by S M Briscoe
Launching into a series of almost erratic slashing attacks, he beat Shu’ma back, searching for openings in his defenses. At the pace he was going, it didn’t take long. Sweeping high then low, Jarred’s blade cut into Shu’ma’s thigh, receiving a pained hiss from the warrior in return. A follow up front kick cut the angry Rai Chi curse short and sent him toppling over. Before he hit the ground, Jarred was in the air and coming down for a finishing blow that would have skewered the warrior, had he not extended his fall into a reverse roll. Though the tactic saved him from being impaled, he was not quick enough to avoid Jarred’s follow up strike from one knee, receiving a second gash across his exposed abdomen.
Shu’ma growled again in pain, but managed to dig his feet in and come forward with an overhand slash of his own. Jarred rose up inside the attack and took hold of the warrior’s arm, turning to throw an elbow back into his face before swatting the weapon from his extended hand. He spun around again quickly and gripped the stunned warrior by the throat, raising his spear for a final kill strike.
A moment passed, Jarred ensuring Shu’ma had met his gaze before ending his life. He tensed to drive the fatal blow, but his arm did not fall. Instead, he felt a strange chill come over him, his opponent’s scowl curling up into a ravenous, teeth bearing grin. It was then that he realized his error. He would have chastised himself for hesitating, had his focus not been drawn to the more urgent issue of the blade that had been thrust deeply into his stomach, the hidden weapon appearing to have come from the gauntlet on Shu’ma’s forearm. He couldn’t help but consider the irony of it’s similarity to his own pair of plasma gauntlets and the fact that he should have seen it coming. Maybe he was slipping.
Jarred felt his legs weaken as Shu’ma twisted the blade in his stomach and then pulled it out sharply, the motion causing him to fall to his knees. The pain was excruciating, even with the odd buffering sensation his power surge had left him with, but the dulling effect at least allowed him to keep his focus through the agony. He kept it squarely on the warrior standing over him.
Staring back down at him, Shu’ma spoke something Jarred, of course, couldn’t understand, but took to be a sort of declaration of his impending victory. And it would come to pass if Jarred didn’t act. As the warrior raised his bladed gauntlet to strike, he did just that, swinging the spear end he still held in his grip to meet it, or more accurately, remove it.
Shu’ma didn’t so much cry out, but grunted, sounding more surprised than pained, as he stared at the bleeding stump where his hand used to be. To his credit, he didn’t reel away to cradle his limb, as most would, but instead lunged forward with a backhand strike that sent Jarred tumbling back to the ground.
Dazed by the blow, it took a moment for Jarred’s blurred vision to return to normal, and another moment again to realize he had dropped his spear. It was now in the firm grip of the warrior stalking towards him, his eyes burning with a ferocious hatred Jarred had yet seen from him. Rising to his feet, with the aid of his remaining energy burst, Jarred stood ready for the exchange, knowing it would be their last. The surge of energy which had saved him and kept him going was almost dry. He could feel it dissipating, receding back to wherever it had come from. Hopefully, whatever was left would be enough.
Shu’ma rushed forward, and with an animal like snarl, swung the half spear like an axe, as though to cleave Jarred down the middle. Jarred sidestepped the brutish attack, but did not move away, staying within range for Shu’ma to strike again. The warrior did so immediately, sweeping sideways to cut him across his torso, Jarred moving closer to him again to halt the sweep by barring his arm while allowing him to avoid contact with the weapon’s blade. He followed the maneuver up with a solid elbow strike to Shu’ma’s jaw, hearing a crunch before the warrior spun away, coming back around with his spear raised for a downward drive.
Jarred was ready, catching the spear in one hand and gripping Shu’ma’s arm with the other, moving in close enough to drive his head into the warrior’s face. Turning his back to him then, he brought Shu’ma’s arm down hard over his own shoulder, hearing a terrible snap as the limb bent down at an angle that was not at all natural. Jarred turned back to face Shu’ma once again and, having already taken the spear from his grasp, drove the bladed end of the weapon down through the side of his neck.
Shu’ma stood motionless for a long moment, a look of confusion on his face. Reaching up, he took hold of the spear shaft jutting up from where it was imbedded in the crook of his neck, though he didn’t appear to try to remove it, slowly falling to his knees instead. His eyes met Jarred’s again and the confusion left his face, being replaced by the slightest of grins, before he finally fell over on his side.
Jarred breathed out in both relief and exhaustion, the sound of the crowd, as they erupted into a symphony of roaring applause, fading to a near whisper in the back of his mind. The pain of a dozen wounds flooded to the surface, coupled with absolute exhaustion, as the buffering wall that had sustained him vanished. He was spent.
And it was finished.
* * *
Rho’uk watched his comrade fall with the same measure of conflict he had been plagued by since the beginning of this journey. Shu’ma was his oldest friend and a warrior brother. He wished him nothing less than he would any Rai Chi. Glory in life and an honorable death that would please the Gods. But his friend had strayed from the path set before them. For personal pride and vengeance.
And Rho’uk had stood by him, as was his place. He had hoped Shu’ma would see reason and abandon his misguided vendetta, but he had not. He had disregarded their orders to return the human to the Homeworld and instead entered into contest with him to satisfy his bloodlust publicly. Had he killed the human, it surely would have meant both their lives. Even if their Overseer did not learn of how it had happened, their failure to return with him alive would be enough to condemn them both before the Gods. And it would have been justified. To defy the Gods in such a way. There were consequences for such things. It seemed Shu’ma had suffered them.
As Rho’uk entered the arena, the thousands of excited onlookers continuing to applaud the match, he considered his mixed feelings. He was saddened, even hurt, by Shu’ma’s fall from purpose and honor. Not for his death. It was every warrior’s desire to meet his end at the hands of a worthy opponent. Their battle had been a good one. Yet it never should have happened. Shu’ma had put himself and his personal desires before their mandate. Before the Gods. He had forgotten the true way of the warrior and had fallen because of it. But along with his pity, Rho’uk felt something else. Relief. He was now free of his duty to Shu’ma. With command falling to him, he could do as he had implored of his friend, without success, and return the human to the Homeworld. He would obey the mandate of both their Overseer and the Gods.
Approaching the center of the arena, Rho’uk considered the man that knelt, bloodied and battered, in the sand before Shu’ma’s body. His remaining contingent of warriors, which had overseen the match from a respectful distance on the floor, were now formed in a tightened perimeter around the pair. Rho’uk motioned them to stand down as he passed through their invisible barrier and neared Shu’ma’s body, the human watching his every move with eyes that were clearly exhausted, but still very much alert. Still out of striking range of the man, Rho’uk felt confident he could turn his attention to his fallen comrade. His remaining warrior contingent had their bo’ruuk directed at the man to keep him in place, something that caused Rho’uk to smirk. They were wary of him, even in the state he was in. And rightly so. He was not a person to be underestimated. He had proven that much.
His match with Shu’ma had been a balanced one, though Rho’uk had noted his diminishing strength as the events of the spectacle had gone on. Shu’ma had pressed that advantage, along with that of his mastery of the bo’ruuk. Surprisingly, the human had faired well with the weapon, appearing to have been educated in the use of at least similar forms of weaponry. That basic knowledge didn’t prepare
him for the full range of a master warrior’s personal bo’ruuk, however.
Every Rai Chi was both the master and craftsman of his bo’ruuk and all of his weaponry. Even the armor each warrior adorned was fashioned by his own hand. The more experienced and skilled the warrior, the more elaborate and deadly constructed were the weapons of his trade. A highly skilled warrior could slay the most deadly and matured of Cresche, unlike the adolescents unleashed in the arena this day, their armored shells far more durable than their younger spawn. The bo’ruuk was much the same. A higher warrior fashioned his weapon from stronger materials and with a multitude of varying functional abilities based on his own personal strengths and fighting style.
The human had been given a basic training weapon at the onset of the match. Against Shu’ma’s personal bo’ruuk, it paled in comparison, but he had still managed to hold Rho’uk’s comrade at bay with it, and even gain an offensive advantage several times. However, the human’s waning strength seemed to catch up to him and it had looked as though Shu’ma would strike the killing blow that had so consumed his thoughts and directed his every action from their first encounter with him.
And then the human had . . .
What had he done?
Shu’ma had been standing over him one moment, and was inexplicably being thrown, by what Rho’uk could only describe as a ball of light, across the arena the next. From that moment the balance had turned in the human’s favor. Shu’ma had fought viciously, but in the end it had not been enough. The human had proven too strong. Too resourceful. He had prevailed and struck the final blow.
Rho’uk knelt next to Shu’ma’s body, resting a hand on his friend’s chest. He was dead. Passed on to the next place. To join his ancestors as the warrior he had once been. Rho’uk hoped his transgressions would be forgiven.
“May the Gods welcome you, brother,” he said, letting his gaze rise to settle on the human once again.
He was weakened. Spent. But not broken. His eyes still held a quiet resilience. Rho’uk considered whether he may try to attack. To force him to kill him in defense. Rho’uk did not want that. For one, it would put him right back where he had started, having to explain why the human hadn’t survived. Secondly, he didn’t want to kill him. It wasn’t a matter of not wanting to face him again. On the contrary, he would have welcomed the opportunity. But not like this. Not now. The man had fought valiantly in this arena, cutting his way through an army of Cresche, gladiators and rabid infected before proving himself against Shu’ma. There might come a day when they would face one another again. But it would not be this day.
Rho’uk stood and approached the human, stopping short enough to be out of direct reach, but still within striking distance. As he stood before the man, his stance non-aggressive, they only watch one another. Most likely the human was tying to gage his intent, no doubt thinking he meant to enter into battle with him, as Shu’ma had. After the long moment had passed, Rho’uk gave the man a simple slow nod, a respectful gesture he hoped the human would understand. He appeared to, as his body sagged noticeably, something akin to relief coming over his features.
“Your fight is over,” Rho’uk assured him. Though he knew the man would not understand his words, it made them no less true, and he felt obliged to speak them. What would happen to him once they returned to Gaia, he did not know. “For now.”
* * *
As he watched the Rai Chi remove both their fallen leader and the human victor of the match from the arena, to roaring applause from the charged crowd of spectators still reeling from the spectacle of the day’s events, Traug was left to ponder the repercussions of what he had set into motion. A simple attempt to gain favor with his warrior guests had gone down a path he could not possibly have predicted. Shu’ma was not dead, but from all appearances, did not seem far from it, and the bounty hunter . . .
This human was indeed something special. A pity he was most likely being taken to his death. Execution for treason, or sacrifice before the Rai Chi’s absurd Gods, Traug wasn’t sure what archaic plans the warriors had for the man. Whatever they were, it would be a shameful waste of a, potentially, very viable and profitable specimen. There was a great deal that could be gained from keeping the man alive, at least for a time, until his profit yield could be exploited. Who knew what wealth could be harvested from him. Traug knew only one thing for certain. There would be no profit gained now. So it had all been a waste. Or had it been?
He had gained useful insight into the Sect’s current interests and that was always valuable to have. Though he knew little more of the being Orna, or her importance to the Dominion, than he had when all of this began, he had at least confirmed the lengths to which they were prepared to go to obtain her. That told him a great deal about her worth. And, of course, if something had value, Traug could always find some way to exploit it to his own profitable ends.
As for the strangely gifted bounty hunter, he was disappointed that he would not be able to take possession of the man. After what he had witnessed in the arena, it was clear to him that the man had great potential worth. It was a shame that he would not be able to exploit it, the human most likely set to be destroyed for the trouble he had caused. Luckily, Traug had been gifted with a keen sense of foresight, and having seen both the human’s potential and the very real possibility of his destruction, he had prudently taken it upon himself to acquire a variety of genetic samples for study in Syntax’s R&D labs. What would come of that, he did not know, but knowledge was always a wise investment.
At least he still had the bounty hunter’s female acquaintance. Perhaps there was something to be gained from her. She was connected to the man in some way, that much was certain. A fellow tradesperson; he doubted that was the case; or a concubine perhaps. Regardless, if she knew anything of the man, that attributed to her some value, at least in Traug’s eyes, and like anything of worth, he would exploit it to his benefit.
“Praxis,” he beckoned of his mechanical assistant, who came forward from the corner he had retreated to after being chastised earlier. “Have my shuttle prepared for launch. We are returning to the Ryzan waste facility. Also, have security bring the human female to my personal office. I would have words with her.”
When Praxis didn’t immediately set to work on the tasks he had been given, Traug actually turned in his seat to look at him. “Is there something wrong with your audio sensors, Praxis?”
“No, sir,” the mech answered. “My audio receptors are functioning at optimal levels. It is just that . . .”
“Just that what, Praxis?”
“As I was trying to inform you earlier,” the mech continued, “it seems that there has been a security breach in the waste facility detention center.”
Traug felt the color drain from his face. “What? What kind of security breach?”
Praxis backed up slightly as Traug rose to his feet, but continued. “Security reported that prisoners had laid siege to the compound and were attempting to escape by way of a docked freighter.”
“Attempting?” Traug pressed.
Praxis appeared hesitant to answer. “I tried to alert you, sir. Security forces have since reported . . . their failure to contain the situation.”
“Failure to contain . . ?” Traug stopped himself, the fury rising in him like a volcano preparing to erupt. He took a step toward the mech, his eyes never leaving its glowing photoreceptors. When he spoke again, through his tightly clenched teeth, his words were slow and deliberate. “What is the status now?”
“I am sorry, sir,” Praxis apologized. “I regret to report that the prisoners escaped aboard the freighter nearly twenty standard minutes ago.”
“How many prisoners escaped?” Traug could feel his blood pressure rising. He needed to regain control of the situation. For that he needed hard data. Figures. Those were things he understood. Could deal with. Manipulate.
The mech’s answer came after what Traug felt to be an eternity, it’s vocabulator seeming to slow to a drone as it s
poke each terrible word. “All of them, sir.”
“All of them?” he repeated, incredulously, his voice becoming hoarse. It was a disaster. A few slaves could easily replaced, but the entire facility’s workforce? How could this have happened? As he tried to come to grips with the revelation, his mind suddenly reverted to a far more important factor in the equation. The slaves were a problem, for certain. Their loss, like any other, would be a hit to the Corporation’s bottom line. Yet, for a price, that loss could be remedied. But there was one factor which could not be replaced. It was that factor which was now fully occupying Traug’s thoughts.
“The woman!” he demanded. “What of the woman? Was she among them?”
“My apologies, sir,” Praxis answered. “All prisoners are reported escaped.”
Feeling on the verge of exploding, Traug had to remind himself to breath. He wanted to scream. To destroy something. Perhaps the mech aid before him for having relayed the message. But what would that accomplish? He was not like the brutish thugs he had so recently been dealing with. He was a civil business person. Dignified. Composed. As he reminded himself of those things, he considered what it was he truly wanted to do. What he needed to do. To remedy the situation. Salvage it. He wanted to get his slaves back. And more importantly, the woman.
“Praxis,” he said, finally collecting his thoughts and coming to his usual senses. “Is the freighter’s homing transponder still transmitting?”
“Affirmative, sir,” Praxis returned. “I am happy to say that it is.”
Traug felt his blood pressure beginning to return to an acceptable level again as well as confidence in his own innate ability to resolve any issue. He was actually disappointed in himself for having any doubts.
“Have another heavy freighter with ample security meet us at port,” he requested of his aid. We are going hunting.”
