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Chapter Eight

D ahlia

I wake the next morning scrunched next to Dax on the mattress, his heavy arm around my waist pulling me next to him so I don’t fall off the bed. The reassuring pulsing of his cock twitches against the back of my thigh.

It’s ridiculous to be in Hell, or a facsimile of Hell, and totally focus on the guy I’m in bed with. But I am. Somewhere along the way I’ve gone from fearing him to tolerating him, to enjoying his company, to having a crush.

The lights are on. I’m about to flip over so I can stare at his handsome face and maybe kiss him when I see an alien version of a rodent staring at me from the corner of our cell. It’s rat-sized and rat-colored and rat-shaped. In fact, the only difference I can see is that its teeth are longer and sharper than any rodent I ever saw on planet Earth. I can’t control the shiver of revulsion that snakes through me.

I focus on the fact that this rat is a mammal, which is so much more tolerable than a serpent. Then I realize snakes eat rats —I wonder where all the snakes have gone.

“Dax? Dax?”

“What’s wrong?” His arm tightens protectively around me.

“There were one or two million snakes down that corridor. Where do you think they went?”

“I don’t know.”

He tries to turn me to look at him, but I’m stubbornly staring at the rat.

“There’s a rat.” I point, in case he doesn’t see the humongous rodent staring at us.

“I see it, Dahlia. There’s not much I can do about it.”

As we watch, another rat joins his friend. And then another.

“Dax, do rats travel in packs?”

“I don’t know, Dahl. They look harmless.”“No, they don’t. They’re looking at us like we’re breakfast.” Even as I’m talking, two more join their pals.

What are the odds that there would be so many rodents still alive when there were a million snakes here yesterday? Don’t snakes eat rats? WTF?

Dax jumps, then sits up behind me.

“ Drack . One of them bit my calf through the bars. Stand on the bed.” He’s worried, I can hear it in his voice.

When I’m standing, I see there are hundreds of rats gathering in and around our cell.

“Fuck.”

I had a pet gerbil once. It was kind of cute even though it had a rat tail. Hundreds of these black and brown rodents, all closing in on us? Nothing cute about it.

“I want you on the middle rail,” Dax points at the horizontal rail about four feet off the floor. It’s the same construction as the lower rail I stepped on yesterday.

He doesn’t have to ask me twice; I step up onto the rail and clutch the vertical bars.

“Why aren’t you doing the same thing, Dax?”

He grabs the water bucket and flings it at the boldest rats who are trying to bite him, then he uses the bucket to scare the animals —it does nothing, they keep encroaching. He jumps on the bed with the bucket, his back to me, trying to keep them at bay.

There are hundreds, maybe thousands of them now. My skin is crawling with the thought of them. They’re getting bolder —and closer. I turn my head from our cell, where I’ve been watching the rats, and glance into the adjoining cell; the one sharing the very bars I’m clutching.

There are a thousand rats there, too, and they’re scurrying up the bars.

A deep moan escapes my throat. I’m grossed out and terrified.

“Dax!” I shout as they bite my toes.

He’s trying with all his might to bash them with his pitiful wooden bucket, but there’s so many of them and the bucket is useless. His legs are a hair suit of rats. They’re squeaking and attacking us both. His bucket breaks apart as he smashes it at some of the rats on the bars.

These motherfuckers will eat us alive. They’re climbing up me.

“I love you, Dax. I should have told you before,” I say and then clamp my lips together so the rats don’t invade my mouth.

The sound of rushing water catches my attention. I glance away from the onslaught of rats in time to see a wall of water approaching us. The rats see it too and almost all of them scurry to dry ground.

We’re stuck in this ten-foot-high cell.

We’re both bleeding from hundreds of bites. Red blood covers Dax from the chest down. When I glance at myself, I see I’m almost as bad.

“I love you, Dahlia. I was lucky to know you. This is all my fault. I’m sorry.”

The water is fast and relentless. It’s already up to the bed platform. Dax steps onto the horizontal bar next to me and kisses me.

“Stand on my shoulders.” He helps me place my knees on his shoulders, the ceiling is too low for me to stand there. The water’s already up to Dax’s waist.

The water’s filthy and black. A dead rat floats by and I pray it doesn’t bump into me. I don’t know why this would make me lose my shit after everything that’s happened today.

“I’ll keep your head above water as long as I can, Dahl, but when I die, you’ll be plunged into the water.”

And just like that, the waters recede. Dead rat bodies eddy by. My teeth chatter. Whether it’s from the cold or the aftermath of terror, I have no idea.

It smells dank and dirty. I’m freezing. We’re both streaming blood from hundreds of rat bites. I wonder again about tetanus, but I remember rats carry worse things than tetanus —the fucking plague for one.

“Well played,” Asher’s voice bursts in. “Well done. I’ve never seen it done better. For all your efforts, you’ve earned prizes.”

He’s having fun! The bastard.

A contingent of his armed guard slogs through the five inches of fetid water still covering the floor.

“Come.”

Dax carries me in the bride-over-the-threshold position and follows the males in their red uniforms.

They march us through the maze of cells. This place is ancient and in disrepair. I wonder if this wasn’t the first time this place has been flooded. Maybe that’s why the bars were so rusty.

Poor Dax is walking naked through the filthy water. We’re both still dripping blood. Just thinking of what we went through, I repress a full-body shudder and try to control my gag reflex. I don’t know where they’re taking us, but I’m thankful we’re still together.

After leaving the dungeon, we climb two flights of stairs. Dear God, I hope we left all the water, vermin, and serpents behind. We enter a single room the size of the cell. It has walls —yay, no bars. There’s even an adjoining restroom which is great, using the bucket last night was gross. And it’s clean. No rats, no snakes, but also no windows.

The moment the guards leave, Dax and I inspect for anything we can use as a weapon. The bed is a platform with no legs to use as a club. There’s nothing in the stark bathroom other than the built-in facilities.

“Did you think I’d go to all the trouble to get you here and then give you the opportunity to escape?” Asher’s voice interrupts, “It would be unwise to underestimate me.”

I want to tell him to fuck off, but I clamp my lips together and take a breath. A picture of Dax writhing in agony, his hands scrabbling at the collar on his throat, is at the front of my brain.

“Clean up. I don’t want to smell you. Get dressed. I’ll provide clothes. You’ll be joining me for a morning repast in thirty minimas .”

We both climb into the small shower and wash. If I didn’t think Asher would kill me, I’d stay in here an hour. There’s no way I’ll ever feel clean after what we just went through. I worry about rodent-transmitted diseases —there’s only so much soap can do.

When my heart rate’s back to normal, I launch at Dax, throwing my arms around his neck. “Oh my God, Dax. We were so close to death.” My hands flutter as the truth of that statement hits me with full force.

“I felt powerless. I couldn’t protect you,” he says, then cups my cheeks in his palms and dips his head to kiss me. “We need to get dressed. I don’t think he’ll take kindly to us being late.”

When we emerge from the steamy bathroom I see a loincloth, a dress, and medical supplies lying on the bed.

The antiseptic spray also has a powerful analgesic. The burning pain stops immediately wherever Dax sprays me. He has twice as many bites as me, but soon we’re both patched up as well as possible.

“Take the shots,” Asher commands from the invisible comm. “They’ll protect you from diseases.”

We do as we’re told. The fact that he’s watching everything we do barely provokes me. Dax and I got used to it on board the ship when we were still slaves.

I’m wearing a dress that covers not one but two boobs; Dax has on a clean loincloth.

The soldiers escort us to a sunny dining room filled with fancy wooden buffets displaying fine china. There’s a sideboard along one wall groaning with delicious-smelling food.

I slip my hand into Dax’s as we stand in front of a long wooden table. It’s surreal that in the last two hours we’ve been attacked by rats and survived a flood, and now we’re in this opulent parlor being plied with fine food.

I still wonder if we’re in Hell and Asher is the devil. Even if we are alive and this isn’t Hell, Asher is definitely a devil.

He sniffs in through his nose and looks us up and down. “I wish I could say you clean up well, but adequate will have to do.”

Seriously? He’s insulting what we look like? He just morphed from Mephistopheles to a junior high school girl.

“But where are my manners? Fill up a plate and have a seat.”

I wonder if it’s drugged or poisoned.

Asher takes a dainty bite. “Do you think I would poison you? I’m offended. It’s all edible. I promise.”

Alien food still baffles me, but it all looks good. Besides, almost dying made me ravenous. I take a smidgeon of everything and sit near the foot of the table next to Dax. Asher’s at the other end of the ten-foot-long burled wood table. Real gold fills the natural divots and crags in the wood to create a flat surface. I hate to admit it, but if he was trying to impress me with his wealth, he succeeded.

We have real silverware, including serrated knives. I consider stabbing him for one moment, then realize I’d not only need the power of flight to get to the other end of the table, but I’d also need to overpower the two well-armed guards as well as disable our pain/kill collars.

Did I think he looked on the high side of seventy yesterday? Today he looks barely old enough to qualify for AARP. I’d put him in his early 50s. He’s wearing a snow-white formal suit which highlights his pale chartreuse skin, and not in a good way. The jacket falls to mid-calf and accentuates broad shoulders and a trim waist. His brown eyes are sharp —and they’re staring right at me.

“How’s the breen ? I’ve shipped it in from planet Emirus. And the sardix soufflé? Is it to your liking?”

“Mmf,” Dax grunts. I guess he doesn’t want his silence to totally piss off our host but doesn’t want to compliment the food, either.

“Well, it seems the pleasantries are over, so I’ll get to the point.” He waves his henchmen out of the room.

Dax and I both sit up straighter, sensing an opportunity to escape.

“Don’t get too excited.” He points to his wrist. “I still control your collars. Let’s focus on our chat, shall we?

“Have you ever wondered why some are born into poverty, some are born into slavery like you Dax, and some are born into privilege?”

He doesn’t wait for a response; this is obviously a monologue.

“I think most people on the bottom of the stack, like the two of you, imagine it’s luck or a quirk of fate that lands some people at the top and some at the bottom. But I’ll fill you in on a little secret —the system’s built this way on purpose.

“Since time immemorial those of us at the top have conspired to keep as many people as possible in dire circumstances. We live in privilege, you live in squalor. We want for nothing, you worry about where your next meal will come from.

He stops to enjoy a bite of a flakey, buttery pastry. “Delightful.” He smiles, then takes a deep breath.

“We created slavery. How else could we get anyone to fight to the death in an arena for our amusement?

“We later abolished slavery in many places because frankly, it’s more cost effective to use cheap labor and let people scrabble for their own food and shelter while we collect fantastic rents.

“We eat our breen , and own our slaves, and build our factories and don’t pay our workers a living wage. We’ve engineered the system to keep everyone at the bottom fighting and hating each other so much they never look up to see whose foot is on their necks.”

He makes a show of spooning a poached egg out of its shell and letting the yellow ooze onto a piece of toast.

“Delicious. As I was saying, if you took a moment to think, you would have noticed all of this eons ago. But you’ve been so busy surviving you never had time to give it a great deal of thought.

“How did this system evolve? Some of us created it. What you don’t know is that there is a cadre of individuals all over the galaxy who’ve been around a long time. I’m Asher the Ninth, before that I was Asher the Eighth, prior to that the Seventh, and so on. And before that I was many variations of Prosper, ending with Prosper the tenth.

“Most humanoids were meant to live several hundred years, but you don’t. Guess why?” He doesn’t wait for us to say anything, not that we would. “We introduced deadly chemicals into delicious, cheap food to keep you addicted, kill you faster, and line our pockets at the same time. Brilliant, don’t you think? Why keep you around if you can no longer serve? Just soaking up resources. What a waste.

“But I digress. The reason I require the two of you is that every eighty years or so I need to be replenished. There’s a tiny gland in my throat that converts terror into rejuvenating chemicals.

“And then you two fell into my lap. I own many businesses, one of which are gladiator stables. I bought Dax to fight, but he escaped on his way to my premier ludus . When I discovered him on Aeon II and watched the vids of you two, you can imagine my excitement. A blind man could see how fond you were of each other. I knew you were just what I needed for my youth treatment.

“Watching you two in my dungeon was the most fun I’ve had in years. I forgot how much I enjoy this process. Usually, I kill my ‘donors’, but they say we get mellower as we age.” He shrugs and gives us a devilish smile.

“I’m going to suck you two dry until I’m looking young and fit and my cock can drack for hoaras again. Then I’ll give Dax one more chance at a premier fight at the Septus games.

“It will make great theater —that is if you live that long. Dax from Thrace resurrected from death to fight to the death. That’s a catchy slogan, don’t you think? It should make me millions.

“So there you have it. A few more days of fun and games, maybe back to the dungeon, maybe some other horrors I can dream up. Then if you make it that far, a fight to the death. Winner takes all, so to speak. If Dax dies in the arena, so do you, Dahlia.

“You’re dismissed.”

He calls to his lackeys and we’re escorted back to our room.