Page 6 of Gladiators of the Vagabond Boxset

Jasmin

“Confirm landing coordinates,” I asked Okar. The Adarian male was my navigator. I’d taken him on at a bar a couple of runs ago. While he’d proven untrustworthy as a man, he was a decent nav. I was still going to replace him after this run, but at least I was making a good profit here.

“Sending confirmation,” Okar responded, lazily flicking his long, slender, anthracite-colored fingers across the controls. My console lit up with the required data, and ground control had given me the go-ahead, so I brought my clunky but trusty Long Hauler, Beverly, in for a landing.

As we broke the atmosphere, the gravity generator briefly cut out. The straps of my pilot chair kept me tethered, and I’d put my hair in a sensible bun, but of course, Okar’s long white hair was drifting through the air all around us. Like spider silk or angel hair.

When we first met, I’d fallen for his almost ethereal beauty and his charm, but he’d stepped out on me at the earliest opportunity. That beauty was only skin-deep—no, thanks. I was much happier with this strictly professional relationship.

As I lightly set Beverly down on her designated spot, Okar turned to face me with a smirk.

He carefully swung the silvery-white locks of hair over his shoulder, making sure he looked good.

I had to resist rolling my eyes, what a tool, this guy.

“It was nice working with you, Jasmin. But I’ll be going my own way from here. ”

I wasn’t sure if I was relieved or pissed.

Stuck here with no nav meant I’d have to fall back on my own meager nav skills, I’d have to retrace my previous flight path.

Still, this certainly beat having to boot him out myself.

I’d navigated before; I knew the basics, so I was confident I wouldn’t get myself completely lost out here.

“Okay,” I said, trying hard not to smile.

Relief had won out, I was just so happy to see the last of him, cheating asshole that he was.

“Have a nice life, Okar,” I said, and I sounded anything but sincere.

It made his charming smile go sharp, but he didn’t comment.

We both headed for the airlock, and I expected him to duck into his crew bunk and grab his bag, only he didn’t.

“I’ll help you unload first, of course,” he drawled in what was almost a seductive whisper.

Instantly, I was suspicious. Okar hadn’t lifted a finger unless explicitly asked, and even then, only begrudgingly.

So this seemed highly suspect. “Don’t tell me you hid contraband in Bev’s hold,” I said, narrowing my eyes at him.

We had just stepped out onto the gangplank, leaving the cool, air-controlled interior of my ship.

Outside was a gently tropical climate, with lush vegetation everywhere.

There was a beautiful, pristine white mansion farther away on a hill.

To my left, I spotted training fields with men of many different races working out.

The welcome committee was already headed our way as well, four men in neat black uniforms. Okar put his hand on the small of my back and leaned in.

“Never. I wouldn’t do something like that,” he whispered against my ear, giving me shivers despite myself.

His next words chilled me to my core. “But I did sell you. Made a pretty tidy sum, too.”

The four males who made up the welcome party leaped forward, grabbing me. I screamed and fought, my instincts kicking in. Damn him! The greedy, underhanded bastard.

*

Yashan

Training left a sour taste in my mouth and a deep ache in my upper right shoulder. I was getting too old to keep up with the younger gladiators—too many scars, too much wear and tear. Soon, even our trainer, Sunder, wouldn’t be able to hide my deficits from our master, our owner.

Next stop: a death match. It would be rigged against me, a guaranteed loss. Or, as I thought of it, execution. For twenty years, I’d been forced to spend my life fighting to line Drameil’s pockets, only to have my final reward be to bleed out on the arena sands.

The younger males here, like Kitan, Fierce, and Thorin, who was a crazy bastard, would make mincemeat out of me in a real fight.

Unlike Sunder, I was not good at explaining things to the new fighters; I was not trainer material, so soon I’d be past my due date.

Once I started losing my fights—which had already happened—I was living on borrowed time.

I didn’t want to die; I wanted to escape and return home to Pretor, climb the trees of my youth again, see the emerald trees and the lavender skies, and feel the welcoming embrace of my tribe.

Most of all, I missed sleeping in my hammock beneath the swaying leaf fronds.

I also had to admit to myself that it smarted my pride to realize how I was slipping, no longer measuring up against my gladiator brothers.

I had failed as a youth to defend my family and defend myself; I was failing myself again.

I had been failing myself all my life, never managing to escape after twenty years in various gladiator stables.

Shaking out my four arms, I tested my range of motion.

It was a struggle to hide a flinch as my upper right shoulder rotated.

It was toast; the joint was just worn. I wasn’t worth the medical investment to fix the issue—more would just crop up.

They were going to put me down like an animal.

Furious at the unfairness of it, at the desperate spot I was in, I clenched my fists and surveyed the equipment.

What exercises would be best for me now?

What could I do to prolong the inevitable?

Shouting and screaming drew all of our attention to the ship that had just landed in the airfield some distance away: a clunky Long Hauler that had seen better days, dented and worn. I could just make out a name on the side, but it wasn’t in a script I could read.

More interestingly, an Aderian male and a much smaller, paler female of a species I didn’t recognize had disembarked.

Drameil’s guard was in the process of restraining her.

She was making a serious ruckus and, to her credit, giving the four guards a run for their money too.

When two had restrained her arms, she’d used them for leverage, picked up both her legs, and kicked the other two in the chest. They were precariously standing on the gangplank, so both males—Krektar, each—went tumbling off the side.

I wasn’t the only gladiator on the training field laughing and cheering at the sight; what a glorious thing to behold.

Sadly, she didn’t last long. A lone, tiny female was no match for two of Drameil’s guards, especially when they already had her arms restrained.

It sickened me that her Adarian companion had done nothing but stand and watch.

Weren’t they supposed to be empaths with strict moral compasses?

Clearly, this one wasn’t burdened by such a thing.

They took her into the stables, kicking and screaming the entire way.

I feared for her then; they were probably putting a collar on her now.

If she continued fighting this hard, they were going to hurt her, badly.

Not in any way that would leave visible damage, of course.

She was a female; she was likely meant to become part of Drameil’s harem when he returned home.

A female of a species I hadn’t seen here before, so possibly not one he’d collected yet.

By the time Sunder called our training session to an end, I was actually itching to get back into my cell. Normally, each moment we could spend out in the open air was treasured. Tonight, I was definitely not the only one eager to get to the stables—we all wanted to see the female arrival.