Page 31 of Gladiators of the Vagabond Boxset

We ate in silence, sitting knee to knee on the cot, with the blanket tucked tightly around me.

It was so cold in there that I only seemed to feel warm when Ziame was touching me.

Last night, that thought had been pretty terrifying, but I’d gotten used to him, I kind of liked him.

He was really good at fooling everyone into thinking he was a dumb beast, but he was smart, sensitive to my moods, and the kindest person I’d ever met.

The ration bar I was chewing on was hard and tasteless, and I struggled to chew the stuff without taking sips of water between bites from the single water bottle they had supplied.

In contrast, Ziame devoured his bars in two big gulps.

Thankfully, this stuff was high in protein, dense, heavy, and incredibly filling, so only three bites in, I felt full.

As I lay down to sleep, the big, green-scaled male started to gently tuck me in.

I almost asked him to join me just so I could snuggle up against his warmth.

The cot was far too narrow for the two of us, though; in fact, it was probably too narrow for him by himself.

I wouldn’t be surprised if his feet dangled over the edge if he lay down.

Instead, I happily curled against his shoulders for heat when he sat down with his back against the edge, just like how I’d woken up this morning. When I moved to touch him that way, he seemed to take that as an invitation to raise his tail and curl it around me, adding warmth and safety.

It wasn’t until my fingers grazed the scalpel I’d tucked between the mattress and the cot that I even remembered I had it.

I hesitated only a moment, then asked Ziame softly, so the other gladiators wouldn’t overhear, “The doctor gave me a scalpel that first night. Do you think we can use that to take off our collars?”

Ziame stiffened in surprise. “You have a small blade?” he asked immediately. He turned in his spot, keeping his tail tucked around me but facing me, his arms braced on the small bed. “Let me see it, please,” he added, keeping his voice low and quiet as well.

I didn’t see much more in this dark than the soft glitter of his eyes and the vague outline of his big body, but when I pulled out the scalpel, I had the feeling he saw perfectly well.

“Yes, this is small and mobile enough. We can pry open the lid and disrupt the insides. That should work. Now, to figure out how to get around the tamper-proofing.”

Oh, of course, it wasn’t that simple. If there was no tamper-proofing, he’d probably have pried the thing open by now with one of those retractable claws of his. “What kind of thing are we looking for?” I asked, hoping he knew a workaround.

After a silence, he said, “I’ve heard the collar shocks the person tampering with it, so I suppose any kind of shielding would work.” While I’d always been great at numbers, physics was a whole other cup of tea. I had never aced those classes, unfortunately.

When he talked about shielding, I thought of medieval wooden or metal shields first, before I tried to wrap my head around what kind of thing he could really mean. “Shielding, as in something to keep your hands from touching the collar or the knife?”

A soft chuckle, and then Ziame bent his big head closer to mine.

I felt his warm breath caress my face, and my body responded by raising goosebumps from the back of my neck all the way to my wrists.

“I mean something to shield your hand from touching the knife—a thick piece of cloth, a glove, or something else. Maybe something to wrap around the handle of the knife itself.”

Oh… wait, my hand? “You mean I have to disable your collar?” I knew absolutely nothing about mechanics—I wouldn’t be any good at such a thing! I was breaking out in a cold sweat just thinking about it.

“Yes, I’ll get hit with the highest setting of pain regardless of what we do…

I can’t be the one wielding the knife.” I mulled that over for some time in silence, but I found that I had to begrudgingly admit that it was the only way.

He’d proven several times that he could handle the pain; he was clearly willing to go through it.

The problem was that it felt like a lot to carry. Knowing I was the one pressing the button, so to speak, made things very different. I didn’t want to hurt him, but if he was willing, then I had to put on my big-girl panties and just do it.

With that issue resolved, I finally remembered something that might actually be useful.

“Rubber is good for shielding, isn’t it?

” I asked breathily, still trying to be super quiet so no one on the block could overhear us.

I had the feeling that Ziame didn’t trust all of the gladiators to be on board; to so openly talk of rebelling made him uneasy. I understood that.

“Rubber is perfect, but I checked the soles of your stilts; they’re wood and leather,” he said, as if he’d thought this through already.

“And none of the fabrics of your clothing are pliable enough or thick enough to work well without some thorough shredding.” He left unsaid that he obviously wore next to nothing—sacrificing his loincloth for it wasn’t going to be helpful.

Reaching up into my tangled curls, I struggled with the two thick rubber bands I’d used—what seemed like a lifetime ago—to restrain the whole mess.

Once I got one free and held it up triumphantly, he smiled back, and I actually saw the glitter of his fangs in the dark.

“Perfect!” I struggled to free the other while he went to work, diligently wrapping the handle of the scalpel with the first, then adding the second one for good measure.

Once done, he tucked the blade into my hand and folded his fingers around my shaking fist. “I’ll guide the knife to the right spot. After that, you’ll have to work fast to pry the panel free. Once open, just cut any wires you see, and that should do it.”

Panic seized hold of me for a brief moment. “You mean right now? In the dark? I can’t see a thing!” I hissed at him. But he was nodding—I could see the way his big horns bobbed up and down.

“Yes, now and in the dark, or the Krektar will see and come in here, guns blazing.” Okay, live in the moment.

I can do this! I sat up on the edge of the cot, braced one palm on Ziame’s brawny shoulder, and let him guide my other hand with the knife to the band around his throat.

Pry off the lid and cut the wires. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy.

I just had to do it in the dark, where I couldn’t see the seam of the panel or the wires I was supposed to cut.

“Ready, Abigail?” Ziame asked in a husky whisper. It was stupid, but the sound of his voice nearly made me jump out of my skin. I was not ready.

“No… But let’s get this over with,” I squeaked back at him. He pressed the scalpel with my hand against something hard, and then there was a hissing sound as the doorway to the cell block slid open. The noise was followed by the raised voices of four Krektar as they barged in.

Shocked, I slid back on the cot and hurriedly tried to hide the knife.

Ziame was calm as he turned around to face the front of the cell, his broad back offering protection from view.

Had they overheard us? Were they about to bust us for trying to escape?

For tampering? I was scared enough that my heart was pounding in my throat.

Then I saw what the Krektar were dragging in with them: a slight figure with long blonde hair. They were arguing about touching her—not in a creepy, predatory way, but in the “I don’t want to touch this filthy thing” kind of way.

The first two cells in the hallway were empty, and they’d opened one of them and were escorting the small figure inside.

The light caught the figure just right, and I saw a frightened, tear-streaked human face beneath that tangle of blonde locks.

Shit! A human woman! Her body was small and slender except for her belly, which was bloated. Holy crap! A pregnant woman at that.

They dumped her inside carelessly and retreated as if they had been burned; the cell slammed shut practically on their heels.

The Krektar looked around suspiciously at the rest of us in our cells, but nobody said anything—we just watched.

I watched with bated breath; I couldn’t believe my eyes. Another human girl!

As soon as our guards left, I turned to Ziame.

“See that? A human woman! We’ve got to help!

” I couldn’t see his expression in the dark; the lights in the hallway had dimmed the moment the guards left.

I imagined he looked both worried and skeptical.

Knowing him, he’d want to help, but what could we do from in here?

I got up and walked to the front of our cell, pressing myself against the bars.

“Hello? Can you hear me? I’m Abigail. I’m from Earth—New York, to be precise!

Are you okay?” There was a long silence, and it surprised me that none of the other gladiators were pitching in.

They’d seemed super interested when I’d been escorted down the hallway.

Eventually, there were shuffling sounds, and a tremulous female voice spoke. “The city or the state?” I couldn’t help but laugh; it was just too nice to hear a fellow human, even if that meant I wasn’t the only one in dire circumstances. “The city, of course!”

“God… I can’t believe this is real,” the woman said sadly. “Tell me your favorite comfort food, please—something an alien wouldn’t know...” I rolled my eyes, as if naming a dish would prove anything. But I could understand her need to be reassured, maybe even to hear some familiar words.

So I said, “New York cheesecake, matzo ball soup, Belgian chocolate, clam chowder, pizza!” Just saying the words made me hungry.

I seriously doubted I’d ever eat any of those things again.

The woman must have had the same thoughts because I heard her crying.

She didn’t say anything for a long time, so eventually I started talking to her.

“I know it’s not a comfort. You’ve been stolen from your home, same as me. But it’s going to be all right. I’ll keep you safe. There are more allies here than you know.” I didn’t know what else to say, didn’t know how to help the poor woman, and she just kept crying.

The others on the cell block said nothing either; probably, they understood far better than I did the realities we were facing.

Maybe they didn’t want to offer her any false hope, but I really wanted—no, needed—to believe in Ziame’s escape attempt.

I didn’t think I could face it if that didn’t work out.

My big green cellmate came up behind me at some point and curled the blanket around my shaking shoulders.

“Come lie down, get warm again. There is nothing you can do right now.” I knew he meant well, knew he was right even, but it still made me angry.

I hated being helpless, hated having all my choices taken from me, and hated being unable to comfort a crying woman because we were locked up like animals.

Stiff shoulders and balled fists didn’t deter Ziame, though.

He picked me up bridal-style as if I weighed absolutely nothing instead of being a six-foot-tall woman.

He placed me on his lap as he sat down on the cot and curled me tightly into his arms, rocking me.

It wasn’t until I’d calmed down a little that I realized I’d been crying, too.

Damn it! I was stronger than this! I was!