And then we resume. Seriously, Erita is merciless.
After ninth hour, Gracie and Laronda arrive, thankfully interrupting our hard workout.
“Gee Two! Hey, are you okay?” Gracie exclaims, heading straight for me. She is dressed in her every-day Cadet uniform, and so is Laronda. The servant who directed them here to the gym discreetly bows and retreats.
“Phew, we made it, girl!” Laronda adds, with a concerned look on her face. I realize it’s the exact same look Gracie has, a mix of stress and relentless worry. It occurs to me, they’re both worried sick about me.
“All right, let’s take a break,” Erita says, nodding to the new arrivals. She then picks up a water bottle and tactfully goes to the nearby bench to give us some privacy.
“Thanks so much, Erita. . . .” I wipe sweat from my forehead and turn to face the newcomers, forcing myself to smile at my sister and friend. “Hey, guys! So glad to see you,” I mumble.
Oh, please, lord, don’t let Gracie see the new darkness inside me, not now. . . . And not Laronda either, please, no. . . .
“Sheesh, you look awful,” Laronda says, giving me a close scrutiny. “Rough morning, I bet? We would’ve been here yesterday, but we had to take care of some important business on your behalf. In fact, they’re in the other room right now, waiting to see you.”
“They? Who?”
Gracie snorts. “Well, let’s just say, we happened to be in a seedy part of town, and sort of picked up a couple of hot Atlantean guys, just for you—”
I frown. “Huh? Say what?”
In that moment, there’s a loud clearing of the throat. Anu peeks into the gym from the doorway. “With permission, My Imperial Lady, we’re waiting,” he says in an exaggerated formal tone, giving me a minor roll of the eyes.
“Oh . . . Anu,” I say, forcing myself to react. Even my normal reaction to this constantly annoyed boy is numb today; everything is so numb . . . I mustn’t let him see the new despair eating at me.
“Forgot to mention, he drove us,” Laronda says with a chill glance at Anu. “Troll boy has some uses after all. So, yeah, we brought these two guys you really need to see. Come on, they’re in the other room. With Gordie babysitting them. Or, maybe it’s the other way around.”
“Huh?” I say again.
From her bench, Erita nods. “Looks like we’re done today. We’ll pick up where we left off, the next time.”
I pause, guiltily. “Thank you again, so much, Erita! I’m sorry, I guess I have to go see whatever it is—”
Erita’s sensuous lips curve into a smile, and she inclines her water bottle at me. “Yeah, yeah. . . . Go on, I’ll let myself out. And by the way, you did well this morning, Gwen.”
Gracie, Laronda and I follow Anu into one of the living rooms with large windows and a grand panoramic vista of the city outside. The windows are shaded with fine translucent fabric curtains this morning, I notice—Aeson must’ve made the arrangements with the servants so that the bright sunlight does not turn the room into an unbearable inferno. Instead, the daylight is now soft and welcoming, filtered enough so as not to cause those of us newly arrived from Earth eye damage.
Where’s Aeson? In that empty instant, thinking about stupid curtains, I experience a sudden memory flash of last night, and everything once again rushes in, hard. I try to fight it off by focusing instead on today, what is happening right now. Wonder what he is doing now, how his IEC meeting is going. . . . Oh my God . . . Aeson. . . .
No, stop.
Back in the here and now, I see Gordie on the sofa, shoulders tensed in concentration, leaning forward over the Atlantean equivalent of a coffee table. Across from him are two Atlantean men of indeterminate age, seated in chairs that have been pulled up. They all appear to be occupied with doing something on the surface of the low table, where I see a few large needles, nails, and other strange looking implements. Seeing us—and me in particular—both of the men let go of whatever’s in their hands and stand up immediately, while my brother just looks up, wearing the typical Gordie dazed look when he’s avidly intrigued by something.
My gaze falls down and I see that Gordie has a very long metal nail sticking through his open hand.
“Oh, holy crap!” I make a startled noise at the sight of my brother’s bizarre injury. “Gordie, your hand!”
But Gordie just grins at me and laughs, raising his nail-pierced palm up to me. “Cool trick, isn’t it, Gee Two? They showed me how to do it, it’s kind of like acupuncture! See, no blood!”
My jaw falls open, and I glare at the two men who now stand in my presence.
One is a big and tall muscular brute, with skin the same pasty white color as Anu’s, and a shaved head. Portions of his beefy neck, head, and arms are covered with scary looking tattoos etched in black and river-red clay lines. His dull-looking, pale watery-blue eyes are outlined by dark kohl, and his clay-red henna-tinted lips match the red hue of the tats. He’s wearing a tight and dark sleeveless jacket and trousers of what could be beat-up leather, but on second glance is just some kind of weird glossy Atlantean fabric.
The other guy is very short and compact, vaguely Earth-Asian looking. His skin is golden tan, leathery around the face, and he’s got extremely defined muscles. No tattoos on this one, but his bluish-black hair is cut below the ears, flopping, messy, and undyed. He’s also wearing eyeliner around his dark eyes, but crudely applied as an afterthought. Besides, it’s all overshadowed by thick dark brows. However, he’s got a hefty Egyptian-style gold collar around his neck encrusted with impressive jewel stones. And his sleeveless jacket and pants are black, trimmed with gold thread.
“The Imperial Lady Gwen is here,” Anu announces formally, in that moment of my stunned silence.
Immediately the two men bow slightly. And then the big pale guy says in a surprisingly mild and careful tenor, in passable English. “It’s an honor to be in your presence, My Imperial Lady.”
The short guy echoes him, in a much deeper voice, and with a rougher English pronunciation and a thick accent.
“Um . . . nefero eos,” I say in some confusion. Who are these guys?
As though reading my mind, Anu points to the big brutish white guy in tats. “This is Gavreel.” And then he points to the short compact guy. “And this is Krui.”
“Okay,” I say.
“They are from the Poseidon Central Correctional Facility. They work as guards there, but they used to be prisoners,” Anu says.
“Oh,” I say, still unclear on what’s going on. “And—”
“And Logan Sangre sent them over so that they could teach you a thing or two about survival,” Gracie says, coming up to us. In that moment she notices Gordie’s piercing and winces. “Oh, gross! Gee Three, that’s just disgusting!”
Gordie makes another laugh sound, and waves his palm back and forth, making me bite my lip. Yes, he’s intentionally doing it, so I try to ignore him and focus enough to keep my composure. “Okay, wait,” I say to Laronda. “I thought you said you went to a seedy part of town and picked them up—”
Laronda snorts. “Well, we did, in a manner of speaking. Anu Vei rounded up some of his homies from around the block or whatever they call it here. These guys were going to need a ride from their ’hood to Correctional downtown, and Sangre said it’s okay to bring them here first.”
“Our shift does not begin for another hour,” the short and stocky Krui says. He examines me all over with an intense scrutiny that I find vaguely disturbing.
“Okay, wow. . . .” I look back and forth between the very huge, slightly dense-looking Gavreel and the small sharp-seeming Krui.
“Why don’t you take a seat, My Imperial Lady,” Gavreel says, pointing me to the sofa next to Gordie. “And we can talk.”
“All right,” I say, and sit down. “Thank you for coming here. I guess you know about my situation—”
Everyone sits down as soon as I am seated, pulling up chairs. Laronda plops down on the sofa next to me, and Gordie makes h
imself comfortable on my other side, nail-bisecting-his-hand notwithstanding.
Krui continues staring at me, rather rudely, it seems.
But it’s Gavreel who speaks, and his narrowed gaze is perfectly polite. “Yes, Imperial Lady, we have been informed. My sincere condolences on your participation in the Games. It’s regrettable that you’ve traveled here from Earth only to face death in our annual violent tradition.”
I sigh. His words bring back the flood of stress, again. Just for a few moments, what with Gordie’s bizarre hand and these two strange arrivals, I’ve momentarily forgotten the alien threat, the burden of knowledge about Aeson, the Games . . . ugh.
“Thanks,” I say tiredly. “So, what can you teach me?”
Krui makes a rude sound and looks down at his hands. I see the scars along his inner arm as he turns his wrist. It occurs to me—this is not a nice guy.
But Gavreel gives him a stern look, and then returns his attention to me. “You must forgive Krui, he has no manners, and he’s never seen an Earth female up-close before. Well, neither have I, to be honest, but my manners are of better quality.”
“Get to the point, man,” Anu says in Atlanteo, from his chair behind me. “The Imperial Lady doesn’t have all day.”
Gavreel gives him a cold glance that’s slithering and scary and completely different from the way he’s been looking at me. “The Imperial Lady will benefit from this, so one thing at a time. . . .”
I take a deep breath. “I’m listening.”
Krui leans forward and picks up a long nail from the low table, similar to the one that’s stuck through Gordie’s palm. His agile fingers start playing with the metal piece.
“See this, Imperial Lady?” he says, twirling the nail. “In a few minutes, you are going to put this through your hand, just like your brother.”
I frown. “What? Why?”
“Because image is everything,” Gavreel replies. “And you’re going to learn whatever it takes to appear a certain way.”
I shake my head. “No . . . this is insane! I’m not going to stick that into my—”
“Listen to the guy, okay,” Anu says suddenly. “He knows what he’s doing.”
“Yeah, it’s not a big deal,” Gordie says, punching my arm lightly. “Doesn’t really hurt—at least not much. Awesome trick!”
I bite my lip. “Okay, explain to me why I’m supposed to maim myself? How’s having a nail through my hand supposed to add to my image or make me look tough? I get it, the Games are scary, but this is just stupid! Not to mention, it’s not very hygienic!”
Gavreel leans in across the table and picks up a handful of nails and other metal pieces, then drops them down with a clank. “You think it’s stupid?” he says. “Look at me, what do you see?”
I blink, unsure how to answer. The proximity of this guy is just as creepy as the other one. And now he’s leaning in my face. . . .
“I—I don’t know,” I say. “I see a big tough guy, I suppose. Like you can take on a whole gang, and you probably did some scary things. I wouldn’t want to mess with you.”
Gavreel smiles slowly, showing me some big wolfish canines. “That’s right. You wouldn’t want to mess with me. I look like I could squash you with one of my fists.”
“Yes. . . .”
Krui makes another rude sound, his fingers still twirling the single nail. Then he and Gavreel exchange glances. And then they both start chuckling.
Behind me, I hear Anu snort as he joins them.
“What?” I say in confusion.
But the Atlanteans only laugh harder, all three of them. Anu snorts again with his nose, and Krui opens his mouth as he cackles.
Laronda rolls her eyes at them. “Seriously?”
“Okay, so what’s the joke?” Gracie says at that point, frowning also.
Gavreel stops chuckling and flexes his fingers, opening and closing them awkwardly into a huge beefy fist. “Arthritis,” he says. “Osteoarthritis, I think you call it. I can barely open a bottle. Had it for years, since working on the water, on the docks.” And then he looks at me and winks. “Yes, I’m big, and might look like a killer to you, and that’s exactly as intended. It’s saved my life for many prison years, my ‘handsome’ well-cultivated looks. Big and imposing keeps me out of trouble. Dim-witted and slow keeps me above suspicion and below the sensor sweep.”
Anu snorts. “Yeah, looking at him you’d never guess this guy couldn’t hurt an insect, unless he sat on it. Or that he’s sharp as a razor. But he’s a sneaky chazuf. He’s got himself in trouble in the first place by doing some black market jobs moving stolen docks merchandise, plus committing some high-end forgery. Did his time for theft and counterfeiting, then got out, got reformed and is now a clean-living saint, working as a guard for the PCCF.”
“Oh, yeah, he’s a real saint,” Krui echoes him with a grunt and a crooked smile.
“Hey, you know I do my best,” Gavreel retorts, smiling lightly. And then he nods to me. “Now, My Imperial Lady, the point here is that looks are very deceptive. My reputation stands on illusion, and if the guys in the prison yard knew about my weakling arthritic hands, or that I could count all their dice throw sums in my head and write seventeen flavors of code, I’d probably be dead. Instead they thought I was just a dimwit pumped ape, and not only was I left unchallenged but I got to learn all kinds of useful secrets as they spilled their innermost guts in my presence.”
“Okay, I see . . . that’s very impressive,” I say.
“We’re not done,” Gavreel narrows his eyes in what I now recognize as a blank crafty mask. “Now, take a look at Krui and tell us what you see.”
To be honest, I’d rather not be looking at Krui, since he gives me the creep vibes, but I force myself.
Krui grins at me, baring his teeth, white and healthy-looking, in contrast to his leathered skin. “Well, what does My Imperial Lady think? Am I very handsome?”
“You look very nice,” I say, while my skin is crawling. “I suppose, you probably know all kinds of clever and agile tricks too, like him—” and I point to Gavreel.
In reply Krui throws his head back and lets out a deep roar of laughter.
But Gavreel watches him almost fondly and shakes his thick head attached to an even thicker neck. “This guy right here, Krui? He can barely read—and I mean Atlanteo. Took him months to manage your basic spoken Earth English, even with all the remedial tutoring they give you at the Earth Assimilation Program Center. And he counts on his fingers. But as far as fighting, he is stronger than three of me put together. He can crush and bend metal pipe with his bare hands. And he can take on a dozen opponents all at once.”
“Oh . . .” My lips part in surprise.
“Former assassin. Did time for multiple counts of murder,” Krui says almost proudly. “Lost track how many. Can’t count more than this much.” He shrugs and raises his ten fingers.
“Oh yeah, Krui’s a bad fruit,” Gavreel continues. “When he was a prisoner, he quickly established himself as imperator of the yard—pardon my terminology, Imperial Lady. They all think he’s a little weakling at first, then have to learn things the hard way.”
“So—you’re a guard now, right?” I say to Krui in a careful voice. “You don’t—”
“No, my Imperial Lady, I don’t kill anymore, unless it’s part of my job.” He grins at me.
But Gavreel shakes his head. “Enough now, garooi, don’t give the wrong idea.” And he clarifies, “By job, he means if it’s ever formally required of him at the PCCF, and it is not, not ever. So, no, don’t worry, he doesn’t kill anymore.”
“Okay.” I release my held breath slowly.
“So now you see, impressions are deceptive, My Imperial Lady, but they are important to maintain,” Gavreel says after a slight pause, seeing me wrestling with my thoughts, giving me time to let things sink in.
“I get it,” I say.
Gavreel nods. “Good. Because you’ll need to put on a real show at the Games. You w
ill be able to make the others expect one thing from you when you intend to do another. You’ll act and appear weak, vulnerable, incapable, slow, confused, frightening, crazy—anything to confuse your opponents. So they underestimate you. You will project an illusion and you will become an illusion. I promise, for as long as you do the unexpected, it will save you.”
Krui nods too, smiles and winks. “We come back another day. We teach you more tricks.”
“Thank you, wow, all right.” I bite my lip looking at these two. Now that I look closer, now that I’m more used to them, yeah, ex-con and murderer Krui is still creepy, but not as much as he seemed originally. . . . He actually has a vaguely childish goofy expression. And Gavreel is still a hulking brute, but his eyes are calm and comfortable and very intelligent.
I point to the long ugly metal nail that still appears to be stuck in Gordie’s hand. “That’s just an illusion trick, isn’t it?” I say with a beginning smile. “It’s not really going through his body, right? So, how does it work? How do you make it look like it’s pierced through all the way?”
Krui raises his eyebrows, and Gavreel makes a short exhalation sound, fluttering his lips, and then glances at Gordie.
“Oh no, the nail is real,” my brother says. He looks to Gavreel briefly. “Okay to pull it out now?”
The big Atlantean nods. “Yes, but do it slowly, ve-e-e-ery carefully, just as I showed you. You don’t want to tear the muscle or the tendons, or worse yet, hit a vein. Be sure to spit on the metal first, make it nice and wet, so the part that slides back out through your body gets lubricated with your saliva. Especially important if you do this in the Games Arena with no access to clean water or antiseptic.”
“You see, My Imperial Lady,” Gavreel continues in a calm tone, facing me, while Gordie spits on his palm, then slowly begins to pull the iron spike out of his body, “part of the process of creating a successful illusion is making sure that some of it is very much real.”
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