Terminal (Visceral Book 4)

by Adam Thielen

  “If I do, I don’t remember them. You?”

  “Not sure,” said Trent. “I wake up and feel like it. You know how something can feel familiar? That’s what I feel, like I experienced something familiar, but it’s already vacated my brain.”

  “Could be going senile,” she teased.

  Matthias growled and finished his shower. He then called the tournament commission and talked them into getting Tsenka put into an open slot on the bracket. The only catch was that another vampire had already been given it. In an early bout preliminary to the first round of competition, she would be allowed to fight him for it.

  A crater in the center of the third habitation pod served as an arena. Patrons in the community organized concerts, plays, debates, and the New Apulon champion’s tournament. For the next four days, the center of the crater would be encircled by a chain-link fence and filled with sand. A large hologram projector hung from the ceiling to superimpose a close-up of the combatants.

  A handsome, youthful vampire with brown hair hanging below his ears met Matthias and Tsenka at the gate. He wore a sleeveless leather vest with an unnecessary number of buckles and straps. His arms were chiseled and his thighs bulged from behind tight jeans. Tsenka’s eyes slowly traveled across his body. Matthias saw a grin form on her lips, and nudged her shoulder.

  “Matthias,” greeted the man. “Sorry for not being at the meeting with the Dracul. Something came up.”

  “Sure it did,” returned Trent. “Hadn’t seen you at sparring the last couple days either.”

  “Like I said…”

  Matthias smiled and the two locked hands and slapped each other on the back. As they pulled away, Cho looked at the man’s grin, then at Trent’s expression. Their hands lingered together before separating and the man gave a short laugh then turned to Tsenka.

  “This must be the great Tsenka Cho,” he said, holding his hand out, palm up. His voice was a rich tenor with a subtle Brazilian accent.

  “That’s me,” she replied, placing her hand on his. “And you must be… Diego Gimon.”

  Gimon bowed and kissed the top of Cho’s hand. “Very good,” he said. “I had heard you were conducting some sort of probe.”

  “Well, we all need a good probe once in a while,” she replied.

  Matthias coughed, and dimples formed on Diego’s cheeks.

  “Oh, well maybe you can extract some information from me later.”

  “I would actually like to ask you some questions,” she replied.

  “Abso,” he said. “But now to the fun. I see Matthias got you into the tourney.”

  “He seems to have made a lot of friends here.”

  “I’m likable, what can I say?” he interjected.

  “That you are,” agreed Diego. He pointed to the empty bleachers surrounding the cage. “Not much of a crowd for your first fight, but I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  “Are you competing?” she asked.

  “As the Dracul’s successor, I cannot compete,” he explained. “This tournament originated as a method for choosing a successor. I was champion about a century ago when the prior successor abdicated.”

  “Oh?” asked Cho. “That seems strange. He just quit?”

  “She,” corrected Gimon, “left New Apulon to travel the world.”

  “Wait,” said Tsenka.

  “Yes,” said Matthias. “Scarlet Makida.”

  “Hm,” she uttered. “That is intriguing. You ever consider fighting her for the right?”

  “You know about that?” he said. “That rite is barbaric, which is why it hasn’t been invoked since the city’s inception.”

  Matthias pointed at the cage. “Looks like your opponent has arrived.”

  “Nice to meet you, Tsenka. Call me to set something up.” Diego looked at the man in the cage, then at Cho. “You know the rules, I imagine. But even so, try not to hurt him more than necessary.”

  Tsenka bowed her head, then straightened, gazing at the successor once more. “I shouldn’t keep him waiting.”

  Diego slapped Matthias on the shoulder. “Come sit with me.”

  “Let’s go,” said Trent. “Break a leg, Tsenka.” The men laughed and headed to a bleacher in the front row while Cho stepped up to a square painted onto the smooth rock, where a referee checked her attire with a little more touching than she appreciated. He nodded to her, and she bit down on her mouthguard and stepped inside the cage.

  Across from her was a thin, pale man. As there were no weight classes nor allowed weaponry, she felt some pity for him. In addition to the mouthpiece, the fighters were allowed a protective cup, a pair of shorts, and in Tsenka’s case, a sports bra. Extending claws was not allowed, and disobeying the referee would result in disqualification.

  Cho enjoyed the sensation of sand between her toes as she curled then straightened them. She stared down at her feet, feeling more like she was on a beach than about to fight. She looked up and saw the man pacing back and forth, snarling as he glared at her. This is important to him, she realized. He probably hates me for contesting his spot.

  The ref clapped his hands together and the thin man charged to the center of the ring, kicking up sand with each step. Tsenka walked forward to meet him, her hands at her sides. He swung and she dodged then slapped him across the face. “You think you deserve this?” she taunted.

  Matthias shook his head and looked to Diego, who was laughing at the antics.

  The man growled and threw a left straight, then a right, but he was too slow for Cho, who continued moving back and clockwise around the ring. The man crouched and dove for Tsenka’s waist. She grabbed his arm as she moved out of the way, then leapt with her legs spread, one moving over his head and the other over his chest. She yanked his arm toward her, cinching his tricep against her crotch.

  They fell onto the sand, and she straightened her body, pulling him into an armlock, then pulled his wrist against her chest, putting pressure on her opponent’s elbow joint. He groaned and flailed, but did not tap with his hand to signal a concession. She pulled harder, but still the man would not concede. He pushed in futility against her calves in hope of freeing himself.

  “Fine,” said Cho, pulling with the reserve of her strength and lifting her hips off the sand. The man’s arm bent backward with the elbow snapping loose from its joint, the ball pushing outward against the skin. He screamed in response and slapped his hand against her shin repeatedly. The referee dove onto Cho and pulled her hands from his wrist, then rose and waved his hands in a horizontal arc. The twelve people in the crowd cheered and Tsenka bent over her victim. “You’re a tough SOB,” she told him as he looked down in shame.

  The NRI agent stood, pressed her hands together in front of her face, and bowed, feeling a thrill that she had almost forgotten existed. Matthias and an older-looking woman Tsenka recognized as the tournament manager waited for her outside the cage. She looked around for Gimon, but he was nowhere to be found.

  “Congratulations, Ms. Cho,” said the manager. “Impressive work.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Lariat,” said Cho.

  “Your next fight is in two hours,” Lariat said. “Will you be ready?”

  Tsenka nodded and smiled.

  “Good,” the manager said, taking her leave.

  “Let’s go get a smoothie,” Cho suggested.

  She and Matthias walked to an outdoor vendor and sat. As soon as she had ordered, Tsenka turned to Trent. “You and Gimon,” she said, pausing.

  “Me and Gimon what?” he played.

  “Come on,” she said. “Don’t be a schlong.”

  “And you, don’t beat around the bush,” he returned.

  “You banging?”

  Matthias grimaced. “That is none of your business.”

  “That’s the vibe I got,” she said. “Not trying to tease you, but you did just tap this. I think I should know where it’s been.”

  “Well, actually—,” he said, stopping as the bartender brought them their drinks. “
Actually, that’s not how it works. We spar together, and he’s very skilled. Better than me, in fact. But he’s just a friend.”

  “With benefits?”

  Matthias sighed. “What’s it matter, Tsenka?”

  “Endless curiosity,” she replied. “Well, that, and I wanted to make sure you’d be okay with me and him.”

  Trent laughed. “Since when has that mattered?”

  “Ey!” yelled Cho. She quieted and added, “If it’s okay, I’m gonna hit that.”

  Matthias rolled his eyes. “I think he has some say in that.”

  “Only thing he’s going to say is my name.”

  Trent lowered his head and shook it. “Do you even have an off switch?”

  Cho slurped at her drink through a wide straw.

  “If it bothers you, I’ll leave him be,” she said, taking a break while brain freeze seized her forehead.

  “It’s fine, I’m just a little jealous, I think,” he admitted.

  “Of which one of us?”

  “Both,” he quipped. “Just… be nice.”

  “Oh, I’ma be real nice,” she said, resuming her suction.

  Two hours later, with the tournament officially underway, Cho found herself facing down a behemoth of a vampire standing almost seven feet tall and built like a giant oak tree. But while his sheer mass was undeniable, Tsenka found him to be only a little stronger than she, and as he tired from grappling, Tsenka broke away and began to snipe him with quick jabs. She jumped back, then spun as he charged in, winding up a backward roundhouse that slammed the heel of her foot flush on the giant’s cheek. His legs stopped moving, but his body continued forward. He landed on his chest with his head following after, cratering the loose sand.

  As it was only the second bout of the day, the crowd was still thin, but they cheered loudly, having been used to fights that ended in draws due to the resiliency of the nocturnal combatants. Cho soaked it up, mimicking her bow from the previous bout. The big vampire stood, his legs still shaky, and strutted up to Tsenka. He grabbed her around the arms and waist and lifted her, then set her back on her feet and slapped her on the back. He waved to the crowd, then leaned against the fence, still woozy. This fight had an announcer, and he screamed out her name as the referee raised her hand.

  Matthias put his arm around Cho as she stepped out of the cage. “You’re a stone-cold killer, Tsenka Cho,” he said. “Want to go celebrate?”

  “Maybe later,” she replied, catching sight of Diego in the audience. “I will stick around and watch a few fights before the next round.”

  Trent followed her eyes to their target. “Uh huh, sure. Well, I’m headed back to my room. I’ll catch you later.”

  “Yup,” she said. “Later.”

  Tsenka approached Diego, who smiled and motioned for her to sit beside him. She smiled back and obeyed.

  “You’re too good!” he said, half-yelling over the din of a dozen conversations.

  She shrugged while grinning. “Can never be too good.”

  “True enough.”

  “You know any of the other fighters?” she asked.

  “I know all of them,” he said. “You will probably fight the winner of this next bout, and then things will get interesting.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Both of them are very skilled and very experienced,” he answered.

  “Matthias told me you spar together,” said Cho, watching as two more men entered the cage following a raking of the sand.

  “We do,” he said, looking at Tsenka wide-eyed. “I told him he needs to get in there, but he won’t listen to me.”

  “Well, he says you’re better anyhow.”

  Diego waved his hand dismissively. “Who can say? But I doubt any of this current batch could stand with him.”

  Cho watched the next fight, and Diego was right; the men were skilled and always mindful of their stances and what the other was trying to accomplish. It was an exciting back-and-forth that ultimately resulted in a decision victory in favor of the more aggressive of the two.

  “Based on rankings, he’ll probably fight you next,” yelled Gimon.

  “Who is he?”

  “Adrian Doherty,” he replied. “But you’ve seen his style, and he hasn’t seen yours, so you have that advantage.”

  “I’m not worried.”

  Diego gazed at her. “Of course not. What do you say you come by my quarters later today? I’d love to discuss your investigation and what life is like out in the real world.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” said Cho coyly. “I suppose I could. Where are you?”

  “This pod,” he said, then gave her his room number.

  “I’m going to go get ready for the next round,” she said, standing. “It’s going to be a long day. If I don’t fall asleep early, I’ll stop by.”

  “Great,” he said. “Have a good evening.” He bowed and watched as she walked to the pod’s exit corridor that led to a locker room.

  Her next fight was not Adrian, but another much lower-ranked fighter. To her disappointment, Diego was no longer in the crowd to watch her dismantle her opponent. The man was small and timid, and Cho knocked him out in the first minute of the contest with a wound-up overhand punch to his chin.

  The audience jumped to their feet alongside Matthias, and the announcer screamed, “The vicious Tsenka Cho, everybody!” Electricity ran through her veins and she yelled, then leaped into the air, performing a double backflip. Her feet found the sand, and she waved to the crowd.

  * * *

  Northeast of Mumbai sat one of many abandoned villages, its houses torn down to their foundations but with one or two service buildings that had weathered time and looters. And in the village once known as Kardi, a line of storage warehouses hid a small collection of furniture, technology, and outcasts.

  “What the blaze were you thinking?” demanded the man no taller than a single meter as he scowled up at Daria Cretu’s guilt-ridden face. A thick beard covered his chin and mouth while crow’s feet and wrinkles decorated his forehead and eyes. His body was stout and muscular and he wore his hair in a topknot with a long ponytail hanging at his back.

  “I had to, they wuz gonna kill ’im,” she said in her defense.

  A middle-aged woman with a rhythmic gait trotted next to the dwarf. Metal beams and joints extended past her skort then disappeared into a pair of boots. Long black hair hung perfectly straight down past her shoulders. Her lips and eyelids were bright blue and half of her face was perpetually relaxed and expressionless.

  “Cut her a break, Sai, the goddess made her do it,” she mocked with a sneer.

  “Aw piss off, Neen, he’s like us,” tried Cretu.

  “Oh, how’s that?” said Neen, with Sai nodding along.

  “He’s persecuted… and stuff.”

  “He’s a mage!” yelled Sai. “They’re worse than normies. Why do you think people hate us? Because of the overprivileged shits we get lumped in with.”

  “Not just any mage,” a voice boomed from the far end of the storage building. “That’s Taq Jones.”

  Taq, who had been sitting with his back against a concrete wall, perked up at hearing his name. He shook his head while Cretu and her acquaintances bickered.

  “We hafta give him back!” Sai cried. “They will hunt for him and kill us all for sport.”

  A man in a tight tank top and blue jeans, standing nearly three times the height of Sai, marched to join his colleagues. He had large lenses where his eyes should be, and visible circuitry grafts running the lengths of his strong, sculpted arms. He wore a large double-sided battle axe across his back with the grip peeking over his right shoulder.

  “Let them come,” he said in a rough baritone.

  “Easy for you to say, Abe,” said Sai.

  “Fuck letting those chodes have him,” said Neen. “Kill him and bury the body.”

  “That’s not very nice,” Abriham chided.

  “You bunch of feckin’ babies!” Daria yelled wi
th her hands clenched as if delivering a double uppercut. “Did you think we were just playin’ house out here?”

  “Daria dear, you’ve barely been here three weeks,” said Nina.

  “I like this place,” noted Abe.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you guys, and I’m so sorry you can’t see Desre—”

  “Who?” asked Neen.

  “The goddess, that’s her name,” Cretu answered. “She’s not actually—anyway, this is what we do, and he can help us.”

  Neen, or Nina as she was properly called, crossed her arms. “Looks like he can barely help himself. How old is he, anyway?”

  “He just needs some time,” said Daria. “They’ve been torturing him for days, and whether you like it or not, he’s one of us now.”

  Sai threw up his arms and stormed away while shouting, “Well, I ain’t feeding him.”

  “What say you, Abe?” Neen asked.

  Abriham rested his hands on his hips. “He’s from the New Republic. If he doesn’t want to be part of the team, they might offer a reward if we can exfiltrate him.”

  “Whatever,” Nina remarked. “If this gets us killed, it’s on you, Dar.”

  “Can you help me with him?” asked Cretu. She and Abe hoisted Taq up by his arms and walked him to a cot inside of a makeshift room. “He’s going to need some water, some painkillers, and some clothes.”

  “Jack’s old things might fit,” said Abe.

  “Crispy Christ, don’t dress ’im up like Jack,” hollered Sai.

  “What’s it matter?” said Neen. “Not like I’d confuse the two.”

  “Fine, desecrate his effects,” Sai responded. “Why not?”

  “So… yes?” asked Abriham.

  Daria nodded. “Yes. Thanks, big guy.”

  * * *

  Anne briskly moved to the elevator inside the grand Cepheid tower, taking it to the thirty-sixth floor. She was joined by her driver and assistant, Ajay Pisha. She glowered as the door closed.

  “Lousy bastards couldn’t even keep him secure,” she hissed. “Now he’s out there, probably plotting against us with whatever faction broke him out.”

  “I told you,” started Pisha. “You could have been his friend. It wasn’t that hard, was it? In time, he would have come around. But you just had to spit in his face. You’ve created enemies, powerful ones.”