“Absolutely! A man of his ilk, as the subject of such scrutiny, will wish to be seen on his own terms. This is his Arena, his territory. He’s marked it as surely as any tomcat!” Rivka certainly hoped not. If the Arena had any scent, it was of bodies, sweat, and the harsh lemon of cleansers, and they weren’t even in the tightly pressed masses below. Grandmother had purchased a private suite not far from Cody’s. The guards down the hall had been generously tipped to notify them when Mr. Cody was on the way. Ten seats were squeezed inside the booth, arranged in two rows to overlook the Arena. The scope was . . . magnificent. Rivka hadn’t expected to feel that way, knowing the horrors that could have befallen Tatiana and Lump, but the place was an architectural marvel. The metal mountain was about a hundred feet high, with built-in switchbacks and cliffs and platforms for the mechas to claim as they battled to reach the top. The gremlin on Rivka’s shoulder chirped.
