by Tristan Vick
Rubble rained down on the ground as half of the building tore away and collapsed into a heap. Jegra stood in the exposed room on the third story floor as she watched them go down in what looked like a controlled demolition.
A chill shooting down her spine reminded her of how cold it was at night on a desert world and, rubbing her arms to stay warm, Jegra turned and fetched her things.
Once she had finished putting on her metal bikini, she leapt down to the street below, landing on a pile of rubble and skidding off of it to solid ground.
Out of the top of a large mound of debris came a laser beam. It blasted out of the rubble and cut its way through the empty sky. This was followed by an explosive blast as Cassera used a shield to expand a bubble and throw the debris off of them.
Covered in ashen filth, Emperor Dakroth stood in the open street and dusted himself off. “Jegra, this extreme moodiness isn’t becoming of a woman of your stature. Tsk, tsk,” he groused. “Are we seriously going to do this?”
His words fell on deaf ears, however. Jegra picked up a large chunk of concrete the size of a bolder and chucked it at the emperor’s head.
Before the slab of rock could decapitate him, though, he used a precisely timed finger-laser blast to cut it in two. The divided pieces flew by him without so much as leaving a scratch and then crashed to the ground and trundled away.
“I guess that answers my question,” he said, letting out a disappointed sigh.
“My, my, my … what do we have here, boys?” a stranger’s voice unexpectedly called out.
Jegra, Cassera, and Dakroth all stopped what they were doing and turned to see three ornery looking mercenaries standing out in the open street. All three of them looked like a blend of space pirate and special ops.
“Private contractors,” Cassera sneered.
The middleman, and ringleader, took a bow. He was an enhanced humanoid with a grizzly beard. He had a giant, high-powered rail gun slung across his shoulders and stood with a casual tilt as he leaned to the side to offset the oversized weapon.
On his right was a huge Dragonian lizard man, with spiked shoulder armor and a broad, two-pronged, double-edged long sword right out of a Dungeons and Dragons campaign. Although Dragonians were a warlike species to begin with, this particular one looked as though he could level a tank.
The last member of the team was an orange-skinned woman with small round spots of red traced by black outlines, like that of a salamander back on Earth.
The Salamandarian girl had fine features and pretty eyes, one blue, one green. She licked her lips and grinned. The woman raised her hands; electricity arced between her fingertips with a menacing crackle and pop.
“I recognize you three. You’re the bounty hunters from the bar,” Jegra said, recognizing the two men and the girl from the street corner.
The humanoid bounty hunter stroked his beard as a manic grin gradually spread across his face. “Seems we have ourselves a bit of a domestic dispute,” he chuckled.
“A lover’s spat,” the Salamandarian added with a snicker.
“It’s none of your business,” Jegra snapped, eyeing them both with an icy glare.
“Wait, don’t I know you form somewhere?” the Salamandarian girl asked, eyeing Jegra up and down. After a brief moment of thought, her eyes lit up as she pieced it together. “Hey, ain’t you that champion? From the gladiatorial matches.”
“Hey, yeah!” the bearded mercenary said as the revelation sunk it. “You’re that Jegra, babe, ain’t yah?”
Dakroth raised a blue finger and pointed it at the man in the middle. As it lit up with red energy, he said, “I’m afraid I don’t have time for this nonsense.”
A laser blast shot out of his finger with a zap and everyone tensed and looked to the mercenary bounty hunter in the center. His eyes were wide with shock as a glowing red hole tunneled through his forehead. Small wisps of white smoke rose out as it continued to smolder.
His brains completely melted by the blast, he mumbled a nonsensical sound and then fell flat on his face.
“You’ll pay for that,” the lizard man roared. Swinging his blade, he lunged at the emperor and hissed.
Before he could cut the emperor down, however, Cassera stepped in between them and deflected his attack with an energy shield.
There was a twang and the Dragonian bounced off the shield. He did a back handspring to help divert the kickback and landed in a crouching position on the ground.
Almost as soon as the reptile skidded to a halt, the Salamandarian leaped over him, her fingers crackling with energy. Mid-air, she tossed spheres of crackling energy down like softballs. Resembling plasma globes, her projectiles glowed hot pink as blue strands of electricity branched across the orbs of super-charged energy.
Cassera widened the girth of her shield, but the Salamandarian grabbed the energy shield with her electric fingers and began pulling it apart as though it were made of saltwater taffy. The shield stretched and tore and soon enough the Salamandarian had broken through.
“Impossible!” Cassera gasped.
Grunting loudly, the Salamandarian finished shredding Cassera’s shield and the lizard man charged forward, swinging his blade in one large swooping arc.
“My lord, get behind me,” Cassera said, using her body as a shield. The lizard’s blade came careening down, but stopped abruptly just centimeters above Cassera’s nose. Looking over to her right, she saw Jegra holding the Dragonian’s forearm with one hand, preventing him from cutting them down.
With a flick of her wrist, Jegra snapped the reptile’s arm.
He reeled back and roared out in pain. A sudden laser blast from the emperor sheared off his head and put the beast out of his misery. The lizard’s dead body collapsed where it stood and hit the ground with a thud.
Outnumbered, the Salamandarian slowly backed away. “You’ll regret this,” she growled.
“Not as much as you will,” Jegra replied.
The girl raised her crackling fingers and let loose a wide discharge of electricity. Jegra threw up her arm bracers, made of korridium alloy, and crossed them. She managed to draw the electricity to her forearms, absorbing the energy. Her bracers started to glow red-orange and she shrieked with a mix of anger and pain and threw her arm out to the side, breaking the link with the charge.
Redirected through her korridium bracers, the electric current shot off to either side. One beam drilled a hole into the dirt while the other crashed into a fancy hoverbike sitting off to the side of the street. The bike exploded, going up in a yellow fireball that curled into the sky and blackened as flame evaporated into smoke.
Jegra rubbed her wrists, both singed with electric burns. Thanks to her rapid healing factor, however, they were already beginning to heal.
The emperor raised a finger to take out the Salamandarian, but Jegra deliberately stepped directly into his line of sight and prevented him from killing the girl.
Jegra looked over at the girl and scowled. “Who sent you? Why are you hunting us?”
“Her Grace, the Administratrix, has put a handsome bounty on all three of your heads. If one were to take any of you down they could buy their own moon and retire in peace.”
“Anaïs Nin,” Dakroth growled. “That treacherous white-skinned hag will pay for this.”
“In that case,” Jegra said, sauntering up to the girl who, although terrified of the domineering gladiatrix, held her ground. “Please pass along this message for me.” Jegra reached up and lightly slapped the girl across her face.
The Salamandarian immediately touched the welt on her cheek and glanced up at Jegra, eyes wide with shock. Of course, Jegra had only used a fraction of her strength to slap the girl. Just enough to make it smart.
The girl wasn’t entirely sure what to make of it, as Jegra slowly drew back. Not waiting around to find out, however, she glanced at everyone hesitantly, then turned and ran for dear life.
She was about a block down the street when, out of the dark, a red
laser shot whizzed past Jegra’s head and hit the girl squarely in her back just below her left shoulder blade. A shot through the heart. Mid-stride, the girl crashed to the ground, her face grinding into the dirt road. Her body slumped to the side and she flopped over, her heterochromatic eyes gazing up vacantly at the flickering neon-sign of a nearby tavern.
Jegra turned around, her eyes electric with rage. “Now, why’d you have to go and do that?”
The emperor blew on his finger and it cooled, turning from a hot orange to blue again. “I can’t have our enemies catching wind of what we’re up to. I’m sorry if that offends your sensibilities. But the days of honorable deaths in the arena are over, Jegra. Real wars, I’m afraid, are often fought without honor.”
Jegra huffed angrily and then turned her back to the emperor. After a short silence, she said, “Follow me,” and marched off into the night.
“Where are we going?” Cassera asked, following after her.
“Like I said,” Jegra answered. “I know the slaver of this wasteland of a town.”
11
At the far edge of town, Jegra lead Emperor Dakroth and Cassera to a large domed structure the size of a warehouse. It looked like a giant mud igloo with yellow glowing lights for windows, perched on a bluff at the farthest edge of town.
The building was made out of Thessalonica red clay and had about eight stories to it. Port-like windows three rows up glowed with a warm, inviting light that told them someone was home.
“Where are you taking us?” Cassera asked, making a disgusted face as she looked around at the slum-like conditions that surrounded the structure.
“Antor Tamoran, the man who bought and sold me, resides here,” Jegra said.
“I didn’t know you were on talking terms with your slaver,” Dakroth said.
“I’m not,” Jegra answered. “So, watch your backs. Antor can be … somewhat erratic in his temperament.”
“I’m sure it’s nothing you can’t handle,” Cassera added.
“You’re probably right,” Jegra replied. “But I think there’s been enough bloodshed for one night,” she added, shooting the emperor a nasty look. He shrugged it off as if to say it couldn’t be helped and then turned away from her smoldering gaze.
The three of them strolled right up to the front doors of the complex. They were giant, iron doors with a humongous ring knocker at the center of each, like something out of the middle ages. Jegra reached up with a fist and banged on the door three times, rattling the knockers. Soon, a slat on the impervious door slid open and a bloodshot eye peeked out at them. “Who is it?” a gruff voice demanded to know.
“It’s Jegra, champion of The Arena,” Jegra answered. “I demand a sit-down with Antor.”
The narrow slat slammed shut without so much as an utterance and, confused, they each looked to the other to see if anyone had an inkling of a clue as to what they should expect.
A couple of voices began squabbling on the other side of the door and then soon died down. Almost immediately after that, the door opened and a small toad-like man with bulging eyes looked up at them from his four-foot five stature.
“This way, if you please,” he croaked.
They did as asked and entered the domicile, following the toad to a spiral staircase that wound around the inside wall of the dome, a design similar to the Guggenheim Museum in Manhattan, New York, back on Earth.
Halfway up the flight of stairs, Cassera couldn’t help but show her displeasure at the aggravatingly long climb, and griped, “You’d think with as wealthy as Antor is, he could afford to install a decent elevator.”
“There is an elevator, ma’am,” the toad-man replied, his slatted pupils settling on Cassera’s blue face.
“Then why in bloody Helios are you making us use the stairs?” Cassera nagged. As usual, she didn’t try to soften her discontentment toward their less than gracious host or his dimwitted servant. Cassera knew her station and it was above most of those beings she encountered. Her tongue was always sharp and ready to wage war.
“I’m afraid the elevator is only reserved for the master, ma’am.”
“Of course, it is,” she sighed, blowing a strand of silver hair out of her golden eyes.
Atop the stairs, the toad creature scrambled on ahead and went over to a man half asleep on a large, burgundy sofa.
Sprawled out all around him were beautiful women, food, and golden trinkets of all kinds. The toad eased up to the man, who looked unconscious, and whispered something into his ear. There was a momentary pause, then the man abruptly sat up. Eyes as large as saucers, he looked around and, slurring his words like the drunk he was, mumbled, “Jegra?! Here? What on this scorching moon are you on about?”
Antor tried to stand up, but one of the groupies’ arms was slung over him, and he collapsed back onto the sofa before trying again. Ever so careful not to wake one of his many sleeping beauties, he gently grabbed her wrist and untangled himself, setting her arm down across the bare chest of the fetching Bre’lal woman sleeping directly behind him.
He staggered to his feet, looked over to the elevator, only to realize nobody was there, then spun around, swaying like a tippling, gin-soaked fool, and spotted his guests. Reeling back, his arms shot out to stabilize him, and he staggered sideways and then back again, ending up in his original spot.
He waved them over to him, a maudlin grin forming on his chapped lips. As they approached him he bowed reverently and, righting himself with a bit of effort. Immediately he placed his hands over Jegra’s powerful arms, and leaned in. “A kiss for old time’s sake,” he said, his breath rancid with booze.
Jegra gently stopped him with a finger pressed to his chin and then slowly redirected his kiss toward the empty air.
“Still playing hard to get, I see,” he said with a sozzled slur.
“It’s been a long time, Antor,” Jegra said.
“Indeed. It has. When I last saw you, my dear, you were as scrawny as a space-rat and so terrified you had pissed yourself in your own cage. Now look at you! The champion of the arena! The infamous Jegra the Merciless, Gladiatrix of the motherfucking galaxy.” Turning his attention to her companions, his eyes instantly honed in on Cassera.
One eyebrow raised, a salacious grin slowly spread across his sunbaked lips as he studied her tight tube top and her perky nipples which jutted out from beneath the delicate fabric. “And who is this lovely femme fatale?” he asked.
“I am Vice Admiral Cassera Van Danica Amelorak, of the Dagon Imperial Fleet.” The entire time she spoke, Antor’s gaze never left her breasts, which compelled her to add, “And if you don’t stop staring at my chest, I’ll knock that stupid grin off your face and crush your testicles with my boot.”
Antor laughed and turned to Jegra. “She’s a spicy one. I like her already.” Turning to the other Dagon, he paused and stared for the longest time as his sloshed mind tried to piece the images together. “Your majesty,” Antor gasped, finally recognizing Emperor Dakroth for who he was.
Embarrassed for his less than gracious behavior, Antor immediately dropped to one knee and bowed his head. “Forgive this drunken old fool for not recognizing you sooner, your majesty.”
“Rise,” Dakroth said in a stately manner, waving his hand impatiently for Antor to get up.
In the blink of an eye, Antor had turned from a disinterested prick into a kiss-ass. He promptly reached out and took Dakroth’s hand in his and kissed the golden ring upon the emperor’s finger. Rising to his feet, he turned to the vice admiral and bowed reverently. She nodded in kind.
He drew back and waved his arm across his table of food and the scantily clad women sprawled out before them. “What’s mine is yours,” he said, bowing humbly.
“Enlighten me, Antor,” Emperor Dakroth said, scratching his chin as he eyed Antor’s lounging girls. “Do you own a ship?”
“I have a shuttlecraft capable of scuttling between Thessalonica and Dagon Prime, but if you need something with a bit more get up and
go, I’m afraid there’s currently nothing available. Not with the Nyctans raining disruptor fire down on anything that moves.”
Dakroth shot him a sharp glance, forcing the sniveling drunk to gulp the nervous lump in his throat, and Antor quickly amended his words.
“If I had such a luxurious spacecraft in my possession,” he began, “the Nyctans would have certainly obliterated it by now, seeing as they are targeting anything with faster than light travel. Presumably, to prevent you from leaving this moon.”
“Come now, Antor,” Jegra interjected. “We both know you didn’t get to be the richest man on Thessalonica by simply scuttling about in a crammed shuttlecraft. Where’s that type-three cruiser you were always bragging about?”
Antor shot Jegra a betrayed look then immediately melted into a smile and turned back to the emperor. Changing his tune, he said, “Yes, yes. It’s true. I do technically own a type-three mid-sized cruiser. But it’s currently in the employ of one Raven Nightguard. Amusingly enough, she quite literally thinks the ship is hers.”
Jegra shot him a harsh glance. “May I remind you, Antor, that you are in the presence of the High Lord of Dagon.”
He hemmed and hawed and then grinned sheepishly. “Alright, alright, it’s not my ship. Not anymore. I lost it in a bet to that treacherous, back-stabbing, no-good pirate,” he groused.
The emperor’s eyes flashed red as he grew fed up with Antor’s nonsense. “Any further stalling,” growled Dakroth, “and I shall make a fried omelet out of your befuddled brains.”
This compelled Antor to throw up his hands in complete surrender. “But I know where it is,” he added, saving his neck.
“Tell me,” the emperor said, throwing his arm around Antor’s neck and grinning large. “Where is this ship?”
“It-it’s … um …,” he fumbled over the words as Dakroth squeezed his neck so hard he winced. “It’s currently parked in the pasture on the other side of town. There’s a cloak, so you’ll need to know its exact location if you’re going to ask for passage. And even then, Raven isn’t the kind of woman to do any favors. She comes at a premium. But she’s the best freelancer this side of the system.”