“I guess they have. I’m happy for you.”
“And, of course, I want you to be my second.”
“I would have had to fight you myself if you’d told me anything different,” Tamara said.
“Look, I’m due for my first brief, but I wanted to stop by here first and tell you. And tomorrow night? Illy’s?”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world, Jonna.”
“OK, we’ll talk later. I’m running late.”
Jonna gave Tamara a peck on the cheek and ran out of the gym. Tamara watched her friend leave, happy for her, but with a tinge of worry. She was confident, very confident in Jonna’s abilities. But even the slightest possibility of Jonna getting hurt gave her pause. She wasn’t sure how she’d cope without Jonna’s sunshine lifting her up. But she knew Jonna wanted this so bad. To go through genmodding without ever fighting for the cause was a horrible thought. It had been too much for Grammarcy.
Tamara lay back down on the bench. She wasn’t done yet with her reps. Six hundred kilos were one of her middle days, and she had another set to go before moving to her legs. She almost considered that with the interruption, she’d just quit the bench, but she’d felt a tiny twinge in her shoulder earlier, and she wanted to get that worked out. As if in punishment for even considering such blasphemy, she gave herself two more sets on the bench, not just the one.
She’s going to be fine, she thought before pushing Jonna out of her thoughts and concentrated on her workout.
IGA 23
Chapter 37
“You look great, Reindeer Girl,” Tamara said, looking at her friend.
“White Ghost, there, lowly second,” Jonna said, a huge smile on her face.
The press had taken one look at Jonna’s official release holos, and the name White Ghost was immediately attached to her. She looked the part, Tamara decided. At Illy’s Frank had kept most of Jonna’s pale, pale hair untouched, with only a black and silver streak on each side of her head. Jonna had matched those colors with her shark suit: white with black and silver trim. With the chrome-like silver of her sylvian, she was the very picture of a superhero, one hot enough to invade the dreams of billions of teenage boys around the galaxy.
“I bow to the White Ghost,” Tamara said, rendering a passable medieval court bow.
“You may proceed me, m’lady,” Jonna said, affecting a high, snooty voice.
Tamara had to smile as she opened the hotel room door for Jonna. Her friend was not the bundle of nerves Tamara would have thought. Outwardly, at least, she was cool and collected. Too cool. She might as well have going out to see the latest Hollybolly flick.
The press, both the “regular” free press and the IGA public affairs press, had eaten Jonna up like a vanilla angel food cake. From the moment they stepped off the ship until they’d locked the door on their suite 15 hours before, they’d been hounded. The press instinctively knew Jonna was a star in the making, and they were circling like sharks in the water. A drone had even tried to holocord them through their 24th-floor window before the Four Season’s security shot the thing out of the sky.
IGA security met them at the elevator, actually checking inside to make sure it was safe. Tamara tried to withhold a laugh, but when Jonna did laugh, Tamara lost it as well. Two gladiators, the best warriors humanity could create, and these security guards half their size thought they were protecting them?
Luckily, their size made the elevator too crowded, so none of the guards followed the two inside, and they had time to regain their composure before the doors opened and no less than 12 more company security escorted them out of the lobby to the applause of about 50 or 60 hotel staff and guests.
They were alone in the van, but when the doors opened at the combat site, the press seemed to outnumber the VIPs. IGA 23 had over three million employees on the planet, but close to 200 million non-employees had immigrated over the years. About half supported company operations, but the rest simply carved out a life as they deemed fit. But the planet was a company planet, and the VIPs were all IGA bigwigs or friends of the company.
The fight was to take place inside the company sports complex, Patterson Arena. Jonna gave a regal wave to the gathered observers in the stands as she slowly glided to the ring.
She’s really eating this up.
Jonna had been a star basketball player back on Pohnjanmaa, so she’d been used to the spotlight, but Tamara knew Jonna was just having fun with it.
Several smiles cracked the faces of the witnesses, who were down on the arena floor as Jonna did her thing. Beth, Elei, Queen, and a few others who knew Jonna well knew that Jonna was playing with the spectators, treating them almost as a joke, and they appreciated being in on the joke as well.
Jonna reached the ring, and the playful Jonna vanished while the gladiator Jonna made her appearance. She carefully tested the footing of the sand, seemed to accept it as satisfactory, and then settled in to wait.
They didn’t have to wait long. Within ten minutes, two Klethos strode into the arena from one of the tunnels. Tamara broke her frozen position to steal a glance at Jonna’s opponent, and her heart dropped.
The d’relle entering the arena was armed with a mace.
There were only five fights in which a d’relle used a mace. Four of them had been defeated while only one won, and the Klethos seemed to give them up. The weapon, while extremely powerful, was unwieldy and slow. The four human winners had been able to counter the blows while dancing around it, scoring almost at will against their opponents. The one win, however, had come against a gladiator with a merrick, which was a type of foil. The much heavier mace had smashed through the merrick’s parry and crush the chest of the gladiator.
Jonna’s sylvian was a type of foil, and it just wasn’t heavy enough to do much against the d’relle’s mace.
“Just stay clear, Jonna,” Tamara whispered. “Dance around it.”
The d’relle marched right into the ring and launched into her initial challenge. She paused, then started her haka. It wasn’t much as far as hakas went, consisting mostly of foot stomps and heavy spins. She lifted the mace high a few times, but didn’t swing it with much force. Two minutes later, which seemed to be the minimum that a d’relle would dance, she was done, lunging forward and screeching.
Jonna stood still, then slowly reached back. Tamara place the hilt of the sylvian in her hand before retreating a couple of steps. Jonna almost languidly leaned forward into the initial lunge without the normal stomp. She rose back up and flowed, more than anything else, into a graceful ballet, all beauty and movement. Tamara had seen it before while Jonna practiced, but to see it here, in the ring of the Patterson Arena, Tamara thought Jonna was transformed into a deadly, but beautiful wraith. She spun, jumped, and moved through the ballet, all arms, legs, and mastery of her body.
Tamara had suggested that Jonna cut her haka shorter to save energy, but Jonna had resisted. This was her dance, and she wanted it done right. Billions upon billions of people were watching her, and she wanted to reach each of them.
Tamara thought she’d succeeded when she went into the last grande jeté and seemingly fell into the final challenge lunge.
Instead of screaming out, she simply said, “I accept your challenge.”
If the d’relle had been surprised by any of this, she didn’t show it. She lifted up her mace, holding with both left arms. That was unusual, and Tamara couldn’t recall off hand if any other d’relle had used her upper arm in a fight.
The d’relle moved forward. The weight of the mace head looked to be almost 100 kg, and no matter how strong a d’relle was, that was a lot of weight to carry and manipulate. She couldn’t expect to fight long and maintain her skill level. Jonna had to stay clear, looking for opportunities to strike and wear down her opponent.
Instead of backing up, though, Jonna moved forward to meet the d’relle.
No, Jonna! Circle and stay clear! Tamar silently implored her friend.
There would be no lig
htening quick strikes from the d’rella, but when the d’relle started her swing, instead of sidestepping her, Jonna raised her sylvian to meet the swing. Tamara almost took a step forward as the front quarter of Jonna’s sylvian caught the handle of the mace.
The mace wasn’t a sword, though. It did coulé down the length of Jonna’s sword, but instead of being caught in the quillon, it simply smashed through it, snapping the super-strong ceramometal right off. The head of the mace passed within a few centimeters of Jonna’s chest.
Jonna staggered but somehow managed to retain her weapon. She was out of position for a riposte that would take advantage of the d’relle’s exposed position, and she danced back. Tamara watched Jonna unclench and clench her sword hand. The blow must have hurt her arm, she knew.
The d’relle raised her mace again, and any advantage Jonna might have had was lost. Jonna finally started circling, to Tamara’s relief. She couldn’t stand and be a target.
Use your movement, girl! Use your quickness!
The d’relle suddenly struck, quicker than Tamara would have thought possible, but Jonna danced out of the way. She danced in and slashed at the d’relle’s exposed shoulder, scoring a long cut. Unfortunately, Jonna was not able to put enough power behind it to make it a killing blow. She passed the sylvian to her left hand, shook out her right hand, then passed the sword back.
She might have broken it, Tamara thought. Just ignore the pain and finish this.
Gladiators were genmodded to be able to handle pain. If the hand could physically work, Tamara knew Jonna would be able to still function. Pain alone was not going to be a deciding factor.
Tamara thought she could see just the tiniest slowing of the d’relle. She’d launched two attacks, which didn’t seem like much, but that was a heavy piece of metal she was throwing about. Tamara felt a slight bit of satisfaction knowing Jonna was gaining the upper hand.
Instead of another lunge, the d’relle suddenly charged, mace held high. And instead of dancing back, the Jonna moved forward to meet her opponent, sylvian at the low guard, ready to skewer the charging Klethos queen. The tip of her sword hit the d’relle’s belly, but it skittered across the armor until it caught and pierced through on the side, just as the d’relle hit Jonna like a linebacker, knocking her back on her ass. Jonna now weaponless, hit the sand hard, but she started to scramble to the side as the d’relle finally started to swing her mace down.
“Jonna!” Tamara shouted out, breaking all protocol.
Jonna rolled out from under the swing, but somehow, unbelievably, the d’relle was able to adjust the swing while it was already in motion, something Tamara would have thought impossible. The adjustment wasn’t much, but it was enough for the mace head to catch Jonna on the upper back just below her right shoulder. Tamara could hear the shoulder blade break with a sickening snapping sound.
Jonna screamed out as the blow spun her around, face up. The d’relle, sword still embedded in her belly, stepped forward, putting one big clawed foot on Jonna’s right leg, trapping her as she raided the mace high. Jonna kicked out with her left legs, trying to hit the exposed hilt of her sword to drive it deeper into her opponent and cause more damage.
Tamara took an involuntary step forward as the d’relle brought down the mace. Jonna tried to jerk herself free, but the mace head hit her in the chest just below the throat and crushed Jonna’s rib cage. Just that quickly, Johanna Sirén, Tamara’s roomie, best friend, and sister, was dead.
The d’relle reared back her head and screeched, then almost casually pulled Jonna’s sylvian out of her side, dropping it dismissively on the sand before wheeling about and stalking out of the ring.
Tamara rushed forward, sliding in the sand to lift Jonna’s head and place it in her lap. The shark suit was valiantly trying to put pressure on Jonna’s open chest to stem the bleeding, but there was nothing on which to apply pressure. Tamara, tears in her eyes, kept trying to pull the edges of the suit together so as to hide the mess that had been Jonna’s chest. Her sister-gladiator’s beautiful face, pale and striking, stared lifelessly to the roof of the arena as if unsure what had just happened.
MALIBU
Chapter 38
Tamara’s blow sent Master Abad to the ground where he grunted in pain.
He looked back up to his student, then said, “I think we’re done here today,” before he slowly got up, wincing, and left her in the practice ring.
Tamara knew it hadn’t been fair. As good as the swordmaster was, he was still less than half her size, and without him being able to use his skill for a kill as if in a real fight, she had used that against him, beating him up pretty badly. It wasn’t fair, but she didn’t give a damn. In the week since Jonna had been killed, she’d turned into herself and presented a thoroughly nasty person, snapping at her friends and spending all her free time in her empty home, in her room with the lights off. Dr, Smith, the head psych, had tried to come talk with her, but she’d physically thrown him out, taking him by the shoulder and pushing him back out the door. She knew the staff was worried about her, she knew her friends were worried about her, but she didn’t care.
At least three times before, gladiators had completely snapped, and everyone knew that the campus was protected by energy weapons—not for use against invaders, but against gladiators who posed a threat to others. Tamara knew she wasn’t about to hurt anyone—well, not too badly, she thought as she watched Master Abad limp out of the practice facility. But she knew no one else knew what she would do, and she knew they would be taking precautions for any eventuality.
Crap, she thought, wincing at the pain in her right pec. I think I hit him harder than I intended.
She dropped the boctou, the practice sword, on the table and left, skipping lunch to go back to her home. For the hundredth time, she half expected Jonna to be there, either with a happy greeting or a practical joke. But the home was dark and silent. She didn’t look at the door to Jonna’s bedroom as she entered hers and flopped down on the bed without showering.
Life just isn’t fair, she thought, her new mantra.
She’d known what she was getting into when she accepted the nomination; only she didn’t know. How could anyone know until she was in the position? The last few weeks had taken their toll on her. Fleetwood, Grammarcy, Jonna, and now Bibi Manaus, another casual friend, killed the day before, also taken down by a mace-wielding d’relle.
We need to get heavier weapons to face them, her tactical mind noted.
That was always working no matter her mood, it seemed.
She knew she had to snap out of it. She was doing no one any good like this, neither her nor anyone else. But on one level, she wanted to be deep down in the pits. She wanted to feel miserable. It wouldn’t be right to go on as normal with Jonna gone.
“Play Alabaster Morning, all songs,” she commanded the house AI.
The hauntingly beautiful songs started to play. When Dew Trap started, a small smile creased her face. Jonna had thought the song was sappy and immature.
Tamara lay in bed all afternoon, and it wasn’t until her growling stomach drove her out and into the dining facility. Her friends cautiously greeted her, but otherwise left her alone. She took a huge helping of yakisoba—the gladiator-friendly version, not one that any good Japanese chef would recognize—and wolfed it down. She needed the calories to support her big body, especially if she was going to fight again. And she knew she would fight. That was her only purpose in life anymore. And as she realized that, she knew she had to move on. Jonna was gone, but so were so many others. Things were no different for her than for any of the rest of them.
She dropped her empty tray in the bin and walked over to where Beth, Queen, Elei, and a few others were sitting. Several of them looked up cautiously, probably afraid of her lashing out at them again.
Tamara wasn’t going to apologize, though. It was what is was.
Instead, she looked at Beth and asked, “Can you take me out tonight?”
The s
hock on Beth’s face was evident as she asked, “Out? As in dinner?”
“No. Out. As in the Gryphon or wherever you go.”
“Woah!” Queen said before purposely looking down at her food.
“The Gryphon? Are you sure?”
“Yep. I’m sure. I’m going one way or the other, and I’d like you to take me.”
“Well, OK. But you are sure?”
“I’ll see you at 2000, OK?” she said more than asked, then turned and left the dining facility.
She understood Beth’s confusion. The Gryphon was a well-known paramour corral. More than a few gladiators frequented the place where anxious men adored and pampered them. Tamara had pictured in her mind something like a termite colony with a huge queen being served by a host of tiny workers whose only job was to make the queen comfortable. The thought had disgusted her, but now, for reasons about which she was unsure, she wanted to see what it was like.
Beth was the only one of her friends who went there often, and she was not too shy to show off the jewelry and gifts the men gave her. Beth had invited Tamara before, telling her it was innocent fun, but Tamara always refused. Now it was time to see what all of it was about.
Her thoughts went to her closet. She’d picked up a cute sundress in the commissary almost six months ago, but she’d never worn it. It might do for the evening. Surprised that she was feeling a little more normal, even a little excited, she picked up her pace. She needed a shower, and she hadn’t brushed her hair for three days. If she was going out on the town, she might as well do it right!
Chapter 39
Tamara sat in her seat at the auditorium and sneaked a looked at the small broach she wore on her chest. It wasn’t much, and even her untrained eye knew the quality was poor. But Mark had been so sweet at the Gryphon, getting her drinks (gladiator-friendly of course—Beth had told her that the paramours were more cognizant of a gladiator’s dietary restrictions than the gladiators were themselves), chatting about whatever topic interested her, and simply being there for her. To her surprise, she’d stayed at the Gryphon for almost five hours, and while the paramours made the rounds to meet Beth, Elei (who’d decided to come, too), and her, she’d spent most of the night talking to Mark. Over 60, slightly pudgy, and no Hollybolly hunk, he’d never-the-less been pleasant company.
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