The computer pad fell from Danstu’s hand as he turned to Lolum. “As soon as he’s well enough, have him report to me,” he ordered.
“I’ll inform him.” Lolum nodded then left the office so Danstu could continue his work.
Danstu tapped on his com. “Bagaaris,” he called.
“Bagaaris here, Chisarel,” the man’s voice returned through the speakers on Danstu’s desk.
“Have your team prepare the Herrain for a new crew. I just found a captain for her,” he ordered. He closed the link, smirking with amusement. “Two down, three to go.”
FIVE
Sedom woke as the lid of the crate she hid inside lifted off. Her eyes watered from the sudden rush of light. She blinked several times finally able to focus on a hefty Clove man standing above her. His red shirt barely covered his belly and it was stained with food and grime.
He grabbed Sedom’s left shoulder, lifting her from the crate. The wound of her left wrist was still bleeding.
“A Narkoy? They weren’t joking. Huh, I thought they destroyed the lot of you,” he said in a mummer. “Cizal, have you seen many Narkoy around here?” he asked a man who was searching the crates behind him.
A hefty, yet muscular man with dark green skin and a shaved head, hurried over to the first. His deep orange eyes scanned over Sedom. “I’ve seen a few around. They’re surprisingly good fighters. I suggest you feed her some meat and throw her into the arena. She might be good for a couple of rounds,” Cizal mentioned.
“Meat?”
“It makes them aggressive. Trust me, she’ll be good for a few fights,” he claimed as he took Sedom’s cheeks in his rough hands.
“What do they call you, girl?” the first man asked.
Sedom shook her head, her mind dizzy. She felt to her forehead, seething when she felt a large scrape.
He wrapped a cloth around her wrist then turned her face to look at her. “It looks like she’s injured. I’ll have the doc patch her up.” The man forced her to look up at him. She slapped his hand away.
“We’ve got ourselves a little Syrok Cantro here,” Cizal mentioned.
“Toss me that trank. We don’t want her getting any ideas until we fit her for a collar,” the first man said, flexing his hand to Cizal. He caught a metal cylinder in mid-air, pressing it immediately to Sedom’s neck. Sedom’s mind blanked. “Syrok Cantro? What the hell does that mean?” the man asked.
“It means warrior woman in Celibec,” Cizal explained.
“Well…” he pressed the syringe to Sedom’s neck again. Her eyes closed. “Let’s see if she survives a game or two in the arena,” he called back.
When she woke again, it was to the sound of dripping water. The air was thick and dank and smelt of death. She slowly lifted her body on her elbow, looking around. There were thick metal bars around her, so thick that she knew there was no possibility to break them. She reached to one of the bars, wrapping her hand around its cold steel.
In the muddled reflection of the metal, she could see her image. Within the image, she noticed something wrapped around her throat. Instantly her hand when to her throat, finding a thin metal collar wrapped around her neck.
Desperately she pulled at the collar, hoping to break free. It was no use. “Okay, think, think, what is your name?”
“It’s no use, girl. You’ll never remember it,” called a voice from the cage across from hers.
Sedom rose to her knees, peering out from her cage to the other cage. “Where are we?” she whispered.
“Hariseer Arena. You’ve been drafted into playing the games. Hope you’re a good fighter,” the man called back.
“Arena? How did I get here?” she gasped.
The man grew closer to his cage bars. He was a grizzly older man with more scars than flesh on his face. “Hell if I know. Somehow, I feel you won’t be here long though. Pity. I hear they’re sending you into the arena tomorrow,” he spat.
“Against who?” Sedom questioned.
The man grew closer to the cage bars. His eyes were wild and red. “Me.”
___
Inside the gym, Danstu stared at his punching bag, his mind too clouded to focus on even the simple act of balling up his fist. No matter what course of action he chose, someone was apt to get hurt or die.
Ryn stood behind him, whispering loud enough to be heard by everyone present. “It’s not going to punch itself.”
His words caused Danstu to jump. He shook his head, grumbling to himself. “I’m having difficulty focusing today,” he admitted. He tapped the bag with his gloved hand. “I have too much on my mind. I’ve decided to find an assistant, but that’s proving difficult as well. Running this military is proving to be… difficult.”
“That’s why you hired some of the best military minds in the galaxy. We provide you solutions and you choose what you believe is the best option. Sortec trusts you’ll choose what is best for Gathow and the Tasgool,” Ryn encouraged. He grabbed the bag, bracing it for Danstu to punch it. “As for Sortec, we have an idea where she is. I can take a minimal compliment and do some reconnaissance. At the same time, we can arrange to remove our injured from enemy territory,” he offered.
Danstu backed away, shaking his head as sweat beaded on the pale skin of his forehead. “I can’t risk sending in another Tasgool ship. I just received reports that the Mawan exploded. The explosion killed a combination of two hundred Marisheio scientists and civilians. The Marisheio are furious, demanding answers and, preferably, my head. I’m grateful they don’t know where we are. But if they did capture Sortec--” he ended with a sigh.
“Not only will they know where Gathow is, they’ll have complete access to everything under our roof or whatever you want to call this,” Ryn surmised. “Tell me Sortec initiated a backup plan in case of a situation like this.”
Danstu nodded. He toweled off his face. “She did… but she didn’t make it easy. There is a main code which allows her access to everything in Gathow. She created a backdoor into the system in case I needed to take over. I can change the access codes with a group override, but two of the people I need aren’t available.”
“Which are who, if you don’t mind me asking?” Ryn questioned.
Danstu glanced around the nearly vacant gym, making certain no one was listening to their conversation. “Zion and Qilo. Zion is on Clovucutte and Qilo is being transported to Juvin-que in a prisoner exchange with the Rycal. It’s going to take a damn miracle to get him back,” Danstu explained with detest.
“Captain Qilo is Rycal? But--” Ryn questioned.
“He’s still registered as a Rycal officer. Many of us here are still registered with other militaries. Take Rosanheer for instance… damn!” he grumbled, realizing he slipped.
“Rosanheer?” Ryn questioned again.
“Never mind,” he waved it off.
“So, the rumors about him are correct. He is Talenvanc’s lost son,” Ryn mentioned.
“I wouldn’t call him lost. But… let’s keep it as a rumor, shall we?” Danstu hinted.
Ryn gave a nod. “Understood. I can’t wait to meet Sortec. She is the only person I’ve heard of to survive hell and return with its powers,” he mentioned.
“That’s an understatement,” Danstu chuckled.
SIX
Before the sun rose the next morning, Sedom woke to find a platter of food sitting beside her cage. To her dismay, the platter only carried various meats. She sniffed a piece, reeling back from the smell.
“There’s no way I’m going to eat this,” she yelled.
“Not to your liking?” asked a man she vaguely recognized from before. She squinted, noticing the man who had used the tranquilizer on her standing beside the cage. He knelt to her and she immediately jumped up to attack, but only inches from reaching his face she recoiled.
He chuckled, looking directly into her eyes. “That collar around your neck won’t allow you to attack your owner… me. You can call me Master Terrill,” he explained as he chewed
on a piece of wood.
“Where… am I?” she hissed.
He turned to look around the large room. “Hariseer Arena. And you, my young Syrok Cantro, have the honor of fighting first today in the arena. There’s fifty to one odds you won’t survive, but I wouldn’t listen to the odds.”
“Fight… in the arena?” she snarled.
He reached to her cheek, tweaking it lightly. “Yes, my little doll. I hope that pretty face of yours comes with some skills. I suggest you eat something, keep up your strength. I have a lot of money riding on you,” he warned, finishing his conversation by giving a tap to her cheek. He walked away as two men approached her cage.
“Time to go, Syrok,” called the larger of the two men. Both were Clove, she could tell by their green skin. One had a chain in his hand while the other carried a white jumpsuit.
Sedom stood, dusting off her pants as the man with the chain opened the door. Immediately she rushed the man, pinning him against the cage’s bars.
The man holding the jumpsuit grabbed her by the neck, forcing her to her knees. “You will comply or we will destroy you here and now,” he warned.
Searing heat etched hot rivers of pain over her throat and throughout her body. She screamed out unwillingly. The pain was so intense she had no choice but to nod. The pain slowly dissipated, allowing her to breathe again. She was lifted off the ground. Still the pain lingered for a moment, causing her left arm to tingle.
The man with the jumpsuit shoved the clothing into her arms. “You can clean up and urinate in there. Don’t take long. Time is short,” the man warned, pointing to a room with walls lined with white tiles.
She held the jumpsuit close to her body as she complied with his demands. If it wasn’t for the collar around her neck, she knew she could have killed the man. But because of the collar, she was unable to do anything.
Inside the restroom, she took a fast shower and dressed. There were no mirrors, so she hadn’t a clue what she looked like nor how the jumpsuit looked on her.
She turned to the doorway, seeing Terrill watching her. “You ready?” he asked.
“No,” she growled back. She raced over to him, ready to punch him, but the collar kept her from raising her fist.
“Save it for the arena,” he mocked, latching a chain to her collar. Terrill and his two guards hurried her over to a large gate. Beyond the gate, Sedom could hear cheers from a large crowd. The gate opened and she was tossed through it like a bag of garbage.
Sedom turned back to the gates, finding them closed. Slowly, she turned to the arena and began walking. As she walked, she could see the puddles of blood spilled by the other players before her, the sand sipping away at the moisture.
“Wasn’t I suppose to be the first fighter of the day?” she thought as she passed by a dismembered arm.
She paused, noticing a tooth on the ground. An image of a tooth entered her mind. “A tooth without an owner,” she thought. She reached down, picking up the tooth just as an ax swung over her head. She looked up in time to see the ax come at her again. She dropped to the ground, feeling the swooshing of the ax as it passed over her head.
To her horror, a massive Choli man stood above her, his ax still bloody from his last victim. At first glance, she was sure it was the man they had caged beside her. She jumped from the ground, kneeling down in a fighting stance. The man swung again, this time she jumped onto the head of the ax and directly onto the man’s back. She pressed her hand hard to the back of his neck, knocking him out cold. As he tumbled to the ground, she grabbed the ax, planting it into his spine.
A harsh smack came to her shoulder. She turned as a fist hurled towards her head. Another smack-- suddenly she could see the ground flying beneath her.
“What the?” she gulped as she skidded back on the ground rear first. She glanced up, seeing a flying camera hovering above her. She grabbed the camera, tossing it at the stands as she regained her footing again.
This time, the man was thin and Clove. “They send their own into the arena?” she thought as she rushed the man, knocking him off his feet. She pinned the man down with a foot held tightly to his throat. Slowly, she began crushing his esophagus under her boot. In no time, the man stopped breathing.
Sedom jumped away from the two dead men, aggressively pointing to her chest. “Who else? Who else wants to fight me?” she screamed.
The clanking of metal caused her to turn. When she did, she wished she hadn’t. Three more fighters, two men and a woman, stood ready to kill her.
She slipped the sword away from the hand of the man she just killed, and rushed towards the three threats. When she was finished, all that was left was five bodies at her feet. Her eyes turned to her bare skin. Her skin glistened with blue, green and orange blood.
Terrill rushed out onto the field, waving to the crowd as he approached Sedom. He took her right arm, lifting it into the air in victory.
“Cizal was right about you, young lady. You are a champion,” he said to her.
“You could have warned me, you son of a sool!” she growled, ripping her arm away from his grasp.
He turned to her, snarling sadistically. “You weren’t supposed to survive.” He grabbed her by the shoulder, leading her out of the arena through the same gates. “I was paid to send you in there as bait. You were a warm up for the real warriors,” he explained.
“That went badly, didn’t it?” Sedom snarled.
Terrill laughed loudly, causing everyone around to turn and take notice. “You made three men rich and ten-thousand men poor today,” he mentioned. A man handed him a note as they walked by. Terrill glared at it, tossing it aside. “Tell him it was their fault getting between players during a game. I’m not paying for a camera!”
They turned the corner into the main room filled with housing cells, finding a group of ten men waiting for them. Six of the men held weapons aimed directly at Sedom.
Slowly Terrill raised his hands. “Renca?”
“You cheated,” a heavy-set Clove man yelled from the back of the group.
The stick Terrill chewed on moved to the other side of his lips. “I… wasn’t aware of her skills,” he admitted.
“Her skills?” the man accused. “Are you blind?”
Terrill shrugged then glanced over at Sedom. “Some local farmers sold her to me. I have no idea where she came from. I just got lucky,” he admitted.
“Luck?” Renca stepped out from his group of men, aiming his weapon at Sedom, “Luck has little to do with it.”
“Is there a problem here?” called out a man from behind Sedom.
Terrill and Sedom turned noticing Terrill’s assistant, Cizal, approaching them fast with ten armed Marisheio guards.
Renca motioned for his men to lower their weapons. He continued over to Terrill, pointing a stabbing finger into his chest. “Watch yourself and this…” he glanced over at Sedom, sneering, “…thing.”
He and his group hurried away as the Marisheio guards approached. “Sir?” one guard asked.
Terrill nodded several times, inhaling deeply. “Five trained and season warriors. Who the hell are you?” he asked Sedom, finally realizing what she had accomplished.
Sedom tapped on her collar. “I’ll let you know when you let me know,” she returned cryptically.
He nodded, smirking at her comment. “Not a chance. I request she be placed under protective custody. After today’s display of her talents, she is very valuable. My rivals will attempt to eliminate her,” he requested of the guard.
“It’s his right.” Cizel motioned for two other men to guard both her and Terrill.
Terrill motioned for Sedom to follow him. “It’s customary that you be checked out by a physician after every game. You’ve been assigned to Doctor Cerseran, a Crehail doctor.”
“Crehail?” Sedom questioned.
Terrill nodded as he pointed to a white, brightly lit office off to the side. Inside the office waited a man in a long blue robe. “Notice the collar around his ne
ck. Attacking him will lead you nowhere. Cooperate and I’ll give you a proper Narkoy meal.”
She agreed, going into the room. The doctor was a head taller than her, very pale and kept a perfectly trimmed tan beard. He motioned to the table.
“Congratulations,” he said as he looked into her eyes with a light. “Narkoy?” he asked. She nodded. He glanced at her hand, noticing her moon tattoo inked in the fleshy area between her index finger and thumb. “We don’t have many of your kind come through these parts. Interesting tattoo.”
Sedom glanced down at her hand. It was the first time she noticed them. “Yes.”
He nodded, turning his attention to Terrill. “She checks out. I just need a few images of her for my records.”
Terrill motioned for him to finish. The doctor quickly snapped a few images of Sedom, including her tattoos.
“You’re good. See you soon.”
Sedom jumped off the table. “Maybe.”
___
Zion sat on his bed, staring with blurry eyes down at the computer pad in his hands. On his screen was an image of a young woman standing in the middle of an arena with a severed head of a Chilo man at her feet.
“What do you think?” Rosanheer asked. His eyes were closed as he lay motionless on the cot beside Zion’s.
“It could be her. The image is too blurry to accurately determine for certain,” he admitted.
“What if it is?” Orion called from the cot on the other side of Rosanheer.
“Than her Nom’kel better watch over her. Very few people survive in the arena for long,” Zion said with a disgruntled sigh.
Rosanheer turned his attention to the hallway leading from the hospital quarters. “Something’s going down,” he mentioned, relying on his own mental skills and knowing the Zion’s were still a little off.
A woman’s cries ordering people out of the way brought Zion to his feet. He ran into the hall, seeing three men caring a bloody body wrapped in a white sheet. He was pushed aside as they hurried the body into the infirmary.
The Last Narkoy_OSLO Page 5