by L A Warren
High Tender Marcus came to examine them. Gregor nodded and gripped the knife in his free hand.
“My lords, if you are not ready speak now.” High Tender Marcus vlor’Vardhal waited. After a length of time, while Gregor’s hand encased hers in solid steel, he spoke again. “Now, my lords, claim your s’vlor.”
Time seemed to slow as Gregor thrust the knife through the air and into the top of his hand. Her mind processed his action with cool detachment.
The knife pierced his skin and slowed. Gregor came onto his knees and drove the knife deeper. His face twisted in pain. A tiny prick caught her unaware as the tip of the knife pierced her palm. Blood poured out of his wound and pooled on the gray stone.
The heat of his blood burned and she pulled back, but his grip held her firm.
He continued to press down with the knife. The prick of pain turned to fire as he buried the knife to the hilt. Then the tip of the blade made contact with the stone beneath her hand.
Screams echoed around the room, but not from Elise. The pain shocked her, but she had endured far worse pain than this. It was nothing compared to the braklav. Gregor grimaced and took three deep breaths. Sweat beaded his brow and his dark tattoo danced.
Elise breathed easily. High Tender Marcus had taught her how to control her pain; how to be in command of the sensation, so that he might give her even more. This was gruesome, but tolerable.
The knife locked their hands in a grisly union of flesh and steel. Her blood joined his, pooling on the stone. Gregor lifted their hands a few inches above the stone and rolled them over. Her blood now flowed onto his skin. It would've dripped into his wound; except the knife was in the way, but then he grasped the hilt of the blade and yanked it out.
As the blade exited her skin, the vessels, freed from the pressure of the steel, bled with renewed force.
Gregor placed the knife to the side and then pulled her hand back down to the bloodied stone. This time their positions were reversed. His hand rested on the stone with her palm upon his. His free, uninjured hand pressed her bloodied hand down. Her hand slipped on the film of blood separating their hands, but he applied pressure and kept a firm grip.
“I claim my s’vlor," he said through gritted teeth. The tendons on his neck stood out, as if he were experiencing extreme pain.
She felt next to nothing.
“I accept all responsibility and obligation for this s’vlor’s training, welfare and safety. In the name of the Vendel Empire, as a vlor’ lord, as Emperor Gregor Ulysses vlor’Malita, I claim Lady Malita s’Lissa s’vlor to be mine in every way.”
A burning began in her palm, different from sharp pain from the knife. An intense itching bloomed between muscle and bone where it turned into a deep throb. The pulsations intensified and deepened, building to a rising fury.
Pain!
She blinked back tears and bit her lip to keep from crying out.
The bright red blood on the stone flowed. Not out of their wounds, but rather into his. Their combined blood, mixed outside their bodies, flowed up and into Gregor.
His face stretched in a grimace and he huffed against the pain. His body shook and he dug his fingers into her wrist. A low groan escaped his lips.
The blood flowed into his wound until the stone gave up the last drop of blood. Gregor removed his top hand from hers and the puncture in her hand knit together and healed as she watched.
As it closed, the voices in her head mewed in terror. The lightning shocks continued until her hand healed completely, leaving a thin scar where the knife blade had entered. The pain didn’t bother her and she endured it with a dissociated calm. Gregor, however, released her hand with a cry and fell forward.
She watched with detached interest. What would happen next? What else would the Vendel throw her way? As surely nothing else could surprise her?
Echoes of women’s cries and men’s screams bounced off the walls.
Malice giggled. Ninety men and ninety women with ninety sharp knives. Ninety men and ninety women with ninety sharp knives. She ran off babbling into the darkness.
Minutes passed and the cries became whimpers. Screams became groans. Gregor clasped his previously injured hand, and sat back, his face a mask of pain.
When it was all over, the s’vlor were rounded up by the WOR-guards and marched out of the room. One-by-one they were logged out of the palm pad at the base of the steps leading to the rest of the ship. The vlor’ lords remained behind and she noted most of the men, perhaps Gregor included, were still racked with agonizing spasms.
The WOR-guard led the women down several corridors to a new suite of rooms. No enclosed football stadium-space, but rather a large, square, open lounge area greeted them. Clusters of chairs and tables peppered the space, all clean white lines, too much white in her opinion. The edges of the square room held low counters with stools and gel-pads, which gave access to the am-net. All ninety of them could easily fill this space and not be crowded.
Eight doorways lined the room, leading to long corridors. Elise, Alice, Aomi and Chandra huddled together for support.
Elise, what is this? Aomi asked.
No idea.
The WOR-guards shuffled the women around and led them away in small groups.
Stay together! She tapped out the words just as a WOR-guard came to their group.
“My ladies, please follow me to your rooms.” He ushered them away in a tight group and led them down a spartan hall to the last door on the left. It swished open with a faint hiss and they stepped inside after the WOR-guard. A small living room greeted them and five doors.
“Names please,” he intoned, and whipped out a flimsy pad.
Aomi began, “Well, I’m Aomi, that’s Chandra–”
He interrupted her, “Those names don’t exist. What are your given names?”
Elise understood and hurried to fill the silence. “Lady Malita s’Lissa s’vlor.”
Chandra added, “Lady Damius s’Amia s’vlor.”
“Lady Adreti s’Aury s’vlor,” Aomi said in a whisper.
“I’m Lady Calcask s’Adreta s’vlor,” Alice shrugged. “At least we’re done with the stupid numbers.”
Aomi shook her head. “Be thankful for the small things, right?”
The WOR-guard spoke, “This is the Fifth Rank training deck. This room will be your suite to share. There are four bedrooms. Please inform me of which room you will claim. The fifth door leads to a private washroom. The main lobby has eight halls leading away from it. The six on either side lead to private rooms. You are not allowed in any of the halls except for this one, leading to your specific room. You may, however, socialize in the main lobby as your free time allows.
“The two halls at the end, lead to exercise facilities, dining facilities, and training rooms. The main door is guarded at all times. There is no other exit from this deck. Once you let me know which room you claim, I will have your lord’s wardrobe selections sent to your closets. You have standard exercise attire in place right now.”
Elise pointed to each door in turn and assigned rooms at random. After all, how different could they be?
He made notes and nodded. “You have the rest of the day off. I suggest you exercise and try to sleep. Rod training continues in the morning as well as etiquette and other classes.”
This is not good. I have to find a way off this deck.
But how and when? She looked up. A single, unmoving bio-pod clung to the ceiling.
Well, I figured it out before. Just follow the bio-pods. They will lead the way.
Chapter Eleven
Gambit, Day 205
Elise shifted in the seat of the jump-jet and prepared for the catapult launch. The helmet encased her head with a snug fit, and the visor display scrolled the launch checklist. The webbed straps over her shoulders, and across her lap, held her firmly to the seat and her hands rested lightly on the gel-interface pads at her sides. She flicked her eyes up to the left, signaling a ‘Go’ for launch, and tapped
her left index finger.
The command rocketed her jump-jet out of the Gambit’s launch tube and pressed her back against the seat. Upon exiting the ship, the featureless gray of WOR-space became her universe. She maneuvered the jump-jet to the beginning of the course and activated her ship’s communications channel.
“Lark, you ready to get spanked?”
“What the hell does that mean?” His voice crackled over the communication channel.
“It means…I’m going to beat you. You know, spank your ass? Hands down, no question. You are going to lose.”
“You come up with the weirdest expressions. I’ve been at this longer than you, El. Care to make a wager?”
“With what? I don’t have anything to bet.”
“Yes, you do,” he said.
Elise glanced out the canopy window at Larkin’s jump-jet hovering off her starboard wing. She could see the lights of Larkin’s helmet through the canopy of his cockpit. “Women don’t bet that,” she said flatly.
“I wasn’t talking about that, although I do have an idea for a new snarking sim I’m interested in.” Larkin tipped his wings.
“Well, I don’t bargain away that.” She prepped for entrance to the jump-jet course.
“I want something else. Something nice.”
A green light flashed on her visor signifying the course was set. “Lark, you ready? Fox or Rabbit?”
“Fox,” he replied. “You haven’t answered me?”
Elise tapped in her acceptance for Rabbit.
The jump-jet circuit had two separate races. The first was a speed trial. The job was to navigate through a series of fifty rings set up along a twisting course around the Gambit’s torus. Five of the rings were randomly placed and shifted wildly as the pilot approached. They gave additional bonus points if the pilot could hit them. Few did.
Most jump-jet pilots avoided the bonus rings; it could be a terrible risk. Trying and failing jeopardized the entire race. A miss could put a pilot out of position for the next set of rings. Penalty points were deducted for missed rings. Top contenders could usually hit two to three of the rings. Jeena had been the only professional pilot to successfully hit all five rings during a competition in the past fifty years.
Larkin had her interest, however, with his bet, and she couldn’t resist egging him on. There was no doubt in her mind who was going to win today. “All right. What do you want that I have?”
“I want to take you to dinner, on a date, with everything that entails.”
“Lark, isn’t that supposed to be my line?”
Counter to Earth culture, women drove romantic entanglements among the Vendel.
She and Larkin lined up their jump-jets at the entrance to the course. In the distance, the faint shimmer of the first ring could be seen.
“El, you’ll never ask!”
And I never will.
“What’s wrong with a little courtship and romance?” He seemed distressed.
Everything.
“Nothing.”
How she wished for the unobtrusive company of Carek. His demands were simple and he wanted nothing from her beyond a casual friendship. This was not so from some of the others. To them she was an unattached female. It was considered rude for Vendel men to ask outright, which left quite a bit of room for subtle hints. Larkin, in particular, attempted to turn their friendship into something else at every opportunity. This request came dangerously close to crossing social boundaries.
For so many reasons it was out of the question. She could never explain to Larkin why that was, and it didn’t help that he’d developed a serious crush over the past weeks. He was a great friend and wonderful training partner, but nothing more.
Training of every form dominated her life. Vendel culture class, and the new diplomatic and social sciences classes the High Tenders levied on the Fifth Rank WOR, filled her days with mind numbing study.
Gregor stuffed the Rod skills down her throat every afternoon. The High Tender insisted on teaching the WOR-skill in the traditional manner. Rarely, Gregor would allow her to try the skills in her own fashion. However, despite her successes, High Tender Marcus would not advance her skill levels until she’d demonstrated mastery using conventional means.
Each day, Gregor ended Rod training a few minutes before the other lords. He walked her to her suite and, in the brief minutes until her roommates arrived, he held her close, stroked her hair, and murmured in her ear his pride in her accomplishments. Sometimes, he stole kisses, sometimes he sat and they talked about the many worlds of the Vendel empire. He never asked about her childhood, her past, or anything tied to Earth, but opened up about his past. It seemed important to him that he share this piece of his life.
How could she explain to Larkin that his affections were wasted on the Emperor’s slave? How did she reconcile her growing affection for Gregor? In those stolen moments, she could almost forget what he’d done.
“I don’t have time for that right now. I really want to focus on the race. Are you ready?” Elise tried to put Larkin off.
“Yeah, but what about the bet?” Larkin wasn’t so easily dissuaded.
“How about this, if you win, I’ll let you take me out for a lunch, no dinners.” She couldn’t promise him a dinner. That ran up against her time limit on the training deck. “If I win, then you promise not to ask again until after the jump-jet circuit finals.”
“Fleet finals?” he asked cautiously.
“No, Imperial finals?”
“Aw, shit, you’re kidding, right?”
“Take it or leave it.”
“Well, since I’m only going to get a lunch out of this, let’s make it harder. Rabbit turns Fox at thirty-five.”
“Thirty-five! What happened to twenty-five?”
Rabbit and Fox was the elimination race held between two pilots, and Elise’s favorite of the two races. The Rabbit received a thirty-second lead and evaded the Fox down the twisting length of the course. All the rings had to be hit, but there was no time limit, and unlike the first race, a time trial, there were no bonus rings during Rabbit and Fox.
If Fox hit Rabbit with the laser weapons in the first half of the race, Fox scored two points. If, however, the Fox failed, the Rabbit’s lasers became active at the halfway point, ring twenty-five.
Then it became an exciting duel.
The race could end several ways. If the Rabbit had a solid lead, the pilot could simply race to the finish line. Crossing first earned Rabbit a victory and two points. If Fox finished first, without scoring a hit on Rabbit, Fox gained a single point. It was in Fox’s interest to score a hit on Rabbit, but sometimes earning one point was better than scoring none.
However, once Rabbit’s weapons activated, another outcome became possible. It was Elise’s favorite outcome. Rabbit grew fangs. If Rabbit ‘killed’ Fox, then Rabbit earned three points and gained a hefty lead in the point tally.
The competition played out over a series of three races. The two pilots took turns as Fox and Rabbit. The pilot trailing in points had choice for the last round and the pilot with the highest score progressed to the next elimination race.
“Tell you what Lark, I’ll take thirty rings. But don’t get too depressed when you get trounced.”
“Famous last words, El. I’m already thinking about where I’m taking you for lunch.”
Elise reprogrammed the course to switch on Rabbit’s lasers at the thirtieth ring. She edged her craft in front of Larkin’s and prepared for the race, thinking that it might be fun to let him win. Her display winked green and she hit the thrusters.
Thirty seconds later, he came after his prize. If Larkin really wanted to court her, he was going to have to earn it. She slid through the first ring, hitting it dead on. The second twinkled ahead and to the right. The jump-jet banked hard and she screamed toward the second ring. By the time Elise had swung past the third ring, Larkin started his pursuit.
He had to follow through the rings just as she did, but in between it
was a game of chase. All he had to do was sight his laser on her ship and it would all be over. Elise passed over the fourth ring and began defensive maneuvers.
Larkin pressed the attack, but she evaded and wove a complex pattern, forcing him out of his intended path and thwarting his perfectly lined up sights. Her ship dipped through ring after ring and he followed, blasting her fleeing form without effect.
Ring twenty-five came and went and Elise remained untouched. He now lagged two rings behind and had some catching up to do. Elise pressed her advantage and dove through the next series of rings.
They wove their paths around the far side of the torus to the halfway point. Here, the rings came precariously close to Gambit’s surface, only to later stretch out to the furthest boundaries of the WOR-space bubble.
Elise headed toward the torus, arrowed through the rings, and then twisted her ship violently around to scream toward the next ring at the boundary point. Larkin had gained a ring and laser fire streaked around her craft.
“Oh, no you don’t,” she screamed through the communications channel.
“Give it up, El. There’s no way you can make it to the next ring. I’ve got you.”
Never. The twenty-ninth ring loomed in front of her and the boundary lurked just beyond. Her only choice was to continue along her current trajectory, through the center, and then pull up and around to race all the way back to the Gambit. All the while, giving Larkin a clean, and steady, target to line up his lasers.
Inspiration struck. She didn’t have to go forward to win, sometimes backward worked just as well.
She was nearly to the ring. The evasive maneuvers barely kept Larkin off her tail. Soon she’d have to straighten out if she were make it through the ring. Which was exactly what she hoped Larkin expected. He, of course as Fox, couldn’t enter the ring until after Rabbit.
Elise steadied her approach and watched as Larkin lined up for the kill shot. When her display notified weapon's locked, she pressed down on the controls and looped in a tight corkscrew away from the ring, and directly toward Larkin. His weapon's lock failed.
