Galactic Champion

by Dante King

  Something raced toward me from the left, and I ducked instinctively. I caught sight of Reaver from the corner of my eye. She spun like a dervish, expertly blocking and striking against her three opponents, each of whom was armed with a spiked weapon that resembled a big stick with a nail going through it. Primitive, but effective.

  Reaver, on the other hand, was armed with a frying pan. How a spectator could have confused a skillet for a weapon was beyond me.

  At the moment, I had more immediate and pressing concerns. Beatrix tore her tentacle-hair from my grip and then coiled them behind her head. Obviously she thought that tactic wouldn’t work anymore on me, and now she was disposing of her dented pieces of armor. It looked like throwing her into the ground by her own hair had savaged her equipment.

  Good. It meant we’d be on even footing. Minus the tentacles, of course.

  Beatrix ripped the final chunk of damaged metal free with a grunt and threw it at me. I evaded the crescent-shaped piece of steel as she charged toward me and ducked under a kick aimed at my head.

  “Bloody Beatrix!” a voice said from the stands. A moment later, she was holding a three-foot-long maul with an ax blade on one side of the rusted head and sledgehammer on the other. She twirled it a couple of times and bounced it in her hands as we circled.

  Her face settled in a sad smile, and I knew she considered the fight over.

  All I needed to do was take out Beatrix, and I could go help Reaver. I risked a glance at her, and she appeared to have broken her frying pan and was defending herself with, of all things, an egg-beater.

  Beatrix came after me, and I dodged a swipe from her mace. Beatrix was wielding the weapon like a toy, but she still needed a fraction of a second to bring it around again. I caught hold of its shaft, rammed her with my shoulder, then easily snapped the mace in half.

  Beatrix barely hesitated. She dropped the ruined weapon, threw a haymaker punch, and lashed out with a kick. I covered up, blocked the punch, and retaliated after her last kick went a little wide. I gave my own kick, straight at her ass, just as her leg swung around. She was thrown forward feet-first and came to an undignified halt when her tumbling body hit the forcefield at the edge of the arena.

  For a moment, the wavy lines of the field became more distinct and brightened to a sunburst shade of yellow. Beatrix’s flailing form bounced from the energy field, but it didn’t look like she’d been hurt by it. The crowd booed and hissed until she regained her footing.

  “I’m your number one fan, Beatrix!” someone cried out as they tossed her another weapon.

  It wasn’t a household item like Reaver tended to get. Someone had spent a lot of ping currency to get a full-sized battleaxe. The tentacle-haired woman picked it up, measured its weight, and glared at me as if she knew exactly where she wanted to bury the thing.

  Behind her, a small skirmish broke out in the stands. At least six other aliens attacked the one who’d given Beatrix her new weapon. The giver was the same species as the Execution Squad. I guessed they thought it was unfair and wanted the match to last longer.

  Beatrix took two measured steps my direction, paused to allow the head of one of the Execution Squad to roll by, and continued her march. She leaned forward, dug her toes into the dirt, and charged as she began drawing her ax over her shoulder with both hands.

  I met her in the middle with a resounding crash of muscle and steel. The ground trembled under our feet as we wrestled for control of her ax, and something occurred to me.

  She was almost as strong as I was.

  Beatrix extended her left arm out at neck-level, obviously to clothesline me with the short hooks and barbs on her bracer. She found nothing but air as I rolled under her hasty move and kicked her for good measure. She sprawled to the dirt, but her tentacles flung forward to ensnare me.

  “Humie!” a voice yelled from the stands and tossed a sword to the ground.

  I dropped to the ground, rolled twice, planted my feet, and found the sword. I figured the wafnugu who’d thrown it wanted me to stand a chance. That was nice of him.

  “The wafnugu offer weapons in exchange for matrimony,” Beatrix teased as she came to her feet. “Congratulations?”

  I deflected her attack and offered her a grin back. At least I’d gotten her talking.

  She spun, preserving her momentum, and attacked again, lower this time.

  I blocked her strike, and the next three that came in rapid succession. She disengaged to regain her balance before she lunged forward. Her ax was a blur of steel, but I managed to evade every attack. I was even starting to pick up a sweat, and I could see Reaver had the Squad handled, so I decided to play a little.

  “You should surrender,” I offered with a grunt as I stabbed at her forward leg, then deflected a gauntleted fist. A tentacle came for my head, and I chopped off the head with a broad sweep of my sword. Beatrix didn’t cry out; she didn’t even bat an eye, so I figured the tentacles lacked nerve-endings.

  “Why would I surrender?” she asked.

  “You look like you hate your job,” I told her honestly.

  Beatrix caught one of my kicks to the gut and staggered backward. She was breathing hard and sweating profusely but still refused to stop or even slow her assault. All I could do was duck, dodge, parry, and, occasionally, counterattack.

  Beatrix ignored the many small wounds I’d caused her. A few had stopped bleeding, even though I knew they were deep. I thought she must have been in pain, but she shrugged off my strikes as if they’d never happened.

  And I was starting to think that there was more to Beatrix than simply alien biology.

  I hit her with a clean slice across her ribs that knocked loose the last remaining piece of armor. She brought her arms close to her body to cover up and lure me in. She was good, but she wasn’t as fast as me.

  Her arms exploded into a flurry of twists, strikes, and parries. The motions were practiced, familiar, and their intended effect was obvious. She meant to intimidate me, while also providing a great show for the spectators. She was hoping for a better weapon, something that would even the odds.

  “Aren’t you getting,” I grunted as I blocked three rapid strikes, “a little showy? Isn’t it embarrassing to be their trained monkey?”

  “What is a monkey?” she asked, her attacks never faltering even for an instant.

  Oh, yeah, I reminded myself. You know their language, but you haven’t learned their local insults yet. The Lakunae failed to provide that bit of information.

  “Does a monkey look anything like you, human?” she asked. Even though she was trying to kill me, I noticed something in her voice and expression. She wasn’t angry. She was curious.

  “I’m prettier,” I said.

  I blocked a vicious swing, felt the hilt of my sword loosen a bit, and realized the alien who’d thrown it into the arena hadn’t bought it from a skilled swordsmith. It wouldn’t last much longer.

  Then, I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. Reaver was on the ground under one of the Executioners. The creature was reaching for her throat. It looked like it was trying to strangle her. But there was something in her eyes that told me it wouldn’t happen. She confirmed it by giving me the hand- signal for “all good.” She’d noticed I was looking and called me off.

  Beatrix also noticed where I was looking and took the opportunity to swing her ax in a fast, diagonal arc. I blocked, but the impact stripped the sword from my hand and sent the pieces scattering across the dirt.

  Worse, I noticed a glimmer in her eyes when she made a quick glance to my left. So, I ducked and rolled to the right, just before the last Executioner slammed a spiked weapon into the ground. It missed me by a foot, but Beatrix barely avoided getting her face ripped off by the short spikes of her comrade’s weapon.

  Beatrix and her Execution squad had been forced to compete together, but there was no loyalty between them. The idea was confirmed when the wafnugu hoisted his weapon and swung it over his head in a sloppy arc that put b
oth me and Beatrix in the same danger.

  The fucker did it on purpose. He didn’t have a shred of hesitation in his eyes as he drew back for another opportunistic strike.

  With a snarl, Beatrix kicked the wafnugu in the back of his bald head and sent him sprawling to the ground. The creature reached out with both of his hands to stop his fall, but I caught them before they touched the ground and spun him around. I snapped my arms around his head and twisted hard, spinning his head almost all the way around before I heard and felt a sharp crack.

  I dropped his limp body to the ground as a spherical camera drone buzzed in for a close-up. It inspected the wafnugu’s body for a moment before shining its little lights right in my eyes.

  I leaned back as Beatrix pressed in for a desperate attack of opportunity. The spiked club hissed past my cheek and tickled me with its breeze. My next punch caught her wrist and forced her to drop the weapon. I hit her with another punch in the gut that rattled her whole body, then scooped her up. Spikes ripped at my skin, and I felt a slight graze for the first time since I’d met the Lakunae. A sliver of blood trickled down my stomach as I grabbed Beatrix by her hair and hurled her into the arena’s shielding.

  The forcefield absorbed the impact, curled around her, then flung her back at me.

  I caught her mid-air with a spinning backfist to the body, and she crashed into the ground in a cloud of dust. Her tentacles twitched weakly beneath her head as she fought to breathe.

  I really didn’t like fighting a woman, and I realized I’d been going easy on her. Even that last punch hadn’t been at full-strength.

  Soon, I would have to make a decision. Would I let her live? Or would I do something else? Could I convince her to join Reaver and I? Then all three of us could escape this place.

  The crowd cheered. Either Reaver had vanquished her last opponent, or she’d died in battle, but I didn’t have time to find out which. An object flew an inch past Beatrix’s face, but she ducked and it went hurtling past her. It resembled a metal serving tray, and if it had hit her, it might have cut the gladiator in half. I looked to where the tray had come from and saw Reaver among a pile of dead wafnugu Executioners.

  “You have won,” Beatrix whispered between her tightly clenched teeth.

  “We’re getting out of here,” I said as I held up a hand to stop Reaver from throwing something else. “Join us.”

  “No one leaves the arena.” Her expression changed again as she lifted herself drunkenly to her feet and scooped up a mace.

  Instead of the calculating, dangerous woman I’d been fighting earlier, she looked calm, if in pain. Her frown looked forced. She saw death coming and accepted it for what it was: a release from her imprisonment. She was about to throw the match in a stupid frontal attack.

  I would have killed her without a second thought if I had no other choice. It was what I’d been trained to do, but now was different. I recognized her for the tortured, miserable slave she was. She no longer saw me as her enemy, or even a rung on the ladder to her promised freedom. I would be her rescuer by killing her.

  Still, I refused to do it. Beatrix was a strong and capable fighter, exactly the kind of person I wanted on my side.

  The woman attacked, sort of. After taking two completely ineffective swings through the air, she telegraphed her next move by lifting the mace over her shoulder and screaming.

  The sound sent a shiver up my spine. It was triumphant, satisfied, and horrible at the same time. Time seemed to slow again. I saw her mouth, a mournful grimace pulling the corners down. Her teeth were clenched again, prepared to receive whatever wrath I could produce. But her eyes were what disturbed me the most. She was crying.

  I leaned forward and charged her. I caught her hands before she could bring the mace down. As Beatrix closed her eyes, obviously unwilling to watch her own death, a tear fell from each.

  She relaxed as I swept her legs out from under her. She let go of the club and allowed herself to fall to the ground with a hard thump.

  I took a position above her. She didn’t fight or even try to resist. Instead, she lay on her stomach, arms above her head, face turned toward me. Her eyes were still closed, and I held the club in my right hand. Her tentacles writhed, but she mostly kept them above her.

  Reaver stood a few yards away and watched. She had a few cuts on her forehead, but they seemed to be healing already.

  Beatrix’s shallow cuts on her arm I’d given here were also nearly healed. The dried blood had fallen away, revealing a light, pink scar.

  I understood.

  The Lakunae had been sending people to this planet for a long time—maybe centuries. I was not the first. Likely, neither was Beatrix, but she’d been altered by the Void Gods, just like me. She’d been sent on a mission she was not prepared for. It displayed how desperate and ineffective the squids were. Being here wasn’t her choice, just as it wasn’t mine.

  Before the crowd had screamed, roared, hissed, and laughed, but now they were silent.

  There was no way I could kill Beatrix. I’d made an offer to her, that she could come with me when I escaped from here, and I intended to keep it. All three of us would leave together, for better or worse.

  I placed my foot on Beatrix’s chest and looked up to the stands. “Beatrix the Bloody has fallen! She has conceded defeat. Do you really wish to see your prized fighter die? Who will you watch, then?”

  The sound of shifting bodies brought my attention to the far end of the arena. One small section, no wider than four or five seats, was adorned with gold and red cloth. It resembled an elegant circus tent, and though the front was open, I couldn’t make out who was inside. Luckily, a couple of helpful camera drones decided to show me a close-up on the central hologram.

  I didn’t recognize the face, and barely even recognized it as a face. It looked like a human, if the man’s skin was painted white and his eyes were removed. In place of the eyes was nothing but blackness. Two dark pits disappeared into the spots where his eyes should have been. The effect was equal parts fascinating, uncomfortable, and mysterious.

  The creature, whom I could only assume was King Demetrios, stood. No one in the audience made a sound. The king lifted his dark arm. It ended in a sideways fist, knuckles up.

  I knew what was coming next, and I was ready.

  Demetrios slowly extended his thumb, held it for a moment, then turned it downward. He wanted me to kill my opponent, to finish her off for the enjoyment of the audience. But he didn’t know me.

  I glanced at my opponent, who lay at my feet, ready to die, then slowly lifted my eyes toward the king. A camera drone came in close, which was good. I wasn’t sure how far the king could see, or if he could even see at all. If not, I hoped someone would tell him what I did next.

  I lifted my fist, just as slowly as he’d done. I kept the knuckles toward the sky, just as he’d done as well. Then, instead of extending my thumb, I turned my hand over and extended my middle finger, pointing it straight up at the sky.

  “Fuck me,” Reaver whispered into the pregnant silence. “We’re all going to die.”

  The crowd suddenly roared their discontent, and the set of bodyguards around Demetrios tensed and lifted their weapons. I stared at the king and spat with contempt. A sudden roar in the air and a cloud of dust ripped across the arena.

  I backed away from the searing heat, shielded my eyes, and looked up.

  Five sleek, purple skiffs leveled weapons at us from above. Particle cannons hummed as I sized up the vehicles. These machines were a calibre above Skald and his crew’s tech.

  I could take at least a few of the vehicles out, but I waited because they hadn’t fired yet. Instead, three skiffs lowered themselves to eye-level and slowly approached to herd us back to the pen.

  Beatrix scrambled to her feet and took a moment to look around. She was obviously confused and amazed to still be alive.

  “What did you do?” she whispered as we backed away from the approaching skiffs.

  She
must not have seen my gesture.

  “I insulted the king,” I whispered back. “He wanted me to kill you. I refused. I also flipped him off.”

  Her expression made it clear that she didn’t understand the phrase, so I demonstrated. She gasped, and her face went slightly pale. “That is a serious insult on this planet,” she said, almost concealing her smile. “The most serious. Nobody has ever done that to the king. Not even those about to die. Never. Oh, you shouldn’t have done that.”

  The arena skiffs maneuvered and pressed forward as they forced us back with their presence.

  “Can you take them?” Reaver asked me.

  “Not like this. We retreat and play along for now,” I said.

  The pen behind us opened up, and I ushered Beatrix and Reaver in. I backed into the pen, slowly but surely.

  I had offered the crowd an enormous spectacle, one that they’d loved. The doors of the pen swung shut on their mechanical hinges, and the light of day vanished as I turned to face the others.

  We all stood staring at each other. We were unarmed, but it didn’t mean any of us weren’t dangerous. Yet nobody was attacking.

  “Why did you spare me?” Beatrix asked. “I would have killed you without a second thought.”

  “You’re a good fighter,” I said. “And I don’t like this Demetrios guy any more than you do. Best way to to stick it to him was to spare you.”

  “You should not have done that,” Beatrix scolded. “The king does not forgive. He does not show mercy. He is cruel, and he will not allow this crime to go unpunished. You should have killed me when you had the chance. I was ready! I was ready to die!”

  I shrugged, which seemed to frustrate Beatrix far more than I thought it would. She balled her fists, and I wondered if I’d have to fight her in the confined space. I’d win—of that I had no doubt. But I wouldn't get away without a scratch. She was the first person to hurt me since the Lakunae, even if I’d only been slightly grazed.