by Tristan Vick
Next, Abethca’s death replayed before her very eyes. She reached out to touch her face, but found she no longer maintained a physical form; she was ethereal, wraith-like.
After Abby’s death it was the harem. Dakroth’s seventeen wives. Jegra had slaughtered all those women. Blood soaked, she watched herself sit in shock, unable to believe what she’d done. Then it was time to relive Ellia’s death. The poor girl was innocent and yet she had become collateral damage, just like all those before her.
She watched herself come to Danica’s aid as she killed all twelve contestants of the humiliation bout which threatened to take Danica’s life.
The subsequent fight with Ishtar Bantu proved rather difficult to relive. Not because of how gruesome or brutal it was, but for what it represented, her unyielding resolve in being the last woman standing. No matter what.
Finally, she watched herself give birth to her beautiful boy. She watched as the doctor wiped him clean with a towel and handed him back to her. And as she coddled him and looked upon that beautiful newborn with a love she’d never known, she watched as the doctor was sliced down all over again, right before her very eyes.
At the same time, Danica was cleaved in two by a powerful ray blast. And that mindless puppet, Nodengoth, carried out his master’s bidding and ripped her child from her arms, only to be whisked away in a golden eddy of light particles.
“I’ve seen enough,” she said, closing her eyes and turning her head away.
When Giddion didn’t stop the horrific scene, she squeezed his hand crushing his bones.
“Egads, woman!” he yelped. The room stopped spinning and Jegra braced herself against the bar table as they came to an abrupt halt. They had never even left the observation lounge.
“Why did you show me all that?” she demanded to know.
Giddion massaged his sore hand, met her gaze, and smiled up at her. “Isn’t it clear by now, Empress Alakandra? Everywhere you go, death and misery follow.”
A scowl settled onto Jegra’s face and she peered at the toad-like creature with smoldering brown eyes.
“I killed your brother,” she snarled. “I could have killed your sister, too. Instead I merely took her tongue as a trophy. So, if I’m as bad as you say I am, what makes you think I won’t kill you right now?”
“Other than the fact that I can control time and won’t allow it?”
“Yeah, other than that...” she said, grinning at him with a sparkle in her wild eyes.
“Because, if you push H’aaztre too hard trying to get his attention, there’s no telling what he’ll do to you. Or your friends.”
“Maybe I do,” Jegra said. With lightning fast reflexes, her hand flew across the distance between them and clasped onto the toad’s tunic. He looked down at her hand and scoffed. Then squinted his overly large eyes at her and concentrated.
When the room didn’t spin out of focus, Giddion ran his tongue across his wide mouth and taught lips, adding a grunt just for good measure. Still nothing. Beginning to get worried, he looked over at Jegra with a startled expression. “How are you doing this?”
Jegra smiled, then with her other hand flicked the top of the Tri’laxian brandy’s bottle, shattering the neck so that it was jagged and sharp. “I’m not doing anything,” she said, smiling manically at him.
Without even hesitating, she slammed Giddion’s head down onto the counter. The sharp end of the bottle went straight into his right eye, killing him instantly. She then sat him back upright in his chair, wiped some of the blood splatter off on his robes, and slowly turned toward the shadows at the far end of the bar.
“Thanks, I needed that.”
Brei’Alas stepped out from the shadows, her hands raised as though she was casting a spell. “My pleasure,” she replied.
A small stream of blood began to trickle from out of Brei’s right nostril; Jegra fetched a table napkin and handed it to her. “Here, your nose is bleeding.”
“Oh,” Brei said, accepting the napkin. “Sometimes that happens when I over-exert myself.”
Jegra nodded. “Out of curiosity, did you know you could freeze time like that?”
“Nope,” Brei stated in the most cheerful manner. “I just found out. In fact, there’s a lot about my powers I don’t fully understand yet.”
“All in due time,” Jegra said, offering her a smile. Her smile faded when she turned back to the dress laying on the bar and she remembered she had other responsibilities to return to. She let out a deep sigh and then breathed in the sweet scent of coppery air. Looking over at Giddion, she watched as his prune colored blood oozed out onto the countertop.
“You could always skip,” Brei said, offering the empress a coy smile. Jegra laughed off the idea.
“I’m afraid that’ll be Dakroth’s play this evening.”
“I see,” Brei answered. She stood studying Jegra’s face for a moment and then, holding her elbow, she looked timidly over at the door and then back to Jegra. “If you won’t be needing me any longer, I should really get back to my post. My shift’s not over for another couple of hours.”
Jegra smiled and then stepped aside so Brei could lift up the flap in the bar top and let herself out.
“Shall I come to your quarters later?” Brei asked, pausing beside Jegra long enough to ask her question.
“It’s up to you,” she replied. Brei smiled at her one more time and then, trying to be sexy, sashayed her way out of the room. She looked back once from the hallway and practically tripped over her own feet as she still hadn’t gotten it down.
After stumbling slightly, she popped back up in time to exclaim that she was all right when the doors shut on her, muffling her words, and her cheeks flushed bright pink with the afterglow of embarrassment.
Jegra held her fist to her mouth and stifled a chortle, praying that Brei didn’t hear her laugh at her. She had to give the girl credit where credit was due, however, given the impressive number of failures she had racked up trying to be sexy, she hadn’t given up.
Brei’Alas, if anything, was pleasurable. But, more than that, she’d proven to be a true friend over the past couple of weeks. And while Jegra was out in the cold depths of space, Danica was back home seeking refuge in the warmth of Raphine’s arms.
Such is the way of things when two people who desperately need love in their lives get separated by too much distance. A little dalliance here or there is to be expected. It doesn’t mean you've stopped loving your partner, just that you've opened your heart to new people to love.
Love, like food, came in all shapes and sizes, flavors, textures, and couldn’t be locked down as one single thing. Everyone has their favorite food, Jegra mused, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t other foods you can’t stop to enjoy and take delight in. Or that you’ll never find a new food better suited to your unique tastes than one you preferred before. Loving others was very similar. And limiting yourself to just one person to love, in her estimation, was like limiting oneself to just one meal for the rest of your life.
True love was a myth. It was as real as rainbow colored unicorns. It simply didn’t exist, and those who told themselves it did were only fooling themselves. That didn’t mean that there weren’t enduring forms of love with deep, lasting connections. If you found someone who completed you in some profound way, then great. But to assume that because you got lucky and found a match meant that this was the only form of love to aspire to was, quite frankly, delusional thinking.
Jegra knew that everyone had to face the music of their own mortality at some point. A life, like the brief, lovely cherry blossom, is a fleeting thing. All you can do is cherish the limited time you have. And, at the end of the day, everyone is in the same boat. You can either embrace nihilism and go mad from the indifference and cruelty of the universe, or you run from it straight into the closest warm embrace you can find.
It’s not always the right thing to do, but it’s better than having to face the inevitable existential crisis of staring into th
e well of that infinite and dreadful void all on your own.
It was this line of reasoning that helped Jegra realize that if she was going to win this war—if she had any hope of uniting the galaxy into one giant cosmic alliance—she needed to do so through love, not fear. Through integrity, not intimidation. And through hope, not desperation.
She’d win the galaxy back, just like she’d won the hearts of the fans of the Intergalactic Gladiatorial Games: one planet at a time.
She still had a long road ahead of her. Even so, she knew that H’aaztre wasn’t done toying with her yet. Not when he taunted her in the forest of Aldebaran. And certainly not with The Voice still out there sowing havoc wherever she went. But all that had to wait. Right now, she had a dinner party to attend and she was already running late.
29
Danica, fresh from a shower, reclined in a wicker chair on the balcony patio and basked in the morning sunlight. She had on a salmon colored robe and crossed her lavender leg over her left thigh and bounced her calf on her knee.
Her bathrobe slipped open slightly, exposing her full leg all the way to her hip. She ignored it as she read a holovid of the day’s news. She swiped the hologram hovering before her and flipped through the channels. Upon seeing an article of interest, she tapped the picture portion of the hologram and the still image flickered to life above the slowly scrolling text.
A tall, glistening glass of pink lemonade sat at the edge of the table, sweating profusely in the sun. Luckily, it was early, and the Thessalonica sun had not yet fully risen, giving her another hour of pleasant daytime before she’d need to retreat into the shade of the palace.
“Enjoying your day off?” a voice asked.
Danica looked up to see Raphine standing in the entrance, dressed in her tan and brown security uniform. It complimented her forest green hair and avocado colored skin quite nicely, Danica thought.
“You might say that,” replied Danica, taking a sip of her lemonade before setting it back down on its coaster.
Raphine took a step forward and seemed to hem and haw. Danica just watched, waiting for her to spit it out. After all, if she pushed her to come out with it before she was ready, she knew that Raphine would just grow defensive. But after Onelle’s outing everyone involved in Abethca’s death, Danica knew she owed it to Raphine to be sympathetic and just offer her a listening ear and a shoulder to lean on, if need be.
“I don’t hate you,” Raphine finally said. “But I can’t accept what you did, either. Jegra was a pawn in Dakroth’s game and you...you hid the truth from us.”
“To protect you,” Danica said, but she stopped there when Raphine raised a finger as if to say, let me finish what I need to say. Danica obliged.
“I understand your justification. I just can’t agree with it. And although I have enjoyed your company and friendship, I don’t think we should see each other anymore.”
“Is there anything else?” Danica asked, locking her fingers together underneath her chin. She uncrossed her legs, and then recrossed them the other way. She casually brushed the pleats out of the robe again and then stared at Raphine until she answered.
“I know Onelle has mental problems. I know she’s a sociopath and is dangerous. But, she’s still my sister. So, when the time comes, I will be the one to deal with her.”
Danica nodded. Seemingly satisfied with that response, Raphine turned to leave.
“Wait,” Danica said, rising to her feet. Raphine turned in the doorway and gazed over at the beautiful lavender face of Danica staring back at her with intense eyes that brimmed with tears.
Raphine could see that she wanted to apologize so badly, but knowing her, that would open up a Pandora’s box of emotion she wasn’t ready for. Instead, she merely nodded with a subtle thrust of the chin, as if to convey her understanding then wheeled around and strode off the balcony.
Although their affair had been brief, Danica knew she was going to miss Raphine’s company terribly. At least they were able to part on good terms. Danica turned back to the balcony’s edge and looked out over the railing. Out of the blue, a loud crack like lightening sounded followed by a low rumbling boom. She looked up to see the Intergalactic Gladiatorial Syndicate’s collection ship—a massive corvette class battlecruiser with the sole purpose of collecting escaped warriors.
When it loomed closer to the palace, she grew tense. As its shadow blotted out the sun, she called out in a tense voice that betrayed her own nervousness, “Raphine, we have company.”
Raphine didn’t reply, so Danica tapped her wrist and tried the implanted comm link, but it was being jammed. That’s when golden beams of light touched down all around her.
“No!” she shouted in protest, peering up at the ship as she began to teleport up.
Five massive guards dressed in glossy black armor and masked helmets surrounded her with stun rods when she manifested before them. A slender Dagon man dressed in a white pinstripe, hot pink suit with a monocle examined her and said, “Danica Valencia, you are hereby summoned back into the Gladiatorial Syndicate.”
“What?” Danica gasped, unable to believe her ears. “What’s the meaning of this? Explain yourself before I have you deported to the farthest moon to mine korridium for the rest of your miserable existence.”
In typical Dagon fashion, he turned his nose up at her in a gesture of superiority and ignored her hollow threats. “Due to your final humiliation bout being terminated because of an account of interference, you must re-fight the match.”
“You have to be kidding me.”
“I assure you, Miss Valencia, I am not.”
“We’ll see about this,” she said, and turned to storm away. “When the empress gets word of this, you’re going to regret ever having crossed paths with—”
ZAP!
The stun rod barely kissed the back of her shoulder but she went down like a lead weight.
“Collect her and take her to her holding cell,” the fancy Dagon collector said, cleaning his monocle with a fresh cloth he’d drawn from the inside pocket of his neon pink suit jacket.
As the IGS ship slowly turned about and rose into the sky above Arena City, Raphine emerged from the shadows of their chambers and stepped out onto the palace balcony. She watched the ship slowly gain altitude and then, with another thunderous boom, it jumped away, vanishing in the blink of an eye.
SEVERAL HUNDRED THOUSAND light years away, on the beach world of Arkadia, a short distance from the Colosseum that sat on Arkadia’s largest island, a green-skinned woman wearing military fatigues lounged in a hammock. She fiddled with a large tactical blade as she trimmed her nails and, in the shade of the palm tree, glanced up at the IGS ship that jumped into view high above the sparkling oceans of the tropical planet.
“Just on time,” Gaewen Feradorn said, smiling up at the ship. She brought up her holovid display and it read: Contact Arena Palace. She tapped the button and a comm channel opened. “She has arrived.”
“Good. Keep me posted, cousin.”
“Copy that,” Gaewen replied, answering Raphine Agnar’s request to keep a vigilant eye on Danica while she endured her stay on the island nation, Arkadia.
The holovid closed and Raphine, still loitering about on the palace balcony back on Thessalonica, strolled over to Danica’s unfinished lemonade and picked it up. Examining the lipstick marks where Danica had drunk, Raphine held the glass up, as if to say cheers and good luck, and then placed her own lips over the very same marks and finished off the drink.
A sigh of satisfaction escaped her lips and she slammed the glass drink down onto the table. A pain laden grin formed across her mouth and a tear seeped out of the corner of her right eye and ran down her cheek.
What she’d done, handing Danica over to IGS like that, was unforgivable. But for the part Danica had played in her sister’s death, it was fitting. Although Jegra believed Danica was redeemable, Raphine was beginning to think otherwise.
For the past three hundred years, Dagons had
prided themselves in thinking they were the apex species in all of the galaxy and therefore also above the law. Danica had carried out kill orders on Dakroth’s behalf. She’d wiped out entire colonies without a hint of remorse. And even when Raphine had grown to be her lover, she hid things from her. Like the fact that she was still secretly doping on Nividium 3 and the fact that she’d plotted Abethca’s untimely demise.
Raphine felt bad about what she had to do. But, the fact remained, she had to do it. Danica was in need of an intervention, something that would shake her to her core. And with Jegra preoccupied with the war effort and everything else that was going on, Raphine needed to see to it that the palace was secured.
Danica was neither stable nor safe. She’d gone off the rails during her yearlong cat and mouse game with Zallek. Once she’d caught him, she didn’t know what to do with herself and literally spiraled out of control into what seemed like a mid-life crisis coupled with a clinical psychological break. She was fucking her student, taking drugs again—albeit so secretively that nobody knew except for Raphine, whose job it was to know everything that went on at the palace.
As far as Raphine was concerned, another few months in the arena would do Danica some good. Maybe she’d snap to it and finally realize that her actions have consequences. Because, unless she learned that very vital lesson, Raphine was perfectly content to leave her in the hands of IGS permanently.
“EQUIM! ZAMMEN’ETH!” Danica reached up and touched the earpiece she’d been given and gave it a tap. The translator was on the fritz again. “Hey! Watch it!” she grumbled as the guards shoved her through the gate which led into the hypogeum.
Unfortunately, she still only had on her white bathrobe. She pulled it tight when she noticed some wandering eyes settle on the bare shoulder that peeked out from the luxuriant fabric.
“You can’t wear that,” a droll voice said. Recognizing it, Danica’s eyes widened and she spun around to find an old but familiar face peering over at her from the shadows of the underground preparation chambers.
