by Leia Gray
And why do I feel like something in my soul has been changed forever?
3
Liana
I stand on the precipice of an ornately carved stone platform, looking down at the expanse below. I can see everything from up here. It’s like I’m standing on some sort of throne. A lavish silk gown pools around my feet in a wave of warm ivory. Shimmering green jewels line the hem, sparkling in the light.
Where am I?
The sounds of battle rage around me. The air is heavy with the clash of steel and shouts of triumph. All around me, men are fighting like gladiators and blood runs through the streets.
It’s not until one of them looks up at me that I realize these warriors are fighting for me.
The gladiators continue to fall until only one is left standing, jutting his sword to the air in triumph. Blood runs down his face. He looks up at me and grins. Our eyes meet and I’m sure I’ve seen that face somewhere before. Didn’t I just see him earlier at the shuttle station?
He’s built, that’s for sure. Muscles upon muscles. He’s shirtless, and there’s only a bloody rag wrapped around his waist. A noticeable bulge sticks out, and it takes my breath away. I feel a blush heating my cheeks. Does battle turn him on that much? Or is it the fact that he’s looking up on me? Surely, it can’t be that. When he begins to speak, though, I have no doubt any longer. He is mine, and I am his.
I can’t make sense of it, but it’s like we’re meant to be together.
I try to reach out to him, to call for my warrior, but before I can, he dissipates like mist and I’m left grasping at nothing.
I wake with a start, my forehead beaded with sweat. Wow. That was one crazy dream.
Things are getting weird around here. I rub my eyes and stand up from my seat to stretch my legs. The seats are pretty comfortable, but not for long periods like this. I don’t think who ever designed these figured that people would be sleeping in them. Supposedly the chairs were able to recline, but the latch on mine was broken.
I remind myself that I’m in a competition after all. That’s probably why I was dreaming about the gladiators. The warriors who were competing basically referred to all the other women I’ll be competing against in the pageant. And the warrior who held his sword aloft is a simple matter of life bleeding into the dream world. I saw the gorgeous man at the shuttle track, and after all I’ve been through, I guess my psyche found a way to encourage me with a little bit of man candy.
No dream interpretation book needed.
I head over to the shuttle food cart and fill my mug with coffee. I snap owner to go to lead take a set of the scalding liquid. It’s not as good as the coffee back home but nothing in space is.
My eyes are still drooping and my head is still spinning from the dream. What the hell was that?
I shake my head to get rid of the thoughts. No time to worry about that now. I need to focus. The pageant starts soon, and I need to make sure my acts are in order.
I find a quiet car and go over the first act in my head, planning out what I’ll say, what I’ll do, and what I’ll wear. Everything needs to be perfect if I’m to stand a chance. But even as I practice and go through the motions, I can’t shake this weirdness all the way through my body. It’s like being sick but not. It’s almost like…
I don’t know, I’m on drugs or something. And it all started when I saw that stupid guy outside the shuttle.
Fear seizes at me for a moment. What if he had some kind of freaky mind control? What if he could read my mind?
Whatever. I can’t deal with that now. I was on a platform in the dream. And I looked pretty queenly there. I’m going to take it as a sign I’m going to win. All I have to do is keep that spirit going.
It’s not long before the automated voice calls out our arrival on Avia Prime.
“This is the final stop,” the voice reads out. “Please gather your belongings and exit. The shuttle is now out of service.”
I gather up my bags, stepping off the shuttle and taking in the environment around me. We are at a small crystal court that I didn’t know existed. A shining chrome pavilion stretches toward the sky. Moving sidewalks filled with women shuffle into the pavilion one at a time.
I sling my bag over my shoulder and go to join the queue, looking at the other people silently standing in line and trying to figure out if I’m in the right place.
“Um, excuse me.” I tap the lady in front of me on the shoulder. She swivels and regards me with an expression somewhere between hatred and disgust. “Is this the line for the Miss Avia pageant?”
She sneers and says nothing, turning away from me.
Okay, rude.
Only about a dozen girls separate me from the pavilion’s entrance, and already the prickle of excitement and nervousness takes hold of me. If I can win this, or even place, I’ll be able to get out of this sector. Out of the middle of nowhere. Winners of years past have gone on to be media personalities, performers, or even assistants to the Theros corporation itself. Any of those would be better, and better paid, then staying where I was.
And besides, a nasty voice in the back of my mind reminds me, it’s not like you have anything left at home.
I grimace at the thought and grip my bag tighter. My parents had worked hard to put me through the Academy, hoping it would open up doors to future employment. What a joke that was. They didn’t even live long enough to see me graduate. I lost them both to a tragic mining accident, leaving me alone. Leaving me with the clothes on my back and what little savings I had.
So when I saw the advertisement for Miss Avia, I knew it was my ticket out. I’m not actually what you call a girly girl, or the most traditionally beautiful by any means, but growing up in the lower echelons of society meant I had to improvise. If there was anything I learned from my parents, it was how to be brave, adapt, and push forward, no matter the cost.
I’d scrounged up my savings, sent in the entry fee, and boarded a shuttle to the registration center. Now here I am, in a line of snotty girls far richer and prettier than me, hoping to somehow impress the judges enough to land a sponsorship or employment far away from here.
Go big or go home, my grandma used to say. And when you have no home to go back to, big is the only option.
“Next,” an automated voice calls out from the archway and I step forward, my heart throbbing in my chest. Here goes nothing.
I step forward and a red light bathes my body. A chill rushes down my spine and a metallic voice speaks to me.
“No entry found.”
“What?” I say, stepping back. I lean into the light again. There must be some kind of mistake.
“No entry found. Please state your name.”
“Liana Hathaway,” I say through gritted teeth.
“Ah yes, Miss Hathaway. We regret to inform you that your entry fee was not paid by the deadline, so you have been disqualified. Good day. Next!”
“Wait!” I scream.
“Next!”
I don’t move a muscle. I stay in the archway and the red light bathes me again and again.
“Please step out of the archway. You have been disqualified.”
“Wait,” I say again, standing my ground. I dig into my bag and pull out what amounts to the rest of my credits, save a handful that won’t get me very far.
“Here!” I shove my winnings at nothing, at the air. “Please, take this. Let me in!”
The light shines down upon me again and I feel the credits in my hand dissipate like they were dissolved by some sort of unseen force. The red light turns green and an ethereal chime sounds.
“Thank you, Miss Hathaway. Enjoy the pageant. May the best woman win.”
It’s clear as soon as I get in there that this is going to be no cakewalk. Everywhere I look, the competitors stare at me with the evil eye, shooting daggers in my direction. Why can’t we all just get along?
Regardless, I read every one of the handouts the staff gives us regarding each stage of the competition.
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First is the formalwear category. Everyone will be wearing their best dresses and evening gowns. And I’ve got to look my best. To do that, I’m going to need my beauty sleep.
After that is the swimwear category. I’m feeling a little nervous about this one because I’ve never really looked good in a swimsuit before, much less naked. But I’ve got to do what I’ve got to do, and this pageant is no exception. If it’s my way off this rock, I’ll grit my teeth and put on the swimsuit.
And besides, there’s always round three. That’s where I hope to shine. The talent round.
I look around my competition. Their talents are probably something like putting on makeup in five seconds flat or how to forget to eat for days on end. My talent, on the other hand, is sure to get the judges’ attention.
Now I know I couldn’t bring any weapons to the registration center, so I’ll just have to make do with something else. I’m actually quite a good target shooter, when given the chance. And if I can show that off in front of the judges? The combination of beauty and power should secure my spot among the finalists.
I push through the crowds and head up to my room. It’s a plain affair, with a bed, a desk, and a chair. There’s a small bathroom with a toilet and shower. Not much else there. There’s a communal kitchen on the first floor, but it looks like it’s seen better days. Too many long years of people abusing it and forgetting to clean up after themselves.
I flop into bed and stare at the ceiling. My body sinks into the adaptive foam and holds me there in a pillowy comfort zone. I’ve never laid on such a luxurious mattress before. I roll around on it, momentarily forgetting my troubles.
Before I know it, my eyelids droop, and I fall asleep once more.
I wake up after a long dream-filled night. The gorgeous alien man was there again, and the same warrior scene played out before my eyes. It’s awfully unsettling, but today is the formalwear competition so I put it to the back of my mind and head to the bathroom to get dressed.
That’s when I notice a strong smell coming from the bathroom area. My makeup sits in the sink, with liquid poured all over it.
Bleach. I cover my nose with my shirt and open the sink drain, allowing the bleach to drain out. My makeup is ruined. The colors wash right down the drain.
I stand there for a moment, staring at the mess in my bathroom. I fling open the closet, dread growing. Empty. My dress is missing, my makeup is ruined and the session starts in just under an hour.
How the hell did they get in here? And what kind of person would sabotage the other contestants in order to win?
These kind of contestants, I realize with a grimace. Maybe I didn’t know what I was getting myself into here, but I was going to make the best of it.
I grab my bag and the rest of my credits and head out the door as fast as I can. If I can make it to the mall and pick up some new clothes in time, maybe I can still make it to the first showing.
And if I don’t make it through to the next round? Then I’ll be totally out of credits and have nowhere else to go. Talk about motivation.
I make it back to the pageant hall with only a few minutes to spare. I do up my makeup as quickly as I can and stuff it into the holding room. It’s not as good as the stuff I brought with me, but it’s the best I could find on short notice. Not to mention the fact that I’m notoriously short on credits now. I’m basically broke. I was lucky enough to find a dress on sale at the mall. It was on clearance for whatever reason, but if fit me perfectly as soon as I tried it on. It’s a lovely red color, like rubies, and it brings out the color of my eyes and hair. It will do.
“Ah! There you are, Miss Hathaway.” A man ushers me into a line of the other girls. Their hair is done up with jewels and finery, and their dresses are even more beautiful. How can I compete with that?
“Right this way, right this way.” The staffer herds us along like cattle.
I nearly trip over the train of my gown as I fall into line with the other contestants. Tripping wouldn’t do me any good right now.
There is one thing the mean girls didn’t steal from me, and I’m wearing it right now. I run my hand over the silver band on my wrist, tarnished from years of me doing the same thing when I’m nervous. There’s an inscription on the underside, engraved by my grandmother.
Shoot for the moon, it says. Even if you miss, you’ll land among the stars.
Considering I’m actually among the stars right now, and we’ve spread across the galaxy, that saying means more to me than ever.
I can’t help but feel a presence up my back as I step forward in line and wait my turn to take the stage. It’s inscrutable, but it makes me feel weird, like a prickly sensation on the back of my neck that I can’t quite get rid of. My mind jumps back to the cryptic dreams again. This isn’t the first time I’ve had a dream like that. My grandmother knew things too. She had dreams, and sometimes they even predicted the future. Alas, she passed away before she had a chance to teach me much of that, and my parents didn’t want me messing with things I didn’t understand.
But they’re not here now. It’s just me, this bracelet, and the rest of Avia galaxy, out to get me.
Finally, they call my name.
“Liana Hathaway,” the voice booms. “Please take the stage.”
I put on my most winning smile and step through the curtain. It’s my time to shine.
4
Darvok
Foiled again. Fire burns through my blood at a fever pitch. I don’t think I can control it anymore. And I don’t want to.
As the chieftain of the Vetha-Rek warrior clan, it takes me a long time to calm down once I set my mind to something. The fire of desire, duty, and responsibility burns longer and more intensely than that of those previously under my command. I’ve spent much of my life focusing that fire, casting it temporarily into tasks that will cool the burn. But it only does so much. I can’t let it master me, though. I have to be the master of my own fate.
Today is one of those days. I’ll mete out justice to Krevith when the ancestral Tia see fit to connect our paths. As the shuttle fades into the distance and becomes nothing but a tiny speck on the horizon, I realize that clearly now is not the right time.
And right now, battle is the only thing that can sate me. That’s the only thing that will cool the fire in my blood. I need to hit something. Or preferably, somebody. Get it out of my system. Only then can I focus on the task at hand.
Good thing I’m on this shithole of a planet. Rianos is definitely able to supply my needs.
I try to push all thoughts of the girl in the shuttle out of my mind as I head for the nearest club. There are plenty of cage clubs on Rianos Station, but you’ve got to be careful which one you go to. This station feeds on despair anywhere it can get it, and the cage clubs are no exception.
End up at the wrong one? Those poor sods get tricked into bondage and forced to kill innocents in seedy cage arenas while screaming, bloodlusting crowds look on. Rianos doesn’t have much authority to stop it. It’s a lawless land out here.
That makes it ripe for human trafficking, smuggling, and all other sorts of unsavory deeds. It’s a little out-of-the-way, but I find the one club in the station that actually operates with some sort of legality.
I know the bouncer, Belyn. He gives me a nod of recognition as I approach and crosses his arms. “Darvok. Haven’t seen you in a while,”
“Oh, you know how it is.” I shrug. “Work keeps me busy.”
“Here for a fight? We’ve got quite the lineup tonight. I think you’ll like it.”
“Put me down for a third of the rounds.”
“Excellent.” Belyn gives me a wide grin, showing a few missing teeth. He’s no stranger to the cage himself. “They won’t know what hit them. Now get in there and kick some ass.”
I clap him on the back and push through the door.
The club is filled with the usual suspects. Muscle-bound aliens with a chip on their shoulder, a few leering tourists, and the eve
r-present bartender that keeps them all in line. I sidle up to the counter and order my usual, a Gold Lemon Crash. It comes in a tall test tube like glass and fizzes out the top.
I’m not here to get drunk, though. I’m here to fight. Gotta work off this extra energy somehow.
In the past, when I’ve gotten like this, only violence or sex would get rid of it. I know better than to trust anyone offering sex on Rianos, but fighting? That I can do. Might even make a few extra credits off it.
I ignore the dirty looks I get from a few of the patrons and focus on my drink. I’ll be kicking your ass soon enough, I think at them over the rim of the glass. Just wait and see.
A horned, lumbering warrior plops down next to me at the bar, looking me up and down like a piece of meat.
Great, one of these guys.
I let out a sigh and put down my drink. “You want something?” I ask in a low voice.
“Yeah,” the alien grumbles in a slobbery tone. Sounds like he’s gargling each word. “You.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Me?”
“You and me, purple-skin. In the arena.” He takes a sip of his drink and drops a bag of credits on the counter. “How about a little friendly wager?”
Your funeral.
I give him a smile and eye the bag of credits. “You sure about that, Gorvakian?”
He gives off a low rumble, baring his teeth. I’ve dealt with his type before. All bark and no bite, if you ask me.
“Unless you’re scared?” he taunts.
Now he’s done it. No one calls a Rathian a coward. I stand up, nearly knocking over the barstool. I jut out my arm and shake his hand, solidifying our deal. “Let’s go, then.”
“My pleasure.” The Gorvakian smiles and follows me to the betting window, setting up the duel. I know he’s in it for the sport just as much as I am, but I’m not gonna let him catch me off my guard. Get the fight out of my system, win a few credits, then it’s back on Krevith’s trail. All in a day’s work for the warriors of the Vetha-Rek clan.