The Fated Stars

by Veronica Scott

  “The masters want them all spaced, now we have the last one aboard,” the captain said.

  Although her inspection of the slave hold had raised the stark suspicion in her mind that blowing the Tulavarrans into space might be the Shemdylann plan, hearing her fears confirmed so casually took Larissa’s breath away. She nearly missed the captain’s next words.

  “The idea of wasting so many slaves goes against my better judgment. Why not sell them? We’ve orbited here for tarns now, per orders, passing up opportunities for pillage and profit elsewhere. Why am I not to be allowed the proper reward for my diligence?” He extruded a proboscis and sucked with gusto on a huge globular fruit held by a patient juvenile, ignoring the juice dripping onto its body.

  “But the slaves can’t be sold again in the human Sectors, mighty Prrx’mart,” an officer said deferentially. “They have powers which can be used against the humans. If the ruthless human criminals couldn’t adequately contain them, even with instruction from us and tech from the Chimmer, then no one else would be able to. The slaves would cause trouble, break free, and the masters would inevitably hear of it.”

  The captain knocked the fruit out of the attendant’s grasp with an angry flailing of his minor appendages and it shattered against the wall, pulp flying to splatter those closest to the impact point. “I wish the masters had made their decree before we did our last run to the planet of these useless ones, on their specific orders may I point out. We harvested so many, which I’ve had to feed and house while we waited for final orders.”

  “There are slave markets in the hinterland beyond even the current reach of the masters,” a third Shemdylann murmured, whose body was painted in an elaborate pattern. “Why not take them there? The price might even be higher, as they’d be unusual novelties for those who dwell there.”

  Larissa stared as Prrx’mart actually shivered. “Even I’m loathe to deal with them.”

  “But the profit–”

  “True. Let me reflect on this discussion for another time.” The captain reclined further as the door opened.

  Larissa was curious to see who the enemy had been waiting for.

  “My apologies for my lateness.” Kinterow stood there, a brash grin on his face, a blaster riding his hip.

  Anger flooded her body and Larissa took a deep breath to get control. Now wasn’t the time to lose her head. But why the seven hells was he here, on the Shemdylann ship?

  “I had to get clear of unpleasantness with the Sectors border patrols.” He bowed to the Shemdylann but then immediately came to Larissa. “So we meet again, mercenary. No local sheriff to save your ass this time, I’m afraid.”

  “Have you given your final report of all data gathered to my Intelligence Officer?” Prrx’mart asked.

  “Yes, and turned in the tech the Chimmer wanted back.” Kinterow made a hand washing motion. “I’m done with this operation and ready for a new one. I’m off to the Chimmer home world to plan the next covert op.”

  Her hatred for the carnival owner-spy nearly got the better of her. He was the antithesis of everything she’d fought for in her years in the service and as a mercenary, a heedless player trying to destroy the Sectors to enrich himself, not caring if his actions brought destruction and death to the billions of sentients peacefully living there. “How can you speak so casually of betraying your own kind?”

  He guffawed. “What have the Sectors ever done for me that the Chimmer and the Mawreg haven’t done ten times better? I’m wealthy beyond your dreams, woman, and better yet, I’ll have immunity when the Mawreg take over this part of the galaxy. I’ll be sitting in a most enviable position.” He looked her up and down. “Sorry to say you probably won’t be around to see it.” He reached out to tweak her nipple through her shirt. “I intend to break you in oh so many satisfying ways and then, when you wish you were dead, I’ll start over.”

  She lunged at him, but the guard yanked her back, although he did insert a pincer between her and Kinterow to prevent further contact on either side.

  “You indicated you wished to purchase this female slave,” Prrx’mart said in a bored voice. “I gather this assertion remains true?”

  Kinterow gave him a thumbs up. “Absolutely.”

  The captain retrieved a jeweled collar and leash from the table, running the leather strap through his pincers as he admired the workmanship. “The going rate for one such as this is a thousand Sectors credits.”

  Larissa forced herself to laugh loud and long. “Never thought I’d see the day a piece of scum like this traitor would outsmart a Shemdylann captain in a negotiation.”

  Prxx’mart’s head swiveled to her, and his pincers snapped in an angry staccato. “What is your meaning?”

  “I may be worth a measly thousand credits to him as a slave in his bed, but I’m worth a hundred times the price as a gladiator in the hinterlands arenas.” She stood tall. “Think about it, a human female gladiator.”

  “Shut up,” Kinterow said in a low, venomous tone.

  The Shemdylann on the left scoffed. “You wouldn’t last five minutes in such a fight, not unless you scuttle like a juvenile to avoid your foe. No one pays to watch a paltry display of cowardice.”

  “Try me. Take off these restraints and match me against an opponent – I’ll show you. I can bring the pain.” She was hoping the Shemdylann might select one of the male captives being held for the gladiator games to match with her. She and another special Forces-trained person could put on a damn good show without killing each other. “I’m a soldier of my people. I know how to fight.” She deliberately spat in Kinterow’s direction. “I’d rather die like a warrior in the arena than be used as a whore by a turncoat like him.”

  “An interesting proposition,” Prxx’mart said in Shemdylann. “If she tells the truth about her fighting skills, it could replace a significant portion of the lost profit on this voyage. The gladiator houses would bid against each other for such a unique specimen.” He stared at Larissa, rubbing one pincer against the other, which created a discordant, high pitched humming sound tearing at her ear drums. She controlled her breathing and reached for the calm center.

  “If she can fight,” the other Shemdylann said.

  With a speed astonishing to Larissa, the captain left his chair and headed for the door. “Bring the woman—I know how to test her boast in short order.”

  The guard seized her and dragged her in the captain’s wake. Kinterow followed the crowd, swearing under his breath. Larissa hoped she wasn’t going through this for nothing. She was betting heavily he wouldn’t spend the credits necessary to buy her at the gladiator price. Surely his obsession with her didn’t run that deep.

  The journey ended in what appeared to be a training facility aboard the ship, with a soft surface like sand under her space boots, although the substance was apparently artificial. The soldiers and juveniles sparring in the room scattered as Prxx’mart swept in. The captain barked orders while he and his entourage took seats on a set of risers at the far end. Scowling, Kinterow took a seat beside the Shemdylann. A line of soldiers with drawn weapons crouched in a living barricade between the officers and whatever Larissa was going to be facing.

  Larissa was led to the center of the expanse and her force cuffs were removed. She stood, rubbing her wrists, waiting for whatever was going to happen next.

  “Stream this on the shipwide vidcoms,” the captain ordered. “My crew can use a moment of entertainment, and I can use a record of her skill as a bargaining chip. If she prevails. Let the slaves view it as well, see how their champion fares, if she can live up to her boasts.”

  Larissa didn’t particularly want Samell to have to watch this, but there was nothing she could do about it. She heard animalistic screeching and roaring coming from the corridor.

  “Remove your boots and outer garments,” said the captain. “Let us see you fight as a gladiator would.”

  “A gladiator would have weapons,” she said as she unfastened her boots and handed
them to the waiting juvenile. Her shirt and pants were next and she stood barefoot in her skivvies and bra.

  “You didn’t ask for weapons, bold human. Therefore none shall be provided.” Prrx’mart shook a pincer at her. “Your negotiation skills are better than Kinterow’s but still lacking.”

  The portal burst open and a creature bounded into the room, restrained by four hulking soldiers wielding force sticks.

  Larissa stood her ground. “What in the seven hells is that thing?”

  “Once in a while the maturation hormones cause a strange reaction in a juvenile and, instead of evolving into a Shemdylann soldier as he should, he becomes something else, more primitive and mindless. Usually we kill such mutant beings immediately, but this one spawned earlier today.” Prxx’mart laughed again. “And you have kindly offered to kill it for us. Don’t look so dismayed—gladiators in the hinterlands don’t always fight other gladiators, you know. As a special treat a fighter is matched against beasts. Today is such a day for you.”

  Larissa surveyed her opponent with a critical eye. So much for her half-baked plan to do a demo fight with Pete or Donnie and collaborate to survive. You might have outsmarted yourself this time, Channer. This being was eight feet tall to her six, with the customarily seen long primary arms ending in pincers. The head was misshapen, featuring five eyes, several of which were milky as if blind, and the ancillary appendages on the thorax appeared withered, flailing out of control as the creature sidled and stamped, threatening the soldiers around it. The tail was normal, arching over its back, with the stinger already dripping reddish venom.

  Larissa noticed the carapace was incomplete, the chitinous covering missing in spots, the vulnerable flesh unprotected, oozing yellow and black ichor. The exposed surfaces might be her best chance, landing good strong blows on those areas. She tried to remember the few facts known about Shemdylann anatomy as far as where the vital organs might be. Of course, this beast probably wasn’t any more normal inside than it was on the exterior. And all this creature had to do to kill her was snap her neck or stab her too many times with the stinger.

  Stay frosty. With a long slow breath, Larissa advanced on the beast.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  After the door slammed shut behind Larissa and her alien guards, Samell stood for a moment, incredulous she’d been taken away so suddenly, with no warning. No chance to intervene or exchange last words. His heart literally ached. Her smile had been so courageous, brimming with her effort to reassure him. He of all people knew anything could and did happen when these aliens took a person away.

  “There’s nothing you could have done,” Bartell said in a cautious tone. “Doubtless she’ll be back soon. The aliens may only want to question her.”

  Samell bit his lip to avoid saying something harsh to his friend he knew he’d regret later.

  Zimeer exchanged looks with Bartell and cleared her throat. “We should get back to the civil planning while you wait.”

  Samell doubted anything could distract him from his worry over what was happening to Larissa, not until the portal opened again, and he could verify for himself that she was in one piece. He allowed them to lead him back to the table where he and his ad hoc council of advisers had been figuring out a more efficient system of organization than the current haphazard chaos.

  Bartell was leading a discussion of two candidates to get consensus on who was better suited to be in charge of a subgroup of ten Tulavarrans from a different city, when there was a loud sound of static from the four corners of the hold. The huge vid screens mounted on the bulkheads flickered into life.

  Hearing Larissa’s voice, Samell whirled to stare at the nearest one, a sick churning in the pit of his stomach as he saw his warrior standing half naked and unarmed in the center of a makeshift arena, facing an obscenely misshapen Shemdylann. The beast loomed over her, pincers snapping and curved tail waving in menace. Never taking his eyes from the screen, he made his way through the crowd like a man sleepwalking, barely cognizant of how people parted ranks to allow him to pass. He stopped when he was below the vid.

  Fists clenched uselessly at his sides, Samell swallowed hard. Larissa was brave, and she was a highly trained soldier, but how could she prevail in a battle as one sided as this one?

  Kliderr rested his hand on Samell’s shoulder. “She has the stance of a seasoned fighter. See how she’s assessing the beast for weaknesses?”

  “I pray to Thuun I’m not about to witness her death. Losing her would break me.”

  “Why are they doing this?” Bartell asked, coming to stand on his other side.

  “Why do the bastards do anything?” Kliderr said. “If she keeps her wits about her—”

  “Then what?” Samell whirled to face him, anger and fear consuming him. “She defeats an alien three times her size?” He waved at the screen. “I have total confidence in my warrior, but she’ll need a miracle. Meanwhile, I have to stand here helplessly and watch her be torn apart.”

  Zimeer touched his elbow. “Don’t watch.”

  “How can I dishonor her sacrifice by not standing as witness?” He gentled his tone because the priestess meant no harm. Taking refuge in his beliefs, he began to hum and then to sing, not loudly, but forcefully. A song from the ancient times, when wars were fought on Tulavarra, the lyrics written to implore Thuun to grant victory to the people’s champion. Never had he ever expected to give voice to this particular paean, but the words and emotions felt appropriate to him, personal. Like his emotions and feelings for the woman doing battle barehanded against their mutual enemy.

  If others joined in, he didn’t know or care. This was his battle, and he intended to send all the power and support he could in the only way open to him.

  As the soldiers backed away, the mutant made a rush at them, flicking its stinger harmlessly against their intact dorsal carapaces. Larissa put her fingers to her lips and whistled. “Hey, over here!”

  Wheeling, the mutant rushed at her, and she danced out of the way, studying its tactics and speed. The creature might not have the full intelligence of a grown Shemdylann, but it wasn’t a mindless beast either.

  “If you continue to scuttle like a cowardly juvenile, I’ll have you shot,” Prxx’mart yelled.

  She ignored him but darted in for a hammer fist jab to one of the oozing areas on the thorax, following with an elbow to the closest eye and a knee to the joints where the flabby auxiliary arms connected, before she ducked and rolled out of the way. The sand-like surface impeded her movements, and the roaring creature grabbed her ankle in its pincers in a bone crushing grip.

  Teeth gritted, Larissa rolled left and then right to avoid the stabbing stinger. The second time it came down, she grabbed the narrow tail right above the needlelike protrusion and twisted it to stab into the beast’s own belly. She had no idea if the strategy would work, but her opponent recoiled and let her go. She got to her feet and limped away, heading for a stand of wooden rods resembling jousting sticks across the chamber. There were better weapons for hand to hand combat hanging from the wall but she knew she couldn’t reach them.

  Running as fast as she could on her damaged ankle, she risked a glance over her shoulder and wasn’t surprised to find the mutant in hot pursuit. At the last moment, Larissa cut right and the beast tried to pivot with her, overbalanced, and slid into the wall with a crunch. It got up slowly, shaking its head, eyes blinking as if having a hard time focusing. Larissa grabbed one of the sticks and hurled it like a javelin, aiming for the soft underparts. She took another and ran toward her opponent as it screamed and pulled the embedded pole from its body, snapping it in half before throwing it aside.

  Missed the vitals. Larissa faked a move and ducked under the extended pincers to thrust her new weapon into another section of the thorax, rewarded by a bellow of rage and pain. Briefly forgetting her, the mutant clamped both pincers around the pole and tugged. Larissa made a leaping kick and swept one leg out from under the beast. It fell heavily with a squeal of pa
in.

  The tail came around and stuck her arm a glancing blow, leaving a long gash which burned as an unknown quantity of the poison was absorbed into her blood stream. Her arm numbed as the beast, still lying on the ground, whipped the barbed appendage at her again. She caught the tail in her good hand, just above the stinger, and continued its momentum, striking into one of the blind eyes.

  The mutant’s enraged scream was deafening. It backhanded her with a pincer, and Larissa flew into the unyielding bulkhead. She felt at least a couple of ribs break and saw stars as her head slammed into the metal. I can’t keep this uneven battle going much longer.

  Coming back into the fray, she caught a small break when the creature extruded its proboscis in a vain attempt to clean gore from its eyes. Distracted, the creature didn’t realize Larissa was maneuvering to get onto its back. Even as the mutant bucked and started to roll to dislodge her, and the stinger came down on her shoulder blade, Larissa stabbed into the exposed flesh with her fingers, grabbed the tough fibers passing for a Shemdylann spinal cord and ripped it out of the alien’s body.

  The dying creature’s convulsions threw her onto the deck again, and she crawled a few feet away, before forcing herself to get to her feet. The Shemdylann had to respect her victory so it was critical she finish the match properly.

  Despite the excruciating pain she was in and a blinding headache, probably from a concussion, Larissa straightened her spine and saluted Prxx’mart. “The victory is mine.”

  “Good thing we have the vids or no one would ever believe me,” the Shemdylann captain said. “You will indeed be worth a million credits to the gladiator promoters.”

  “I had a prior claim,” Kinterow said.

  Prxx’mart waved a claw casually. “You can’t afford to match the price, and I’ll garner much respect in the Hinterlands for delivering this exceptional fighter.”

  “If she survives her injuries.”

  “Humans are tough, as we have seen over and over. I’m not concerned. Even if she only fights once more, she’ll be worth the price. Take her back to the slave hold and lock her in the cage with the other gladiators,” Prxx’mart said.