Nariko removed the lid of the tank and pulled her ruined sword out of its scabbard. The burnt nub near the hilt was growing brown, but she could still see a faint glimmer of living cells among the rot. She carefully dipped the sword down into the thick fluid, finally releasing it entirely, and allowing it to sink to the bottom.
The tank hummed deeply and small droplets of metal began forming on the surface of the blade as well. The nub began to slowly heal as the droplets that formed clung to its surface.
Satisfied, Nariko returned to the crate and began examining its remaining contents. It had been a long time since she had undertaken a project this large and with her memory full of holes she was unsure if she would be able to properly remember the entire ceremony.
Nariko knelt down on her bed, sending up a plume of dust and began meditating.
Memory was the most sacred form of information, so the rituals were never written down. Doing so would pollute their purity and could allow unbelievers outside the order to learn of their ways.
“Datoriţa politeţe noi a şedea unealţă neîncetat,” Nariko chanted. “I must ensure all necessary components are present and properly purified.” Nariko began mentally listing the elements and the proof for each one that would determine its worthiness.
“În Afară teologie ştiinţă, noi de unic fiinţă,” she continued. “The materials for the artificial muscles are woven in a sacrosanct matrix, so I must construct a clean-box to weave it in.”
Nariko’s meditation was interrupted by the shrill noise of the door to her chambers being opened. Nariko opened her eyes and saw the skeletal silhouette of Dargner standing at the door.
“Interruptions are a symptom of impatience, a weakness of the flesh, first degree,” Nariko chastised.
“A-ierta mă,” Dargner apologized, clasping his hands together. He moved to talk, but his attention was caught by the contents of her crate. His eyes opened wide in fascination and he entered unbidden to examine the precious contents.
“Are these real suits of force armor?” He asked enthusiastically.
“They are the shattered remains of several suits,” Nariko explained. “I will be performing the Rite of Necros to create a single functional spirit from these remains.”
“Several suits, that is incredible, where did you get them?” Dargner marveled, pulling out various components and examining them carefully.
“They are all mine,” Nariko answered honestly before catching herself.
“Well, it is a good thing you were not wearing this one when it perished, it looks like a plasma bolt went straight through the chest plate.”
“Um, yes.”
I need to be more careful how I phrase things to outsiders.
“I have never seen a suit of force armor this close before.” Dargner said giddily. I’ve heard they can be worn for years on end. I’ve always wondered what do you do with it when the inside gets dirty from being worn all of the time?”
“I wash it,” Nariko answered, watching him curiously.
Dargner was shocked by the answer, as it had simply never occurred to him before.
Was I ever this young and naive? It seems a terrible long time since I felt young.
“This is artificer-level work,” he praised. “I can tell here that the suit has already been broadened several times at the hips and buttocks.”
“Um.”
“The weaving is so well done you can barely tell, but see here...when you let the light hit it just right you can see the extra material added in to make more room for the thighs.”
“Yes, thank you, but...”
“...And here again, you can tell this chest plate has been expanded two...No! Three times...”
“Excuse me!” Nariko shouted, snatching the pieces of armor out of his grip. “You have not yet declared your purpose in disturbing me in my quarters.”
Dargner’s eyes grew concerned and he stood up lithely.
“Oh, right. There is something happening in the banquet hall that concerns you,” he explained fearfully.
A few minutes later the pair entered the banquet hall, which had managed to become even more smoke laden and foul than it had been a couple of hours earlier. Drunken men were laughing and fighting, often doing both at the same time. Gambling had sprung up, men wagering their meager shares of whatever foul swag they had pillaged from the Gunoi ships in the hopes of gaining an even greater share of the foul swag.
Their lives are completely pointless, Nariko thought to herself. What evidence can they present to prove that they are more than beasts crawling around at my feet? They have neither knowledge nor civility. At least beasts can serve as foodstuffs, but these cannot even do that.
Several dozen of the tables had been rearranged in a roughly circular formation with dozens of men sitting and standing on them, shouting at something happening in the center.
Dargner hopped up on one table and Nariko reluctantly followed. As they nudged forward they saw several men brawling in the center of the circle. Spectators took wagers on the outcome.
“Those are all that are left,” Dargner explained, “When they started there were nearly a hundred.”
Nariko wrinkled her nose. “What makes you think that I would be interested in your base entertainment? You are wasting my time if this is all you have to show me.”
Nariko turned to walk off, but Dargner grabbed the cuff of her uniform.
“You don’t understand. They are fighting for the right to claim you as their property.”
Nariko turned around, utterly shocked. She considered the possibility that he might be joking, but his eyes told her otherwise.
“Since you didn’t come with an escort or a husband you are unclaimed property, so all of those who desired to claim you began a circle-of-equals. When there is only one left, that person will own you,” Dargner explained apologetically.
Suddenly Nariko became aware of the men around her looking at her lustfully. Nariko’s hand came down to grip her pistol. Only then did she remember that it was still attached to the cultiva tank.
“Well, this is just great,” Nariko grumbled as she looked around for Don Kielter. She found him sitting at one end of the circle, laughing and hooting as he stuffed meat into his mouth.
Nariko shouldered her way over to where he was sitting.
“Good journeys, Miss Aymeno,” he greeted with a mouth full of food.
“Is it true that I am the prize for this dogfight you have going here? I am a Sens...a soldier of the Confederacy and will not be treated like this,” Nariko insisted.
“We are not in the Confederacy, my dear lady,” Don Kielter chuckled. “We crossed over its borders some time ago. This fleet operates under the Carrion Articles of Federation.” The men around him laughed covetously in return.
“But I never signed your articles,” Nariko retorted, “Your authority is limited to those under your command. You have no power to strip me of my rights like this.”
“Please,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Do citizens in good standing charter passage on a privateer fleet and request specifically that their name be left off of the passenger manifest?”
“Sometimes they do,” she admitted weakly.
“Fine then,” he said slyly. “If you truly are a citizen in good standing, we would be happy to detour to a Confederate way station and check your records for any outstanding warrants.”
Nariko backed off and re-evaluated her approach. He was much savvier than she had first taken him for and she lamented having underestimated him. She knew that there was no way she could allow them to take her to the authorities. They would instantly take her into custody and turn her over to the Marshals.
“Perhaps we should check anyway,” Davones cackled. “Who knows what kind of reward her head might fetch.”
Nariko thought to head back to her quarters, but the men nearby closed in to block her path. Even with her weapons, she could not fight off everyone in the ship. And if she did, there was nowhere to g
o outside the ship but the vacuum of space.
Just how do I get into situations like this? Nariko thought as she evaluated her options. She felt hands moving to grab her from all around.
“Don Kielter,” she called out, “I will submit to your articles and the outcome of your circle-of-equals, but only if the champion is able to best me as well.”
The men hollered and laughed drunkenly, but Don Kielter smiled in anticipation.
“You are a fun one, aren’t you?” he said, smiling with his bright white teeth. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll agree to your terms. If you win, you shall be granted amnesty. But only if you win.”
A cheer of the crowd drew their attention back to the circle-of-equals. Only a single man was left standing. The beaten, moaning forms of his opponents weakly dragged themselves away from around his feet.
He was a giant of a man, with pink eyes and white albino skin. Easily over seven feet tall, with wide lumpy shoulders, from which extended long gorilla-like arms. The scars of dozens of battles crisscrossed over the surface of his thick white skin.
Nariko knew his name was Volaf because it had been tattooed onto his forehead. She couldn’t decide if it was there so that people would know what to call him, or if it was there so people could read it to him when he forgot what it was.
When Nariko was shoved out into the circle to him and the situation explained, he laughed deeply and licked his lips.
“I’ll be gentle with her, so she’ll still be good for what I want her for,” Volaf said hoarsely, as if unaccustomed to speaking. His slimy tongue licked hungrily over his large lips.
Nariko adjusted the bandages over her ruined eye and took up a fighting stance. The two began to circle one another slowly, to the drunken cheers of the crowd.
I almost feel bad. I am about to add to the cosmic injustice that began when a mother named her baby Volaf.
A tall man named Kathlair Thanbla hobbled over to Don Kielter. Prosthetic plugs dotted the surface of his head and arms and the maze-like tattoo on his forehead signified him as the Preot for the ship. His legs were prosthetic, but poorly maintained, giving him a crooked stoop as he walked.
“My Don, I must protest. She belongs to my order and is, therefore, under my protection.”
“Shut up bolt-licker, or I’ll have you thrown out an airlock,” Don Kielter responded without turning his head.
“But surely her skills could be put to better use than that of a bed-slave.”
Don Kielter turned to regard the man lengthwise.
“I know, but I’m bored and watching her fight Volaf will be so much more entertaining.”
Nariko sized up her opponent carefully. She could tell that he brought nothing to the fight but brute strength. He didn’t shift his weight properly as he moved and didn’t turn his body to the side to shield his midsection.
He isn’t trying to get into my blind side like he should.
Nariko knew he had far more strength, but she had two distinct advantages. The first was psychological. She had a lot more to lose than he did. The second was tactical. She would be little use to him as a slave if he crippled her, so he would be forced to hold back. She, on the other hand, had no such compulsion.
Volaf wasted no words and charged at Nariko, lashing out at her with a series of quick and powerful punches.
Is this guy actually trying to punch me in the face? Nariko thought as she dodged from side to side, allowing his fists to pass by her, jabbing her fingers into his forearms each time they sailed past her. Only amateurs aim for the face. The jawbone is one of the strongest bones in the human body. There is no quicker way to shatter your hand than by punching someone there.
Frustrated, Volaf stepped forward and punched with his full force. Nariko stepped to the side and gripped his forearm tightly when his jab reached maximum extension. Nariko then dropped her weight and shoved his arm sideways. She would force him off balance, force him to the ground, and then put him in an arm-lock that would end the fight. Nariko had no love of flashy moves or needless theatrics.
Secure victory in as few moves as possible. Preferably one.
However, Nariko’s hopes were dashed as he kept his balance. He was simply too massive for her small frame to push or pull over. Shifting her weight and releasing his arm, she prepared herself for the second punch from his backhand, which came quick as lightning, aimed right at her face. She took half a step backward and allowed the massive fist to sail right in front of her, just inches from her nose, so close that small droplets of sweat broke free from his hairy arm and splattered across her cheek. Nariko blocked again and grabbed his backhand, shoving it forward, which was not enough to make him turn, but pushed her backward. Now alongside him, his ribs were exposed to her. Nariko kicked at Volaf with her right knee, aiming for the weaker bottom ribs, but Volaf blocked powerfully, smashing his backhand down, hitting her knee.
Nariko felt a snap inside her knee and suppressed a cry of pain. She jumped backward, regaining her balance. A roar of cheering rose up from the spectators and several bottles were thrown into the circle.
If he was smart he would have hit me a little harder and broken it.
Nariko switched her weight to her good leg. She could feel the adrenaline flowing through her body now, speeding up her vision and hearing and causing her muscles to tremble. The pain in her leg was displaced by aggression.
Nariko charged forward, drawing out cheers from the crowd. She threw out a punch aimed at his midsection, her hand open like a claw. Volaf blocked her attack with his guard hand and Nariko clamped down tightly onto it. She pushed forward with her legs and pulled with her arm clamped to his, generating as much force as she possibly could as she struck with her backhand. Volaf was caught off-guard from the speed of her attack and barely had time to bring up his arm to block her next blow. Nariko used that as an opportunity to grab onto his other arm. With a tight grip on each of his forearms, she brought her legs up for a double kick into his exposed gut.
Volaf realized his folly and flicked his arms forward, breaking her grip and tossing Nariko back away from him, blunting the force of her kick. Volaf moaned as Nariko used her momentum to roll herself upright. She had hoped her kick would have affected him more than it did.
The crowd roared with laughter and tossed their money into the wage-takers’ buckets as they bet on the outcome. Their laughter was deep and guttural, as if they themselves were in the circle.
The only man not laughing was Don Kielter, who was watching with concern on his face.
Volaf dropped his weight and tried to bring his arms up, but his arms would not respond. They weakly came up halfway and then stopped, refusing to rise up further. Volaf grunted in pain, saliva dripping out of his half-opened mouth. He tried to clench his fists, but they only twitched and cramped up into awkward shapes.
Don Kielter stood up and shouted at the man.
“Volaf, you trog, you need to be more careful. She’s not blocking you; she’s been hitting your pressure points.”
Nariko smiled. This was her favorite kind of deception. There were areas of the body that were always vulnerable, no matter how strong you were. Overcoming strength with skill by attacking those points was the basis of Correllian martial arts.
His defenses down, Nariko charged in for the kill. She came at him sharply and aimed an arcing, high kick at the ‘sweet spot’ just behind his ear. Volaf moved to block, but his cramping muscles would not respond properly and Nariko’s kick sailed over his drooping arms. The fight might have ended there, but with the bandages covering up her ruined right eye, Nariko’s depth perception was skewed. Her kick caught him too close and crashed into the side of his jaw.
The blow sent Volaf reeling, his eyes blinking wildly. He weakly threw out a blind punch, but his fist hit nothing but air.
Nariko grabbed his arm and dug her right thumb deeply into the trigger point on the inside of his elbow, forcing his arm to bend upward toward his face as he hollered out in pain. His throat e
xposed, Nariko lanced out with a spear-handed strike, hitting Volaf directly in the jugular notch. With a sickly tear of wet tissue, Nariko felt the man’s windpipe collapse on itself and clamp shut, making it impossible for him to breathe.
The crowd went silent in shock as Volaf doubled-over, clutching at his neck weakly with cramped and twisted fingers, unable to force air through his injured throat.
Nariko released her grip on Volaf’s cramped arm and took half a step back. The fight was over. With any luck, they would have a good doctor on the ship who could perform a tracheotomy on Volaf before he died.
The truth is, Volaf, you never should have tried to fight me in the first place. Action without possibility of result is wasted action.
Nariko noticed something she had not noticed before. Small thin creases of skin along his back, on either side of his spine, that moved and pulsated like the gills on a fish taking in air.
He’s a mutant?!
Nariko brought her arms up, but it was too late. He swung out with his limp arm. The blow hit her directly on the side of the face, cracking her jawbone and fracturing her skull. Her senses went wild as her body sailed down toward the ground. She saw bizarre patterns of light and dark. The face of the young man on Tridia called out to her for mercy. The dark form of Dral’eth being offered to her. The chittering laughter of demons. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she could feel that someone was ashamed of her. She lost consciousness completely before her body even hit the floor.
It was several hours before Nariko regained consciousness. When she finally did, she found herself lying on the floor of a dark room, her head and leg bandaged up.
Her uniform had been removed and replaced by the simple robes of the other slaves on the ship, but she still had on her skin-tight null-suit, probably because they couldn’t figure out how to take it off. Fitted tightly around her neck was one of the collars she had seen the women in the banquet hall wearing.
Heart of a Traitor Page 5
