The Live Soldier Trilogy Box Set

by Liam Clay

  The cage has reached the platform. The mob backs away from the thing like it’s a neutron bomb. But slavers from another crew grab one of their prisoners and force him inside. A diesel powered engine brings the cage back up. A trapdoor opens in the disc’s underside, and the prisoner is pulled up and through. From this position, I can see neither the selling block nor the omniscreen. And so I have only the auctioneer’s voice to tell me what is happening.

  “Ooh, would you look what we’ve got here. The man you see before you has spent most of his life locked in a basement. His mother was a tad religious, you see. Thought he had the devil inside, and made him beg for food through a grate at knee level. Ladies and gentlemen, you can't replicate that kind of training! You could hand this fellow a knife and bare your throat, and he wouldn't even think of harming you. Bidding starts at 600 rounds.”

  The auction begins. As the price climbs, the speaker continues to heap horrific praise upon the prisoner. If even half the stories he’s telling are true, then this man has had the worst life in the history of the world. He is eventually sold for 1,750 rounds - although I have no concept of how much money that is. And in this way, the day begins.

  When the first crew has sold off all its prisoners, the second one takes their place. I notice that this batch sells for significantly more than the first. I try to close my ears against the auctioneer's sickening sales pitches, but it all seeps through. The hours tick past, until the second crew’s stock has been depleted as well. Which means that it’s our turn.

  Timothy is the first prisoner chosen. He climbs into the cage without a fight, and rises out of sight.

  “And now we come to the primo stock.” The auctioneer says. “Vorashia is an artiste, a virtuoso, and this batch is no exception. Why take this old geezer, for example. He has lived a soft, happy life. But a few weeks on the Stormline have broken his spirit beyond chance of repair. Would make a fine cup bearer or storyteller. Come on now people, this is a rare find! An educated man who knows his place, and will grovel upon request. Bidding starts at 1,300 rounds.”

  Poor Timothy. I barely knew him, but he seemed like a good man. Not that anyone would deserve this. After a short bidding war, the social scientist sells for 2,700 rounds. Prisoner after prisoner goes up in the cage, and the crowd down below thins out. My turn can't be far off now. And if I can follow Farakul's advice, I might be able to avoid the fate Vorashia has planned for me.

  And then I’m alone. The very last prisoner to go up for sale. The Pros come to collect me, and I am placed inside the cage. The diesel engine fires up somewhere above, and I start to ascend. As the ocean drops away, the air grows hotter. Sweat breaks out across my back and forehead. When I'm about a third of the way up, the auctioneer begins his pitch.

  “And now, ladies and gentlemen, I would like to introduce our final subserviant. One armed, one eyed and broken inside, this one is! But that's not all. Our next slave used to be famous, you see. Has anyone here heard of the Live Soldier, aka the War Star? Ah! By the sound of your gasps, some of you have. Well, how would you like to have none other than Anex - the man, the myth, the legend - as your own personal plaything? And if you're wondering if he’s tame, don't fret, because Anex was Vorashia's personal project on her trip here! So you know he's been properly housebroken.”

  The cage is right under the disc now. Cut from a single mass of porous stone, it is five meters across and has a sense of immense weight about it. The trapdoor opens. A heavily muscled woman leans down and hauls me up into the light. Partially blinded, I lean against her... and the crowd laughs.

  “Looks like Vorashia has been working him to the bone!” The auctioneer says gleefully. “Don't worry though, I'm sure he will clean up nicely when the time comes. Bidding starts at 5,000 even.”

  The woman manhandles me over to the selling block. My vision is clearing now, and I can see the crowd. So many bright faces, concealing so many dark minds. All focused in on me. The handler deposits me on the block in a heap. This is it: time to draw upon my deepest reserves of strength, and show these bastards what I'm made of. Stand tall, show defiance, be a man these shareholders can imagine murdering them in their beds.

  But my body fails me. It simply will not obey my commands, no matter how hard I try. Vorashia knows her work too well. The bidding begins. The omniscreen hangs right over the disc, meaning that I can't see its screens. But I can see buyers lifting their paddles in the crowd, and imagine cameras tracking the key players as my price climbs. I scan the stands for the man in the tan coat - but he is not one of the participants.

  “My, my, the bidding is fierce for this one. Can I hear 8,000? Just imagine it, people: a genuine superstar with 60 million followers at his peak, serving you iced lemonade in your atrium. Cleaning up your house after a wild fete. Submitting to your every whim. Can you even put a price on that kind of pleasure? Was that a 9,000, my good woman? Excellent! Now, can I hear a 10? A paltry 10K for the camera eyed killer. Spawn of the ruins. Man who stole a city...”

  When the bidding reaches 15,000 rounds, the tan coated man enters the game.

  “Ladies and gentlemen!” The auctioneer calls out. “No less a personage than Datsel Lima has just joined the fray! One of Ninetown's major shareholders, and owner of the famed battle circus. We all know what he will do with the Live Soldier. But you still have a chance to steal him for your own ends!”

  And now an enormous woman in the front row raises her paddle. The auctioneer can barely contain his delight.

  “Oh my goodness. Your eyes are not deceiving you, good masters. Marineta Sipholo has just raised the stakes to 18,000 rounds. Yes, you heard right! The owner of Ninetown's infamous Gamehouse will be dueling it out with Lima. I would recommend that you stop blinking, because people will be talking about this for years to come!”

  The contest begins. The other contestants gradually fall off the pace, until only Lima and Sipholo remain. My price passes 25K, and then 30. The auctioneer is in deliriums of excitement now, repeatedly mentioning that no one has ever sold for more than 40K before.

  Until now. And it is Datsel Lima, the man in the tan coat, who makes the final play. Off the back of a Sipholo bid of 38, he raises his digital paddle once more. And although he is too far away for me to see the number written there, the crowd's reaction says enough.

  “Holy christ.” The auctioneer breathes, sounding genuinely shocked. “An even 50,000 from Lima.” Then he laughs. “Beat that, you overstuffed buzzard! What, no response? I didn't think so. 50 going once. Going twice. Sold, to Datsel Lima of the battle circus. And may you find much pleasure in your purchase!”

  A lightweight bridge is lowered down from the rafters. The handler loops my arm over her shoulders, and carries me across to the stands. Lima is waiting for me there with his retinue, which is made up entirely of finely muscled, heavily scarred acrobats.

  “Well, you certainly cost me a pretty penny.” The man says mildly. “But I couldn't let Sipholo outbid me in front of half the city, now could I? She never would have let me hear the end of it.” A look of concern crosses his face. “You look terrible. Vorashia is not usually so ham-fisted in her administrations.”

  The man doesn’t sound as despicable as I’d anticipated. But if he ever suspects that I am not properly housebroken, that will certainly be the end of me.

  “I fell down the stairs, sir.” I say, keeping my eye downcast. Lima places a reassuring hand on my shoulder.

  “Did you now? Well not to worry, because nothing - including stairs - will harm you from now on.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Don't mention it. Now let's get you home. My litter is waiting near one of the entrances. Can you walk that far?”

  “With help maybe.”

  “Then you shall have it.”

  He gestures to his acrobats, and they start to help me up through the stands. Their bodies feel like stone, and I can't help but imagine how badly they could hurt me if they wanted to. Or were ordered to.


  We reach Lima's litter. It is a basic affair built of pine wood and hemp. But that doesn't change the fact that the shareholder is getting other human beings to carry him around. The acrobats help me climb in. Lima steps up after me, and we get underway. Passing through the exit, we enter an equally vast space dominated by three ancient engine blocks. Each stands multiple stories tall. Lesser machinery is clustered around them like subjects before royalty. Noting my interest, Lima begins to narrate our journey.

  “My father was a simple scavenger. When his crew found this place, it had been abandoned for decades. A drifting city, populated only by the ghosts of whoever built it. Can you imagine what it must have been like, to discover such a thing? To wander these endless halls, wondering what might be lurking in the shadows?” He points to the towering engines. “In the years since then, strange stories have sprung up around the relics here. You will find us a superstitious people, I'm afraid.”

  The acrobats carry us between power coils, holding vats and other infrastructure that I lack names for. The sheer scale of this place is intriguing enough, and its mysterious past only adds to the allure. I would give a fair bit to meet its makers. It takes us half an hour to reach the far wall. The ceiling has melted through here, and a bar of bronze sunlight slants through the gap, lighting our way forward. Three vaulted corridors are set into the wall.

  “The right hand path leads to the factory crater.” Lima says. “The middle one goes to the shareholders neighborhood where I live. Ninetown’s innovation hub is that way too, with its labs and knife parlors. But my place of business lies to the left, in the entertainment quarter.”

  I want to tell him to cut the friendly act. But a broken man wouldn't say such a thing - he would be grateful for any kind word that came his way. So I smile shyly and remain silent. We take the left hand road and continue on. The corridor eventually spills us into yet another enormous chamber. But aside from its size, the entertainment quarter bears no resemblance to the stadium or the engine room. What it does remind me of though, is the Kaleidoscope. Although that is not exactly true. It's more like someone took all of the Underworld's nightclubs, drug dens and submerged casinos, and threw them into a single room the size of an old ocean liner. Canals run between the establishments. The bridges that span them are bizarre works of art: naked busts contorted in agony or ecstasy, fashioned of fused metal and blown glass. Eye-gouging holo sparks and fades across the walls.

  In a way, it feels like coming home. But the Underworld, for all its faults, has always been a free zone. Whereas the entertainment quarter was built by, and depends upon, slave labor. There are litters everywhere, and most of the establishments have lockups behind them.

  And at the center of it all is the battle circus. The venue is housed within a black tent far taller than it is wide. The structure has no signage or advertising. Instead, the tent's surface turns transparent for brief intervals every minute or so. And during these flashes, a truly wild scene is revealed. The circus is divided into four aerial battlegrounds, each with its complement of ropes, slacklines, swings, platforms, ladders, trampolines, nets, cages, walkways, ziplines and climbing walls. Fighters jump between obstacles, lashing out at each other with flanged maces and segmented whips. It all makes for a bloodthirsty, barbaric and - I suspect - fantastically entertaining spectacle. As long as you're a spectator, anyway.

  Beside it is another tent as sprawling as the circus is tall. This one is patterned in red and white squares. A holographic sign above it reads: The Gamehouse. That will be Sipholo's joint. The two proprietors must be at odds, or the auctioneer wouldn't have been so excited to have them competing over me.

  The acrobats set us down outside the circus's entrance. Then they help me past a group of bouncers and into a sort of entrance hall. Food and drink stalls abound, and the place is rowdy as fuck. A net hangs over it all, with a trapeze array above that. But no professional fighting occurs here. This is a playground for drunk customers. The big top, where the real action is, lies through a short corridor located opposite the door we just entered through. And in the middle of this corridor is an empty glass display case. Wallscreens line the corridor's sides, but from this distance I can't see what they're showing.

  I don't need to, though. From the moment I spot that glass cube, I know what my future holds. A sideways glance at Lima confirms my intuition. He is looking at the display case with immense satisfaction. I expect him to drop the friendly act now, but his next words reveal just how messed up he is.

  “I should warn you that your new colleagues will likely be jealous of your position here. But you have earned it, my friend. Safety and comfort will be your reward for all the hardships you have suffered. I have watched your entire feed, you see, from start to tragic finish. And it is a truly remarkable piece of entertainment. You may be reduced by your injuries now, but your past glory is still something to be celebrated.”

  He leads me to the entry corridor. And as I knew they would be, the wallscreens are showing scenes from my old life. On one side, I'm fighting my way up through Opacity to confront Porter. And on the other, I'm about to enter the Thresh for the first time.

  “Don't worry, we're only showing highlight reel material.” Lima says. “There's more than enough good stuff to cover an average patron's stay, so there won't be much repeat. I have to say, this is all very exciting for me! I know that my humble establishment is a smaller platform than what you were used to. But very few Ninetowners have actually seen your feed, so you will be getting exposure to a new audience at least!”

  Good lord, the guy's a fan. And a mental one, too. He seems to honestly believe that I'll be stoked about the new life he has planned for me.

  “Now, if you would please step inside?” Lima asks politely.

  When I make no move, his acrobats carry me in. The enclosure still smells of its previous occupant's sweat.

  “The circus is open from 8pm until dawn.” Lima tells me through the glass. “But please be here 15 minutes early so that no one sees you arrive. You will spend your days in our lockup along with the rest of the staff. And that's about it. Do you have any questions?”

  “So I just... stand here all night?”

  “Well, it would be helpful if you could look pathetic and defeated. My patrons like to see important people brought low, you see. It is somewhat sickening, but that's show business for you.”

  Half of me wants to smash this guy's face in. And the other half can't believe how lucky I am. After all of Vorashia's conditioning, I end up as some half-assed side show? It's an almost insultingly cushy outcome.

  The slavemaster says goodbye, and departs along with his acrobats. When he’s gone, I lie out full length on the floor of my cell. I have yet to eat, and Vor's final torture still sits heavy upon me. I slip in and out of sleep; and each time I wake, the crowd around my cell has grown. Beyond them, I can see both the amateur trapeze array in the entrance hall, and the aerial quadrants of the big top. In both locations, the spectators have lain down flat on the ground to watch the action above. I suppose it's either that, or get a sore neck from looking straight up all night. No one seems to mind when blood splatters down on them, or when a defeated acrobat plummets into the netting.

  Sometime around midnight, I see Nem. Or I think it's him, anyway. The albino is far above me, nestled among support poles near the roof. How he got up there I have no idea, but the sight fills me with joy. The albino has succeeded in stealing back his frequency jacks and his freedom. Granted, he's stuck in Ninetown now, but still...

  The acrobats are too busy fighting to notice him. And the crowd must think he's a crew member, because he's up there for at least half an hour and no one says a word about it. Nem gives me a wave before he vanishes into the shadows, and I have to hide a smile.

  I don't know if it's seeing the albino, or simply the work of time, but I start to feel better. Vorashia failed to break me, and this experience isn't going to either. I even know what I have to do next - although not how t
o do it. First, I'm going to find a way out of this morbid circus. Then I'm going to track down my friends. And together, we will escape Ninetown and go looking for Delez. I'm not sure when I made this last decision, but it feels right. There will be no convincing Opacity and the Hive to surrender. There will be no siding with Shion either. We will go our own way and do our own thing, like we always have. It will mean leaving Sophie to think I'm deceased for a while longer, but at least she has her mother to protect her. Whereas Delez has no one but us.

  I also decide to make a pact with myself. From this moment forward, my situation and my missing body parts will lose the ability to cause despair. When the world pushes you, you can either fold or push back harder, and my choice has now been made. In other words, I'm the Live fucking Soldier, and it's time to get down to business. This won't be a slash and burn job, though. I will need to get the lay of the land before acting, so that I can formulate a strategy.

  I begin by tabulating what I already know. The slave owners here are very different from Vorashia's kind. The crews are out in the world, fighting for every prisoner they take. But the Ninetowners rely on their remoteness and the system they have built to maintain control. This seems to have made them complacent, which may give me an opportunity. Nem is a massive wildcard as well. Taken together, all of this adds up to a decent start. But I need more.

  Luckily, my new job is perfect for collecting intel. In between tapping on the glass and commenting on my physical appearance, the circus patrons gossip their asses off. By 2am, I have confirmed that Sipholo and Lima are enemies. The Gamehouse owner is in ascendance at the moment, poaching customers from my master left and right. She is supposed to be far more ruthless as well. Slaves occasionally die here in the circus, but never at their owner's hand. The same cannot be said of her establishment. I begin to suspect that Vor expected Sipholo and not Lima to buy me, which would explain why she wasn't worried about me rebelling. The moment I spoke out of turn, Sipholo would have had me killed.