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Chapter Six

D ahlia

I’ve never seen a place like this before, never read about one, but I know instantly these are slave pens.

We’re far from the uber-modern downtown, far from the stately older area where all the museums are. We’re in the outskirts past suburbs and industrial parks. We’re where you’d find the cattle-yards and steel mills outside large towns in America. We’re where they keep the slaves on Aeon II.

The expression on Dax’s face, as if his molars could bite through railroad spikes, tells me he knows this place intimately.

I’m certain he has no idea he’s gripping my hand so hard he’s almost crunching bone. I’m paying less attention to that than the horrendous smell assaulting my senses. Can you even call it a smell? You just smell smells with your nose, right? This… thing… that’s in the air has invaded my pores, it’s causing my eyes to water. I can taste it.

My folks took me to the state fair when I was a kid. We went into the pig area which was wooden pens filled with hay and animals under a roof with no walls. That’s what I see here, as far as the eye can see.

Some are vacant, most are filled. Each has a metal water trough; some of which are dry. The ones that still have water have a thick layer of dust and hay floating on top. Someone in moderate physical condition could vault over the top rail with ease, but each pen appears rigged with a sensor that will trigger a jolt to a pain/kill collar. It keeps all these slaves in line.

A surly reptilian approaches us, asking why we’re here. All three males aren’t present in the moment. I wonder if they’re all having flashbacks of their time in a similar place. None of them are up to the task of responding.

“Back off, reptilian!” I scold haughtily, pulling back my shoulders. “Can you not see I’m a slave owner?” I cast my eyes at the three gladiators at my side. “I’m looking for new fighting flesh. I’ll inform you if you can be of service.” I glare at him until he backs away.

Understanding our time is limited, I just follow Dax. He seems to know where he’s going.

I try not to stare at the penned aliens we pass. My dad used to have a word for horses that were so thin their bones showed —he called them ‘poor’. That’s how he’d describe every one of these beings. My heart aches for them. If I could, I’d rescue them all. But I can’t. I know that.

Dax halts next to an empty pen. After a long pause, he lifts the unlocked gate and goes inside. His jaw is slack, his skin is pale. He settles on his knees and gazes, transfixed, at a spot on the lowest board. Rubbing the weathered wood with the tips of his fingers, he doesn’t even try to hide the tears in his eyes.

Looking down between the slats I see what has to be initials carved there. I know without asking they’re his.

I’m crying, too, and can’t believe the relief it gives me when Steele touches me gently on my shoulder, lending me support.

A thousand questions fly through my mind. I’ll allow myself to ask none of them. I never will. This is the testament to Dax’s own personal Hell. He can keep it in the secret box in the back of his mind if he chooses.

He shakes his head, coming back to the present, and looks at me like I’m his lifeline.

“Let’s go,” he says, his voice cracking with emotion.

As we make our way up the hay-strewn corridor, it strikes me that all four of us have worn a pain/kill collar. The three of them have probably all had experience in a place like this. I feel powerless —and angry.

The reptilian guard accosts us to enquire about my choice of his wares.

“You should be ashamed. Obviously, you have no scruples, but have you no business sense? If they can’t walk, they can’t serve. If they can’t serve, they’ll fetch no price. Give them food and water. Give them clean dracking hay for God’s sake so well-heeled society can bear to walk through your establishment, then you’ll make a profit.”

Ridiculous speech, I know. I didn’t chastise him for hurting the merchandise, that would have done no good. Lecturing him on how to make more money? That might actually net some results.

Dax

I shouldn’t have gone. Not only was it hard on me, but it was hard on Dahlia. I shouldn’t have put her in that position.

Besides, what male wants his female to see his weakness. She’ll never forget the picture of me on my knees, crying.

Even though I’ve been showering for fifteen minimas , I can’t get the reeking odor of feces and urine and decaying flesh out of my nostrils.

If I stay in here any longer, she’ll knock. I’ll just scrub down quickly one more time.

“Dax?”

Her voice is so gentle and concerned I grind my teeth so I don’t give in to the urge to admit my feelings to her. I don’t want to feel this way —vulnerable, soft. But to know she cares for me, even a little, unravels me.

“Want company?”

“Yes.” It’s out of my mouth before I can forbid my tongue to speak.

She glides in and sits on the elegant dressing chair in this dracking fancy bathing room that is five times the space of one of those pens. Five times the space of my pen. The pathetic pen with my pathetic initials carved into it.

Eighteen years old, believing I was on my way to certain death, I had wanted to leave my mark.

I hadn’t reached my full height yet. They considered me a bad investment. All that money they put into feeding me, all the gladiatorial training, and I’d yet to win my first match. So off to Aeon II for sale to the highest bidder.

“Dax? Sweetie? You’re clean, don’t you think?”

I thank the Gods she was only a slave for a handful of days. How long would she have maintained that delightful openness, her optimism, her compassion if… ? I don’t want to think about it.

I heard her. I know I’m clean, except I still smell it. Lathering myself one more time, I present her my back while I shove the soapy bubbles up my nose. It burns and I snort it out, then rinse it, which burns some more.

Now I smell fancy soap plus putrefying flesh. And it still stings. I turn off the water and accept the soft, fluffy white towel she hands me.

The young male who carved his initials in that wood couldn’t have imagined a bathroom like this —even a towel this soft or white. And he certainly could never have dreamed in his wildest mental wanderings that he’d have a beautiful female looking at him with compassion through those gorgeous, piercing blue eyes.

I need to reconcile the thoughts of the little boy with the reality of this flesh and blood adult male if I’m to make this work with Dahlia.

“I don’t care if Ja’Meer offers a hundred thousand more credits to eat in a fishbowl, we’re ordering room service tonight,” she says brightly, as if she’s tired and it’s not about the fact that I’ve been crying in the shower.

“I’m hopeless at space food. I don’t know what any of it is. I just ordered a fuck-ton of stuff off the menu. Some appetizers, some entrees, and a bunch of desserts. I know you love your sweets.” She shrugs. “Ja’meer’s paying for it anyway.”

She stands and towels my back as if it’s nothing; I think it’s the sweetest act ever bestowed on me in my entire life.

Ever since I grew to my full height and became a premier gladiator, I walked through the world as if I owned it. I forgot about the little boy who worried he’d be killed any second. But he’s been under the surface the entire time, and he’s wounded. I need to shove him back to the recesses of my mind before my match. Thinking like that little dracker could get me killed.

Dahlia

The food in this hotel is delicious, but neither of us eats more than a few bites. We’re far apart in the huge bed, our backs against the headboard. I flip through one minute each of a million vids, but it remains background noise, we’re both lost in our own worlds.

“I’m going to turn in early,” I say, hoping we can both go to sleep and put this awful day behind us.

“Sleepy?” he asks.

“Kind of.”

“I was there when I was eighteen,” his voice is hollow.

He wants to talk, this is good. I’m not sure whether he initiates it or I do, but now his arm’s around me and my head rests on his pec. The perfect position —he can talk without being seen.

“I was scrawny, underperforming. The ludus where I was raised was tired of feeding and training a loser.

“Leaving my home planet of Thrace was a blow on many levels. I lost my friends and everything I’d ever known. Being sent here felt like a death sentence, and it could have been. You saw the place. Disease runs rampant due to the terrible conditions. If I hadn’t been in perfect condition when I arrived, I could have succumbed to illness. Luckily I was purchased before I got sick.

“I was bought as a house slave. The ludus had educated me, I knew how to read and write. That was a saving grace or they would have sold me to the mines on Ludeen III —I wouldn’t have lasted a standard lunar cycle there.

“As a house slave, my master saw me regularly and noticed when my growth spurt hit. He knew my background and training and sold me at a profit to a prominent ludus . That’s when I rose in the ranks from gladiator to premier —a fighter to be reckoned with.

“When you met me I was on my way to the Guerra Gaming Station to meet my new owner and compete in the Nantin games. They’re second in importance only to the Septus games.”

He’s silent for a while. I’m lying on my side, absently stroking his chest from pec to abs, waiting to see if he’s finished talking.

Lifting up, I peer into his face. Pressing my palm to his cheek, I want to connect, but that isn’t close enough. I lean up and kiss those plush lips. It’s the least sexual kiss we’ve ever shared —it’s intimate.

Our eyes are open and we fall into each other’s gaze with a profound bond. This feels familiar; it’s the way Larry and I kissed sometimes. The magic of uniting soul to soul. I never thought I’d have this again, certainly not with Dax. Yet here we are, savoring this moment. I picture a shimmering silver cord linking our two hearts —it’s so real I can feel it.

Feathering his fingers through my hair, he pulls me close and kisses me again. “I listened to myself tell that story,” he says after he nestles my head onto his chest. “It was tragic.

“But I re-played it and I see it’s full of luck, Dahlia. Luck I received some education. Luck I didn’t die on this hellhole. Luck they threw a beautiful redhead into my cell and forced us together. Luck you’re here with me.”

Funny, I was lying here listening to the steady thrum of his heartbeat counting myself lucky, too.

I t’s been a long day, but in some ways it’s passed too quickly. Ja’Meer commed early in the morning to tell me he scheduled the fight for tomorrow. Dax seemed unaffected, but it felt like a dangerous sword hanging over my head all day.

Neither of us wanted to see another museum, nor did we want to explore the planet. We already have a bad taste in our mouths from Aeon II.

We’ve chatted and learned a lot about each other. Being childhood sweethearts with Larry, I figured it would take years to get a new person up to speed on my life. I thought no one would ever know me as well as he did. But it’s amazing how deeply you can learn someone when they open themselves to you.

I’m still trying to wrap my head around how a person could willingly walk into the arena knowing he might be carried out dead. It’s the same as a firefighter running into a burning building, I guess. It’s just that Dax does this in service to a game, not to save anyone’s life.

“ Tessera , Dahlia, I have four in a row,” Dax warns. We’re playing his favorite game, Pente . The goal is to get five stones in a row on a gridded board. Etiquette is to warn your opponent when you get three or four stones in a row so you win each match fair and square without sneaking up on your opponent.

“Crap, how come I never see you coming?” You can’t defend yourself when you have four in a row; I’m guaranteed a loss on his next turn. I’m abysmal at this game although I have the excuse of being preoccupied.

As I’m about to make a fruitless attempt to prevent him from winning, he says, “Look,” and points to a clump of my clear stones on the board. “You have four in a row and didn’t even notice it. Move here and you win.”

I put my stone where I’d originally intended, allowing him the win. “You can’t cheat for me, Dax. That’s not fair. If I’m too stupid to see my own move, I don’t deserve to win.”

“You grew up too easy, Dahl. When you grow up hard, you learn how to grab every advantage, good manners or not. The doctore , the trainer, at my first ludus called it the ‘killer instinct’.”

“I don’t have one.”

“You need one. Although I have to say you can grow a pair of balls when you need them. Negotiating with Ja’Meer, looking down your nose at that reptilian yesterday, you can be hard as a steel ingot.”

“That’s high praise coming from you.”

Dax

I wake up early and do one hundred push-ups, three sets of planks for three minimas each, and three hundred sit-ups. It would be too much of a spectacle to go to the hotel’s gymnasium, this will have to do.

Standing in a stone-cold shower, I wait until my fingers wrinkle. I do this to remind myself of both how strong I am and of my frailties. I can overcome anything with the power of my mind.

I warned Dahlia I’m not her Dax today. I’ll barely acknowledge her existence. I have to focus only on the fight. Even though it might hurt her feelings, I asked her not to talk to me. I have to batten my emotions down tight.

I knew the dangers of this match when I accepted. Any gladiatorial match can end in death, even if it’s not a deathmatch. A thousand things can go wrong —all of them can be lethal. Add that to the fact we’re on Aeon II and the officials can be bribed? I understand how serious the stakes are.

“Shadow and Steele will be here soon. Can you collar me?” I avoid her gaze. She’s petrified for me; I don’t want to catch a whiff of her fear, it can be contagious.

“Perhaps you want to wait on the Fool, Dahlia? Dr. Drayke can be appointed my owner of record for today’s match.”

“There’s strength inside me neither of us has seen, Dax. I keep finding new reservoirs of courage. I stay with you.” She stares at me with determination. Gods, she’s a good female.

W aiting is the worst part of a gladiator’s life. I’m on the same stone bench I sat on a handful of days ago before my fight with Kryton. Today’s different. The odds that I will die are higher, and because of this wonderful new connection with Dahlia, I have so much more to live for.

I can see a sliver of the action through the stone archway. The referees are as incompetent —or crooked —as they were the other day. They let matches continue far longer than they would in a more honest game. It doesn’t matter, it’s out of my control. The only thing I can command is my body, and I will fight with all my ability.

“Vex and Rinn, you’re next,” the Reptilian guard calls.

I’ve known who my opponent will be since yesterday. It’s been all over the news and every billboard in town. After Dahlia went to bed, I snuck into the bathroom and watched vids of his previous fights. I wanted to absorb everything I could about his style. The vids were invaluable.

I didn’t want Dahlia to see. I imagined she’d cry and beg me not to fight. She doesn’t understand that it would be certain death to back out now. Crime syndicates control these games. They don’t invest this kind of money in advertising to have their premier fighter slink away.

The current match is ending in a grueling display. The male from Brinar is pummeling the Illerian so badly it’s a wonder he’s still standing. There’s no interference from the officials as the Brinarian delivers blow after powerful blow, then nicks his opponent with his sword until he has bloody rivulets running from shoulders to feet. The Illerian slumps, his face in the sand —probably dead.

I try not to worry about Dahlia. She just watched her greatest fear play out in front of her. The officials didn’t stop the match when they should have, and instead of terminating it at the proper time, they allowed the Brinarian to kill his foe.

I pull my thoughts back to the present. My very life depends on my focus.

“Vex, Rinn, you’re next.”

We both stand under the archway as the announcer’s resounding voice reverberates throughout the arena.

“Up next, Rinn from Monravia.” He walks out and circles the edge of the arena, his stubby arms held high. The sixty thousand seats are full; people stand in every aisle and line the edges of every set of stairs.

“Rinn comes to us as one of only seven survivors of the last Septus games. He’s trained in premier ludi all over the galaxy. If he wins today, it will be his eighth straight win this season.”

I turn my attention to the Monravian. He’s even bigger in person than he looked in the vids —he’s almost my height. He’s less humanoid than anyone I’ve ever fought. His head and fat-ribbed body are those of a serpent. His elongated almost noseless face holds bright green serpent eyes with elliptical pupils.

His expression is a perpetual sneer. Because of his serpentine DNA, it appears his torso and limbs consist of nothing but muscle. He exhibited prodigious strength on the vids.

Gladiator matches have been around longer than this ancient coliseum. Certain roles and styles of fighting are expected at these games. I fight as a retiarius which means I carry an eight- fierto trident and a net.

This gives me an advantage. I can thrust and prod from a distance and my opponent can’t reach me. The net is designed to cast over an opponent and trip or contain him.

A retiarius often fights a murmillo , which is how Rinn is dressed. The murmillo wears a helmet and carries a sword and shield. His sword is far heavier than my thin spear and he has the protection of helmet and shield. The experts have decreed this to be a fair match of skill and weapons.

A retiarius needs to attack from afar, that’s where my advantage is. Once we’re up close, my trident is all but useless with its length and lack of cutting surface becoming a disadvantage in close hand-to-hand combat.

Rinn’s strengths are many: he’s more muscular than me, he’s excellent with his sword and shield, and despite his appearance, he’s smart. The only weakness I caught on the vids is that he’s not as fast as me.

“Joining him in the arena, Dax from Thrace…”

The rest of the introduction fades into the background as I realize they didn’t introduce me as Vex. Somehow they’ve discovered my true identity, which means not only am I in more danger than the perils of the match itself, but every single one of my comrades is exposed. Dahlia! Dear Gods, I have no way to protect her.

“Get out there drackhole . Don’t tell me you’re scared,” the reptilian guard derides me and is about to put his foot to my ass to push me into the arena when I gather my senses and walk into the blazing sunlight, my arms held high.

There’s nothing I can do to help Dahlia or my friends in the stands. I am powerless over every single thing on this world or any other —save one. I can control how I fight and if I live or die in this circle of sand. The only way I can protect Dahlia is if I win. The stakes couldn’t be more clear.

Ceremonial horns blare, signaling the start of the match. We nod our heads at each other and the fight begins.

My strategy in a Cestus match like the one the other day is to defend. In armed matches like this, I must begin as the aggressor. I need to strike with the trident, and it has to be fast before he gets into close range and gains the advantage.

I attack immediately, poking, thrusting, keeping my opponent on the defensive. Rinn snarls and slashes his sturdy sword at me while his shield protects his chest. This exposes a flash of his flank. In a more humanoid opponent, spearing this small sliver of the abdomen would be deflected by ribs.

Serpent ribs are more numerous and thinner than most humanoids. My strike hits perfectly and pierces through and through. It’s not a deadly shot, but it will slow him down.

Green droplets of blood drip down his hip and descend his scaly legs. He’s favoring his right side. I need to continue my offensive. He’s expert with his shield —he’ll have to be almost dead before he exposes his vital organs. I need to keep chipping away at him.

Feinting to his left, I sprint toward his right and behind him. I pierce my three-pronged spear through his meaty serpentine tail. After pushing all the way through until I hit sand, I retreat and move out of his reach.

He made a high-pitched squealing sound when I skewered his tail. Now he’s hissing, his tail flicking reflexively, spewing green blood every time it bangs on the ground. I must have damaged a nerve because what he’s doing has to hurt and it appears he can’t stop.

“ Dracker !” he hisses as he springs at me, heavy sword held high. I jump back almost in time, but he nicks me, drawing a thin line of blood across my abdomen.

I could draw this out, it’s how they taught me to fight. It amuses the crowd. But I want to finish it. If it was to the death, I could administer the killing blow, but this process demands finesse.

I lope far enough away to avoid his sword, then strike his back with my trident. I pierce only a few inces deep, but bring it back and stab forward again and again. Since the trident has three sharp tips, he’s dripping blood from ten or fifteen holes in his back. He’s in pain and now he’s losing a significant amount of blood.

The officials show no sign of stopping the match. Even though I’m winning, if I keep toying with him he’ll have ample time to use his weapon.

I heave my spear into his muscled back. It does as I intended and lodges deep between what, on a more humanoid male, would be his shoulder blades.

When he falls forward to his knees, I retrieve my weapon, then stand back and wait for the officials to terminate the match. Silence from the officials. Not from the crowd.

“End him! Kill him!” They’ve begun a chant.

I stand twenty fiertos away, my body at rest, the sharp prongs of my trident on the sand. I await word from the judges.

“Kill me Thracian. I would kill you if I could,” the Monravian taunts from his position on the ground.

“I’m not you,” is all I say.

The chanting is louder and more insistent, but I don’t move. Whoever’s in charge has to see the game is over.

“Males and females,” the announcer finally breaks in. “Winner Dax from Thrace.”

My pulse hammers as I scan the crowd for Dahlia. I have no idea how I’ll ever find her in a crowd of over 60,000.

“Males and females, the program says this was the final event of the day, but please don’t leave your seat. We have a very special treat for you today. Asher the Ninth from Galgon has graced us with his presence.

“He runs several of the best ludi throughout the galaxy, and we’ve recently discovered he’s the true owner of this runaway slave.

“We’ve entertained you these last few days with the lusty antics of the Thracian and his little red-headed humanoid, but she’s not his owner, she’s his whore.”My blood runs cold and I sway where I’m standing when I see two uniformed soldiers drag Dahlia through the very archway from which I entered onto these blazing sands.

She wore her flowing, floral dress for me today “so you can find me in the stands,” she said. Now her carefully braided hair is disheveled, her dress is torn, and one perfect breast is exposed for every perverted eye in the stands to leer at.

“Dax!” she calls, but I’m surrounded by four armed soldiers. They’ve snatched my weapon and picked up the Monravian’s sword. They press my knees into the hot sand, two males on either side of me. Between their weapons and their tight grip on my shoulders, I could never fight them off.

Dahlia’s trembling with fear, her fingers shaking as she tries to cover herself. I did this. I did this to her. If I hadn’t accepted this match in anger and haste, she’d be back on the Fool’s Errand chatting with her friends.

Now she’s here in the arena about to watch me die.

Dahlia

I’m so terrified I can barely breathe. The only thing I’m thankful for is that I was on my way to the underground catacombs to collect Dax when the soldiers grabbed me. My friends from the ship must have seen it because I saw them hurrying out of the stands. I can only pray they get to the Fool and hit atmo fast. They have to know that with hundreds of armed guards swarming the area saving Dax and me is a lost cause.

“Asher of Galgon,” the announcer booms.

A humanoid male with pale green skin enters the coliseum on a red and gold chariot drawn by three palomino mroncks in tandem. The six-legged horses don’t hold my attention for more than a moment. I’m taking full stock of the Galgonian. He looks to be seventy, maybe more, but I’ve found it’s impossible to tell age in space. Every species ages differently.

It’s like Spartacus or Ben-Hur . The male’s red cape flows behind him as he rides around the ring several times, basking in the crowd’s applause. I imagine they have no idea who this guy is, nor do I. They’re still fired up with bloodlust from the games.

“Males and females, one more round of applause,” the announcer suggests.

Asher steps out of his chariot and raises his hands to accept the accolades.

“I came all this way from Galgon,” he booms, already mic’d before he entered the arena, “to show you, fair citizens, how we deal with runaway slaves and those who aid and abet them.”

No, no, no. I shake my head. This can’t be happening. My heart clenches, my nostrils flare, and I’m crying before I even see what happens next.

“Stand him up,” he orders. The soldiers yank Dax to his feet.

Asher pulls out a small dagger. I breathe a sigh of relief. That little knife can’t kill my Dax. Punishment. He’s meting out punishment in front of eighty thousand people. Okay. We can live through this.

He walks straight over to Dax, who’s now held in place by six soldiers —two hold his arms, two his legs, and two are fisting his hair so he can’t bite or tear away.

Every muscle in Dax’s body is tensed as he pulls with all his might to free himself from the soldiers.

“I’m no one’s slave,” Dax’s defiant voice carries weakly over Asher’s microphone.

Asher punches Dax’s cheek in anger, then thunders, “The punishment? Death!”

He stabs the three-inch knife below Dax’s sternum. Dax drops to his knees and falls forward, his face in the sand. Dead.

The two soldiers at my side lift me under my armpits and set me in front of Asher. My heart is thumping so hard I’m certain the spectators can see it from the farthest row.

I’m swamped with anguish as I look at Dax’s lifeless body in the sand. I’m too terrified to fight, I can barely breathe.

I don’t have time to think further. The Galgonian pulls out a different dagger and plunges it between my breasts.