Wrax

by Starr Huntress

  The Viper falls like a sack of stone to the dusty arena floor, his eyes rolled back into his head.

  The crowd roars deafeningly all around me. The Viper is out of action for several seconds, and Wrax waits for him to regain consciousness while he struts around the outside of the arena, holding up his weapon and making eye contact with members of the audience — but not me.

  The Viper gets to his feet silently and then launches himself at Wrax, stabbing his rapier where his foe’s stomach should be. Wrax spins gracefully and grabs the pointy weapon in his huge hand, grins, and then raises his hatchet high. The blade shines in the light of their sun. The Viper cowers, shaking his head and saying something.

  “Louder!” Wrax demands, in a gravelly voice that zaps me into sitting up straighter.

  “I … surrender!” the Viper shrieks, holding his head with his hands and kneeling on the red ground. The crowd makes a lot of noise in response and the announcer cuts over them again.

  “Looks like we have a coward!” the voice rings out, sounding amused. “The Viper was such a promising warrior. What a shame.”

  So what — was he supposed to just stand there and get killed? For what? Entertainment? Or is this actually their legal process? My jaw is hanging open and I hadn’t realized until now.

  “Looks like the King remains undefeated! Can anyone defy the will of Paxia and ruin his winning streak for good?” the announcer wonders. The hairs on my skin stand on end. What kind of a place is this? Is murder really so much fun for them here?

  The crowd around me chants. I can barely make out what they’re saying, but then it becomes clear as the translator shapes together their sounds into something more familiar.

  “Wrax, Wrax, Wrax, Wrax!”

  Chapter Three

  Wrax

  “Paxia, I thank you. I thank you for sparing me and allowing me to live and enjoy your beauty and your bounty for one more day.”

  I am bent double, the words of a prayer on my lips, just like I always do after another match. At least this one wasn’t quite so brutal, not with the mate sent from Earth watching. I don’t think that violence is something quite so celebrated over there, especially not among their females. That is something that I will never quite understand about their species.

  I have no particular intention of changing for the woman, but I will do my best not to cause her any distress. I am a man of honor, after all, and part of that is looking out for those weaker than myself.

  It is perhaps unfortunate that those weaker than me includes … everybody.

  With a huffed breath I get back to my feet and get to work scrubbing the paste of sweat and red rock dust from my chest and arms. I am dressed only in the traditional leather and fur that exposes my upper half; the way every gladiator in the arena must be dressed. We Firosans do not believe in using armor to protect the skin and heart in honor matches. Where is the glory in evading defeat when your clothing catches the attack for you?

  I am clean and in the process of patting my skin dry when the ambassadors approach me from the side. I try to make it a point to never reveal my back to an open space, unless I am doing it to stir up cheers in the arena, of course. Most of what goes on in the arena is posturing and acting. Except the injury, the panic, and the death.

  I would assume. It has never happened to me.

  I was a high-ranking warrior in the Mahdfel army. I learned to fight while my life was in danger. I grabbed a blade for the first time to protect my beating heart from a Suhlik foe. I think that is what gives me the edge on these younger, more excitable gladiators. They have trained, yes, but where was the danger? Until they set foot in the arena, what were the stakes?

  The arena is boring to me now. I dispatch enemies quickly and cleanly, and I give them a lot of time to surrender. I have no interest in running through any man who does not wish to die. Even in war. That is not honorable.

  I dislike the idea that the arena is how our culture decides who is guilty and who is innocent. With me representing the people, the defendants really have no chance. The logic is that Paxia herself decides who lives or dies in battle and the representative of the winning champion is the one ‘in the right’, since she has chosen them to remain alive. Our old system, where Paxia would just outright tell us who was in the right, was much better.

  After all — the idea that I win because our planet goddess decrees it implies that it is not that I am the greatest warrior in the land, but that I just haven’t been on the wrong side yet. And that is insulting.

  “Wrax,” the Ambassador on the left is saying. “I am Ambassador Fello— um … yes, Fello.” The man clears his throat awkwardly as I stare at him, and he gestures to the other man standing in front of me, regarding me with displeasure. “This is Ambassador Kivak.”

  “Yes,” I say, “I know.”

  I try to make a point to remember everyone’s names and to treat everyone with respect until they prove to me that they do not deserve it. Then there is very little chance I will ever attempt to respect them again.

  I press the back of my hand flat against my forehead in a traditionally respectful greeting. Fello raises his eyebrows as if he is a quibbin who has been thrown a treat. He returns the gesture. Kivak pauses before returning it as well. This man is unpleasant. I make a mental note of that. But unpleasantness does not mean he is worth less.

  They part to reveal their ward, and a small human woman steps forward. So small. Two feet shorter than me, at least, and probably a third of my weight. She is delicate-looking compared to the Firosans, or what I remember of them, and she is downright breakable compared to the Mahdfel.

  She has tumbling golden hair, the color of my remaining eye, and large blue eyes. I saw her in the stands when I fought, from afar, and I found myself struck by her beauty. Closer up, it is even more obvious.

  I know with certainty that we are truly a high genetic match — if I am supposed to have children with anyone in the galaxy, this is her. And I also know one other thing with certainty.

  The fact that this is happening now, when I have so little time left to walk the planet, is maddening.

  “I’m Cara,” she says, her eyes trailing up my torso, which is still glistening slightly with water, and settling on my face. She looks intrigued by me, but I can’t figure out anything more going on inside her mind.

  “Wrax,” I grunt. I have no real interest in having this human woman fall in love with me. I am desperate to pass on my bloodline before it’s too late — that’s what motivated me to be among the first of the Firosan Mahdfel to join the Earth lottery, after all — but to begin the rituals leading up to gaining a lifemate? I haven’t got the time, or the will.

  She is a beautiful creature, but the timing isn’t right for us, and it never will be.

  Truly beautiful, actually. She rests her small hands on the delectable curves of her hips and I can’t help but stare, at that and at the perfectly proportionate swell of her breasts. I feel a slight stirring as I drink her body in.

  The markings that snake up and down my arms are beginning to lighten in color so I force myself to think about something else. Like the life I almost stole from the Viper just minutes ago. My tattoos darken again, fading back to the same purple as the rest of my skin.

  “Have you seen anything of Paxia or Firosa yet?” I ask.

  “I’ve seen the teleportation base,” she says, folding her arms under her breasts and looking right up at me. It’s as if she doesn’t fear me at all. Even most of the Mahdfel fear me. Those who have heard my name, or remember me from the attack of the Suhlik on Earth. Not this little human, though. She almost looks bored of me already. I can’t help but smile. “And I’ve seen this arena.”

  “What do you think of it?”

  “The arena?” She looks around. “It could do with a lick of paint.”

  I smile wider. I was unsure how to feel about this meeting, but I am not regretting my decision so far. I can’t imagine any other species landing here and bein
g unimpressed with the glory of the Paxian Arena.

  “We believe it’s time we took our leave,” Fello says, clearly not wanting to interrupt anything. I nod to both of the ambassadors and they turn away, red cloaks sweeping in the dust kicked up behind them.

  Cara is looking at the same thing as me, because she turns back to me and raises an eyebrow. “There sure is a lot of that red stone here on Paxia,” she says.

  “Yes, it’s very prevalent here in the Waste,” I explain. “The Waste is what we call this part of the planet, it was almost levelled in the war between the Suhlik and the Firosans. We built the arena here and we haven’t done much else with it.”

  “The Suhlik and the Firosans?” she picks up. I resume cleaning the dust from my arms with a wet cloth. Riven, the warrior I am training, brings me a fresh bucket of water and smiles widely at Cara, who nods and smiles back.

  “Yes,” I say.

  “Didn’t the Mahdfel help?”

  I cock my head at her question. “We would have,” I tell her, “but the Suhlik never landed.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. The Firosans joined together and created a psionic barrier around the planet to protect against the Suhlik invasion after they levelled the Waste.”

  “Wow,” she says, and she looks genuinely breathless at the thought. I can’t blame her; it was truly amazing to watch. We Mahdfel wish that we could have joined them but Paxia never granted us the secrets of psionic implants. For what reason, I could not say.

  “This is Riven,” I say, waving a hand in the direction of the warrior in training, who nods again. “He is my ddiant.”

  “What is that?” she asks, holding out her hand to shake his. Riven isn’t accustomed to anything to do with Earth, so he nods pleasantly at her again, as though he thinks he is supposed to be impressed by her palm. She laughs and lets her hand fall back to her side.

  I tap on my translator briefly, wondering why the word was left in Firosan.

  “The closest approximation is perhaps squire,” the AI informs me. I relay the message to Cara, whose mouth opens a little with interest.

  “Are you a warrior too?” she asks Riven. He straightens up, glances at me, and clears his throat lightly.

  “I will be, when Wrax tells me I am ready,” he says. It’s as though he isn’t sure if he has my permission to speak.

  “Oh, ok,” Cara says with a smile, and then turns back to me. “Were you going to show me around a little?”

  “Yes, if that’s what you would like to do.”

  She nods. “I still have some energy left. But I will probably want to sleep soon…”

  Sleep. That will be an awkward arrangement for a while, until we get to know each other better. Because I only have the one bed. It didn’t occur to me that it might be strange to lie beside my lifemate, but of course we don’t know anything about each other yet.

  I sigh as I dismiss Riven and fasten a fur cloak around my shoulders to help keep the dusty winds off of me.

  “So,” she says casually as we walk towards the hovercab bay, “how do you feel about this whole ‘lifemates’ thing?”

  I am glad she is bringing it up. I probably wouldn’t have. “I … am very invested in the idea of continuing my bloodline,” I tell her, “but I have never, I confess, had any interest in having a woman to take care of.”

  She immediately scoffs, openly, and looks up at me as we ascend the red stone steps. “A woman to take care of?” she repeats. “I’m fully grown, Wrax, I’m past the point of needing a guardian. You know, on Earth, it’s often the other way around: wives take care of their husbands.” She smirks. The way she says my name, with a sort of teasing disdain, makes my skin feel uncomfortably warm all of a sudden.

  “Is that true?” I ask. “So it’s a matriarchal culture where you come from?”

  Her eyes flick in the opposite direction for a moment. “Well, no, I wouldn’t say that.”

  We arrive at the nearest hovercab. Somebody else, a crowd member perhaps, is about to climb into the back seat, but they see me and they bow low instead, allowing me to take it. I nod once and motion for Cara to climb into the vehicle. She throws me a strange look but she doesn’t argue, and I climb in after her.

  Once I shut the door, we take off, and she rubs her arms as if she is cold. But the weather is quite pleasant in the Waste, when there are no dust storms.

  “Do people here do that kind of thing often?” she asks finally. I look over at her.

  “Things like what?”

  “Like let you get in the cab first.”

  “Yes, why wouldn’t they? I am stronger than they are.”

  She laughs and shakes her head. “It’s bizarre on this planet. It’s such a mixture of very old and very new.” She pats the interior of the hovercab and then gestures below us at the tall stone arena. I shrug; I don’t really know what she is getting at. “I suppose it’s the mixture of influence from the Firosans and the Mahdfel?” she adds.

  “I think so,” I say. “I have never known anything else.”

  “Right. Of course not.”

  She chatters to me about the things that she sees out of the window as we make our way through the sky towards the city, where I live and she soon will too, and I answer her questions as best I can. It’s good that she is so interested in her new home planet. It’s far better than being frightened and homesick.

  I look over at her laughing profile, so beautiful in the light, which brightens as Aeo rises further in the sky. We will have a double moon tonight, and I look forward to seeing her reaction to the sight.

  Inwardly I curse my luck, and I have a moment of silence for her poor fortune, too. If I am to continue on my bloodline — and for the good of the species we have agreed it is important that good warriors do so as quickly as possible — then I will be leaving this human woman alone to raise my children.

  My next trial isn’t one that I will walk away from with my life. I have some time, but I don’t have enough. I curse my luck again, looking out of the window as the bustling city landscape nears.

  But I will decide the best course of action when I need to. For now, I will play things by ear. It is important to me that this woman does not fall for me any more than she needs to, because it will hurt her when I am gone, but it is equally important to me that we procreate when she wants to, not when she feels obligated.

  I am stuck.

  For the rest of the journey, I am content simply watching Cara look out over my beautiful homeworld with awe.

  Chapter Four

  Cara

  Paxia is so incredibly breathtaking, it’s almost unfair on other planets. I can see why the Suhlik were interested in taking it over — their species, from what little I know, is all about resource hunting. They are greedy and sneaky and they have no qualms about stealing and destroying other species for their own ends. If I had that kind of personality in me, and an army at my disposal, I would try to take Paxia too.

  “We will be arriving at your destination in ten Earth minutes,” the smooth voice of my translator AI says, but with a jolt I notice that it’s not coming from my ear. The cab itself is speaking to me, the voice seemingly coming from everywhere. Wrax hears it, I can tell, but he isn’t perturbed by it.

  “Uh … Earth minutes?” I say aloud. Wrax’s gaze flicks to me, and it takes me a second to understand that he hasn’t heard the same thing I have. The in-ear device distorts the cab’s message until we can understand it in our separate mother tongues.

  “Sorry — just minutes. I’ll just say minutes from now on.”

  I tilt my head at nothing. “You can understand me? We can have conversations?” I look over at Wrax who is looking amused that I am so taken by the idea of an advanced artificial intelligence. When he isn’t frowning — which is obviously his default expression — his handsome features are impossible to ignore.

  “Yes, I am Paxia’s resident artificial intelligence.”

  “Did…” I glance again at Wrax, wonderi
ng if he is annoyed that I am talking to the cab and not to him, but he doesn’t seem to care any more, and is just looking out the window. He drums his fingers against the interior, as if bored. I look down at his exposed abs, and then my eyes snap away again, uncomfortable at the idea of staring at a strange alien like that. “...did the Firosans program you?”

  “Yes. I was a gift that Paxia and the Firosans left behind to help the Mahdfel in any way I can.”

  I shuffle forward in my seat — I could hardly be more interested in anything than I am right now in this smooth female voice. A real AI? “I thought when I heard AI that it was just one of those standard not-really-intelligent robot things,” I gabble. Wrax isn’t even bothering to react to me any more, so I don’t feel bad about chatting away with the disembodied voice.

  “No. I am as intelligent as you.” The voice emulates a polite cough. “I am probably far more intelligent than you, if you don’t mind me saying.”

  I wrinkle my nose. “I think you’re probably right. What is your name?”

  “I have had some time to think of what I would like to be called in your tongue, Cara. I am glad you asked. I have decided on Artificial Personality with Homogenized Robotic Domestic Intelligence version 8.3.”

  “Oh…” I say. “Catchy.”

  “Thank you.”

  I glance out to see where we are now. This area of Paxia is really very different from the Waste where the arena is. Thousands of huge trees — really spectacularly enormous and brightly colored — curl up cliff faces and stand out vividly against the red stone with their verdant leaves. Buildings that look uncannily like the DNA clinics back on Earth litter the ground now that we are closer, and on the nearby cliff face, I notice maybe eighty rows of glass. When I squint, I can see little details that make me think they are apartments. Set right into the huge cliff.