The Martian King: The Slave Planet II

by Seven Steps

  Sands ascended the stage, and went through his customary remarks about the election while Kiln and Boikis stood behind him.

  Finally, he said. “And now the time has come to select a new king. Your first nominee is Prince Praxis.” Kiln threw his hands up the air, and the crowd roared. The force of their screams pushed him backward and he smiled. The men loved him. They would follow him.

  “And Ambassador Boikis.”

  The silence that followed the roar was almost laughable. A few claps scattered through the crowed, but nothing like their reaction to Praxis.

  Boikis didn’t seem the least bit concerned.

  “I plead a grievance,” Boikis cried.

  The crowed muttered.

  “Prince Praxis has been accused of murder on four different occasions.” The crowed burst with chatters of disbelief. “His ration has been found murdered in his rooms by his own hand. He stabbed the royal physician to death. He hung his mother from her own window, and he poisoned his father the king!”

  The crowd was stunned to silence.

  Sands’ eyes darted back and forth between Boikis and Kiln, but he said nothing.

  “Prince Praxis, do you deny these charges?”

  The orchestrated outrage in Boikis’ face made Kiln want to run a fist through his forehead. He’d only killed one of those people and it was an accident.

  Boikis’ eyes moved to a window at the far end of the field.

  Kiln followed his gaze.

  Nadira stood ramrod straight, Etree’s knife at her throat.

  Boikis looked back at Kiln victoriously.

  Sands cleared his throat and repeated the question. “Do you deny the charges, Prince Praxis?”

  Kiln’s eyes never left Nadira. She looked back at him, her eyes wide, taking in every inch of him. He wondered if she knew that he watched her at every opportunity. He wondered if she knew how much he’d missed seeing her face in the flesh.

  “Prince Praxis,” Boikis said. “An answer.”

  Suddenly, nothing seemed to matter. His parents were dead. He was probably going to be executed. And Nadira was being held at knifepoint in front of him.

  Nothing mattered anymore. They were all going to die, anyway.

  “Yes. I did those things,” he said. “I did all of those things.”

  The crowed screamed, cried out their anguish. The man they’d held up on a pedestal for so long had come crashing down in a mighty way. What were they going to do now?

  The screams turned to pushing and shoving. The crowed warred with itself. In its grief, madness descended up on them.

  Sands turned to Praxis and Boikis, grave concern in his eyes. “Perhaps you should wait in the palace,” he said.

  Kiln stole one last look at Nadira before walking after the guards who lead them back into the palace. Him and Boikis sat on two couches in the lounge and waited.

  “I knew that you would do exactly what I needed you to do.” Boikis smiled. “I knew it from the start.”

  Kiln turned his head, not wanting to look at his brother.

  “Kiln, don’t you see. It’s nearly over. The men will elect me, and then, you are free to go back to Zenith.”

  The lies that dripped from Boikis’ mouth made Kiln grip the seat in rage.

  This man had destroyed his life.

  “You won’t let me or Nadira off this planet,” Kiln growled.

  Boikis looked at Kiln for a long time, then shrugged. “Think of it this way, soon, you, your mother, your father, and your beloved will all be reunited.”

  Unable to contain his anger anymore, Kiln jumped from his seat, and reared his fist back, prepared to bash his brothers head in, when Sands appeared again, his face expressionless.

  “It is done,” he said.

  Kiln threw his brother’s body down from him, and stood. If he was going to be thrown to the firing squad, then so be it.

  “I’m ready.” Kiln said, placing his hands out in front of him.

  Sands looked at Kiln’s hands, then his eyes, smiled and nodded his head. “This way, My King.”

  Boikis jumped from his seat.

  “What?”

  “The men have elected Prince Praxis as their new king.”

  “But he’s a murderer!”

  “That may be true,” Sands said. “But, he excels at War Games. And, with that, a man can be anything.” The grey haired man inclined his head. “Do you play?”

  Boikis narrowed his eyes at Sands and Kiln’s backs as they left the room and ascended the stairs.

  Kiln could hardly believe it.

  Imagine. A slave becoming a Martian King.

  The cheers that erupted when he appeared startled him.

  There was redemption in those cheers. The men would accept him. They would accept his past. They would call for him to be greater.

  If only he would continue to win at War Games.

  Kiln’s eyes raised to the window where Nadira once stood.

  She was no longer there.

  He swallowed, not willing to think about the death that she’d no doubt endured.

  Sands raised Kiln’s head high above his head, and the crowd cheered, a deafening roar of their favor.

  Another member of the king’s cabinet stepped forward, holding a golden sword.

  The King’s sword.

  He handed it to Kiln before bowing and stepping away.

  The sword felt heavy in Kiln’s hand, as if it were made from a thousand pounds of the valuable metal. He raised it over his head, and the crowd’s cheers doubled.

  The cries washed through him, over him. They wrapped him in both joy and sadness. Joy because his people, his men, had accepted him as their leader. Sadness because of the people who he’d lost along the way. His father. His mother. Nadira. No doubt Lex and Arees, too. He was surrounded by men who adored him, and yet, he felt completely alone.

  “And now,” Sands cried. “To War Games!”

  CHAPTER 30

  How will we get out of here?

  Arees’ mind reviewed every possibility, every door, every window.

  Cheers from the outside rang into the jails. Something was happening. Something big.

  Was it War Games? Were they starting?

  She tapped her fingers on her thigh as she sat on her small cot. Her legs shook. Her head ached.

  If she couldn’t find a way out of here soon, she would be thrown to those wolves of men. What would she do then? Would she survive?

  “Hello again, Arees.” Jun-Su stepped from the shadows and into the doorway, her voice light and jovial. She wore a red cape, even though it was at least eighty degrees in the jail. The hood of the cape covered half of her forehead. Beneath the cape, she dressed in an all black body suit.

  In one hand, she held a large chain with a metal collar on one end.

  Arees shuttered, and put her hand to her throat.

  “Oh yes,” Jun-Su smiled, takings step into the cell.

  Behind her, Arees heard the ring of cell doors closing. Somehow she knew that Lex was now cut off from her.

  “You know what’s coming next.”

  Arees eyes fell to the metal collar, then rose to challenge Jun-Su.

  “I’ll never wear it,” she growled.

  “Yes, Czarina. You will.”

  Two more bodies stepped from the shadows. From their beefy frames and all black uniforms Arees recognized them immediately.

  Venian enforcers.

  A woman came to stand on either side of her.

  “Hold her down,” Jun-su commanded.

  Arees tried to sprint for the door, but the women were quick. They grabbed Arees by the arms, and threw her backwards. One of them sat on her chest, while the other took the collar from Jun-Su, and wrapped it around Arees throat, clicking it in place.

  “NO!”

  “Oh yes, Arees,” Jun-Su said. “I’m going to enjoy knowing that those men are going to tear you apart. It will bring me great satisfaction knowing that my children’s blood is avenged.�
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  “Jun-Su, don’t do this,” Arees pleaded, turning her face to her former best friend. “I beg you.”

  “Beg?” Jun-su asked, placing a finger to her chin. “Is that what my children did when you killed them? Did my little girl beg for her life? Did my son plead with you?”

  Arees eyes filled with horror. She was about to be tortured in the worst possible way. Her stomach lurched and she dry heaved.

  “Yes, Arees. Get it all out now. You have much to do later.”

  One of the enforcers handed Jun-Su the chain, and she took it as if it were made of pure gold. She yanked it once, making Arees fall forward.

  A chuckle escaped her lips.

  Another yank drew Arees to her feet.

  “Come now, Arees. Venians are known for their pride. Don’t let us down.”

  Arees stood tall, her back straight, her chin set. There was one thing that her and Jun-Su agreed on. If she was going to march to her death, then it would be with pride.

  “That’s my girl.”

  With the two enforcers flanking her, Arees set off behind her former best friend.

  They walked down the long hallway to the door where a set of guards let them out, and another set of guards watched them as they left.

  Cara and Nim were right. Escape was useless. Guards surrounded this prison on all sides. Even if they were to find a window to climb out of, they’d be captured immediately. No wonder Nim and Cara had lost hope.

  Nim. Cara. Lex. She wondered if she would ever see them alive again. If the men didn’t tear her apart, she’d be forced to live with the disgusting memory of their touch, a thing she’d have to endure week after week until she finally met her end.

  Dear Mother Goddess, take me now! She pleaded. But she had never prayed before, dismissing the practice as something for weak-minded women. She was sure that the Mother Goddess wouldn't hear her now.

  They walked on the edges of the streets, away from the crowds.

  Something was happening. More men then she could count were standing on the palace grounds, cheering, arguing, screaming.

  They walked under a series of awnings, blocking Arees view of anything that might have been happening beyond the screaming men. Finally, they stepped from the shaded awnings and in front of a large stadium. She’d seen the place before. This is where the men played their War Games.

  This will be the beginning of my end.

  She tried to keep the tears at bay as she was half dragged into the stadium, through a door, down a set of steps and into a dark room.

  It was then that Jun-Su turned to her again.

  “Here is where you will stay until the men come to fetch you,” she said.

  “Jun-Su, please don’t leave me here.” Arees pleaded. “Anywhere but here.”

  “Are you afraid, Arees?” Jun-su asked, her voice soft. “Are you absolutely terrified?”

  Arees nodded her head. “Yes. Very.”

  Jun-Su came closer, bringing her nose to nose with Arees. “Good.”

  And then, her face was gone.

  The door slammed, leaving Arees trembling in a dark room, waiting for the men to find her.

  CHAPTER 31

  “Soldiers, are you ready for WAR?”

  The stadium erupted with cheers as white, sparkling fireworks exploded from each end of the field. The green turf was freshly trimmed and painted with white lines, each marking ten yards. The field was one hundred yards long. Behind each of the goal posts was a cavernous opening where a team would enter. To the left would be Dome A’s home team, the Destroyers. To the right, their opponents from Dome D, the Dominators.

  The crowed squeezed into the eighty-thousand-seat stadium, each wearing their team colors. Some wore the black of Dome A. Some the yellow of Dome D. Others were a mixture of the remaining colors from the other ten domes. But today was not a day of team rivalry, although there was a healthy dose of that. Today was a day of both mourning and celebration. Mourning over the loss of a well liked king. Celebration that his son, Praxis the Immortal, would assume the throne and lead them into the greatest era that the planet had ever witnessed.

  And it all would begin with a single game of war.

  Kiln stood in the dark archway, looking out at the packed stadium. It seemed that everyone on the planet had come out to see the new king play.

  A black belt wrapped tightly around his waist. Hanging from the belt were four black, detachable strips of leather. The opposing team could pull them off for extra points. Below the belts and strips were black shorts. On his arm he wore a wrist guard. On his right shoulder, he wore a metal shoulder guard. The strap of the shoulder guard ran across his chest and under the opposite arm, attaching in the back.

  Though he’d practiced for a week straight with Etree, Namic, and Bruno and he’d watched the games before, he felt supremely under prepared to play in front of an entire planet.

  Behind him, the team, including Bruno, were chanting, hyping up.

  Across the field, the Dome D team stared back at him, lead by the monstrous Eli.

  Kiln felt a hand on his shoulder. Bruno’s hand.

  “Prax, you alright?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Alright, man. Get your head in the game.”

  Kiln let out a breath, nodded and returned to the group, joining in with their chants.

  “War, war, war!” The chant started out low, then rose until it reached a fever pitch, until they screamed the words in time with their rising heartbeats.

  “War, war, war!”

  Adrenaline pumped through Kiln’s veins, overpowering the fear.

  “Who are we?” Bruno cried.

  “The Destroyers!” The team cried back.

  “What did we come to do?”

  “Mutilate. Tear them down. Push them back.”

  “What do we want?”

  “Victory!”

  The chant turned in to barks, cries, howls.

  The men squeezed each other’s shoulders, bumped chests, hyping each other up into frenzy. Kiln had never felt so alive.

  Music blared.

  The arch filled with smoke.

  The crowd’s cheers reached a crescendo.

  “Go!” Bruno yelled behind him.

  Kiln ran out to center field, fire erupting on each side of his path.

  He could hear his team’s hoots behind him.

  Barely clad women walked up and down the aisles, offering the strong fest and beef on a stick, to any who called for it.

  Large screens showed the action, the scores, and the ball’s five-minute countdown clock.

  “Huddle up!” Kiln called, feeling both excited and terrified.

  “Don’t let Eli get in your heads. He is a monster, but we are Gods!”

  The huddle cheered its reply. The circle tightened, their hands going in front of them as they began to bounce, and chant.

  “Destroyers call!”

  “Boom!”

  “Destroyers call!”

  “Boom!”

  “Destroyers call!”

  “Aaaaaaahhhhhh BOOM!”

  Their hands flew up in the air, and they turned back to the crowd, pumped up and ready to play.

  The referee, dressed in an all white uniform, called the captains, Kiln and Eli to the center of the field. Their teams followed them.

  “Congratulations, Praxis,” Eli sneered. He had a thick scar that ran across one eye and a part of his left thumb was missing. “Let me be the first to lay the new king in the dirt.”

  “You wish, Eli.”

  Kiln shook out his arms, his legs. Shook the nervousness from him. Shook off his fear. War was a man’s game. And he was no longer a slave, he was a man.

  A true man.

  A King.

  I can do this. I am Praxis the Immortal.

  The referee set the timer on a small, round, tear shaped device, dropped it in the ball, and zipped the ball closed. He then motioned to several men on the sidelines who pressed a button on their watches.
A small red light turned on.

  Above their heads, a five-minute countdown began. A picture of the teams gathering in the pile showed above it.

  Kiln eyed the end of the field, imagining himself crossing the goal line.

  I can do this.

  The referee placed the ball on the ground, and stepped away.

  Kiln glanced up at the countdown clock.

  Five minutes. Five minutes to get this thing down field and not die. I can do this.

  He bent down and lay on top of the ball, feeling the weight of both teams crushing him from above as they piled on his back.

  This is it. I can do this.

  The whistle blew.

  The weight lightened, as his teammates pushed and pulled the other team from on top of him.

  Bruno, the puller, pulled Kiln’s legs hard, freeing him from the pile.

  Keeping the ball firmly cradled in one arm, Kiln spied the goal and ran as fast as he could toward it.

  Eli came from his left, making a beeline for him.

  Kiln looked to his right. Bruno was there.

  Kiln stopped short, giving Bruno plenty of room to run past him, drop a metal covered shoulder, and plow it into Eli’s chest, forcing the man flat on his back.

  With Eli down, Kiln raced forward again.

  The whistle blew. Someone had pulled off one of his leather strips, stopping the play and gaining the Dominators the first point of the game.

  The lean, bearded man held up the band in triumph.

  The crowd booed mercilessly.

  If all four bands were pulled off, it would be an automatic turnover of the ball to the Dominators.

  Not today.

  Kiln tossed the ball to the referee and jogged back to the huddle.

  “Who is guarding my back?” he roared.

  One of his guards raised his hand, his eyes fixed on his leader.

  “He won’t get another band, my King. I swear.”

  He gave Kiln the three fingered Martian salute, and bowed his head in shame.

  Kiln narrowed his eyes at the man, before laying over the ball again.

  Four and a half minutes left.

  The whistle blew, and he was free.

  He tossed the ball to Bruno, who was quickly becoming his go to, before running past him down the field. Two of his sprinters, Bo and Jack, the twins, flanked him on the left while two men guarded his rear.