by J. N. Chaney
Pyke looked at me. “A commendable effort, lad. You’ve done well to keep your lady alive and to find us. We’ll be certain to see you are both well treated.” He laughed after that. It was a low, cruel sound, the kind that was used to being echoed by those without the dignity and spine to stand up to him.
The guards joined in on the laughter until he cut them off with a gesture. “It’s late. If you’ll follow me down into the camp, I’ll see that you both have a bed for the night. We’ll talk options come morning.”
It was obvious what his intentions for us were, but I gave my best respectful smile anyway and turned toward Marcella. “Your father is going to be so pleased you survived. We should call him immediately.”
Marcella nodded. “Yes. My father will certainly reward you for finding us. He’s a trader and diplomat.”
“Trader and a diplomat, you say? I’m certain we will come to an arrangement. Unfortunately, it will have to wait until tomorrow, after I’ve rested.”
Marcella looked panicked. “We’ve already been missing for several hours. He’s certain to send out ships to look for us. He’s probably already called in the orbital fleet to help.”
Pyke shook his head and then gave a signal to the guards. Two of them put their weapons away and grabbed me and Marcella.
Marcella winced at the guard’s rough touch.
Pyke slapped him across the face. “Be careful. She’s our guest.” He hooked an arm around her shoulder and led her down a flight of stairs into the camp below. “I’ll see that a room is prepared for you.”
Marcella looked to me. “What about my friend?”
Pyke smirked. “Oh, we have quarters for him. Don’t worry, you’ll see him in the morning.” He gave me a wicked grin. I understood that my night was going to be anything but restful. The guard behind me took my bag and grabbed my arm in a vice-like grip. Whatever plan Marcella had, she was going to be on her own for the time being.
I watched Pyke and the other guard enter the leftmost structure. The two guards with me gestured toward the right as we came down the stairs from the upper ridge. I followed their lead, crossing through the rows of tables and stalls to an empty position.
The guard with the gun returned to his tower. The other one stayed behind to instruct me. “A miner will come by and dump out a bucket. You use this and this”—he pointed to the two sifter scoops on either side of the station—“to pull out the materials. Yellow goes here and white goes there. The dirt goes into the box underneath.”
He provided no further explanation and I didn’t ask any questions, then he walked off. After a moment, a miner with a bucket showed up and poured out a load in front of me. I took up the first scoop and began sifting through the dirt. The scoop on the left had a larger mesh than the one on the right. After a few scoops through, I started pulling yellow material out of the dirt. I dropped it in the indicated bin. I repeated the process with the right scoop and pulled out a white material, which I dropped in the other bin.
It was difficult work and I was already sore and tired from the hours of walking across the desert without supplies. It took me longer than it should have to understand what I was separating. The white material was a uraninite. The yellow was larger crystal autunite. This was a uranium mine. It would take days of exposure before treatment was needed and months before resulting illness was untreatable. Still, I didn’t like being near the radioactive material.
I sifted and dumped a dozen loads before the guard returned. He grabbed my arm and pulled me out of the stall. I did my best to follow him, but he was walking quickly and yanking me with undue force. I stumbled and he pulled me back to my feet, practically dragging me as I tried to get my legs underneath me.
We passed by other workers as we crossed the camp. A few gave me quick, sideways glances but most kept their eyes down and went about their tasks. The guard pulled me up to the side of the leftmost structure. He grabbed me by the back of the neck and guided me up a flight of stairs to the upper level and into a dark room.
“There’s a cot to the left and a bucket in the corner,” sneered the guard. “I suggest you rest up for tomorrow. You’re gonna need it.”
The door slammed shut and locked behind him, leaving me alone in the dark.
Too weary to attempt an escape, I felt around until I found the cot and collapsed into an exhausted sleep.
The next morning, I opened my eyes to see Marcella inspecting my feet again and jerked into a sitting position.
“Whoa, big guy. It’s just me.” She held up a bowl filled with a strange brown mixture. “I told Pyke about your feet and he said the people here swear by this.”
“Why did you tell him about my feet?” I asked, because there had been a glimmer of guilt in the way she’d looked away.
“I’m sorry, Al. I tried. I really did.” Her blue eyes were filled with tears now and she moved up to hug me.
I patted her awkwardly on the back, not knowing what else to do. “It’s okay, just tell me what happened.”
Sniffling, Marcella sat up. “He agreed to let me go…” she trailed off, but I knew what she meant to say next.
“But not me,” I finished for her.
“Not you,” she agreed. “He said you were no one important and they were going to put you to work to pay for his hospitality.”
I snorted and gestured at the room. It had looked better in the dark. “This? Hardly. It’s fine though, I can probably escape from the mine.”
Another guilty expression crossed her face and I paused. “There’s more, isn’t there?”
She nodded. “I heard the guards talking about a fight. That it was too bad you were so skinny because it would have been funny to watch you fight for your life. I got mad and told them how you fought the criminals on the skiff.”
“I don’t understand, what does fighting have to do with anything?” I asked, confused.
“Pyke enjoys fights to the death. If a slave wins, he grants them freedom. I guess it’s no easy feat though. He has a champion. Someone who hasn’t lost a fight in a long time. After I bragged about your skill, he decided to put you in a fight tonight.”
I just stared at her, thinking she might be joking, but she didn’t laugh. “You can’t be serious. That is barbaric.”
“I know,” she sobbed, putting her head in her hands. “I’m sorry, I should have listened to you last night and went back to the canyon.”
“No, we’d likely be dead had we gone back. But this doesn’t explain why he let you help me.”
She sniffled and wiped at her tears. “Oh, Pyke said he wants you to be at full capacity. Something about honor, as if that bastard has any.”
“Darlin’, you wound me,” came a voice from the door.
It was Pyke.
“And here I was, bringing the young man some breakfast. He stepped into the room and a skinny woman rushed in with a tray that she set in my lap before rushing out again. A slice of bread, water, and a healthy portion of … something sat on the tray.
“I know it doesn’t look like much,” Pyke laughed. “I promise you though, lots of protein and nutrients to get you back on your feet.”
I didn’t say anything or move to touch the food.
“Eat it, or my guards will come in here and force feed it to you,” he growled.
Deciding not to press my luck, I took a tentative bite of the bread, then the soupy mixture.
Pyke clapped his hands and grinned. “You’ve got five minutes. After that, you’ll go to get cleaned up. That should give the salve time to do its job.”
I looked at him suspiciously until he barked out a laugh again.
“The young lady is correct. I enjoy watching a good fight and reward the winners. My current champion, Leon, is on his eleventh fight. Once he hits twelve, he’ll have earned his freedom.” Pyke laughed harshly. “Or he’ll be dead and a new champion will take his prize, then we’ll start fresh with two new fighters.”
With that, the foreman turned and left the r
oom.
A little while later I was in a cell, which offered an amount of shade, but the heat of the day was already pressing in. Like my room from the night before, it boasted only a cot and bucket. Pyke had ordered me cleaned up and for another application of the salve. Marcella hadn’t been exaggerating. My feet had almost completely healed within the few hours that had since passed.
“Hey there, you all right?”
I sat up to see Marcella at the door. She was all smiles with that strange charm, but I could see that it was a façade and an attempt to comfort me.
She frowned and leaned her face into the bars to whisper, “We’re good. They won’t bother listening. Just talk fast.”
I nodded. It was difficult to think through the pain and fatigue. It seemed like she had a plan, though. “What’s going on?”
She smiled again. “You were perfect! I was having trouble selling Pyke on my wealthy ingénue act. He bought that we had been in an accident because they saw the smoke briefly. He wanted to think that I was lying to keep myself away from the kind of things that people like him do to young women in places like this.”
“So how did you convince him?”
“I told him that you weren’t any normal mechanic apprentice. That you were actually a secret bodyguard, highly trained and highly paid by my wealthy father. I told him that the moment you had an opening, you would spring into action and try to rescue me from his clutches, which explained why you’re so good at fighting.”
“I’m a decent fighter, Marcella, but I’m in no condition to brawl right now.”
Marcella pressed herself close against the bars and looked pleased with herself. “I think I can help you with that. I swiped this from that junkie doctor’s bag.” She showed me three single-use hypo injectors about the size of a large button. “You’ll understand, I didn’t exactly trust you after the crash and a girl has to be able to defend herself.”
I smiled despite the circumstances. “Two sedatives and a reversal agent. I had no plans to hurt you, but it was a smart move anyway.”
She smiled back at me. “I thought so. If you can gain access to the other fighter and hit him with this shortly before the fight, it will slow him down. I heard you’ll have to do some kind of handshake. Pyke’s supposed honor, I guess.”
The mini injectors went into my pocket. “Thanks. I might have a chance with this.”
Marcella nodded. “They’ll arrange the fight for a little later when it starts to cool down, so you have a few hours.” She looked around as if she heard a noise, then pulled one of the bars from the emergency kit out and handed it to me.
Marcella reached into her other pocket and pulled out an emergency ration. “I also grabbed this. Eat up.”
She tossed me the bar, winked, then fixed a confident smile on her face and walked away. I found it impressive how quickly and easily she was able to shift her expression. It was nearly textbook of the physiological projection training I had received on Alara.
I sat back on the cot and opened the ration. It tasted only marginally better than the morning’s slop, but at least I knew it wasn’t going to kill me.
I was marched into a staging area on one side of the pit I’d spotted the night before, without any armor or weapons, save the syringes I’d palmed. It made sense that Pyke wouldn’t want to give his slaves access to those in fear of a possible uprising. I could see workers and guards standing side by side and cheering along the balcony above. A wire mesh covered the ceiling, but the gaps were wide enough that debris could be tossed in. I saw rocks in the hands of many workers. Fan participation, it seemed, was part of the experience.
Across the arena, I could see the other fighter in the opposing staging area. He was shorter and he’d opted to go shirtless, showing off his well-toned physique, and he looked to be in his late thirties. From the way he paced and shadowboxed, I could tell he knew what he was about in a fight. To my left, I could see a set of chairs vacant on a raised platform. This would be Pyke’s seat for the event.
For a moment, I wondered where the foreman was, then I saw he and Marcella greeting the other fighter. There was too much space and too many obstacles in the way to see what their exchange entailed, but after the fighter came running at the gate of his area, he jumped up on the fencing and shook it while letting out a yell. The workers and guards began chanting. Apparently, his name was Leon.
The chanting and the bright light of the overhead sun was a distraction, but I shut it out like I’d been taught. Dorian’s advice about warming up came to mind, so I stretched out my arms and legs and did my best to project weakness, pain, and a lack of coordination. I got some laughs from the crowd for my trouble.
The chanting grew in intensity until it fell silent. Pyke had moved to his private seating and Marcella sat beside him, not looking particularly happy about it. He held a mic and delivered a speech. “Workers! We are gathered here, in our precious time off, to see some entertainment!” He paused and let the roar of approval build for a few seconds.
“On the blue side, I give you the challenger. A bodyguard who failed in his duty. A boy pretending to do a man’s job. I give you Alphonse!” The crowd erupted in a series of boos, and a few rocks flew from the crowd, smashing into the ceiling and the gate. I stepped back into the recesses to avoid being sprayed by dirt.
“Look at him retreat! The fight hasn’t even started.” Laughter and more boos followed. Pyke called for silence and turned his attention to the other side. “And now, on the red side. Your current champion on the cusp of earning his freedom…”
The crowd erupted in cheers of “Leon! Leon! Leon!”
Pyke stood up to deliver his final remarks. “Your champion, the greatest of you. Leon the Blooddrinker! Will he gain his freedom this day or will we see a new champion steal it away?”
The gates opened and Leon came running forward to the center of the ring. He raised his arms and did a turn, letting the crowd have a good look at him. He turned back to me and pointed arrogantly, then smiled and pumped his other fist in the air.
I walked out into the arena cautiously. As soon as I crossed the shadow into the bright sun, a volley of small rocks rained down. I cowered, shielding my head from the pebbles, and tried to backpedal. The gate closed behind me.
Another series of laughter and boos.
“Opponents shake hands!” ordered Pyke.
It was the opportunity I’d been waiting for. We met in the middle of the arena and I positioned the sedative so that it would prick him on contact. He jerked a little but didn’t appear to suspect I’d done anything, then backed away a few steps.
“Now fight!” bellowed Pyke.
Leon beat his fists to his chest and began to circle me. I noticed a slight shake of his head, as though he was trying to clear it, and realized the sedative had worked. Thankfully it didn’t knock him out completely as that would have alerted Pyke that something was off, I just hoped it was enough to give me the advantage.
I charged forward, hoping to capitalize on the confusion that the other man had to be feeling at the effects of the sedative. I felt a few rocks skim off me, courtesy of the crowd, but they didn’t draw blood.
My training flowed and I’d worked out the sequence that would occur. I kicked Leon in the torso, but he leaned into it instead of stumbling back. I’d allowed for this possibility and twisted away from his outstretched arms. I waited until his eyes unfocused, then charged again, this time aiming a strike to his kidney.
Like Dorian, the muscular man absorbed the punch, but unlike the Constable, he didn’t have a solid follow up. Instead, he swung wide and slow, allowing me to lean back and avoid the blow. Grunting, he danced back and began to circle again, much to the annoyance of the crowd, who booed and threw more rocks.
It was a good strategy. He’d bought time, trying to clear his head. He didn’t yet know that he was using up energy he needed. I felt bad rigging the fight, but for the big picture, it had to be done. I let him charge me this time and dropp
ed my guard enough for him to land a punch. It couldn’t look too easy.
A rock caught me in the side of the face. I could feel it tear open my cheek. Fortunately, it missed my eye. I needed to get into proximity with Leon and convince the camp to stop launching stones at their hero. I watched him dance from foot to foot, but his motions had already started to slow. He kept his back leg squared with his shoulder—that was his pivot and I planned to exploit it next.
He lunged forward and took a swing with his left. I bobbed back and countered with a right of my own. It was a feint. I leaned back, absorbing what I could of the trailing uppercut, but fell onto my back. I rolled to the side to avoid the foot he tried to stomp on my face.
I came at him again, circling around his right side, watching for the moment when he would have to shift his pivot foot.
He turned, and as he shifted his weight to the other foot, I struck out with a left hook. With his shift in weight, he couldn’t get out of the way. He twisted away from the blow and caught himself after backpedaling. This invoked another series of boos from the crowd. I pressed my advantage and charged again.
My adversary wobbled unsteadily, and I decided to end it before he passed out on the arena floor. I let him catch me and slowed my moves to match his, so it looked like I barely avoided getting taken out. When he reached me, I shifted slightly, hooked my right arm around his midsection, and came around, using the force of his own push to provide the leverage I needed, then I dropped him into the sand.
As soon as he hit the ground, I was on him. I forced his arms underneath him and pounded a couple heavy shots into his torso, further draining his stamina.
The crowd erupted into an angry roar. I looked up to see Pyke flushed and angry. Marcella was doing everything she could to suppress a grin. Pyke grabbed the mic and started yelling, “Is this what we came here for? No! We didn’t come to watch some whelp get lucky. We came here for blood! Kill the loser!”
