The Crimson Claw

by Deborah Chester

  Before this century the Viis had believed the plague was transmitted by abiru slaves, although none of the slave races were susceptible to it. Accordingly, it had been customary to run slaves through chemical dips so caustic that fur and sometimes patches of skin were burned off. If a Viis household died of the plague, its servants were blamed and burned alive. Fortunately in these modern days, it was now known that the Dancing Death was a genetically based virus that attacked certain cells within Viis blood. But no vaccine had been developed to counteract it. Now Ehssk was trying a revolutionary new approach. While Ehssk’s aims might be noble, his methods were not. Ampris thought about becoming a lab animal, spending the rest of her life in a cage, helpless, while she was experimented on.

  A shudder passed through her, and her heart began to thud. “I—I have heard of him,” she said, trying not to show her fear. “I have seen reports about his laboratory on the vidcasts.”

  Halehl flicked out his tongue. “A place of horrors. His work has been honored by the Kaa, but how can the creation of monsters help stop a disease? It makes no sense.”

  His criticism increased her horror. Ampris lowered her head. She knew she was not supposed to ask questions, but Halehl seemed in a mood for conversation beyond the training maneuvers they were supposed to be discussing. And besides, she could not hold her tongue. “What have I done, to be sold to him?”

  “It seems he admires your vigor and strength,” Halehl said.

  Again she shuddered. “But—”

  “Ampris, take off that whipped look,” Halehl said with a smile. “Lord Galard refused the offer, naturally. He isn’t going to sacrifice a good fighter like you to Ehssk’s house of butchery.”

  Relief swept her in a wave so intense she had to blink. She wondered why Halehl hadn’t said so from the first. Yet was there any Viis living who did not enjoy toying with his slaves? As a joke, Halehl’s little game held no amusement for her. But just then, her relief was too great for her to feel anger.

  “So, Ampris,” he continued. “You may be champion, but this season you must prove yourself to be worth the million ducats Lord Galard turned down. Do you understand?”

  “Perfectly, Master Halehl,” she replied, keeping her voice meek and courteous. But inside she felt insulted by the remark. As though she had not brought Galard millions in the wagers he had won. Couldn’t Halehl see that as a motivator, his approach today fell very short?

  But Halehl was tapping a schedule on his desk. “Lord Galard has suffered some losses recently in other ventures. He wants us to concentrate on bringing home monetary prizes this season instead of prestigious trophies. That means a change of schedule.”

  She grew very alert and stared at him intently. “Last-hour changes are fined, aren’t they?”

  Halehl dismissed this consideration with an impatient gesture. “We can’t cancel many competitions, because of the penalties, but we can add to the schedule.”

  Ampris drew in a sharp breath. They were already heavily booked. Halehl had always been meticulous about allowing rest days in case of pulled muscles or more serious injuries. If he forced the team to fight without sufficient rest and recovery, it would mean mistakes. It might mean defeats.

  Equally bad was what these changes would mean to her own carefully laid plans. At their third scheduled competition, which was supposed to be on Mynchepop, she had intended to meet with a Myal subversive named Vome during her free time. Normally her movements were restricted by her Toth bodyguards and Halehl’s paranoid security measures. While she was too well-known to be actually stolen by a competitor, she could be kidnapped and held for ransom. Or, even more likely, she might be attacked and crippled, or poisoned. Now she realized that if word spread about Ehssk’s offer for her, she could be stolen and sold to the laboratory. Security was likely to be stepped up even further. However, because Vome worked within the arena compound in Mynchepop’s capital city, Ampris believed she could smuggle him into her quarters with minimal risk. It had taken much effort and negotiation through her secret communication routes to arrange this meeting. If Halehl changed the date, or opted for a competition more profitable than the one on Mynchepop, it would ruin everything.

  “I’m adding competitions on Lapool, Veltai, and Shrazhak Ohr.”

  Ampris swallowed a sigh. Her disappointment lay bitter on her tongue. “Shrazhak Ohr means we must give up Mynchepop.”

  “True. But the prize for Shrazhak Ohr’s Triad Sweeps is huge, more than enough to cover the penalty for canceling Mynchepop.”

  Apprehension touched her. Lord Galard must be in grave financial trouble, she reasoned, if he was willing to surrender Mynchepop’s prestigious competition. Although in recent years the planet was blighted by severe economic troubles, the best teams still fought there. The crowds were smaller but still generous in showering prizes on the victors. Many product endorsements came to teams from promoters on the pleasure planet. The absence of the Blues would be noticed, even considered an insult. But what about the insult to the Blues themselves? Gladitorial combat on Shrazhak Ohr was savage and dirty, a competition for second-tier fighters who didn’t care about skill or finesse. It was the lowest of the low, with the Triad Sweeps a grueling three-day competition that included everything from Zrheli-baiting to sword relays. It was about pleasing the crowd with fakery and wholesale slaughter.

  Her team was comprised of skilled fighters, consummate artists. They were not common brawlers, and she felt they should not be expected to slaughter condemned political prisoners too unimportant to merit official executions. As a champion at the peak of her athletic ability and skill, Ampris could not believe Galard and Halehl were throwing the Blues down among the dregs.

  Backing her ears, Ampris said hotly, “But the Blues have never dropped to this level. The sweeps are for second-rate—”

  “All the more certain the Blues will win,” Halehl said, cutting off her protest. “You are not permitted to question the orders of Lord Galard.”

  “Is the prize money that good, to merit ruining the reputation of a champion team—”

  “Be silent,” Halehl said, his rill rising behind his head. “Or would you rather Lord Galard recouped his finances by selling you to Ehssk?”

  Ampris closed her mouth with a snap of her teeth. Fuming, she swallowed the rest of what she had meant to say. She recognized a threat when she saw it. Anything was better than going to a laboratory.

  “The placement on the schedule is not so bad,” she said, choosing her words with care. “Shrazhak Ohr is a space station, I think?”

  She acted ignorant on purpose, and was relieved when some of the crimson faded from his rill. He nodded, and the expression softened in his eyes. “The station,” he said quietly, his thoughts drifting away. “The shrine of hope. You should be honored, Ampris, at the chance to see our gateway to the promised land. Ruu-one-one-three, the future of all Viis.”

  Ampris was surprised to hear him talk that way. Halehl was such a practical male, always concerned with the here and now. She’d never realized he believed in the old legend of Ruu-113, a planet that supposedly looked exactly the way Viisymel used to centuries ago, before the Viis stripped it of its natural resources and damaged most of its natural ecology. Viisymel was now so exploited and so depleted across most of its land and sea masses that it had to depend on imports from its colony worlds in order to survive.

  Ruu-113 had been discovered about a century ago, and was reputedly verdant, unspoiled, flowing with abundance, and unpopulated. It had been declared the second Viis homeworld. Colonization permits had been issued to aristocrats of the first rank, from the Twelve Houses only. Plans had been implemented to establish enormous plantations that would send food, minerals, precious metals, lumber, and other resources from Ruu-113 straight to Viisymel, so that it need not ever again be dependent.

  Shrazhak Ohr, a large space station orbiting Viisymel, was once the grandest in the empire, once the busiest, once the most magnificent. Its jump gate—legendar
y, especially because of its large size that could accommodate enormous space-going cargo barges—led only to Ruu-113.

  But the jump gate no longer worked. Ampris did not know why it had failed—probably because of faulty technology or poor maintenance. Every daily vidcast supplied a report on the progress of repairs, and had done so for years, but the gate was still not fixed. Ampris and most of the abiru folk did not believe the gate would ever again be functional. Ruu-113 was now unobtainable, as though Fate had cast its judgment on the hopes and future of the Viis empire.

  But Ampris said nothing about any of that. She betrayed none of her knowledge, knowing it was best if Halehl never realized how intelligent or educated she actually was. Besides, the Viis could be touchy about the subject of Ruu-113, permitting not the slightest abiru criticism where it was concerned.

  Drawing a deep breath, she said instead, “If we fight on the station, we will need time to train for the gravity fluctuations there, especially if the systems fail or—”

  “The Greens will be there too,” Halehl said, interrupting her. “We’re not the only superior team to take this course. You need not look so offended.”

  Ampris bowed. “As the master commands,” she said formally. “I’ll speak of this to the team.”

  “These are a series of moves suitable for the competitions on Lapool and Veltai—most especially on Shrazhak Ohr.” He handed her a schematic picture of the fighting positions. Unaware that she could read, he always gave her graphics instead of text, which amused her. “Discuss them with the team. I have already instructed the subtrainers to obtain vids so that everyone can review these different fighting methods. You agree?”

  “Yes, Master Halehl.” She took the diagrams with barely a glance. “We’ll be in top form.”

  “Excellent. I depend on you.”

  Dismissed, Ampris strode out. As soon as Halehl’s office door closed behind her, Ampris flattened her ears to her skull and narrowed her eyes to slits. Her pride hurt, and her secret plans lay shredded. With every step her morale dropped another notch. The team would hate this as much as she did. They did not deserve a season like this. It would be harsh and brutal, far more so than usual.

  She tried to tell herself this was a positive sign. The Viis empire really was falling apart, its cracks reaching now to the pockets of the wealthiest members, such as Lord Galard.

  But at the moment she felt little satisfaction. It was one thing to plot and assist the downfall of an oppressive empire built on the backs of slave labor. It was another thing not to get crushed when the empire fell.

  She suddenly realized with absolute clarity that she must do her best to make sure Lord Galard never needed or wanted to give up his fighting team. She had no intention of becoming a lab animal as long as there was anything she could do to avoid it.

  CHAPTER•TWELVE

  The cargo shuttle docked sloppily into a loading bay at Shrazhak Ohr, coming in slightly canted on its port side. While it was still bumping to a halt and relinquishing controls to electronic lines that would draw it the rest of the way to its berth, Halehl was already marching down the center aisle, pressing the control on each seat to release the belt locks.

  As each one in turn clicked release and whirred up above the seat occupant’s head, the gladiators stretched and got to their feet.

  “Hurry,” Elrabin said softly to Ampris as she fumbled with a gear bag. He took the bag from her hand and gave her a gentle pat on her shoulder. “Leave this to me.”

  The shuttle bumped again, nearly knocking her off her feet. Beside her, Nink half fell over the seat in front of him and snarled.

  “We’re too late,” Omtat mumbled beneath his breath. “Waste of our time, rushing in late.”

  “Can’t believe we gave up Mynchepop for this,” Lamina said. A spotted, slender young female Aaroun, she’d been purchased to replace Ylea on the team six seasons back and had proved herself to be competent but unimaginative. She’d been repeating the same complaint the whole flight. “Mynchepop has the most breathable air in the empire. So many negative ions to inhale. This place is probably nothing but recycled air, full of toxins. The out-gassing alone from—”

  “Shut up,” Teinth told her with a growl. “Keep your damned toxins and ions to yourself.”

  Lamina narrowed her eyes at him while they lined up to disembark. The servants squeezed past them, harried and quick as they pulled more gear bags from storage bins. A ready light flashed on, went out as though it had a short, then flashed on again. The hatch popped free with a hiss of escaping air and pressurization.

  Ampris felt her body lift slightly as the gravity field within the shuttle faltered. She gripped the back of a seat for support and gritted her teeth against the ache of her sore muscles.

  Finishing the competition at Lapool, they had gone straight from the arena to a ship destined for the homeworld system. It was supposed to be a rapid flight, with a single, direct jump, but the ship developed a serious navigational malfunction just as it emerged at the outer edge of the solar system and was denied entry into the heavily trafficked areas. Halehl had spent hours on the linkup, pulling all the influence Lord Galard possessed to get a communications line ahead of other passengers. Finally, after a three-day delay, he had managed to hire this cargo shuttle to complete the journey.

  The shuttle, however, was slow and in poor repair. It limped along at half speed, taking five days to cross the system while Halehl paced and fretted. With the master trainer so nervous, the gladiators themselves couldn’t help but worry.

  Ampris knew that more was perhaps riding on this competition than even Halehl had admitted. She had never seen him look so haggard. There had never been so many difficulties before with travel arrangements. There had never been so many things that went wrong. It had unsettled them all. Plus they were finding the rough schedule even more taxing than they’d expected. All the members of the team were in peak condition, but even so they were beginning to tire.

  This journey had been anything but restful. Ampris was aching for a deep massage. Their seats converted to berths, but the noisy, rough-flying shuttle made sleep difficult. Chemical baths took care of basic essentials, but still left her feeling unclean. The food tasted like its storage cartons. Ampris wasn’t sure they’d even arrive in one piece.

  But they made it, although they were late. This was the first day of the Triad Sweeps, and Halehl was still on his hand-link as they disembarked and moved awkwardly up the tunnel into the station terminal. Ampris overheard snatches of his conversation and wasn’t sure they could keep their entry status since they were so late.

  “The fighting has started,” Halehl reported, closing his link at last. “Everyone, stay calm. We’ve enough time yet to get there. I have negotiated a switch in the lineup with another team. We don’t go into the ring for another hour.”

  “Reassuring,” Teinth muttered to Ampris as they trudged along, half striding, half bounding in the odd gravity field of the disembarkation tunnel.

  Ahead of them, a Viis station official in black uniform hurried to block their path. “Stop! Stop!” he said in Viis. “These slaves must be in restraints. Who is in authority here?”

  Sanvath and Lamina were in the lead. Not understanding what the official was actually saying and clearly not caring, Sanvath tried to brush past the official, but the Viis dropped back and drew a stun-stick. Growling, Sanvath dropped his left shoulder and started to charge with a blocking tackle, but Halehl’s voice rang out.

  “Sanvath, halt!”

  The big Aaroun growled again, but he obeyed. He stood glaring at the official, whose rill was standing at full extension behind his head.

  Halehl hurried forward to argue with the official, who was pointing at the team and shaking his head.

  Ampris sighed and rolled her eyes. “Another delay. If we’re detained in customs, we’ll never get to the arena.”

  “Don’t much care,” Teinth grumbled hoarsely. “At best, we’ll have to go straight there
. No time for anything else . . . now.”

  Meaning no time for a quick bath. No time for a massage. No time for a decent meal.

  “We have to warm up,” Ampris said in annoyance. “We need some time to prepare.”

  “Dreaming for the good old days,” he said and scratched his ear.

  Halehl apparently won his argument with the official, who stepped aside with visible reluctance. Halehl rounded them up and glared at all of them.

  “I have persuaded them to let us go straight to the arena through the central axis of the station,” he said, his voice low and urgent. “We have just enough time to make the opening displays. Our entry contract calls for it, and I don’t intend to lose any possible prize money because we miss easy work.”

  Ampris looked at him in rising suspicion, but Halehl was hustling them forward.

  “I have given assurances that there will be no trouble,” Halehl said to them all while he waved the Toth bodyguards ahead. “See that there is none.”

  Giving them no time to answer, he hustled them forward. The station was indeed larger than any Ampris had seen before. The central axis was an engineering marvel spinning slowly within the vast boundary hull. Ampris got a rushed impression of vaulted ceiling, brushed metal walls, crisscrossing passenger conveyors linking the multiple levels of shops. Craning her neck, she hurried along while Viis tourists not already within the arena stands backed out of the team’s way and stared, pointing and murmuring to each other. Shops featuring wares of all kinds crammed every available meter of space, the merchants haggling busily.

  When they reached the far end of the axis, they found a huge bank of observation ports overlooking the magnificent panorama of space itself.

  Despite their hurry, everyone slowed down and stared. Here was the famous shrine to Ruu-113, now a fable even for the few Viis who still believed in it. Brightly colored pledges of Viis hope were fastened to the observation ports. A Kelth wearing black station coveralls came along, dragging a floating trash receptacle behind him. He set to work plucking the pledges down and throwing them away. Then he started scrubbing away the scrawled inscriptions. While he worked, a Viis female robed in expensive traveling clothes came up with her attendants and fastened a trinket of dyed feathers and beads to the shrine. She stared at the view no more than a second before hastening away.