by Chris Fox
He dropped low, slamming the first baton into the Ganog’s shin. The second came up between the legs, crunching into the Ganog’s groin. Electricity crackled up and down the batons, surging into the Ganog. His body went rigid, but the Ganog broke loose with a roar. He staggered backwards, keeping his sword up defensively.
The Saurian followed up quickly, launching a flurry of quick blows. The Ganog blocked most of them, but several slipped through. Each shock slowed the Ganog, until the final blow dropped him to the dirty floor. The Saurian slapped his batons against the Ganog’s temples, and the Ganog thrashed wildly for several seconds before going limp.
The crowd went wild.
“Great news,” Bik said, rushing up to Khar. “You’re next. You’ll be fighting the Saurian.”
8
Fight
Khar rolled his neck, then his arms. He hopped back and forth, performing a routine he’d perfected over two decades of training. Stretching was no longer necessary, now that his body was synthetic—but the routine focused him, prepared him to face an opponent.
Across the ring, the Saurian paced back and forth, occasionally offering an experimental whirl with one of his shock batons.
“Remember, Khar,” Bik called through the cage. “You can use anything to win. Anything. No rules, friend.”
“Good to know,” Khar called back. He grinned savagely at his opponent. Thus far, everything he’d been told was in keeping with Tigris tradition. Kill your opponent using any means possible.
A warbling buzzer sounded, and the Saurian glided forward. His red scales had an oily sheen, and Khar was fairly certain that wasn’t accidental. He’d covered himself with something, probably to make it difficult to grapple with him. He knew Khar was larger, making a contest of strength unwinnable.
“After I beat you senseless,” the Saurian hissed, darting just out of reach, “I will take off that helmet, I think. I will show your face to the crowd, and then I will eat my fill of your flesh.”
Khar calmly maintained his stance, his combat cameras recording every move the Saurian made. Metrics scrolled by on the bottom left of his vision. The Saurian was definitely fast, almost faster than Khar.
Almost.
“Then stop dancing over there, and come beat me, little lizard.” Khar extended his arms, turning in a slow circle. He faced the crowd, urging them into a ragged cheer.
As he’d expected, the Saurian waited until his back was turned before launching his strike. His sensors detected the movement in the air, and the slight change in ambient temperature. He pivoted, jerking his wrist. A crackling blue blade shot from the housing on his wrist, twelve inches of pure plasma. He brought it up smoothly, knocking away the Saurian’s shock baton.
The Saurian swung with his other baton, bringing it down in a strike at Khar’s knee. Khar leapt backward, narrowly dodging the attack. The Saurian took the opportunity to disengage, dancing back to the far side of the cage.
“What kind of weapon is that, corpse? I think I will enjoy using it, after I pry it from your lifeless hand.” The Saurian darted forward suddenly, bounding up into the air. He came down on Khar, launching a vicious kick. The blow caught Khar in the side, causing his diaphragm to contract.
If he’d been flesh and blood, that would have knocked the wind out of him. He’d have been vulnerable to a killing blow. But Khar had no need for the breath the Saurian had knocked away.
He lunged, slamming his helmet into the Saurian’s face. Bone broke, and the Saurian tumbled back, a mass of purplish blood streaming down his face. The Saurian extended a forked tongue, lapping at his own blood. His right arm came up low, aiming a shock baton at Khar’s side.
The left arm was moving too, coming down on Khar’s shoulder. Khar only had a split second to decide; he could not stop both.
He swung the dagger upward, knocking away the blow to his shoulder.
The other shock baton slammed into his side, and waves of electricity shot through him. His entire HUD flared red, half a dozen warnings scrolling past. Khar ignored them, reversing the parry he’d used to knock away the other baton. He rammed his blade forward, punching it through the Saurian’s throat. The blade hummed more loudly, flaring as it punched out the back of the Saurian’s neck.
Khar stumbled away from his opponent, allowing the Saurian to topple as he sought his balance. Some of the warnings cleared, but his left ribs were still flagged yellow. It would take several hours for the nanochrons to complete repairs.
A roar rolled through the crowd, cheers and screams echoing from all directions. Bik darted through the cage opening and, seizing Khar’s hand, thrust it into the air.
“Khar!” Bik roared.
The crowd repeated it, then began chanting Khar, Khar, Khar.
“How ample are our winnings?” Khar yelled into Bik’s ear.
“About five hundred credits, so your share is two-fifty. I’ll go collect.” He started for the cage door, but Khar seized his wrist.
“Wait.” He forced Bik around to face him. “I need the money for something specific. There’s a warp portal in the spire, right?”
“Yeah,” Bik allowed, looking confused. “Why do you ask?”
“I need a warp to Ganog 7,” Khar explained. “How much is that going to cost me?”
“Well, people from down below don’t normally need to warp off-world. It’s expensive. Probably five or six thousand credits?” Bik shrugged. “Listen, I can line up more fights. We can have the funds you need in a ten-day—two at the most.”
“That’s not soon enough.” Khar’s released the Ganog. “Can it be done faster?”
“Maybe,” Bik mused. “I could try arranging a spire fight. Given that you took out Krissos, that might be enough to get you into the tourney going on tonight. You want me to try to get you in? There’s a much bigger purse.”
“Do it,” Khar ordered. He extinguished his plasma blade, and moved to collect the shock batons. They could be useful.
9
Tourney
Khar stepped off the strange transport disk that had carried them up to the tallest spire. It had deposited them a little over halfway up, at what appeared to be a busy starport. Multiple tunnels led inside the spire, and there was a steady flow of people. The ships themselves all docked outside the spire, which made a certain kind of tactical sense.
“Now, just remember,” Bik instructed, hopping down next to Khar. “Keep your eyes down. Say nothing.”
“I’m wearing a helmet,” Khar pointed out. “They can’t see my eyes.”
They joined the back of a small crowd waiting to pass through a wide arch in the ivory spire. The arch was covered in strange glyphs—the kind that would have sent Lena into a lecture about ancient this or that—but Khar was more interested in the people making up the line.
Every last one was armed, though what they wielded varied from person to person. Some carried thick swords—others axes or clubs. A few had pistols, but nothing heavier than a small sidearm. Most people seemed to opt for melee weapons, which gave him his first clue about whatever this spire fight entailed. It was probably in tight quarters.
“Once we’re inside, you are on your own. You will step onto an island, and it will carry you to the fight. You and your opponent will arrive at the same time. Attack immediately, and do whatever you can to finish them. If you survive, a platform will carry you to the next opponent.” Bik had already explained this three or four times.
“You’ve prepared me well, Bik. Assuming I survive, I will split my winnings with you. As agreed.” Khar offered the Ganog his hand.
The Ganog looked at it for a moment, then fist-bumped him. Khar shrugged, and mimicked the gesture.
“May you avoid the gaze of the Nameless Ones, friend Khar,” Bik said. He turned from Khar as Khar neared the doorway.
Khar continued to the doorway, but froze when the runes surged with brightness. The alien ahead of him, an orange-scaled Saurian, was bathed in crackling green energy. A split second
later her body disintegrated, dissolving into the air around her.
“Uh, Bik?” Khar called over his shoulder.
“It’s nothing to worry about. You are expected. You should be fine.”
Khar wasn’t as certain, but he forced himself to step under the arch. He held his breath, only releasing it when he was on the other side.
He emerged into a hollow structure filled with floating islands. He stood upon a narrow ring against the wall, and a number of ivory transport disks floated near the edge.
Khar peered over the edge, which disappeared out of sight, thousands of feet below. The entire spire was sprinkled with clusters of islands, each set at a different elevation. Cool wind rushed down from above, carrying the low hum of a foreign city. He had no idea how many people lived on the islands, but he guessed thousands—or even tens of thousands—on the larger ones.
The other gladiators were stepping onto the ivory disks, which carried them to the cluster of islands above. Khar stepped onto an empty one, staring up as the disk carried him aloft. He zoomed around to the right, rising two hundred and seventy meters before the disk slowed.
It hovered just beneath a medium-sized island, which his HUD informed him was twenty-two meters across. A moment later a second disk zoomed up, just a few meters away. A Ganog in ceremonial, white garments sat in a lotus position atop the disk, eyes closed.
Khar studied him, trying to glean anything about the man. His calm was enviable, his fur a light, comfortable tan. All four nostrils were open, slowly inhaling deep breaths. He didn’t at all resemble the hulking berserkers that had chased Khar back inside the dreadnought.
Khar caught movement below, and realized that there were many islands, each with its own arena bout. The audience floated on their own islands, drifting from one fight to another. The cluster was centered around a fight thirty meters below, and Khar guessed that his combat would be next.
The disk whizzed up, circling the island they’d been sheltering beneath. It had the same sloped, ivory surface as the disk he stood on, but gravel had been spread across the disk. A single misstep would send him tumbling over the edge. Another gust of wind rushed down from above, knocking a few of the stones from the island. They disappeared into the distance, quickly falling out of sight.
The robed Ganog moved into view opposite Khar, and both their disks stopped. They hovered an easy leap away from the island where their combat was to take place. The Ganog studied Khar, watching him impassively. He had yet to rise from his lotus position, so Khar relaxed. Presumably there’d be a signal to tell him when the fight began.
All around him islands began to rise, as Ganog moved into position over the island. A soft chime played, and Khar’s opponent rose smoothly to his feet.
Khar leapt from the disk, landing lightly in a clear patch between pebbles. His opponent did the same, and they raced toward the center of the island. Khar was forced to dart around a particularly thick area of pebbles, and his opponent seized the advantage.
The Ganog arrived first, launching an aggressive kick that forced Khar back from the center. Ceding the higher ground was dangerous here, and clearly his opponent knew it. The Ganog moved fluidly, always preventing Khar from moving higher up the disk. He had less than four meters to play with, and beyond that, an endless fall to his death.
Khar pulled the shock batons from the shoulder holsters he’d taken from the Saurian, leaving the plasma blade as a surprise for later in the fight. He glided forward, launching a blow with the first shock baton. It forced the Ganog back a step, and Khar followed up with a slash from the other baton. That too forced the Ganog back a step, just past the center of the disk.
The Ganog launched another kick, his foot streaking through the air far more quickly than Khar could track. It slammed into his face, knocking him backward. He tumbled toward the edge of the disk, dropping the shock batons. One tumbled off the side, disappearing out of sight. The other landed a few meters to his left.
Khar rolled to his feet, weaponless. The blow hadn’t done much damage, but the speed was insane. His sensors clocked it at 120 KPH, three times his own top speed. He circled the edge of the platform, keeping his attention on his opponent as he sought a path to his remaining shock baton.
The monk, Khar decided that’s what he must be, was patient, every movement economical. He barely moved; instead, he waited for Khar to make a move for his weapon. It was an enviable tactic—and, had Khar been flesh and blood, tiring him out might have worked.
He checked his power supply. 42 percent.
Khar charged, reinforcing his muscles with every nanochron he could activate. He ignited his plasma dagger, ramming it into the Ganog’s shoulder. The Ganog knocked the plasma blade away with an ivory bracer, but blood stained his robes red. Khar kneed him in the groin, but the Ganog brought up a knee to block. He head-butted his opponent, catching the Ganog’s broad forehead with his helmet’s crown.
The blow caught the Ganog by surprise, and he stumbled back. Khar glided forward, launching a leg sweep that his opponent vaulted. Khar pursued, scooping up the shock baton. The Ganog skidded to a stop near the edge of the platform, adopting a defensive stance.
Khar hurled the shock baton at his opponent’s chest. The Ganog had no choice but to dodge, leaping over the crackling weapon. That left him vulnerable. Mid-air, there was only so much control he could exert over his body.
Khar darted forward, punching the monk in the chest. The blow launched him backward, out over the abyss.
The monk fell silently, dropping past dozens of islands as he slowly disappeared. He never once made a sound, and he never broke eye contact with Khar.
Ragged cheering came from the islands above, and Khar looked up at the audience for the first time. There were several dozen, mostly Ganog. Their clothing was strange. Some wore light, airy garments that were mostly white, though those Ganog on the highest platform seemed to favor purple. Saurian attendants moved among them, offering refreshments as the Ganog chatted.
The platform zoomed up again, stopping next to Khar’s feet. He stepped atop it, and it carried him into the air again. Above was a much larger platform, over a hundred meters across. Khar was not the only combatant being carried to it. He counted a dozen others, the survivors from the previous battles. Was this some sort of grand melee?
The disk carried him up to the platform, stopping at the edge. A single Ganog elite stood in the center, a massive axe over his shoulder. Khar’s sensors put the creature at ten point six meters tall, every bit the equal of Khar’s mech.
He looked around at the other combatants, and all were focused grimly on the elite. “By Tigrana, they expect us to kill that thing.”
“No, they expect us to die,” called another Ganog monk. He stood several meters away, in an easy combat stance. “We will charge him, and he will kill us. We have been sacrificed to increase his honor among the leadership caste.”
Khar knew a moment’s rage as he realized that he’d been duped by Bik. The Ganog was probably counting his credits, whatever they’d paid him for supplying Khar.
None of the other warriors was moving, each eyeing the others. Khar shook his head.
Cowards.
He ignited his plasma blade again, stepping forward. All eyes fell on him, and he stared back a challenge. “Are you children? Or are you warriors? Our foe is mighty, but so are we. Let us show him that size is no protection from our blades.”
Khar roared, the sound echoing across the island. Then he sprinted toward his opponent.
10
Elite
Khar roared his defiance, low and deep and powerful. “I. Am. Tigris.”
The elite pivoted to face Khar, removing the axe from his shoulder harness. He gripped the haft with both hands, sliding a massive foot backwards as he set to receive Khar’s charge.
Khar leapt into the air, and the axe blade hummed a deadly arc toward his waist. He snapped out his plasma blade, slapping it against the axe. The blow was too weak
to alter the axe’s course, but the push launched him out of the path.
He landed lightly along the haft of the weapon, but only for a moment, then jumped, slashing at the elite’s face. The elite stumbled backward, but not before Khar carved an angry furrow in the creature’s leathery cheek.
The stench of burnt fur filled the arena, though Khar was thankfully insulated from it.
“I will end you!” the Elite roared. His arm shot out.
Khar tried to dive for cover—but not quickly enough. The elite seized him by the leg, raising him into the air. He roared, slamming Khar into the island with incredible force. Khar came down hard, smashing against the metal disk in a spray of sparks. His helmet tumbled away, and his mane spilled out, revealing his true nature.
Red warnings bloomed in every part of his body, especially the head and the joint connecting his left leg to the waist. Khar was dimly aware of being dropped, his body tumbling limply to the ground.
Above him, other combatants had engaged the elite. They attacked from all sides, their hesitation gone once one person had been brave enough to draw the elite’s attention. Khar used his left arm to crawl away from the battle, toward the edge of the disk. His power was down to 36 percent, and was dropping quickly as nanocrons consumed power. He altered the repair instructions, focusing only on critical systems.
Cheers and screams of encouragement came from the islands above. The Ganog nobles were clearly entertained.
Khar scanned the crowd, seeking a leader. She was not difficult to find. A purple-furred Ganog in a white adept’s robe stood at the edge of the highest island. She was flanked on either side by powerful looking attendants, who themselves were surrounded by clouds of lesser attendants.