Alien Apocalypse: The Complete Series (Parts I-IV)

by JC Andrijeski

  “And the conflict there, honorable Ringmaster? With your professed role in our city?”

  Jet knew this was formality, too.

  Trazen barely hesitated. “I have abstained from my role as Operations Director of the Rings in this and all relevant matches with my possession, Honorable Keeper of the Law Nurem, to eliminate any conflict between my role as Ringmaster and Operator and the fact of my servant’s participation in this challenge. I have instead delegated this role to appropriate persons, with input from prior Ringmasters and Judges to ensure the rules to which we must all adhere are honored in my absence...”

  Nurem nodded once, his dark green eyes showing approval.

  “Very good, Ringmaster Trazen.”

  To Jet’s left, one of Trazen’s guards repeated both of their words in English so that both languages were represented on screen.

  Nurem turned to Bukka and her owner, his voice intoning the same question.

  “And who owns this mammal...?” he said, his voice more brusque.

  “I do, honorable Nurem, Rings Keeper of the Law...”

  The voice was higher and slightly nasal that time, and held just the faintest note of peevishness. Jet couldn’t help glancing at the previous Ringmaster, Al-En Mosq, who stood just behind Bukka’s enormous, heavily-muscled back, his chin jutting up with pride.

  “I am Al-En Mosq, son of Ingren Al-En...”

  He continued to intone his full family name and title, but Jet tuned the rest out.

  She found herself staring at Bukka instead, who wore a skintight sense-suit over bulging muscles and all the way up to her thick neck. Looking at the woman’s physique brought up another shiver of nerves though, so Jet forced her eyes away, trying to think instead of the practice fights she’d done with Trazen, and with Laksri before him.

  She couldn’t think of Bukka as human. She couldn’t.

  She didn’t even look Nirreth really, given her size.

  Honestly, Jet might be better off comparing Bukka in her mind to that baby T-Rex she fought in the dining hall of the Royals’ Palace for her demonstration match.

  The thought made her smile a little, in spite of herself.

  That was nerves probably, too.

  She didn’t let herself look up again, at the Prince’s box, or his naked slaves.

  As Al En-Mosq finished with his formal recitations and his words had been translated into English for the benefit of the crowd, Nurem leaned back on the padded bench, glancing to the other four judges in turn, two on either side of where he sat.

  Jet lowered her head more, knowing the cameras would be focused on her and Bukka now, not on the judges or on either of their owners. Out of her peripheral vision, she found herself studying Bukka’s face that time, not her body.

  The woman wore no expression on her broad features. None.

  She didn’t even look peaceful...or stupid. She looked empty, like a machine.

  Jet was still staring at the other woman when Trazen laid a heavy hand on her shoulder. Jet’s eyes jerked forward, and she realized the center judge had been speaking to her.

  She’d done that before her first Rings run, too.

  It hit her suddenly that most people in this audience...not just First Son Isreti...expected Jet to get her head ripped off her shoulders by Bukka. The thought made her swallow, even as she refocused on Nurem, who was smiling at her, his eyes holding what might have been sympathy.

  “You enter this contest willingly, human?” he said in heavily-accented English.

  Those were the words he used every tournament, but again Jet found herself thinking about the first one. Maybe because, like that first time, Nurem looked at her like he felt sorry for her. He looked at her like he didn’t expect her to survive this match either...especially not with Bukka kneeling next to her, so that the contrast between them was even more obvious.

  “I am willing,” Jet said. “It is an honor to fight in the Rings...”

  When she said it, it almost felt true.

  It also struck her that this would be her last time.

  For good or for ill, Jet would never run the Rings again.

  The rest of the formalities went by in a blur.

  The next thing Jet knew, she stood outside the door to the arena, in a waiting area that stood between the outer, transparent wall, and the inner wall, which was still black with virtual paneling, so that Jet couldn’t see inside.

  She knew Bukka would be entering through a different part of the arena wall.

  Next to her stood Alice Rajpoor, Jet’s human trainer.

  The human wore a long, black, shimmery dress. Like Jet’s, Alice’s normally straight black hair had been done up in soft curls. Her eye make-up was a deep, iridescent black with highlights of gold and green. Despite the dress, the combination somehow made Alice look more dangerous and warrior-like, not less.

  “Any words of wisdom, Alice?” Jet muttered. Glancing at the other woman, she clasped her hands together to warm up her fingers even as she shifted her weight between her feet.

  “No, mammal,” Alice said, her voice uncharacteristically low. “Well. Yes.” She paused, nudging Jet’s shoulder with sharp fingers. “Don’t die.”

  Jet snorted. Walking past Alice to enter the waiting cubicle before the main door, she glanced over her shoulder a second time before she was all the way inside, focusing on her trainer’s heavily made-up face. She looked past her own cross-harness to do it, from which her sword, Black, stuck out over her left shoulder.

  “You sound like Trazen,” Jet said with a smile.

  When she met Alice’s gaze, she was shocked to see tears in the woman’s light brown eyes. Starting, Jet turned while only halfway through the door. Stepping back through and closer to where Alice stood, she gripped the other woman’s bare arms, almost in reflex.

  “Hey,” she said. “Don’t worry.”

  Alice laughed, but there was no humor in it. She seemed like she might be about to speak, then seemed to think better of it.

  Instead, she nodded, wiping her eyes with careful fingers.

  “No mercy, mammal,” she said, her voice hard. “I know you. You feel sorry for things. Even big angry things that try to kill you with a club.” She paused, her eyes and voice holding a more overt meaning. “No mercy. Hear me on this? This is not that kind of fight.”

  Jet nodded, quirking an eyebrow. “Be an asshole. Got it.”

  “I mean it, Jet.”

  Jet sighed, but smiled a little. “I know.”

  She did, too.

  Releasing Alice’s arms, she stepped back two full paces, bringing herself fully inside the enclosed waiting area outside the inner door.

  The door behind her remained black, completely opaque to her eyes. As soon as she crossed the threshhold of the transparent door with all of her limbs, however, the pre-match warning alarm began to go off. The sliding door that stood between her and Alice began to close.

  Jet glanced up at the swirling red light hanging over that darkened door.

  Then, looking back a last time, she caught a final glimpse of Alice’s face.

  The woman just looked at her, her elaborate up-do of soft, dark curls in direct contrast to her angular, wolf-like face. That face had always comforted Jet somehow, maybe just the intelligence she sensed in the older woman from the beginning, above and beyond what Alice ever let Jet see. Right then, Alice’s face held an expression that was almost angry, reflecting a helplessness mixed with frustration that Jet had never seen on her before. Something about the expression, and the emotion she saw there, touched Jet.

  It also made her wonder if Alice knew more than Jet had supposed.

  About today, that is. About what might happen.

  Realizing it was too late now to know any of those things, Jet sighed, fighting to push any lingering doubt out of her mind. She raised a hand in a final wave, but had no idea if Alice saw it, because just then, the door slammed shut with a clang.

  As it did, the door in front of her began
to open.

  Jet had her sword, Black, in her hand, before she’d really thought.

  She couldn’t even see into the virtual world in front of her yet. Even so, she was already shifting her weight from foot to foot, feeling her adrenaline spike, her heart start to beat harder in her chest. She crouched into a half-fighting stance as the door rolled the rest of the way open.

  The space beyond the open door showed nothing at first.

  Pitch blackness stared back at her.

  Then a wind blew through that stillness, ruffling her hair, rustling leaves and what sounded like scraping branches. Stars shone briefly through a sudden glimpse of dark clouds, billowing into thick shapes somewhere high above her head. That opening in the clouds closed seconds after Jet saw it, leaving no trace of a moon, and a nearly complete darkness in front of her and to either side.

  Looking through that open door, Jet felt her breath catch.

  She could see almost nothing, even with that bare glimpse of stars. The light from the ante-chamber didn’t penetrate that darkness at all, not even to give her a hint of the environment that awaited her beyond that rustle of leaves. She knew the scene wasn’t set underground, or in a sewer, or inside any building. She was outside. It was night. It was cold.

  She knew that much but that was all she knew.

  They were going to do whatever they could to confuse her orientation.

  She walked forward, still gripping her sword in one hand.

  Once she’d passed the threshold of the entrance to the arena, the door behind her vanished. She’d expected that, but even then, she turned, fighting a catch in her throat when her eyes didn’t immediately adjust. Even though the light from that chamber hadn’t made it into the virtual world at all, she still felt a shock of fear when it vanished.

  Everything felt darker and quieter around her, too.

  Jet held her breath, listening.

  She knew she wouldn’t likely run into Bukka straight off. The other woman used a different entrance into the virtual world, an entrance located in some other section of wall.

  Even so, Jet couldn’t discount the possibility entirely. For all she knew, they might have walked Bukka in a dozen yards to her right. They might have let her in minutes before the opened the door for Jet. They might have done a lot of things.

  They also might want things to start off with a bang. Since Jet was technically the reigning champion, the Rings Operators might feel justified in making the run harder for her at the outset.

  Isreti would have been all over the design of this thing, too.

  Trazen warned her about all of those possibilities. He’d given her a lot of different scenarios around how this might play out, some of the buttons the Rings Operators might try to push, both in the crowd and in her. He’d reminded her, again and again, usually through the venom, that this wouldn’t be a real Rings match...or even a real challenge match.

  Isreti meant to use Bukka to kill her.

  For the same reason, a lot of what Trazen said reminded Jet of things Laksri had told her about Anaze’s “Retribution” on Astet, the formal version of public execution conducted by the Nirreth. Like in a Retribution, Trazen said they’d want it to be an overwhelming victory, so there would be no question as to who deserved to win. He told her they might want to see Jet run for awhile, to play the role of prey, so there was more emotional satisfaction in her death.

  Similarly, Isreti would likely want her to appear as weak as possible. He would want her to be as unsympathetic as possible, too...so Trazen warned her that they might force her into horrible, no-win, or ethically difficult choices. Like having to kill a Nirreth child to save her own life. Or forcing her to do something else that a normal Nirreth might consider morally disgusting or treasonous. Isreti would want her to get some boos and hisses before her death.

  Trazen had talked about the possibilities a lot over the past few weeks.

  He’d talked about it even more since the night of Tyra’s party.

  Most of that was couched in regular training sessions, usually in the moments after he stung her but before he left her in the training arena alone.

  One of those times, he’d kissed her.

  It caught her off guard, reminding her that he’d been drugged before, that he no longer had the serum that counteracted his venom. She’d felt a rush of desire off him after he stung her the second time. Then, before she could turn away to walk over to where Alice waited for her, Trazen wrapped his tail around her again and pulled her roughly against his chest. He’d stung her a third time then kissed her, using his tongue. He’d kissed her again, caressing her neck and back with his hand...then he’d seemed embarrassed and let her go.

  Maybe to cover over what he’d done, he told her more about what she might expect during the match, still holding her arms.

  Then he stung her a fourth time and kissed her again.

  That time, the desire on him had cut her breath. She’d also felt a very clear physical reaction on him when he crushed her more tightly against his body.

  When he released her, he’d just walked away.

  He hadn’t even looked back.

  Jet hadn’t had much time to wonder how she felt about that either. Before she’d caught her breath or leveled her mind, Tyra’s laugh rang out over the arena floor. Flushing, Jet had turned, wiping her reaction to Trazen’s unexpected public display off her face. When Alice made a disparaging remark about Jet’s new “boyfriend,” Jet pushed it out of her mind entirely, forcing the entirety of her concentration back on the training.

  Luckily, Alice seemed to feel the same way following her initial crack. She hadn’t brought up Trazen again for the rest of that session.

  Still, it had been a really good kiss.

  Even better than the ones Jet remembered from the recovery room, the only time Trazen had kissed her before...and she thought those were pretty good at the time.

  Her mind had returned to those kisses a few times in the days following, especially when she’d been lying alone in her sleeping chambers, wondering about Trazen and where he slept. By then, she already knew it wasn’t in his own house.

  But like Alice, Trazen’s lessons overshadowed the kiss, too, if only because she’d felt the emotional punch behind them even more urgently the next time he stung her.

  His attempts to get Tyra involved in her challenge match had fallen completely flat, which seemed to stress Trazen out more. Isreti wanted the challenge to be with Jet and Bukka only. He didn’t seem to care about the money offered to include Tyra. Trazen told Jet that during those same negotiations, Isreti had confided in him that they already had a follow up match planned for Tyra, for the day of his official coronation as King.

  Isreti told Trazen that the loser of that match would be eaten at the formal banquet following the event.

  The new order of the Nirreth would have officially begun.

  The information shocked Jet.

  In fact, Trazen telling her that story about Isreti might have been the single thing that finally drove home the reality of what he and Richter had been telling her. Isreti wasn’t just a monster, or a psychopath...he really was an ideologue. He was serious about re-establishing what he saw as the “natural order” of things between the Nirreth and other races.

  The idea of Tyra being served up as Isreti’s first dinner as King made her physically ill.

  It also made her care a lot less about Trazen and his kisses, no matter how good they were.

  To his credit, Trazen seemed to be obsessively focused on keeping her alive, too. He briefed her later that same night, talking to her by the pool at his house through the remnants of the venom. He gripped her arm with one hand and answered her questions and instructed her for probably three hours before leaving her alone...and then shortly thereafter leaving the house, too.

  Those same lessons ran through Jet’s mind now, almost like a kind of mantra. He’d told her that in order to survive long enough, she would have to avoid the big fight I
sreti’s controllers would be leading her towards. He said she would need to avoid it for as long as she could...long enough for the rest of their plan to be put into effect.

  He also told her that the Operators knew her well enough by now that she would have to work hard to avoid it. He said they would play on her own psychology. They would try and lead her through the run at the speed and in the direction they wanted, using everything they knew about her from her previous runs.

  Essentially, Trazen told her to think about what she would normally do, and do the opposite. He wanted her to go against her natural instincts, in each and every instance, even if it struck her as crazy...or immoral...or even suicidal.

  He warned her she might have to break the rules to stay alive, too.

  He didn’t seem to think she would make it if she tried to work the run like a normal competitor. He didn’t pull any punches in telling her that, either.

  He told her, flat-out, that she would die if she tried to win.

  He didn’t even want her to try. He wanted her to stall, hide, run and only fight to pull herself away from the direction they seemed to be leading her. He estimated a minimum of one hour for Richter to fulfill his part of things, assuming he didn’t double-cross them. That meant she should expect to have to stall for up to two.

  All of that made sense to Jet at the time, as he’d been running her through what Isreti would do, how he would want this to play out for the audience...the spectacle of the thing.

  Even at the beginning, Jet had planned to turn around, to run in the opposite direction she could feel them aiming her. She’d at least intended to turn right instead of her usual instinct to go left, especially if running backwards wasn’t possible.

  But by now, Jet’s eyes had more or less adjusted to the dark.

  She could make out the bare outline of her environment, even though there was still scarcely enough light to see more than a few yards in front of her, and then not well. Really, she couldn’t see much of anything apart from the basic shapes, but it was enough to get the gist of her predicament. Staring up at a flat wall of green that stretched ahead of her in a nearly straight line, she twisted her head and neck, looking behind her as well. The leaves and small branches rustled again as she stared, sounding like bones clicking together.