Beth shouldn’t be too disappointed, though. She’d been issued an ichi-katana, which was the evolution from the 18th Century, Old Reckoning, Japanese katana. The Japanese family of blades had an eight to three record, and with female gladiators, that was three to zero.
Elei was issued a claymore, which was not surprising given her size—she was still the largest of them even after genmodding. Jonna was issued a sylvian, one of the newer styles. Developed by the University of Garuda, it had less heft than many blades, but with Jonna’s long reach and superb reflexes, it could be a deadly weapon.
While she would still be mixing it up with the other girls in the ring, for the next two months, her swordwork would be accomplished with Master Abad along with the other four gladiators who’d been given scimitars. She’d learn how to use her mameluke first before sparring with those with different weapons.
It had seemed odd to her at first that in this day and age, they would be taken to planets in modern warships that could pulverize said planet, fly down in comfort in shuttles, and then meet their opponents with weapons that had been around in some form or another for 10,000 years. On the other hand, anything more powerful would be somewhat of a mockery to the gladiatorial ring. Anyone could stand there and blast away with an energy weapon.
The Klethos technology was pretty far beyond that of humankind’s. In conventional, all-out war, they could almost certainly overcome humanity. Luckily, their warrior creed allowed the battle of champions, and if they allowed the champions to be armed with swords, all the better.
Tamara slowly sheathed her mameluke, almost sad to see the gleaming metal disappear, centimeter by centimeter into the silver and gold scabbard. Her first class was not until that afternoon before dinner, and she couldn’t wait.
Chapter 17
Tamara stood stock-still, staring straight ahead and with her sword down along her side. Rheina looked confused as she stood in her en garde. She looked to Master Abad for the briefest moment, the tip of her mohannad dipping ever-so-slightly.
That was what Tamara was waiting for. She immediately launched into a fendente, a direct overhead slash with her mameluke. Rhenia was taken by surprise, but she had the quick-twitch reactions of all gladiators, and she was able to raise her sword to block Tamara’s at the last second.
It would have been a quick kill had the fendente scored, but Tamara had launched it as a feint. Rheina was out of position for Tamara’s second intention. Instead of some fancy fencing move, however, Tamara’s second intention was a corps-à-corps, or a body slam. Touching bodies like this was against every rule in modern fencing, but this was not fencing. This was gladiatorial combat, where a handful of sand thrown in an opponent’s eyes would be par for the course. And as Tamara’s first time facing a live opponent in the ring, she was bound and determined not to lose.
Both gladiators massed close to the same, but while Tamara was braced for the collision, Rheina was not. She was knocked to one knee, her sword-hand on the deck to keep her from falling flat. Tamara didn’t let her recover. With a shout, she brought her mameluke down with all her might, connecting with Rheina’s neck just as the other girl realized her mistake.
Tamara’s sword passed through Rheina, and the fight AI flashed red.
Tamara let out a screech of victory. She could see Rheina starting to protest, so she spun away from her, but making sure her knee hit Rheina in the chest, knocking her on her ass. She flicked the switch in her sword’s handle, and the blade, all the way down to the ricasso,[14] disappeared.
“But Master Abad,” Rheina cried out from behind her, “she did that corps thing you said. That’s not, not—”
“Not fair?” the master swordsman asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
“Yeah. Not fair,” Rheina said, evidently missing the sword master’s tone.
“Do you think a d’relle is going to adhere to human fencing rules. Miss Savant?”
“Well, no. But we’re in fencing class now, not combat class!”
“And you are trying to tell me that fencing isn’t combat?”
“Yes. I mean no, I don’t mean that. But Tamara, she, she, and then she kicked me when I was down!” Rheina said, her voice rising as her frustration got the better of her.
“You were killed, Miss Savant. That is all that matters. Now, or when you get into the ring for real. Remember that.
“Miss Singh and Miss Jones, you two are up,” he said, forestalling any more whining.
Tamara turned to look at Rheina with only the slightest bit of pity. And that surprised her. While Tamara had always been a fierce competitor, that had been tempered with a large degree of civility. She never wished anyone harm, and she usually felt compassion for those she beat. Now, she’d humiliated Rheina, and she felt proud. It wasn’t as if she didn’t like her fellow gladiator. Rheina was a sweet girl with a great sense of humor, and Tamara would be happy to share a meal with her.
It had to be the genmodding, Tamara knew. As part of the genmod recipe, her ovaries and been atrophied, so her estrogen levels were extremely low. Testosterone is also produced in the ovaries, so that would lower the hormone’s level in the body as well, but the genmod changed the adrenal gland, where testosterone is also produced, making it into a super-factory of the hormone. Tamara’s body was literally flowing with testosterone now. They’d been told that the process would not change a gladiator’s basic personality, but it could shift things around to let different facets surface.
Genmodding didn’t make Tamara into an aggressive bitch, but it was allowing that part of her personality surface. Ms. Garcia back in Orinoco might faint with shock at what one of her favorite students had become.
“Aggressive bitch” might be overstating things, but even if Tamara liked Rheina, the other gladiator had better stand the eff by next time, and any time, they fought. There was only room for one winner, and Tamara was going to make sure that winner was always her.
Chapter 18
“A little different from the party at the Moldy Lion, huh?” Elei asked, lifting a glass of lychee juice.
Tamara, Jonna, Beth, and Grammarcy, who’d surprisingly become one of their little group, each lifted a glass of juice or tea in response. The five gladiators were at the Sichko Village canteen, sharing drinks and camaraderie. They rarely went out in town. Even if some establishments had oversized rooms in the hopes of attracting gladiators, the constant attention could be trying. They felt much more comfortable in their own space.
Tamara was drinking mint tea. She longed for the flavor of lychee, but lychee didn’t long for her. Her digestive track still could not tolerate it. It was ironic that as one of the 400 or so most powerful people in existence, her stomach was a delicate as a butterfly’s. At least she was off the gruel. Her diet, along with the others’, was still and always would be limited, but the chefs in each of the four gladiator villages were skilled at extracting as much flavor and variety as possible from the same somewhat dull ingredients.
“Well, we’re all a little different than we were then,” Jonna said.
“A lot different,” Tamara added.
“We thought we were pretty hot stuff then, the crème de la crème of humanity. But that was hubris speaking. Now, we really are the crème de la crème. We’re bad ass, fucking gladiators!” Grammarcy said, raising her glass one more time.
“To us,” Elei shouted out. “Bad ass fucking gladiators!”
“Bad ass fucking gladiators,” the rest shouted out.
Several other small groups in the canteen repeated the toast, raising their own glasses.
That day, each of them had been officially classified as Single Combat Specialists. They had gone into Module 3 with 66 in the class, and all 66 had made the classification. But while no one talked about it, it was common knowledge that not all would ever see combat. They had all developed varying degrees of skills, but worlds were too important to risk, so only the best would be sent out as human champions. Oh, there were rumors that somet
imes, for worlds not deemed that important, gladiators lower on the list were sent out as a sacrifice, thereby keeping the Klethos satisfied. But generally, only the higher ranking gladiators were sent into combat.
What that meant was that up to half of this class, depending on how other fights went, would never see the ring. They’d be like Fleetwood Andrews, just hanging on until the Brick claimed them. It seemed like a waste to Tamara, but she understood the need. Humanity had to have a pool of gladiators in order to find the best to fight for it.
Tamara didn’t have to worry about that, though. She finished the class ranked number four. There was no doubt that she would see the ring. The Brick probably was not in her future, which was her main goal. She’d die in the ring as a warrior should.
She looked at her friends—no, her sisters. As much as she missed her family, these women were her family now.
Jonna, surprisingly to Tamara, had finished ranked number six. Her willowy frame was only willowy in comparison to the other gladiators. She was tall, had amazing reflexes, and with her sylvian rapier, she had proven to be a match for most of them. She’d beaten Tamara more than once, in fact. Elei was ranked 13th, and Grammarcy was 21st. All four of them could expect to face a Klethos queen at some time.
Beth, though, Beth probably wouldn’t. Beth finished ranked 48th. She’d vowed to climb the ladder, and that could happen, but that was a lot of ground to make up.
“Semper fi, Warrant Officer,” Tamara said to her, wanting to get that thought out of her mind.
“Semper fi to you, too, Warrant Officer Veal,” Beth replied.
With Module 3 finished, both Marines had been promoted to warrant officer that afternoon. Captain Tolbert had been promoted to major. General Williams, the Assistant Commandant of the Marine Corps, had personally made the trip to Malibu to pin on their bars. Her status as a Marine might seem unimportant to outside observers, but to the three Marines, it was part of who they are. Tamara was extremely grateful that the assistant commandant had taken the time to make the trip. It showed that they were not forgotten and still part of the Corps.
Five other Marines, all gladiators and three of them braided, had attended the promotion. Tamara looked forward to getting to know them now that she was a certified SCS.
Each of the newly minted SCSs would go on a week’s family leave in the morning. A few of her sister gladiators wanted more time at home, but as Jonna pointed out, their biological clocks were ticking. A year after genmodding, they only had a couple of years of potential combat time before the Brick came a’calling. They couldn’t afford more time at home. They needed to continue to hone their skills. Within a year, their class should start providing the bulk of the gladiators needed for combat.
ORINOCO
Chapter 19
“Come on, Tamara, one sip won’t hurt,” Cyrus said, holding out a glass of champagne.
Cyrus had been a fly constantly buzzing around her since her return, and it was getting pretty annoying. He seemed to think that their brief dating in high school had made a claim on her. What was worse was that her family seemed to think it a good idea, and they continually made time for them to be together.
“I’ve told you, I can’t drink alcohol. You know that,” she said, leaning back against the wall of her parents’ house and watching the fireflies dance across the back yard.
“Yeah, of course, I know, but one sip? For old time’s sake?”
It was just easier to ignore Cyrus, so she closed her eyes and tried to relax. She was still in her blues from that evening’s reception, and she knew she shouldn’t be sitting on the ground in them, but she didn’t have the mental energy at the moment to do anything about it.
It wasn’t as if she had much choice on where to sit. Her parents’ house was designed for normals, not for gladiators. A crushed chaise lounge was evidence that her parents had attempted to get some gladiator-sized furniture, but that poor chaise lounge hadn’t stood a chance at supporting Tamara’s weight.
Tamara had been home for three full days, and while she’d been happy to see her family, she was already sick of the trip, to be blunt. She wondered if she could cut it short without offending anybody.
The entire planet, it seemed, had shown up at Davis Spaceport to see her arrive. Newsies and cams had covered every second of the arrival, and she’d had to stand and listen to speeches by the governor and a UAM under-secretary of some sort or another. She finally made it home, but two hours later, it was off of Cascade Valley High School where a ceremony in her honor was planned. Her track number was re-retired (Tamara wasn’t sure how that was even possible—the number had already been retired once. Did they “un-retire” it just so they could retire it again?) The school marching band played, even dredging up the saccharine My Lost Tamara that she detested. She’d hated it when the Lionel Brothers had sung it, and it was only slightly better as an instrumental. But she’d smiled and nodded as the principal, teachers, her track coach, and several of her classmates stood and told the assembled crowd how they’d always known Tamara would go on to bigger and better things. It seemed as if the assembly had a life of its own, and just as it seemed it was about to end, it would sputter back to life. Finally, Tamara was able to leave and get back home.
The next two days were more of the same, with the planetary government taking charge. She was treated like a visiting dignitary instead of a native daughter. She’d been to Horsten Dam before—she didn’t need another tour of it, every moment being recorded for prosperity. Cyrus had been at her side for most of the time making a nuisance of himself. But she was a good girl, smiling and cooperating. She realized the importance of the symbology. The gladiator program was the ultimate and most visual case of all of humankind working together, and the UAM, which for centuries had been a dog without teeth, what milking it for all it was worth.
Today had been a little better, at least. Lunch had been a picnic at the falls with only close friends and family. Someone actually bothered to research what she could and could not eat, and everyone shared the same fare, which was a nice touch. She reconnected with old friends and almost forgot that things had changed—almost.
After the picnic, she’d gotten into her blues and along with a small entourage of Marines led by a lieutenant colonel, made the recruiting rounds. Master Sergeant Haines, the head of Orinoco’s small Marine detachment, told her that enlistment requests had skyrocketed since Tamara had been nominated, and now that she’d made it, he had eight times the volunteers that he was authorized to accept. Ten poolees were waiting for their recruit class, and Tamara posed with them while family and newsies recorded the event.
Dinner this evening was more of the same, but this time hosted by the Corps. Nothing much changed, though, from the food (Tamara’s was within her dietary restrictions, but she had to sit next to people eating prime rib or shrimp) to the speeches. By the time she got home, she was tired of it all. When the UAM event coordinator showed up with tomorrow’s schedule, Tamara had asked Diana to take care of it and snuck out to the back yard. It would have been better had Cyrus not found and imposed himself on her.
“Tamtam, I’ve sent her on her way. Do you want to go over it?” Diana asked, poking her head out the door.
Tamara shook her head without saying a word.
Diana stood there for a moment before saying, “Cy, why don’t you take off now?”
“But we’re just enjoying each other’s company,” he protested. “We’re about to have a drink together.”
“You know she can’t drink,” she scolded as if he was a toddler. “Come on, you can see her tomorrow. It’s sister time.”
He seemed about to argue, but to Tamara’s relief, he got up after promising to return in the morning and left.
Diana sat down beside her big sister, dwarfed by her mass. Still, after a few moments, Tamara leaned over, laying her head on top of Diana’s.
“You doing OK, Tamtam? I know this has been, well, nothing has been in your control. Everyone
wants a piece of you.”
“It comes with the territory, Di. I volunteered for it, so I can’t complain.”
“Yes, you did, but still . . .”
“It’s OK.”
“Really? Is it really?”
Tamara didn’t respond, mesmerized by the fireflies going through their mating patterns. They would find mates, maybe tonight, and create the next generation. Then, they would die soon, their lives complete. Tamara knew she would outlive them, but that didn’t give her much solace.
“Yes, it is. Really,” she finally said.
“With everything going on, we really haven’t had a chance to talk much yet,” Diana said.
“I know, and I’m sorry about that.”
“I want you to know that I’m getting married.”
Tamara sat back up and looked down at her little sister.
“Married?”
“Yeah. I’m sorry to spring it on you like this. But we haven’t had time, and I don’t know when would be the right time.”
“But . . . with who?” Tamara asked, stunned.
“Lars, Lars David.”
“Lars David?” she repeated, at a loss for words.
She knew Lars. He lived a couple of blocks over, and he’d played in the neighborhood since childhood. He seemed like an OK guy, but Lars David?
“And I’m pregnant.”
If Tamara was surprised before, this statement, out of the blue, floored her.
“Pregnant? How?”
“Oh, the usual way,” Diana said, encircling both of her arms around Tamara’s left arm.
“I know that, Di. I mean, what happened?”
“I wanted, it, Tamtam. After Lars proposed, we started planning the wedding, but . . .”
“But what?”
“I know you can’t have your own children, and I know you wanted them. So I wanted to have a child, one you can meet and love, one who will be old enough to remember you after . . .”
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