by Alana Khan
My mouth turns dry as I watch the two males go at it. They’re masculinity, strength, power and grace all rolled into one. When their bodies clash, they grunt with the effort. Although the definition of sparring is that it’s more for training than an actual fight, it doesn’t look like either of these guys got the memo.
Shadow is going for broke as he attacks Beast. I get it, it must be like the Old West where every man with something to prove felt the need to go after the guy with the reputation of the fastest gun in town.
Beast, for his part, seems to be trying to let his partner off easy.
Zar pushes through the double doors, and in a minute all activity ceases.
“Thanks for coming,” he says as he looks around the room. He sits on a weight bench where he can see everyone and pulls some notes from his pocket. He’s wearing black cargo pants with a hole cut in the back for his tail.
I take a moment to adjust to the fact that although I should be in a boardroom with other people in Brooks Brothers suits, I’m in a gym—no make that a ludus—with gold and silver and green aliens. One of them has an extra appendage!
I shake my head and pull my attention to the task at hand, that being to pretend to listen to the captain of the ship and not sneak peeks at Beast.
“First, an update on Steele. Dr. Drayke told me . . . let me check my notes . . . Steele took laser fire to his abdomen and thigh. He lost a lot of blood. He’s in a great deal of pain, but he’s responding well to treatment and is expected to recover fully.”
The room erupts in a low murmur of approval.
“As most of you know, Steele was scheduled to fight on Galgon in three days. Obviously, that won’t be possible. Steele was to fight Cherodon of Monravia as a Dimachaerus fighter. Cherodon will be equipped as a Hoplomachus.”
I glance at Dahlia who shoots me a confused look along with a shoulder shrug. The translator didn’t even attempt to explain these words. I assume they are some kind of ritualized fighting styles.
“I’ve watched vids of his previous bouts. This male is formidable. I don’t want to downplay his abilities or how difficult this match will be. It won’t necessarily be fought to the death, but as all of you know, anything can happen in the sand of the arena.
“Several of you no longer wish to fight. I’m happy to honor that. I just wanted to give you all the opportunity to have a choice. Do I have any volun—”
A badly-scarred male interrupts as he stands, “I volunteer.”
“Thanks, Stryker. You’re a good male. Any experience fighting as a Dimachaerus? Using two knives in a bout?”
“No, but I’m good with knives, both scimitar and gladius.”
“Any other volunteers?”
“I’m always willing to serve,” a dignified older warrior announces respectfully. He’s almost thin, not broad like the others, but you can see every muscle ripple under his ebony skin. “I briefly coached the strategy of using two knives many years ago, but have never fought in that style other than sparring.”
“Thank you, Doctore.”
“I would like to fight,” Beast announces from where he’s seated on a weight machine.
“Duly noted,” Zar says as he distractedly makes notes on his pad. “Let me consider it and I’ll let you know later.”
“You’ve brought me on board along with three others. And a canine,” he adds as he stands. “I want to fight. The purse will help repay your kindness.”
He must really want to fight in that bout. The way he worded his proposal ensured it would be rude of Captain Zar to turn down his offer.
“And your experience as a Dimachaerus?”
“I’m a Pinnacle fighter. I’ll spar in your ludus until I’m prepared for this type of fight,” he says gravely.
This must mean he has no experience whatsoever with this style of fighting. That doesn’t exactly inspire confidence.
Zar nods thoughtfully, like he has the weight of the world on his shoulders. I assume gladiator fights are as dangerous in outer space as they were in ancient Rome. Whichever male he chooses could get killed. I wouldn’t want to have to make this choice.
Beast sits on the bench with faultless posture. If he was a statue, it might be called ‘Proud Warrior’. I only just met him, but all sorts of feelings are swirling inside me.
Lust hits me first, how could it not? He’s freaking beautiful. That shimmery green skin, the sexy rings on his nose. The thick topknot of cascading hair. His flawless body. He’s the perfect package. And don’t get me started on his ‘package’.
But I digress, because the next emotion that hits me is anger. The shithead called out another woman’s name when my mouth was on his cock for fuck’s sake. The word ungentlemanly doesn’t begin to describe it.
Then, despite my attempts to ignore it, a tendril of fear swirls in my belly. I’ve watched my share of gladiator movies. It’s not a profession known for the longevity of its participants. When Zar described the fight, the other gladiators looked stone-cold serious. Whatever a dima-thingamajiggy is, it does not sound like a walk in the park.
He said he wanted to fight to pay for our safe passage. It sounds altruistic, but I’m not certain that’s why he’s fighting. Maybe he likes the adrenaline rush. Or the adulation. If he’s really doing it to pay for me and the others, that just increases the tightness in my stomach.
Doctore, the older male who was a trainer, emerges from what must be a small storeroom with two wooden knives. Shorter than a sword, longer than a dagger, they’re curved, like a scimitar.
He hands them to Beast, who stands and immediately begins wielding them as if they’re extensions of his arms.
Dangerous beauty. They’re the only two words pulsing through my brain.
Doctore returns with a sword, spear, helmet, and round concave shield. He must be playing the part of the opponent, a Hoplomachus. What’s immediately apparent is that Beast has no shield, no defense.
I stand, rooted to the spot, unable to tear my eyes from the spectacle in front of me. It’s like a deadly dance. Beast attacks, Doctore defends, then they switch.
All the blood drains from my face as I imagine this in an arena, in the hot sun, with an opponent equipped with a real sword and a metal-tipped spear.
“Aerie?” Willa softly grips my wrist. “Aerie, should we get some breakfast?” Her voice is hushed, the tone you’d use to wake someone who’s sleeping.
I shake my head to return to the present, sneak one more glance at the two males sparring, and turn to leave. Dahlia is doing bench presses with her huge gladiator mate spotting her. The doting look on his face, like he’d rather be with her than hanging out with his macho buddies, speaks volumes about their relationship.
“What’s with the strange names? They almost sound like Latin,” I ask.
“When you were off in La La Land, Dahlia explained it.” She reaches down and pets WarDog, then tells him in a singsong voice, “I know you’re hungry, big guy. We’re going to get you something to eat right now.”
If you were blind, you’d think she was either talking to a tiny cockapoo or a baby, not a two-hundred-pound walking predator.
“I missed it. I was preoccupied. Give me the re-cap.”
“Are you crushing on the Pinnacle?” she asks with a knowing smile. “He’s handsome, I’ll give him that.” WarDog nudges her hand for a pet, as if he can’t bear to walk the length of the ship without her attention.
“He’s . . . taken,” I respond. “Tell me about the funny names.”
“Shadow, the cyborg guy who isn’t a cyborg at all, just someone with some bionic parts, is convinced that many of the planets in the galaxy were ‘seeded’ by an older, wiser race. That’s why although we may have our differences, most of us are pretty humanoid.
“He thinks maybe the original race, who he calls Gaians, came back to share some of their culture. It sounds like a lot of species’ languages have some Latin roots. The gladiator stuff evidently is common on a lot of planets, too. Dahlia s
eems to remember that some of the classes of fighters in ancient Rome had similar names to what they were talking about today.
“It’s all just guesses, though. Shadow wants us to go in search of Gaia. It’s cause for debate on the ship.”
Taking a deep breath, I shrug. “I don’t care where we go. If we can’t return to Earth, I just want to remain a free woman.”
“You and me both. I’m afraid they’re going to jettison me.”
I realize we’ve been walking for a long time.
“Are we lost?”
“Totally,” Willa admits.
WarDog shoulders ahead of us, taking the lead. I’ll trust him over either Willa or I. I read once that where humans might smell stew, dogs’ noses are so sensitive they smell beef and carrots and onions and potatoes. I’ll trust the dog to lead us to the food.
“So it’s not just me who’s worried about being dead weight on this ship?” I ask.
“I’m just a girl from rural Texas who was thinking about becoming a vet tech. Other than taking care of the dog I brought on board, I have no skills to bring to the table. I’m just another mouth to feed.”
“I’m thinking they don’t need an entertainment lawyer, either.”
“Is that what you did?”
“Yes.”
“What, exactly is that?”
“Remember the movie Jerry Maguire? He was a sports agent?”
“Yes.”
“I work in a firm like that, only I’m in charge of the contracts.”
“Ohhh. That’s how you got the expensive shoes.”
“Kind of. I’ve only been working for ten months. If we do well, I get a huge bonus next year. Wait, what am I saying? I was supposed to get a huge bonus. What I’m walking away with is a used pair of Louboutins.”
“We’re screwed,” Willa says. “I live in fear that WarDog will take a crap somewhere he’s not supposed to and they’re going to push us out at the next stop.” She pauses and looks at him pointedly. “Dax is the nicest guy. Dahlia lucked out with that one. My momma would say, ‘he looks at her like she hung the moon’.”
I look at her, waiting for her to finish her story. I’m not sure my New York and her Texas are going to work so well together. In the time she’s been talking, I could have shopped for my entire Christmas list. Well, that’s not saying a lot. I have no Christmas list.
“Dax offered to build me a little potty area in my cabin. They have some chemical mixture made for having pets in space. We’ll get some at our next stop. In the meantime, Dax said he’d hook me up with some absorbent rags I can use and wash when they’re dirty.”
We arrive at the dining area, which is the only room on the ship that has any character. There’s a large three-dimensional wooden sculpture on one wall. It’s intricately carved, about two inches thick, and depicts a meadow of flowers in full bloom. It’s stained brown except for the merest hint of blue on all the flowers. It’s lovely.
“Dahlia told me Dax made that,” Willa informs me.
“Talent,” I say. “Something I lack.” Frankly, I have no idea why they’d want to keep me.
Chapter Three
Beast
I sparred with Doctore for an houra, then Stryker, the scarred male who also offered to fight. Afterward, no one needed to state the obvious, which was that I’m best equipped for this match.
I assume someone will inform Captain Zar, and it will help him make his decision. Zar had mentioned that several of the males on board have chosen not to fight. I find that hard to understand. I was born in a ludus, it’s a word not only for a gymnasium, but a gladiator school. My mother was a house slave, my father was a Premier fighter.
I’ve grown up knowing I would become a gladiator. There was never any choice. I was educated to read and write so I could follow directions better. As a child, I had no toys except wooden swords. I was allowed little free time.
I was born and bred to fight. I will do so until I die in the arena. The idea of choosing what I want to do? Making big decisions? I shake my head. It’s too foreign a thought to even imagine.
Why I volunteered for this fight, though, that’s another matter.
I’ve been to many places in this galaxy, and met many species of humanoids. With few exceptions, their worlds revolve around themselves. They make decisions in their own best interests.
In my life, I’ve seen little generosity or kindness. It started when I was five and my mother, who I was occasionally allowed to see, was torn from my arms to be sold for a profit.
I’ve heard many males praying to their Gods, begging for their lives in the arena. I’ve never seen the hand of God come down and rescue anyone. If God isn’t coming to save us, other people certainly aren’t.
Those two females and that canine have no value on this ship. I want to ensure the safety of Aerie, Willa, and the huge canine. Perhaps the purse I win will earn them a place here.
I’ll make my way. I have a skill. I’ll trade my value for their lives.
After I shower I find my way to the dining hall. I saw how little Aerie looked at me when I was in the ludus. Emotions were swirling all over her pretty little face. I’m not sure I can identify them all, but I’m certain she’s still hurt and angry about how I ended things last night.
I thought Emmannee was out of my system. A normal male would hate her, not be fixated on her. Certainly, he wouldn’t invite her to join him in bed with an accommodating female. If I was Aerie, I’d never want to see me again.
Which, I guess, is the point. We’re going to have to see each other all the time until I find a way off this ship.
I was born a slave. I have no idea what it would be like to be a free male. Maybe I should ask one of the other gladiators how they managed the transition. I’ve rarely been allowed to choose my own food or clothing or even the choice of a bed partner. The females were always assigned—even Emmannee.
How am I supposed to decide everything at once? I never dared dream of this, and perhaps that was good. It’s demoralizing to wish for something you can’t have.
“Beast?” the curly-haired cook asks with a smile.
“Yes?”
“Do you want manwar edash or planton wah?”
I shrug, having no idea what she’s talking about. I assume it’s food.
“I’ll give you some of both. I’ve been feeding a hoard of hungry gladiators for six months. It’s like cooking for an army. There’s always more.” She winks at me. In my world, this means she wants sex. I got the impression she was with Stryker, though. I must be confused.
The dining hall is rectangular with eight similar-shaped tables that seat six. I take the tray Maddie piled high with food and settle myself into the corner. I’m in a new world and have to figure it out.
I shovel the food in my mouth, the same as I’ve done for the past thirty-two years. It takes a few minimas before I actually taste what I’m eating. My eyes fly open and I slow my chewing to savor the taste. The meat is tender and the spices are inviting. The vegetables, instead of being mushy are crisp. Each one has its own distinct taste.
I dig into the second dish and am amazed when I discover it has a unique flavor from the one I just tasted. It’s equally good, maybe better, but completely different.
I’ve never enjoyed eating before. It was either a bowl or plate filled with a mysterious mixture of meat and starch. Each dish tasted like the one I had that morning and the days and weeks and lunars prior to that.
“Maddie!” I call with my mouth still full of food. I didn’t mean to say it. My strategy was to keep to myself here in the corner.
“What?” she asks. She sings when she talks. She might be the happiest person I’ve ever met.
“Delicious!”
“Thanks.” She beams.
Other than the hoaras they allowed me to spend with Emmannee, I’ve spent very little time with anyone but gladiator slaves. I don’t believe I’ve ever been with someone who could be classified as happy before. I thought it was
something actors pretended in the vids they occasionally let us watch. From what little I’ve seen of Maddie, I think I was wrong. Maybe happy is a real feeling.
I notice I’m back to shoveling my food again and consciously slow down. Old habits die hard.
As I chew slowly, my eyes land on Aerie. Emmannee was dark-skinned with deep black eyes and pointed ears. Her long black hair swept below her shoulders. I’d convinced myself that she was beautiful as well as deciding I loved her.
Aerie is lighter in every way. Her skin is light pink, her short hair is pale gold, almost white. I’m caught again by the tiny ring in her nostril. Too bad I didn’t take the opportunity to flick it with my tongue when I had the chance.