The Hunter on Arena

by Rose Estes

  “I see,” Braldt said, even though he was still very unclear about how such a thing might work. “What does this program look like? Is it difficult to build one?”

  Randi could not stop herself from smiling, but there was no malice in her expression nor in Allo’s chuckle. “Permit me,” he said to Randi.

  “I will try to explain, my young friend, even though it will be difficult to comprehend, coming as you do from a world that apparently has not advanced beyond the Bronze Age.

  “I am what is known as a programmer, or I was before I was promoted to involuntary gladiator. It is my job to write the programs that the ’bots and other such wonders need to exist. I will not bore you with the details; perhaps at another time. Let it suffice to say that without these programs the robots and their fellow machines will not function.”

  “You mean they will die?” Braldt asked incredulously. “All of these fancy machines and the hard ones will die, just like that!”

  “It is a little more complex than that, but essentially that is correct,” said Allo.

  “Then why would this Scandi Master want Septua to steal the program?” Braldt asked.

  “That’s a very good question. Why would a Scandi want you to steal it?” Randi asked, turning her attention back to the dwarf.

  “Don’t know,” replied Septua, raising his palms and shrugging broadly. ’E never said. Just told me where the programs was put an’ gived me a time when the ’Igh Thane would be gone. ’Course ’e never mentioned no sensor beams nor no silent alarms. Caught me with a handful of programs an’ a pocketful of saladium bars an’ rough-cut zourmalines.

  “As for the Thane what ’ired me, well, ’e were right there beside the ’Igh Thane when they sentenced me. Never said a word on my behalf. Not that I expected ’im to. An’ Mirna, she were there, too, draped on the arm of the captain of the guards. Didn’t waste no time a’tall. Got to hand it to ’er, she be enterprisin’!”

  “Didn’t you tell them about the Thane’s role in the matter?” asked Allo. “Surely that would have helped you.”

  “Get serious—what kind of world do you come from anyway,” hooted the dwarf, shaking with laughter. “Tell ’em a lord put me up to it. C’mon, who are they gonna believe, one of their own or a dwarf who spent ’is life thievin’ for ’em? It weren’t ’ard to guess ’ow it would go down. So I’m tellin’ you, Big Guy, don’t go trustin’ ’im like I did ’cause ’e won’t be there for you when things go wrong. An’ I be livin’ proof of that! An’ for that matter, I ain’t so sure I trust you! Ain’t you the livin’, breathin’ copy of ’em? Tell me that’s just a trick o’ fate!”

  “I can’t tell you that, for I do not know myself,” Braldt replied slowly. “I do not know how it is that we come to look so much alike. It troubles me more than you can know.”

  “Your parents?” asked Randi. “Do you not resemble them and are they from your home world?”

  “Those that I call parents are not of my blood,” said Braldt, his mind wandering back over the years to the little bit of information that had been told to him about his origins. “I was found in the desert as an infant, wrapped in a blue robe and shielded from the sun by my father’s body. He was dead when they were found. My mother was still alive, although badly burned by the sun and the wind and she died without conveying any information.

  “They carried nothing that would have given any hint of their origins for they were without any possessions other than the clothes that they wore. And a ring. A large, silver ring with a blue stone, worn in the manner of my people, at the shoulder, girding the ends of the robe together. There was nothing else.”

  “And your people…” queried Randi.

  “Look nothing like me at all. They are short of stature and dark of skin with curly, brown hair and eyes. There is no one on our world who looks like me. Although our priests, who have much to say about how the world is run, bear just such a device as this,” he said, touching the silver implant in his skull.

  “Is it possible that they are ’bots?” mused Allo.

  “It is hard to believe, for I was taught to fear if not revere them,” muttered Braldt, “and yet it would explain much that has puzzled me. They are always draped in heavy robes, their features never seen. If they are hard ones in disguise and not live, that would answer many questions. They are spared from death, that we know. Some of them are many lifetimes old. This is a thought that will take some getting used to.”

  “What do you think it means?” Randi asked, turning to Allo. “Why would they go to all the trouble of planting the ’bots on his world and giving them such an elaborate identity?”

  “I don’t know,” he replied, shaking his furry head. “It could be that they colonized the planet with the ’bots, although it’s strictly forbidden to colonize a planet that is inhabited by any sentient life form.”

  “That could not be!” Randi said in disbelief. “The Council would learn of it and censure them harshly.”

  The dwarf barked a mirthless chuckle. “Look around you, pretty lady. Does it look like they’re worried about being censured? The Scandis, they do what they want, an’ right now, lady, they wants us!”

  “What you have told us will give us something to think on,” said Braldt. “There is much here that must be puzzled out. But I still feel that one of those men was trying to send me a message, to hold out some form of hope. We must hold onto that belief and explore the possibility if it is so, for it is doubtful that we can escape this place without some form of outside help.”

  Braldt’s comments were interrupted by the dwarf’s rude laughter. He laughed until he doubled over, sputtering with tears wetting his cheeks. “That one,” he said, “the one you are looking to for ’elp… that one be the Thane who betrayed me!”

  15

  Batta Flor and Ken’s existence took a strange, new turn. They were armed and outfitted with protective leather to which neither of them were accustomed, but recognizing their obvious value, they did their best to wear them without complaint. The weapons were exceptional in quality and staggering in the multitude of choice. In the end, both settled for weapons they were most familiar with—swords, knives, and shields. Batta Flor also chose a heavy club with a leather thong that wrapped securely around his thick wrist.

  The two of them shared a cell with the lupebeast pup, a cell that had been carved out of the same red rock that everything else was built of. It was large and had a single, barred opening set high in the wall, and two broad, sleeping platforms laid with some sort of silvery fabric that was light and bouyant as well as warm. They were fed on a regular basis. It was strange food, unfamiliar to them in taste, texture, and origin, but it was hot and filling and the ewers of hot liquid imparted a tingling energy to their limbs. Other than their initial contact with the Masters, those who so looked like Braldt, they dealt entirely with the hard ones and a surly reptilian servant class that went about its business without speaking.

  Keri was filled with a sense of shocked disbelief that stayed with her throughout her days and nights. She felt betrayed as well as bereft, but now there was the numbing ache of loss as well, for she truly felt as though Braldt had been taken from her forever. She could not explain how it was that the Masters looked so much like him, nor could Batta Flor offer any explanation, for he himself had never dealt with the Masters on their home world, only their minions, the hard ones. After his initial confrontation, he had sunk back into his silence and although he remained close to Keri, he had few if any words to offer.

  On their fourth day of confinement, they were wakened by the roaring of beasts somewhere nearby and the woeful shrieks of a creature in mortal terror. Beast threw back his head and began a mournful accompaniment of his own. So unnerving were the eerie sounds, that Keri’s stomach roiled and twisted and she was unable to eat her morning rations or even sip her cup of hot brew. Batta Flor lifted his shaggy head once, listened, and then returned to feeding, cramming the food in his mouth with both hands an
d downing Keri’s portion as well when it became obvious that she had no interest in it.

  When the guards came for them, even Batta Flor guessed that something was different. They donned their leather armor and received their weapons, but instead of being taken to the practice ring as they had been on previous days, they were led out into an immense arena, surrounded on all sides with tiers and tiers of redstone seats filled shoulder to shoulder with blond-haired, blue-eyed visages of Braldt. Beast pressed himself against Keri’s legs and slunk forward with his jaw nearly scraping the ground and his long, thin tail curled up beneath his belly.

  She did not have long to contemplate her discomfort. There was a hideous scream behind her and turning, she saw a horrifying creature, neither animal nor human, but a strange combination of both, coming toward them at a swift lope.

  It had six appendages on which it hurled itself over the loose sands of the arena, although all were not necessary for locomotion for one or more were frequently in the air waving long-hooked claws that flashed in the bloody sunlight. It was a grotesque thing with a semi-upright, man-like physique, but covered with coarse, mottled fur and possessing fangs and a horned protuberance on its forehead.

  Batta Flor turned leisurely and studied the nasty thing as it drew ever closer. Beast growled nervously, showing all of his fangs, and crouched down ready to spring. Keri shivered with fear as the monster’s ghastly cries preyed on her nerves, but she drew her sword and fell into a crouch as she had seen Braldt do countless times before.

  It was very close now, close enough to see the maddened look in its eyes, small and bright without pupils or the light of intelligence. Blood-flecked slaver streamed from the edges of its mouth and the nerve-wracking ululation never ceased. It seemed to have no plan of attack other than to bowl them over with sheer momentum, then savage them with claw and fang.

  It was close enough that Keri could smell the hot, rank stink of its body before Batta Flor reacted, merely reaching out and seizing the thing in mid-air as it leapt for them. There was a single, high-pitched shriek as Batta Flor’s fingers closed around its throat, then silence as the voice ended. The large, furred body flailed at Batta Flor’s hand and hammered at his massive forearms. Blood poured from dozens of wounds as the beast’s claws sliced through Batta Flor’s flesh, but Batta Flor did not waver nor lower the thing to the ground until it hung limp and void of life, its claws dangling uselessly along the ground.

  The lupebeast pup growled and tried to position itself to spring, but it could not seem to work up the courage. Its eyes rolled and flashed whitely and it whined with anxiety. The sight of Batta Flor’s wounds was frightening and Keri attempted to aide him, maneuvering herself so that she could plunge her blade through the creature’s body. But Batta Flor turned aside, removing the beast from her reach and shielding her from the danger of its wildly swinging claws. No matter what she did, he managed to keep his body between her and the dangerous creature. Only when it was dead did he allow her to approach him and even then he took the precaution of leading her away from the unmoving corpse. Only when it was dead could the pup work up the courage to approach the monster, nipping at its still body, then leaping away. When he realized that it really was dead, he fell on it and savaged it, dragging it around the dirt and growling ferociously.

  The crowd had watched the action in near silence, but the intensity of its gaze carried an almost palpable weight. With the creature’s death, there was a single, collective exhalation of breath emanating from the vast crowd and then as one, like some enormous, encompassing heartbeat, the spectators began to stomp in a rhythmic pulse on the stone tiers while humming deep in their throats. It was a disturbingly primitive sound and Keri was stunned by the waves of sound beating down on her. It was more terrifying than the beast had been, for that was a wild thing with little intelligence and violence and killing was its way of life, but these were supposedly intelligent beings exhibiting more of a blood thirst than the wildest of monsters. She dropped her sword and stared up at the chanting spectators, feeling the depth of their passions thrumming in her blood.

  The noise frightened the pup away from the corpse of the monster and it quickly retreated to the safety of its friends. Batta Flor wrapped his arm around Keri’s shoulders, scooped up her blade, and drew her away. Two hard ones sped toward them across the loose sands and a tall, majestic, blond male draped in a royal blue robe stood on a platform in the tiers holding two scarlet ribbons streaming in the hot wind. Batta Flor had other ideas though, and entertaining the Masters further held no interest.

  Gently, Batta Flor guided Keri from the ring, ignoring the hard ones as they circled on their single wheels, metal wands pointed like swords, as they drew closer and closer, trying to force the combatants back to where their master waited. One came too close and Batta Flor acted swiftly, jamming his club into the center of the wheel and bracing himself with wideset feet. The hard one stopped abruptly, jerked forward, and fell face first onto the red Sand. Batta Flor was on it in an instant, planting his foot at the base of its neck, and yanking his club free, he brought it down in a crushing blow, shattering the hard covering like a brittle shell.

  The crowd rose to its feet in a wave of motion, screaming and yelling with separate voices now, visible for the first time as individual beings.

  The second hard one drove straight toward them, the metal rod pointed dead ahead. Batta Flor stood ready, his club in his hand. Suddenly a loud voice flooded their heads, commanding them to lay down their weapons and return to the dais. Batta Flor reached up and dug his fingers into the flesh of his skull. Blood spurted, staining his fingers and dripping down his face, but he gave no indication of any pain as he gripped the round, silver device and wrenched it free, trailing blood and bits of broken wires. Keri watched in horror as the voice inside her head grew shrill and incoherent, demanding that they come to the stands.

  The hard one stopped, its rod lowered, staring impassively at them with its blank features. Batta Flor placed his arm around Keri and they made their way from the ring. The Madrelli stepped on the silver circle as they passed, grinding it into the sands with the heel of his foot. Keri was sick and dizzied by the frenetic screaming inside her head, but Batta Flor would not allow her to stop; when she stumbled, he picked her up and carried her from the ring.

  The cool shadows under the arena were a soothing relief after the stunning glare of the double suns and the voice ceased once they left the ring, choked off as though the speaker had become too apoplectic to continue. Keri did not care what the reason was, it was enough that it had stopped.

  Blood was dripping off Batta Flor’s chin and trickling down her chest. She reached out to touch the gaping hole in his forehead, then drew back her hand when he looked down at her. She could see the broken ends of wire still protruding from the raw flesh like worms emerging from the soil after the grass had been stripped away.

  Her face must have betrayed her dismay, for Batta Flor attempted to smile, his face responding somewhat woodenly as he placed her gently on the ground. “Do not worry, my friend, I feel no pain. Nor could I bear the sound of that one who looks like Braldt but is not, yammering inside my head. I will fight for them if I must, but I do not want to listen to them.”

  The speech, short as it was, was evidently difficult for Batta Flor, for the words came slower and slower and were slurred and thick toward the end, barely comprehensible, and the stiff smile had fallen from his face. He patted her awkwardly on the shoulder, then led the way to their cell, swinging the heavy, metal door shut himself before the startled reptilian attendants could do it for them. The pup had dashed for the safety of the sleeping platform, and huddled silently in the darkest corner.

  In the days and nights that followed, Batta Flor sank further and further into an animalistic state, losing all of his more refined qualities. He ate with hands and fingers, shoveling food into his mouth by the handful, even eating bits off the floor when he dropped them, grunting and snorting like some sava
ge beast. He lost all sense of dignity and propriety as well, defecating wherever and whenever the need struck him, seemingly insensible to the need for privacy. But far worst of all was the fact that he ceased to speak and when he looked at Keri it was with dull, animal-like eyes.

  Such behavior unnerved Keri and depressed her deeply, causing her to feel more alone than ever before. The thing that shared the cell with her was not Batta Flor, that good and noble being who had risked his life for her more than once, but some primitive beast who inhabited what was left of Batta Flor’s body.

  But despite his descent to base animality, the huge beast was still gentle and considerate in his treatment of her. She might have been afraid of him had it not been for that. Occasionally he would stop and stare at her, his head to one side, studying her as though he were trying to remember something. At other times, he would pat her clumsily on top of the head. But still, there was a sense of protection by being near him. He still guarded her as zealously as ever, perhaps even more so, growling viciously whenever anyone approached the cell. The beast pup was her only companion.

  Batta Flor’s wounds had healed, scabbing roughly in thick, brown welts which he ignored as he did most everything. The blond men who were not Braldt appeared outside the cell the evening of the fight and studied them through suited eyes, muttering among themselves. Keri hoped that some hint of their conversation would come to her through the hated, silver circlet, but it was not to be. Batta Flor shoved her to the rear of the cell and showed his fangs, daring them to come closer, but they made no attempt to do so, carefully remaining far out of his reach.

  They did not replace the silver device that Batta Flor had removed so forcefully, perhaps realizing that it was futile. That one small fact remained as the single positive note in their existence, allowing her to feel that they had succeeded in thwarting the Masters’ wishes at least in that small matter.