by Tristan Vick
Without so much as looking over at the girl, Captain Blackstar chastised her in a low tone. “You’re late, Lieutenant Brei’alas. Don’t let it happen again.”
The young woman clicked her heels together and stood at attention. “It won’t, ma’am.” In her zest, she had practically yelled the words without meaning to. Taking a quieter approach, she humbly added, “You have my word.”
Lianica gave the girl a judgmental look, the dark rings under her eyes adding to the ominous nature of her gaze, and then said in a cool voice, “I should hope so.”
With a wave of her hand, Lianica gestured for the lieutenant to return to her post manning the science monitoring station. As science officer, Brei’alas would be vital in giving her a minute by minute update on what was transpiring outside.
The young lieutenant let out a deep sigh when she was let off the hook so easily and, not wasting another moment, rushed to her post as ordered. Catching herself up on the events currently in progress, she glanced at the monitors and, then, looked up in alarm.
“Ma’am,” she said, clearing her throat, “seven orbital defense platforms have come online and are training their laser cannons on the Shard.”
“Thank you, lieutenant,” Lianica answered curtly. “I’m well aware of the situation.”
“Yes. Of course, ma’am. Apologies.” Brei’alas tried to choke down her embarrassment and went back to monitoring the orbital platforms as ordered.
Right on time, as the countdown hit zero, the orbital defense platforms all opened fire. The cannons flashed with brief pulses of red laser discharges. Each blast lasted no more than two or three seconds. Once the cannons had all fired their initial volley, they gradually cooled and began to recharge.
Although the ship had barely shuddered at the blasts, deflected by the Shard’s hyper-polished korridium alloy hull that glistened like a silver tear drop, Lianica demanded a damage report, nonetheless. It was always better to be safe than to be sorry.
“Zero damage to the hull, ma’am,” Brei’alas said, swiping through the readout of her console’s green glowing holographic display panel. “Structural integrity is holding at maximum. Magnetic shielding within normal parameters. All fusion cores are online and remain unaffected by the low-yield lasers.”
“Good,” Lianica answered calmly. “Let them fire another round, and once the orbital platforms begin their recharging sequence, take us in past the defense network.”
“But Captain,” Brei’alas began, genuinely confused, “that would take us into the Galliforn atmosphere,” she said, shooting the captain a timid glance.
“That’s right,” Captain Blackstar replied without any further explanation on her part. She wasn’t in the habit of publicly announcing every little detail of her strategy to the whole crew.
“Yes, ma’am,” Lieutenant Brei’alas replied. Diverting her eyes and looking out the forward portal, she watched the green and blue planet come onto the main viewscreen. A marbled overlay of white clouds slowly wafted over the greenish-brown continents of the fertile planet while a typhoon was forming in the lower southwestern hemisphere.
After a moment of intense silence, Lianica let out a disgruntled sigh. “I can practically hear you thinking, lieutenant,” she said, puffing out a blast of air that jostled a few strands of her hair that had escaped her extremely tight ponytail. “Do you have something to add?”
“Permission to speak freely, ma’am.”
“By all means,” Lianica said, waving her hand impatiently as if to say get on with it.
“The Galliforns will consider this an invasive act by the Dagon Empire. It seems an unnecessary way of provoking their attention. One that may potentially cause more harm than good.”
“Do you have a better idea, lieutenant?”
“Instead of adding fuel to the fire, why don’t we just contact them?”
“As you are well aware, Lieutenant Brei’alas, the Galliforn people do not respond to uninvited guests. Our hails will only land on deaf ears.”
“I didn’t mean we…” her voice trailed off as she cut her words short in order to reformulate what she wanted to communicate. “What I meant to say is, instead of hailing them directly, we make them come to us.”
Lianica raised an eyebrow. “How so?”
“We issue a distress call and ask for their help. After all, that’s actually why we’re here in the first place, is it not? To solicit the Galliforn people’s assistance in locating Empress Alakandra?”
“Indeed, it is. We need access to their long-distance hyperspace relay network to secure all possible jump coordinates in this system if we’re going to have any chance of rescuing the empress.”
Lieutenant Commander Barrion, a physically fit Dagon officer with a chiseled jawline who’d remained quiet until now, interjected, “But the moment they realize we’re not in any true need of assistance, they’ll consider it a trap.”
“Not if we’re up front with our intentions,” Brei’alas quickly added, making sure to tack on a deferential, “ma’am,” at the end.
Captain Lianica Blackstar looked to Barrion, sending him an appreciative nod for pitching in and then turned back to Brei’alas and gave the girl a contemplative look. Lianica turned back toward the view portal and looked out at the planet coming into view. Galliforn.
She wasn’t wrong. Stoking the flames of the already unbearable tension between the Dagon Empire and Galliforn was a risky gambit. No doubt a gentler touch was required.
And Lieutenant Brei’alas’s plan might just be the best way to establish a dialogue without all the puffed-up chests and unnecessary genital wagging that inevitably follows such aggressive stances, Lianica thought.
“All right, lieutenant. Have it your way. Issue an S.O.S. But if this plan should fail, I will hold you personally responsible and dole out the fifty lashes myself.”
“Yes, ma’am!” Brei’alas said, an unabashed smile spreading across her Prussian blue lips. She stole a quick glance at Lt. Commander Barrion and stuck out her pink tongue at him. He just grinned and swiveled around in his chair, ignoring her schoolgirl antics.
Not that her little flirtatious jest was much of a snub, since Barrion and she were currently enjoying a secret tryst. She’d be sure to let him ravish her later. Right now, though, she merely wanted to make her captain proud.
As an amber alert echoed throughout the ship, she turned to Captain Lianica Blackstar, her grin still plastered on her youthful face.
“Are we good, lieutenant?”
“Emergency distress call sent, ma’am.”
Lianica sat back in the captain’s chair and looked back out across the glowing vista of distant nebula and the swirling white and blue orb that cut in front of it. She crossed her legs loosely, balancing her right calf on her left knee, and waited for the next orbital defense platform circling high above the planet to come into view.
Fully recharged, the defense platforms trained their laser cannons on the Shard, readying for a second volley.
The glistening hull of the vessel hung in low orbit. A seemingly innocuous spec of white light hanging in the shadow of a lush and thriving planet. A planet that didn’t take kindly to interlopers.
“Now we wait and see,” Lianica whispered to herself.
17
It was twilight when Danica awoke to the distant sounds of cheering. Still groggy and uncertain as to where she was, she slowly sat up in a concrete cell and looked around. It appeared she was in some kind of holding cell. But why, or for what purpose, she couldn’t guess. Glancing down, she discovered that she had on a tan leather bikini top and matching loincloth and nothing else. A slave’s outfit.
To her surprise, her terrible wounds were completely mended, suggesting she’d been out for quite a while. Days, if not longer. In fact, the laser suture had barely left a scar across her lower abdomen where she’d been welded back together.
She ran her fingers over the scar, reflecting on the fact that it was a stark reminder of what
she had endured. That it wasn’t all just a figment of her imagination, but rather it had happened. All of it
“Good. You’re awake,” a soothing voice said.
“Who’s there?” Danica asked, scanning the small room. Of course, she was alone. Her eyes fixed themselves on the barred entrance to her cell. She tensed when she saw the outline of a dark figure standing just beyond the light of her room. A figure keeping to the shadows.
Slowly stepping into the light was a curled-horned satyr distinguished only by his burgundy waistcoat and the fancy antique pocket watch which he checked and then neatly tucked back into his breast pocket.
“Do I know you?” Danica asked, swinging her legs over the edge of the concrete slab that was her bed and eyeing the satyr suspiciously.
“No, my dear. But I know everything about you. The Great Vice Admiral Cassera Van Danica Amelorak. High ranking officer turned traitor turned freedom fighter.”
“That was by necessity…not choice,” she added sternly, making sure the satyr knew she was not entirely without honor. She rose to her feet, groaning from the pain, as her stiff body ached and creaked from the left-over effects of her violent trauma.
“I’m sure it was.” He grinned at her amusedly, his slatted eyes scanning her up and down.
His undivided attention caused her to grow slightly self-conscious; she wrapped her arms around her mostly naked body.
“How long?”
“How long for what?” he asked, stroking his white beard contemplatively as he tried to guess her meaning.
“How long was I asleep?”
“Ah, yes. Let me see…” He looked up and to the left as he mulled over the amount of time she’d been indisposed. “The Medica on Dagon Prime held you for three months.”
Danica gasped. “Three months?”
“Yes, well, I hear they needed to induce a coma. The amount of damage your body had sustained was quite extensive, you see. But the Lord Emperor Dakroth ordered his best doctors to mend you and repair your condition so that you were as good as new.”
Unconsciously, Danica ran her finger along the scar where the medical laser had mended her.
“Well, almost as good as new,” he added, correcting his prior statement as he watched her trace out the evidence of her old wounds.
“Why am I here?” she asked after a long silence. She gestured at the cell, which looked as though it were part of an ancient dungeon right out of Dagon antiquity.
He cleared his throat and gave her a solemn look. “Because I bought you.” He tugged at the bottom of his burgundy vest and waited for her inevitable follow up question.
“Sold, then?”
“Into the gladiatorial games, yes,” he said, a sparkle in his bovine eye. “I got an excellent deal too, as nobody wanted a worthless banjax.”
“Dakroth,” she growled. “That scheming, double-crossing, no good—”
“Let me stop you right there, Danica Valencia,” Grendok said, treating her with a certain amount of dignity by calling her by her new name. He glanced to either side cautiously and then slowly turned to face her. “The walls have ears in this place, so I suggest you bite your tongue lest the emperor’s spies hear your treasonous slanders.”
“I don’t care if they hear me,” she replied obstinately. She spat at the floor in disgust. “The emperor can burn in Helios for all I care.”
“Suit yourself,” he said, taking another step closer to the bars. His face was now practically wedged between them as he talked to her.
“Let me ask you something,” Danica said, walking up to the bars of her cell and looking down at the short creature. “How much did I go for?”
“Two hundred thousand credits,” the satyr answered. His voice was proud. “I won out in a bidding war to acquire the famed insurrectionist.”
“Lucky me,” she quipped dryly. But she supposed being sold into the gladiatorial games was better than ending up in a brothel for some loathsome space pirates.
“The other one went for much less.”
“What other one?” she inquired.
“The red-skin,” he answered.
Danica took a step back and began breathing faster. Her heart raced through her chest as it tried to catch up with her thoughts.
“Red skin?” she echoed, her breathing already dangerously shallow and rapid.
“Yes,” Grendok grinned. This time he bared his yellow goat teeth and the face he made was downright sinister. “The one they call The Assassin.”
“Ishtar Bantu?” Danica whispered to herself. She suddenly found herself petrified. She didn’t know how to respond to such information. She was the property of the satyr now, but apparently so was her sworn enemy and torturer. “Why?” she asked, her heart pounding so furiously she was certain it would leap up out of her throat. “Why would you buy us both?”
“My dear Vice Admiral,” the satyr said, his mannerisms concise and his tone controlled, “The answer is simple. People will pay good credits to see a revenge bout. The fallen hero versus her vicious rival and tormentor. Two titans of the Dagon Empire facing off in the arena…it’ll be legendary. I’ll have you know, tickets have completely sold out since going online just yesterday. Until the event, however, get some rest. You’ll need it.”
With that he turned and disappeared back into the shadows.
“Wait!” Danica called out, slamming her body into the bars and gripping the metal rungs tightly in her hands. “I beg of you, put me in the arena with anyone else but her. Please!”
But her words faded into the empty tunnel, for the satyr had already left the holding facility.
Danica sank to her knees and tried to catch her breath. Her panic had caused her to grow sickeningly lightheaded and now she sat on the cold concrete, the fearful revelation lingering in her mind.
Another half hour passed when a large Dragonian in leather armor replete with steel-tipped spikes, stepped up to her cage. Pulling out a jangling set of keys, he fished for the right one and then slid it into the keyhole. With a click, Danica’s cell door unlocked and slowly swung open.
“It’s time,” the Dragonian enforcer announced.
Dragonian security was standard throughout the Commonwealth. They were rough, tough, and they loved a good rumble. Most security outfits sought them out and placed them as enforcers, guards, and hired muscle throughout the seven systems. In fact, the common folk had a saying: The only thing more certain than the treachery of the Dagon Empire was the likelihood of finding a Dragonian fork-tongue at a security checkpoint.
“Get up!” the Dragonian hissed impatiently, entering Danica’s cell and scooping her up by her right arm.
“Unhand me, fork-tongue!” she growled, eyeing the lizard with contempt. He ignored her sharp looks and shoved her out of the cell and into the dimly lit corridor. “Do you know who I am?” she said, intending it more of a statement about her race’s class than who she was personally. Neither seemed to impress the Dragonians much.
“Yeah, I do,” he said, a faint smile forming on his narrow lips. “You’re a blue skin slave about to die in the arena.” He smiled at her then gave her a fearsome shove forward.
Danica stumbled toward the entrance and then swatted his hands away from her, which had been slowly easing up to give her another push.
“Move it,” he grumbled. His voice was course, like the crunch of gravel under heavy footsteps. Of course, his commands were met with a sharp glance over the shoulder and a scowl from Danica, but it did little to deter him and he gave her another strong push forward.
“Fine!” she said, raising her hands. “I’m going.”
Stepping up to the opening that led into the arena, the Dragonian placed his massive clawed hand on her shoulder. She looked up, ready to chastise him for mishandling a Dagon woman of high pedigree, when she noticed a strange calm settle over his features. When he spoke, he wasn’t even looking at her. His voice was smooth and calm and his eyes were transfixed on the center of the arena sands.
<
br /> “Good luck, Vice Admiral. There are many of us rooting for you.”
Whatever she was about to say, along with the rage that quickly boiled to the surface, swiftly evaporated away. She bit her lower lip in deliberation. She wasn’t quite sure of what else to say, but she knew her situation was more complicated than it had first appeared. “Thanks,” she finally added as he gave her a gentle nudge forward, letting her know it was time.
Danica looked back over her shoulder at him as she stepped out into the sunbaked sands of the amphitheater. He merely nodded, as if to impart a vote of confidence in her.
The roar of the audience erupted all around her as she emerged from the corridor and into the stadium. At the same time, the announcer’s voice acknowledged her arrival and several televid drones swooped down, their red, insectoid eyes zooming in and out as they focused in on her.
Danica raised her hand, blotting out the brilliant sun above. First, the throng came into view and then the giant blue and green orb hanging over her. Dagon.
There was no doubt about it, she was on Thessalonica. Arena City, no less. The same city Jegra had risen to fame in and had become the empress of. Now, she was destined to fight as a gladiatrix in the very same arena that Jegra had. And, for the first time in a long while, she felt a newfound respect for Jegra. Because the truth was, Danica was terrified. Whereas, Jegra, it had seemed, reveled in the glory of each bout.
A young Dagon lad wearing only a toga and leather sandals raced out onto the field carrying a wooden shield and a spear. He handed it off to Danica and then raced back off the field just as fast as he’d come onto it.
Danica, holding the tools in either hand, looked up at the emperor’s personal viewing booth only to find it empty. Typical, she thought. She wasn’t even important enough to him for him to come watch her death.
And even though she was expecting it, she still seized with fear when she heard the announcer speak that hideous name.
“Ladies and germs from all corners of the Commonwealth! I am pleased to announce the Vice Admiral’s one and only foe–the vicious, blood lusting, red-skinned assassin…Ishtar Bantu!”