers.

“What people won’t do for a few bucks,” Remo commented.

“The prize purse is a million U.S. dollars,” Chiun pointed out.

“Really? Again?”

Chiun glared at him.

“I could win this game easy,” Remo pointed out.

“You could be a star quarterback. Does this mean you should do so?”

Remo nodded. “You’re right, Chiun. I’m making lots more as a television phenomenon.”

“Fah!”

The pack of runners began jogging into the grasslands.

“Look at these guys. They’re almost dead on their feet already!” the snake wrangler exclaimed. “There’s gonna be some seriously slowed reflexes, and this is the exact wrong time for it. Crikey, we’re gonna see some rilly major bloodshed t’day!” The young-looking man in the khakis made a slicing motion across his throat, and the taping stopped. “C’mon, blokes!” The snake wrangler bolted into the grasslands and his production team jogged after him: a cameraman, a sound engineer, and a harried-looking blond woman in khakis with dark rings around her eyes.

“We supposed to stop the rilly major bloodshed?” Remo asked.

“I care not for these fools. We will merely watch for signs of cheating and report the perpetrator to the Emperor.”

Remo followed Chiun through a gap between the rocks. They were positioned along the racecourse. The knee-high grasses were dotted with gnarled trees and shrubs, and all over it the meandering trail was marked with orange flags. Along the path came the runners.

As the rules stipulated, they wore standard summer marathon attire—shorts, sleeveless T-shirts, socks and shoes. This was designed to leave them unprotected from any hazard. Even sunblock was forbidden, and several of the runners were growing pink. The only nonstandard equipment was their headgear—lipstick-sized cameras and microphones. The famous ESN extreme cams fed their signals back to the ESN production base in Jaiboru Junction.

Remo could see their eyes darting nervously about the grasses, watching for dangerous creatures.

“These competitors have no idea what they’re in for!” It was the snake wrangler, who was recording voice-overs as he cut across the grass to intercept the race trail. “This is one of the first real danger zones. Look at this!” He swooped down and snatched a writhing serpent off the ground. “Isn’t she byoot-uh- full!”

The cameraman skidded to a halt and wrestled his camera to his eye to tape the angry snake.

“Hon, look at this lovely little girl!”

“Keep it away from me,” the blond woman warned, backing away in a hurry. The woman began brushing at her clothes.

“She’s a King Brown snake, and she’s about the most attractive snake in this part of the world, but also a vicious biter! A real femme fatale!”

The snake, with dramatic acumen, chose that instant to bury its fangs in the shiny apple cheek of the snake wrangler.

“Oh, gaw!” He pinched the base of the snake’s skull, forcing it to release. “She’s given me a kiss, she has, hain’t you, you pretty little sheila? Luckily, I’ve been bitten by the King Brown about two or three hundred times, thanks to spending my boyhood in the outback with my dear ol’ dad. This has made me almost totally immune to the venom, but gaw, you do not want to try this at home!”

The snake wrangler cut the take. “Give me a minute to get this out of my system, mates.” His eyes rolled into his skull and he collapsed on his back, convulsing. His wife didn’t appear to notice as she batted and slapped her own garments.

“You didn’t tape that, did you?” The snake wrangler was on his feet again in seconds, and he still held the hapless serpent.

“Course, not, Steve,” the cameraman said. “Here they come.”

The snake wrangler twirled his finger to get the camera rolling. “I can withstand a smooch from this darling girl, but the marathon runners don’t have the same resistance. Let’s see how they fare in the first major danger zone on the route!”

“I can’t tell if this is better or worse than Extreme Nude Luge,” Remo commented from their vantage point behind a nearby bush.

“Nothing could be worse than Extreme Nude Luge, save for The Ladies’ Man,” Chiun assured him.

The first-place runner spotted the production crew and ascertained correctly that he was closing in on a point where something dramatic might happen. He went into a series of skips and hops as he found the orange flags leading him over a warren of King Brown birthing nests. The fangs snapped at his shins and never quite connected, but the second-place runner wasn’t so lucky. King Browns latched on to both his calves. The runner screeched and collapsed, thrashing.