Aris held Zion to the side, away from the commotion. “They found her several clicks outside of the city. She’s barely breathing. It’s better you allow the doctors to help her now,” he explained.
“Sortec?” Zion gasped, trying to shove passed Aris to reach her.
Aris held him back. “No, Tremble,” he corrected.
Zion backed away, raising his hands. “Son-of-a… where did they find her?” he asked.
“Dussil quarry, about twenty clicks from where your ship crashed,” Aris returned low.
Zion paused, punching his hand lightly against the wall. “Will she survive?” he asked.
Jeina stood behind Zion, resting her hand on his shoulder. “They’re keeping her comfortable. That’s all they can do for her now. The Marisheio found her but left her for dead. One of our men was with the group and informed us of her location. We’re doing all we can for her,” she said.
Zion’s eyes grew distant. “Uh… can I speak with her?” he asked.
Jeina shook her head solemnly. “She’s unconscious and it’s better she remain that way. Nearly every bone in her body is broken. She doesn’t have much time left.”
As she spoke, the doctor emerged from the infirmary. His dark face was solemn.
Zion nodded his appreciation. He turned away, hiding an escaped tear. “I… I need to speak to my Chisarel. He needs to be informed,” he spoke, a lump of emotions hindering his words.
Aris motioned for Zion to follow him. “I’ll arrange it,” he offered, guiding him away from the scene. “You two were close?” he asked.
Zion grunted, feeling Jeina behind them. “I assigned her to protect Sortec. Her death is on my hands,” he explained, his words distant.
Jeina forced him to pause and turn to her. “This is hardly your fault. You gave her an order. It’s up to all of us to follow orders or not. She had free will, just like everyone else. She chose to jump out of the ship after her leader. You didn’t order her to jump. She did that of her own free will. It’s a tragic loss, but it will hardly be the last.”
“That’s reassuring,” Zion growled.
Jeina shrugged. “The truth hurts, I’m sorry.” She motioned to the door to her right. “You can use the com in here. I’ll give you some privacy,” she offered.
___
Danstu stared at the screen, unable to focus on Zion’s image. One single tear escaped his left eye, rolling down his cheek. He hated losing people, especially those he knew personally.
“It’s a tragic situation, but at least we can rest now knowing she’s no longer in enemy hands. I’ll inform her family with the Underground. She is a hero in all of our eyes and I will make certain she be given the honors owed to her. Now, how is Rosanheer?” Danstu asked.
Zion flinched at the change of subjects. “He should be on his feet in no time. He’s anxious to join the search for Sortec,” Zion mentioned.
“And Orion?” Danstu asked.
“Under heavy sedation still. He was badly burned. It will be a few more days before he can be transported.”
Danstu grunted uneasily. “Damn shame. We have two Marisheio short-range fighters we’ve recovered from the Elnek. We’re looking into retrofitting them with Tasgool technology so we can get you and your crew off of Clovucutte, but it will take time. We’re still looking for a ship that can carry the fighters close enough to Clovucutte to launch them.”
“Meanwhile, Sortec is battling who knows what in the arena here, fighting for her life,” Zion pointed out.
“Run that by me again?” Danstu asked. His expression was placid on his pale face.
Zion frowned, unsure what Danstu meant. “Sortec, we believe we found her. She’s being forced to fight in the games. I thought Aris informed you?” he asked.
Danstu shook his head. “Games? As in the games? The ones slaves are forced to battle to the death?”
Zion grunted, glancing over his shoulder. “Damn, I thought someone told you. It’s been chaos around here. A day ago, images were released of her playing in the games. Her first game, she killed five trained players. She’s scheduled to fight in two hours.” He paused, noticing Jeina waving to him. “Looks like the games are starting. Aris has someone inside sending us a live feed. I’ll call you back once we’ve confirmed for certain it is Sortec.”
The screen blanked to Danstu’s enraged expression. He balled up his fist, slamming it onto the table just as Ryn and Bagaaris entered the office followed by a short yet impressive looking older Crehail man. He only could presume the man was Captain Koos.
“Bad timing?” Ryn questioned as the men lingered by the door.
Danstu waved them inside. “Captain Koos?” he asked, offering the man his hand. The man nodded, accepting the handshake. Danstu grabbed a computer pad from his desk, handing it to the man. “Is there any way I can offer you a command. We are short-staffed and we—“
The aged captain’s eyes widened when he saw the specs of the ship on the computer pad. “It would be an honor, Chisarel,” he stated.
“Good, good. Choose your crew and get out there. Your ship is waiting for you,” Danstu said in a rush, making it seem that their conversation was over.
When the captain had left, Danstu turned his attention to the other two men. “We have a problem,” he began. “What do you know about the Marisheio games?”
“To stay clear of them,” Bagaaris said.
Ryn’s eyes widened. “Why do I feel like my job just became impossible?”
SEVEN
Sedom cautiously walked into the middle of the arena. Her golden eyes squinted in the harsh light as she searched the stands. There was a familiar scent to the air, a scent that belonged to someone she knew. There was someone out there, watching her with caring eyes; someone who knew who she was. But who was it?
She dropped to her left knee, listening to the sounds around her. The crowds’ cheers echoed in her ears. She closed her eyes, focusing on the wind. The sound of the crowd disappeared, leaving only the gentle sound of the wind followed by the rhythmic sound of her heartbeat. The crunching of sand beneath a boot caused her to jump back just as a sword swooshed passed her throat. With agile steps, she jumped onto the flat side of the blade, wrapping her arms around the man’s neck who wielded it.
Her hand connected to the man’s throat, dropping him to his knees. “I’m sorry,” she whispered as she snapped his neck.
He fell to the ground, causing her to jump back and directly into the chest of another man. This man wore a leather mask and she knew it wasn’t for looks. Half of his massive body looked like it had been burned in a fire.
He swung an arm-length battle club with long spikes at her. Without time to think, she jumped back, grabbing the first man’s sword. The club swung towards her again, impacting the ground beside her.
She sprung up, dodging another swipe of the club. As he swung the club around again, Sedom ducked, jabbing her sword upwards. The club fell beside her with a loud thud. She cautiously looked up with her left eye, her right eye covered in a layer of thick green blood. Her sword was protruding under his ribs and deep into his chest.
The man dropped to the ground. His lips formed a smile as his blank eyes stared up into the crowd.
The crowds’ cheers filled the arena but slowly quieted until only she could hear one set of hands clapping. Sedom turned her attention to a high balcony overlooking the arena. Inside the balcony sat a woman dressed in regal clothing, jewels dazzling her long black hair.
Beside her stood a man dressed all in black. His skin was pale white and he too wore jewels but on his fingers. Both stared down at Sedom with expressions of amusement.
“Well done, Syrok Cantro. You have earned your marks today,” the woman called down.
Sedom stared up at the two. She knew the woman was Santurra, the Cassaus of the Marisheio Empire. She was the next in line to rule the Empire. It was an honor to have her in attendance, yet rather odd that she was attending a game with a rookie fighting such as Sedom.
; The man though, she felt as if she knew him… knew him and hated him. Her blood ran cold as she watched him.
He noticed her watching him. He whispered something to the Cassaus, something that looked like Nogoana.
“The battle of Nogoana,” she thought to herself. “Lord Wyice? That Windrit bastard is here?”
She grabbed the sword again, chopping off the second man’s head. Pure rage washed through her body as she hurled the head towards the Lord, missing the Cassaus by mere inches. Blood splattered across both as Sedom spat to the ground.
She was quickly subdued by Cizel, her hands held tightly behind her back. Both the Cassaus and Lord Wyice stared down at her as if she had caused them the greatest offence a person could. Lord Wyice then rose his hands and began to clap.
“Bravo, Cantro!” he called out.
The Cassaus followed his lead, clapping as well. They actually enjoyed her disobedience.
“What the?” she gulped.
Terrill hurried out into the arena, taking the chain from Cizal. “I can’t believe…” he stammered. He turned, bowing to the Cassaus. He raised Sedom’s arm quickly to show he accepted her win then hurried her out of the arena. “What are you trying to do to me? That was the Cassaus!”
Sedom shrugged. “I wasn’t aiming at her.”
“Then who were you aiming at?” he asked.
“That was Lord Wyice?” she questioned. He grunted. “He killed my people,” she added.
“He’s killed a lot of people. Both of us will be included if you do something stupid like that again,” he warned. He pushed her towards the restroom showers. “Clean up and I’ll take you to the doc after.”
___
Zion stared in wonder at the Marisheio short-range fighter ship before him. His hand shook as he lifted a finger to point to it. “How the hell am I going to fly this back to Gathow?” he asked Aris who stood beside him.
Aris took a deep breath before he began. “I’ve arranged two fighters to follow you out of the system. You’re going to defect. They will shoot at you, but you’ll have to trust they won’t damage your ship,” he explained.
“Why shoot at me?” Zion asked, turning to Aris with concern in his stern eyes.
“These ships never fly alone. If you take off, it leaves my men vulnerable to interrogation. If they fire, they’ll only be questioned and released. It’s the best we can do,” Aris offered as he handed Zion a helmet. “Good luck.”
Zion grabbed the helmet, examining it. He had seen many helmets before, but for some reason putting this one on felt claustrophobic. He slid the helmet on and climbed into the ship.
Although the controls were written in a language he didn’t understand, they were particularly easy to figure out. Within no time he was airborne and flying to the stars. Moments after he reached the planet’s stratosphere he was met by two additional short-range fighter ships.
“You doing alright over there?” called one of the other pilots through Zion’s headset in his helmet.
“Yes, fine. It’s been awhile since I last flown.” He searched over the controls, finding one to boost his rockets.
By the time he blinked, his ship had passed by Clovucutte’s first moon. From the ground it looked like the planet only had one moon. From space though, he could clearly count five.
The group of three ships continued to fly passed two more planets and out into free space.
“This is as far as we can go,” called one of the other pilots through Zion’s helmet speakers.
“Well then,” Zion spun his ship around to face the other two ships, firing on them first. “Thanks for the help,” he called. He spun his ship back around and took off, leaving the other two ships adrift.
At first he felt a little guilty about firing on them, but he knew they would be fine. It was only a matter of a few hours before someone would rescue them. Besides, it was easier for them to claim he turned on them than them firing on him for defecting.
___
Captain Cembre stared out the viewscreen of the Azeran, examining her own ship from afar. She only saw the Assan from the outside two times prior, the day the Chadon took her to visit it and the day she assumed command. It was an impressive ship, but not as impressive as the Azeran.
She brushed her hands over the blank operations console, wishing that it would power on. No such luck.
“I promise you will be whole again,” she whispered to the ship.
Lieutenant Deerski, her head of security, stood behind her. “What must she have been like?” he said in awe.
A grim grin appeared on Cembre’s lips. “We’ll soon find out.” She turned to the Dormin man. “When she’s operational again, I’m requesting to take command. Would you like to join me as first officer?” she asked.
“An honor, Captain. But, do you really think the Chadon will commission her if she has the Oslo?” he questioned.
Cembre turned back to the main viewscreen. “I have no doubt.” She patted the console as if to say farewell for now. “Time to go. I’ll see you soon,” she told the ship.
When Cembre returned to the bridge of her own ship, Miserin was waiting. “Everything secured, Captain.”
“Good. Lay in a course for Matrador,” she ordered.
“How was she?” Miserin questioned.
She turned to him briefly. “I want her,” she stated. “I have never felt such a connection to a ship.”
“Good luck with that,” he returned.
___
Danstu stared at the image of Sedom fighting in the arena. He had a stack of computer pads needing his attention, yet he couldn’t keep his eyes from the image. He knew she was an excellent warrior, but he had never seen her in hand-to-hand battle before.
His mind drifted to the first time he met her. She was late arriving and he remembered being quite agitated that she was late to her own Ardath. It didn’t help he had to wait in the sun for her arrival. He was also amused that the daughter of the great Chadon Sortec had the audacity to run through a crowd of foreigners without guards.
A yellow light blinked on his desk. Without realizing it, Danstu tapped it. Instantly he regretted it. He’d been avoiding people calling for him and the Chadon all day.
To his relief, Rosanheer’s face appeared on the screen. His nose was still bandaged and the left side of his face was badly burned. He flinched when he first saw his friend.
“You look like hell,” Danstu began.
Rosanheer raised an amused eyebrow. “I’ve been through hell. I have news, but it’s not good,” he started.
“You located Sortec?” Danstu questioned.
Rosanheer nodded. “It has been confirmed, but they don’t know who she is…” he paused, closing his eyes to hold back his frustration. “She’s fighting in the arena.”
Danstu nodded several times, his eyes distant. “Yes, I know. Zion mentioned it to me earlier.”
“She’s already won several games. They have her fighting again tomorrow. There’s no way we’ll be able to reach her,” he explained.
“We’ll find a way,” Danstu assured.
Rosanheer added, “She’s wearing a collar. How?”
Danstu’s eyes closed, holding back a fast-forming headache. “Okay, okay… this is a good thing. The collar will hopefully wipe her memory so no mind-reader could scan her. We’ll work on regaining her memories later. For now, I want to know everything about her location, exits and entrances, people she’s been seen with--”
“We’re already on it. Zion is in route to Gathow as we speak. The Novaac managed to borrow a Marisheio fighter ship. If you see a small enemy ship in your area, don’t fire on it,” he explained. “The Doc and I are remaining behind to keep an eye on Sortec’s activities. I’ll contact you as soon as we learn more.”
As the screen blanked, Danstu was already typing in orders for a meeting. “Good. One down, one to go.”
EIGHT
Inside her cage, Sedom sat in silent meditation. Her eyes focused on a drop of wa
ter gathering from a waterspout near her cage. All around her she could hear the taunting of other players, the cries of those wounded and the heavy breathing from the man sitting in the cage beside her.
A guard walked around, tossing plates of food next to each of the cages. Sedom glanced over at her dish, seeing it once again covered in a variety of cooked meats.
“I’ll trade you,” a voice called from the cage beside hers. A Dormin man lifted his plate to the bars. “I don’t care for vegetables,” he offered.
She took her plate, handing it through the bars. He passed her his. “Thanks.” He sat and quickly began to eat.
She took a seat, examining her new meal. It was nearly all fruits and vegetables. She picked up a purple carrot root, popping it into her mouth.
“You know what I wish I had… Tavot. My wife used to make the best Tavot,” he mentioned.
“Why talk to me?” Sedom questioned, finding it rather odd that the man would bother speaking to her, let alone start a conversation.
“For one of us, it’s our last night. Might as well make the best of it,” the man returned. He held his hand over his shoulder for her to shake. “I’m De’mek.”
She reluctantly shook his hand. “Syrok.”
“I’ve heard. You’ve made a name for yourself these past two weeks. Do you know who you are or did they take that from you?” he asked.
She shied away, holding back her frustration in her clenched hands. “Took it from me,” she grumbled.
“Sorry to hear that. They find it easier to control their slaves if they have no memories. If you know your real name, it gives you a sense of power and pride. Without… well. With me, they allowed me to keep my memories. They figured if I remember my family I would fight to live.”
“How long have you been playing in the games?” Sedom asked, scooting down the bars next to him.
De’mek took a bite of his food. “Fighting in the games? Only a few months. I’ve been a worker slave for six years. When I was taken, my son was five and my wife was pregnant with our second. My son is practically a man now. I would have loved to see him again. Next life, right?”
The Last Narkoy_OSLO Page 6
