Imperatrix of the Galaxy

by Tristan Vick

  Angellyk looked at Onelle across the room and smiled. She waited patiently as Onelle formed her thoughts into words.

  “It’s just that Jegra always does the unexpected. I can never get a read on her. And believe me, I’ve tried. Now, I’m beginning to see what my sister, Abby, actually saw in her. She’s virtually a goddess. Something our people worship with great reverence. To be in her presence is to be…”

  “Is to be reminded of our mission in life. To uphold the principles of the Goddess, to never surrender our will to man, and to love the world as Mother Nature, in her great wisdom, so loved the world.”

  “Yes,” Onelle replied, taking a seat on her cot. “But I’m afraid the damage is done. If I’m lucky, she’ll leave me on some junk heap of an asteroid mining facility and be done with me.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Angellyk said, tossing her hair. “The empress seems to be the most compassionate ruler to have ever sat on the throne. If you make amends for your crimes, she will most likely forgive and forget.”

  “And if she doesn’t?”

  “Be content knowing that you at least tried to be a good person.”

  “You sound like Raven,” she said, narrowing her eyes at Angellyk.

  “I’ll take that as a compliment,” she retorted.

  Onelle nodded and then sat back and lost herself in her thoughts. Across the room, Angellyk sprawled out on her cot and threw her arm over her brow, using it to block out the bright lights of the holding cell and maybe get a little shut eye.

  “See you in the morning,” Angellyk said, her arm still covering her eyes to block out the light.

  “Yup,” Onelle said. She too stretched out across her cot and, almost as soon as her head had hit the strangely comfortable bean-pillow, the lights dimmed to sleep mode. Yawing, she added, “See you in the morning.”

  33

  Dakroth raised his arms toward the upper echelons of the stadium and, standing in place, slowly turned in a half-circle as he scanned the myriad of cheering faces gazing down at him from high up in the stands. The golden epaulettes on his white uniform, along with the floral embroidered cuffs on his sleeves, glinted in the light and he motioned for the throng to quiet down so that he might announce the start of the final, and much awaited, match of the three-week long humiliation bout.

  The stadium was teeming with aliens from all across the Commonwealth. Species who’d traversed half the galaxy to come watch the fight of the century as the televid previews had described it. After a moment, a hush fell over the crowd and Dakroth lowered his hands and stepped up to the edge of his royal balcony.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” Dakroth announced from his private booth, which overlooked the sands of the arena, “the moment you’ve been waiting for has finally arrived. Three long days since we last saw our harrowing vixens, who fought with valor and spilled blood, both their own and that of their rivals, on this very field. Well, tonight, I present to you the ultimate in humiliation battle royals–the Bull and Swan bout!”

  The entire amphitheater shook with the uproarious cheers of the masses. Dakroth raised his hands again and basked in the euphoric energy of the crowd. Smiling up at the televid drones to show that he wasn’t above the celebratory saturnalia of the people, he waited for the throng to simmer down to a steady murmur, like the rushing sound of a river, and then cleared his throat and continued with his speech.

  Glancing up at the sky, he saw two flashes and knew exactly what it meant. The Shard and the Skywend had arrived. The empress had returned home. And just in time to watch her beloved girlfriend, Danica Valencia, be torn to shreds by the most bloodthirsty brutes he could find this side of the galaxy. A crooked grin spread across his blue face, and he slowly turned his attention back to the opening ceremony of the games.

  “Hear me! Hear me! Ladies, gentlemen, and species from every corner of the Commonwealth, I have a special surprise in store for you this fine day. But first, let’s introduce our contestants!”

  Loud cheers drowned him out and he gestured for the crowd to simmer down before continuing.

  “Twelve of the top ranked gladiators from all across the Commonwealth will face off with the infamous traitor, Cassera Van Danica Amelorak,” Dakroth informed the crowed, pausing as the stadium erupted with upset jeers, hisses, and booing. Speaking more loudly to compensate for the added noise, he continued, “And fighting to regain her honor after a most terrible disgrace, the blood-thirsty assassin of a thousand stars, Ishtar Bantu!”

  Unlike Danica, Ishtar’s name was met with a mix of praise and condemnation, but nothing nearly as damning as Danica had received.

  And while Danica was universally despised, due to the narrative that Dakroth had expertly woven, which painted her as a wretched traitor, it wasn’t clear if the naysayers were booing Ishtar because of her relationship to Danica or for some other reason. Regardless, the Emperor had the plebeians eating out of his hand and was quite confident he’d break all previous ratings records with this year’s humiliation bout.

  The Lord Emperor smiled wide and raised his hands, motioning for the crowd to settle down again. Once they complied, he fanned his hand across the arena and gestured toward the large southern gate, drawing the audience’s attention to the entrance and location of the soon to be arriving gladiators.

  A loud clunk followed by a rattling of chains filled the arena as the massive portcullis to the south gate began to rise. The gate led to an antechamber where the chariots and larger beasts would be prepped and stored until it was time to enter the main bout. But this time, only a small group of twelve, battle-worn and fearsome warriors ambled out of the shadows and onto the blistering orange sands.

  As the group of warriors made their way toward the center of the arena, the faint sound of music came on the stadium’s speaker system and then gradually began to swell into a rousingly heroic anthem that heralded the mighty gladiators.

  Deep down, in his bones, the Lord Emperor knew this was truly going to be the fight of the century. It was his genius that so expertly turned Danica’s betrayal of him into a betrayal of the empire. In his desire to see her destroyed, he’d figured out a way to bring the masses onto his side and unite them in their hate against the traitor.

  And it was, he, the great Rhadamanthus Dakroth, reigning Emperor Supreme, who would go down in history as the emperor who gave the galaxy the best gladiator spectacle in the entire seven-hundred-year history of the games.

  On the field, twelve warriors, all of varying species, strode out to the central location as one massive group and stopped to bow before the emperor. They looked more like an eccentric mix of elite swords for hire, than simple gladiators, but that’s because they were armed to the teeth with every imaginable weapon that wasn’t a blaster.

  There were the incestuous Twins of Regolus, Apex and Pallis, glamorous Bre’lal brother and sister who made inappropriate and lascivious displays of affection toward one another during their matches. Not only that, but they boldly promoted the fact and had even released a top-selling smut video, proving themselves as debauched as the rumors had claimed.

  Both were lean, with muscles as tight as rope that wove through their tall, wiry frames. Both green-skins had korridium scimitars and long, flowing forest green hair that floated about their shoulders as they danced about like acrobats, twirling their blades in a fanciful manner that seemed to mesmerize the audience.

  After the twins came the Dragonian lizard man, Kegon the Fearsome, who was notorious for sinking his serrated teeth into the flesh of his victims as he tore their meat from their limbs. He always shredded the right shoulder off first, a signature move that maimed his opponents so badly they usually needed to amputate their mutilated limb; occasionally replacing it with a robotic prothesis. Assuming they survived the vicious mauling at all, that is.

  Four battle droids equipped with various attachments; massive chain saws, heavy-duty bolt pistols, and electric prongs, marched in formation to the cheers of the spectators. Of all th
e contestants, they seemed the most out of place since they barely had a blemish anywhere between them. They were the top of the line X4 battle droids, courtesy of the Intergalactic Gladiatorial Syndicate, and looked as though they had come right off the assembly line.

  If their software was up to date, they could prove more than effective on the battlefield, giving even the most veteran fighter a run for his money. Not much could slow these battle droids down, even if they were relegated to using the simple tools of bludgeoning.

  As if on cue, two Salamandarian women strutted to the center of the arena, one a reddish-orange skin and the other green with azure markings running along the length of both sides of her body. Each of them wore thick leather armor and had countless straps with blades, battle axes, and swords fastened to their voluptuous bodies. One girl had a large shield across her back with a small crescent shape at the bottom that allowed room for her tail to poke out, whereas the green-blue Salamandarian girl had only half a tail, due to battle damage, but had fixed a spiked ball, like a morning star, to the end of it to compensate.

  Next in the procession was a rather peculiar duo that stood out among all the rest. One large rock-man of unknown origin and his side-kick, a small Galliforn satyr of black and brown markings and only one horn, the other filed down to nothing, who went by the name Angor.

  Angor only had one good eye, the right eye. An eyepatch covered the other, but had a laser sight built into it, which, given his choice of weapon, a crossbow and quiver of arrows slung across his back, made all the more sense. His rock-man companion, meanwhile, was threadbare, covering only enough of his body to maintain his modesty; his stone body was armor enough for anything that could be thrown at him in the arena.

  Finally, standing at a massive twelve feet tall, was a colossal Bakktu with scars threading nearly every aspect of his body. This particular Bakktu was the current reigning champion, Niktor Ektan, and he flared his four crab-leg-esque mandibles and chomped at the open air with a menacing second jaw of filed teeth underneath.

  His beady yellow eyes flitted left and then right as he swung his tentacle-like dreadlocks from side to side. He threw out his powerful clawed hands and roared. Saliva flew out of his mouth as he let loose a resounding battle cry. Raising his double-sided battle-axe above his head, a weapon that would be impossible for anything weaker than the towering brute to pick up, let alone wield skillfully, he paraded about the center of the arena. The other members of the group made way for him as he paraded about, and the crowd chanted Ektan! Ektan! Ektan!

  The emperor knew that any one of these warriors would be a challenge for Jegra, let alone a lesser warrior like Danica, which is why he had hand selected them. But more importantly, perhaps, was their sociopathic tendencies and penchant for violence. After all, Dakroth wanted cold-blooded killers, barbarians, and thugs, not morally righteous heroes.

  Turning around slowly, the Lord Emperor put his hands behind his back and looked down at the group of warriors from his high perch in the stands. They all knelt before him, bowing their heads reverently in humble submission, even the formidable Bakktu, Niktor Ektan.

  “Rise my fearsome warriors!” Dakroth said, motioning for them to rise up and prepare themselves for battle with a wave of his hand.

  As he turned around, he shot Ishtar a look that said, you know what to do, and then, waving to the audience one last time, he bid them adieu just as a yellow beam came down from the sky and transported him to his ship.

  “Dagie-poo,” an overly sweet-sounding voice said as soon as Dakroth had fully materialized aboard his ship. He turned to find Jegra standing off to the side of the transporter platform smirking at him with that obstinate grin of hers. She wore her Knights of Caelum armor and cracked her knuckles.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked brusquely, confounded as to why she’d visit him here and now, while the match was under way down below in Arena City.

  Jegra moved so fast that Dakroth didn’t even have time to defend himself. Her fist impacted the side of his jaw with a loud crack and the emperor crumpled to the ground, completely unconscious. A perfect K.O.

  “That was for Danica,” she said, stepping over the Emperor’s unconscious body. Reaching over the console, she quickly typed in the transport coordinates. Hitting the delay timer, she hurried over to the center of the transport platform and took in a deep breath. She still wasn’t certain dematerialization and matter reassembly was perfectly safe and it gave her butterflies in her stomach every time she did it, which is why she avoided it as much as humanly possible.

  In a flash of yellow light, Jegra materialized on the battlefield to see Danica and Ishtar fighting valiantly to fend off a fleet of attackers. They kept themselves moving, never stopping long enough for any one fighter to get the upper hand on them, but at this rate they were bound to wear themselves out before any of their opponents were taken out of commission.

  If she exhausted herself before the real fight began, then there would be no avoiding the hungry wolves that descended upon her, all of them just as bloodthirsty as the next. Knowing Dakroth, she knew he had likely seen to it that Danica wouldn’t make it out of this match alive, no matter how well she fought. As such, she needed to act, and fast. After all, she wasn’t simply going to stand idly by and let her best friend in the whole galaxy be raped and murdered for spectacle. Not on her watch. Not while she was the empress of the whole goddamned mother-fucking galaxy.

  Drawing out her plasma sword, she ignited it. The blade hummed to life and glowed bright orange and then, gradually grew hotter and hotter until, finally, it became a blinding hot white.

  The resonant hum of its plasma core drew the attention of the other combatants as well as the crowd. When they all saw who the unannounced contestant was standing on the opposite end of the field, a reverent silence settled across the arena.

  The two-headed serpentine announcer from Thermicron 5, the snake-planet, cleared his throats and, then, with the excitement of a fanboy who, like the rest of the audience, was taken entirely off-guard by the empress’s surprise appearance, hollered a most feverish declaration into the mic. “Ladies and gentlemen! We have ourselves a surprise entry. I present to you, her royal majesty, Jegra the Merciless! Jegra the Undefeated!! The Imperatrix of the Galaxy!!!”

  She looked over at her lambskin bikini-clad girlfriend and saw a profound sense of relief on Danica’s face when their gazes met. Jegra merely nodded, as if to say, I’ve got your back, and the stadium erupted with such adoration that they shook the rafters.

  Beyond the city gates, the sand dunes rippled with small waves caused by the uproarious sounds of cheering that emanated from the stadium. The noise-induced undulations caused the thirty-foot-long sand worms, the girth of anacondas, which usually drifted about the outskirts of the city where the sand was soft and where prey was easiest to catch, to be sent into a frenzied writhing.

  “Was this part of the deal?” Angor asked, raising an eyebrow as he glanced curiously at the others. But he was only met with uncertain shrugs.

  Nobody knew whether Jegra’s arrival had been planned all along or not but, either way, he wasn’t going to let that distract from his mission of killing the traitor and reaping the rewards. Getting the chance to defeat the former reigning champion was just a bonus. Shrugging, he raised his crossbow and took aim.

  The korridium tipped, armor-piercing arrow whistled through the air as it flew across the empty space between him and Jegra. But to his astonishment, she reached out and caught the arrow in her hand without so much as batting an eyelid and, then, with a resounding crunch, snapped it like a dry twig.

  “Fine,” the satyr said in a disgruntled tone, “You take her down, instead.” He thrust his chin in the direction of the empress, and his companion, the rock monster, threw up his arms and bellowed out with a voice so tremendous everyone winced from the sheer volume of it.

  The ground shook as the rock monster stormed across the arena, lumbering along on his fists and front arm
s like a gorilla. Leaping up into the air several meters before his target, the beast brought his massive stone fists down onto Jegra with bone crushing force. The blow was so powerful it sent out a kickback of dust and sand that engulfed both warriors.

  Another silence came across the arena as the fate of the empress was uncertain. The audience waited with bated breath for the cloud of dust to settle while the other warriors cautiously circled about, keeping their eyes fixed on the plume of dust. As the haze finally thinned to reveal Jegra, holding the rock-man’s fists at bay with the flat part of her plasma sword, the whole stadium erupted into cheers.

  [*Suit fully charged,*] a female voice cooed. The rock creature looked down at Jegra and cocked its head in a curious sideways manner. Jegra merely grinned up at him and then winked.

  Her gauntleted fist punched straight through her opponent’s chest with the piercing force of a rail-gun. Debris exploded out of his back and sprayed the other contestants, forcing them to throw up their hands and deflect the incoming fragments of rock and pebble. The monstrosity yowled in pain as Jegra tore her fist back out of its torso, leaving only a gaping hole. Through the hole in the rock-man’s chest, Jegra could see the shocked face of his partner, Angor, whose mouth hung open in dumbfounded awe.

  The rock monster sank to its knees, clutching its chest-wound and gradually looked up at Jegra with the pathetic expression of a creature not accustomed to being the underdog. Unable to feel sorry for it, she thrust an armored boot right into its torso. The monster toppled to the ground and reached up with one hand as if to plead for mercy. Igniting her plasma blade, Jegra ignored it and with a bit of showmanship, spun around once, flaming sword crackling through the air, and then drove her blade clean through the creature’s head and down through its sternum, cleaving him in two.

  Jegra turned back to face the group of warriors and motioned with a wave of her hand for them to come at her. “My dance card is all freed up. Who’s next?”