Galactic Champion

by Dante King

  Beatrix rode her hoverbike to me. “You did that quickly,” she said.

  “I’m efficient,” I said with a smile.

  “You crazy fucker,” Reaver said after she’d rode her bike to meet us.

  “Must leave!” Skrew said. “Still too close to Brazud! Stinky king will come!”

  A roar sounded from above, and I spotted rows of black smoke, dark as tar in the sky. A skiff identical to the others, but much larger appeared. It was bristling with weapon pods, antennae, and small launch doors. The launch doors opened, and a ladder unfurled. A huge figure started to descend the rope to the ground.

  I checked the cannon I’d stolen from the skiff and found it burned out. Just like the one I’d taken from the mech. It seemed the Fex wasn’t exactly a limitless power source.

  “Let’s get the fuck out of here,” Reaver said.

  “No,” I said as I pocketed the Fex.

  “What?” Reaver’s face twisted with emotion.

  The figure had reached the ground and was slowly walking toward us.

  I knew who it was.

  He had dark pits in his skeleton-like head, pale skin, and a wide mouth that reached to where a human’s ears would be. A red and gold robe trailing to his feet left no doubt. I hadn’t exactly been close enough to him in the arena to see him exactly, but I knew who he was.

  King Demetrios.

  “Go!” I yelled to my friends. “I’ll meet you in the forest outside Yaltu’s hideout. I’ll deal with the king.”

  If I managed to kill him, then it would buy enough time for the others to escape. Even a fight would delay the soldiers a little so my friends could put some distance between them.

  “That’s an order,” I added when Reaver didn’t move.

  She swallowed back a reply, revved her hoverbike, and then started off through the city outskirts, toward the forest. Beatrix followed behind her, covering her rear.

  I turned to face the king.

  He stood about eight feet tall. The stiff wind from the moving skiff caused his black tunic and pants to press against his skeletal body and made him look like he’d been assembled from someone else’s bones.

  The king stopped twenty yards away from me. We stood staring at each other for several seconds, long enough for a few small pieces of skin to peel from his face and be thrown to the wind. Even though he looked like he was far beyond his expiration date, he had an aura and a presence of unmistakable power.

  He wasn’t going to go down easy. But why the hell was he here? Why hadn’t he just sent more soldiers? Why come himself?

  Demetrious lifted a hand to the skiff, and it began to rise into the sky, gaining altitude. Then it vanished back toward the city.

  Now we were really alone. I was getting really weird vibes from him, but at least now I didn’t need to worry about getting rained own by particle cannons.

  Demetrios reached up with one hand and unhooked the clasp at his throat, sending his cloak to ground. He wore carapace armor, made of a metal I didn’t recognize. It gleamed in the sun’s light and glittered like it was made of diamond.

  He wasn’t carrying any weapons, as far as I could see, but there was a dull silver scepter at his waist. I wondered if he planned on trying to beat me to death with it. I also wondered if it was more than it appeared to be, like Ebon.

  A foreign sound assaulted my ears. It was like a thousand bats were being burned alive. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end as I realized where the sound was coming from. The king was laughing.

  “It has been long since I have had a worthy opponent, Jacob,” the king said. His voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. It pierced me, flowed through me, and chilled my bones.

  “I didn’t pick you for the type who liked to fight his own battles,” I said.

  “So many others have come before you, yet none were worthy,” Demetrios hissed. “I have killed many, but none could even scratch me. Did you know, Jacob? Did you know that’s what the tournament was for? It was to find opponents. It was to find warriors worthy of dueling me. I killed them all. I killed the champions. And they were all a sad disappointment.”

  “Running a city of terrified slaves must get boring,” I said. “Gotta keep busy somehow, right?”

  He began walking toward me. His pace was casual, as if he expected me to bow before him, beg for his mercy, or possibly make him a sandwich. None of those were going to happen.

  Demetrios reached for his scepter and lifted it was between us. He wiggled his thumb against it, and a pair of 6-foot-long blades unfolded from each end. He twirled the weapon before allowing it to rest across his back, then he raised his hand and beckoned me to attack.

  I charged with Ebon raise, leaped into the air, and brought my blade down in an arcing strike. Before the attack could connect, the king deflected it with his blade. His weapon didn’t shatter. Instead, it sent reverberations through my hands, arms, and up to my shoulders.

  “You are not the only one with artifacts of power,” he said as he slashed at me.

  I blocked the attack before I spotted the upper blade heading toward my head. Having nowhere else to go, I rolled forward between Demetrios’ legs and avoided the strike, only to have to block the lower blade as he thrust it between his legs.

  The screeching laughter started again.

  “Ah, that’s more like it!” Demetrios said. Though it sounded like he was smiling, his face—such as it was—didn’t change. “Finally, a worthy opponent. I’m so very glad to have met you, Jacob.”

  “Have you been watching me?” I asked. “Listening? That’s beyond creepy.”

  He was trying to get to me. I knew it, I understood why, but still, his words bothered me. First, I didn’t know how he knew my name. We’d never met, and I couldn’t recall seeing any guards around when my name was mentioned. Second, he seemed genuinely happy to fight, like it was his birthday, and he was getting exactly what he wanted.

  I decided to play his game. I flipped him the bird. He seemed to like it the first time, so I figured a second time would really impress him.

  “Your insolence is simply a mask for your insecurity,” the king said.

  “I don’t let other people do my fighting for me. That’s the difference between leaders. You’re happy to sit back and let your people die in droves.”

  He didn’t respond, so I continued.

  “You’re a coward, a thief, and a fucking disappointment. My dumbest greenhorn could run this city better than you.”

  “And you think you’re the one to do that?” Demetrios sneered. “Take control?”

  “Nah,” I said. “I’m just passing through. Got bigger and better things to deal with. But since you’re so interested in a good fight, I’ll give you one. If you’re up to it.”

  My goal was to anger him enough that he would make a mistake. But I discovered the furious version of Demetrios was a whole lot more dangerous and aggressive than the slightly annoyed version.

  We were 15 feet apart, but the king closed it in less than a second. I leaned in, Ebon held diagonally across my body to prepare for a strike from either end of his weapon. Demetrios crouched and spun the blade like a blender, first one end, then the other. He became a blur while I danced backward, barely able to keep up with his strikes. To my surprise, he was able to spin his blade while working in jabs and reversals. At the same time, he attempted to taunt me with his voice. I watched his patterns, kept on the defensive, and waited for an opportunity.

  “Oh, what fun we’re having, aren’t we, Jacob?” he whispered. “This world is mine, little human. I own it. It is mine.”

  “The Sitar… own it,” I said between breaths. “You’re not… the… king. You’re just… their bitch.”

  And there it was, a hesitation. It only lasted for half a heartbeat, but I struck hard.

  Ebon bit into Demetrios’ shoulder just below his neck before he could bring his weapon up. He shoved at my sword and ripped it free of his carapace, so I kicked
his weapon’s center handle hard, driving the lower blade into and through his foot, stopping him dead in his tracks.

  I stabbed at his face, but he caught Ebon with a hand, so I twisted the blade sideways, removing four fingers. Demetrios hissed and recoiled. When he reached out to retrieve his weapon, I arced Ebon downward and removed his hand.

  “No!” Demetrios shrieked.

  “What?” I asked. “I thought you wanted a good fight. This isn’t good enough for you?” I cut him again, this time across his nose. The lower half of the skin and cartilage flopped down like a warm piece of processed cheese and stuck to his face.

  Demetrios shrieked again and yanked hard at his impaled foot, which tore in half as he pulled it free from the broad side of his weapon’s blade. There was no blood, but he was running out of limbs.

  I lifted Ebon over my head and slashed down hard, but hit nothing but air. The king had leapt away, even with his bad foot, and was stumbling toward the city.

  “Return to me!” he yelled, and it sounded like he was speaking into a comm.

  I sprinted for him and kicked him straight in the back with everything I had. He stumbled forward, and an iridescent appendage burst from the king’s narrow waist. It was as though he’d vomited the object out from his torso. It had torn through his carapace armor and landed on the ground in front of him.

  As he toppled to his knees, I chopped sideways and took off his head.

  I walked over to the appendage and wondered why it had exploded from his guts. It looked like a Xeno leg. Too similar to be a coincidence. Too similar to be anything other than that.

  My mind recoiled in protest.

  We were far from Xeno space, as far as I knew. I was certain that the planet I was on had not been charted. I’d never seen anything like it, and Mars would have sent an envoy or, at least, a few spies to find out more. If they hadn’t returned, I’d know because the planet would have been marked as hostile, and the next to arrive would be a battle fleet. Mars would either eliminate the hostile forces or convince them to play nice. They’d be free to rule themselves, but we’d also insist on building a base to help keep the Xeno forces away.

  I stared in disbelief. Xeno… here...

  I stowed the thought for later. For now, I was worried about the skiff returning. But I didn’t want to leave without a souvenir, so I grabbed the king’s twin-bladed weapon. I found the button to deactivate the blades, pressed it, and they folded neatly back into the handle.

  “I think I’ll call you Clarent,” I said as I stowed the weapon in my belt.

  I ran hard through the streets filled with scrap metal buildings. The people must have heard the sounds of battle and decided to hide because the streets in the city outskirts were empty. It made my trip toward the forest outside Yaltu’s hideout much easier. Although I still kept my eyes open and my ears peeled for any sign of the hovercraft the king had ordered to return.

  I turned a corner and found a cluster of half-concealed aliens beside a rattled apartment complex.

  “Give me a good reason not to put you down!” a familiar voice called.

  It sounded like Reaver, and when I called for her, at the same time, had to duck and roll to avoid having my head vaporized by a plasma rifle.

  “Reaver, it’s me!” I yelled.

  There was a moment of silence before she spoke again. “Jacob? You look like shit!”

  I looked down at my clothes. Smoke wafted off them, and they looked like they’d been cleaned with a bucket of razors. “Sorry. I didn’t bring my dress whites.”

  I stood slowly, just as the others did the same. They were all there, and though they were filthy, they each appeared to be in one piece. They hadn’t gone to the forest outside Yaltu’s hideout, but they’d kept themselves safe here, halfway between.

  “What happened? I saw the skiff leave. . .” Beatrix trailed off.

  “We need to leave,” Yaltu said. “It is not safe here, even in the outskirts.”

  “Yaltu has hideout!” Skrew said.

  “I cannot draw attention to them. We must leave and go far from Brazud.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  We ran until Yaltu and Skrew couldn’t go on. I threw Yaltu over my shoulder while Reaver and Beatrix took turns with Skrew, passing him to the other when his jabbering became too much for either of them.

  A half-hour later, we were deep into the forest and far from the city. A trail led us to a glittering lake. I decided it was as good a place as any to stop and take stock of our situation, ourselves, and each other.

  “You were awesome!” Reaver said to Beatrix. “When you vaporized that guard’s skull, I wish it would have lasted long enough to see the stupid look on his face.”

  “Yes,” Beatrix said, “that was good. But you piloted that hoverbike like you’d been born with one. Have you ever piloted one before?”

  “No, I’ve never even seen one before. It’s a good design, though. Maybe we should go back and snag a couple?”

  While I washed the blood from my clothes and limbs, I listened to their conversation.

  “I will never return to Brazud,” Beatrix said.

  “That’s fair,” Reaver sighed. “But I’d prefer a couple of hoverbikes over foot-slogging it any day.”

  Yaltu came tiredly to my side while Skrew energetically thrust his hips around the place in what I assumed was a victory dance. When he invited Reaver and Beatrix to join in, they turned around and glared at him fiercely enough to make him back off like a frightened rabbit.

  I felt a little bad for Skrew, so I waved him over. “So, how did it go while I was killing the king?”

  He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. “Jacob killed King Dummytree?”

  I couldn’t help but laugh. “Yes, I sure did. I cut off his head.”

  “Oh, did head roll?” Skrew blurted, excited to have an audience of one. “Jacob should have seen! Reaver smashed face of guard. Then, Beatrix smash face. Then, they make guards crash together and smash each! Then they laugh and smack hands together. Was scary for Skrew.” He leaned closer and whispered, “Skrew thinks they like to kill too much.”

  I had to laugh, and motioned for him to continue.

  “Guard boss tell us to stop. Beatrix pretend to stop. Then, Reaver run and step on Beatrix here.” He pointed to his upper shoulders. “Reaver tackle guard boss. Beatrix grab guard boss legs. They throw. Smash into other guard.” He leaned forward to whisper again. “Then, they laugh again. Is scary?”

  I shrugged and turned my eyes to the warrior-women. I never expected they’d create such a team or get along so well. I was glad to have found Reaver and to have rescued Beatrix.

  Yaltu then turned to Skrew to inspect his injuries. From what I could see, they consisted of a couple of big bumps on his head, a shallow cut on two of his arms, and a fat lip. I wasn’t familiar with the physiology of alien bodies, though. But Yaltu seemed to be.

  “Stop moving,” she scolded. “How am I supposed—”

  “Ouch!” Skrew interrupted, glaring at the woman. “Hurts!”

  When they heard Skrew whine, Reaver and Beatrix walked closer to see what was happening. Yaltu, meanwhile, resumed inspecting and cleaning Skrew’s wounds.

  “Jacob kicked butt!” the vrak continued. “Such boom and many pow! Powerful Jacob and team of wives make dead king so mad! King not mad now. King dead. Too dead to be mad!” Then, he burst into a fit of laughter interspersed with wheezes when Yaltu touched a tender spot.

  I noticed that none of the women said anything about the “team of wives” comment.

  “You killed the king?” Beatrix asked me.

  “For real?” Reaver added.

  I nodded. “Took his head right off, before I cut off a leg. If anyone goes looking for him, they’ll need a dustpan and broom. Though, he did look pretty dead to begin with. There’s something else too, though. Near his final breathing moment, something like a Xeno leg burst from his belly.“

  “Something like a
Xeno leg?” Reaver asked.

  I thought about it for a few seconds before answering. “I’m pretty sure it was a leg. Or a leg-like appendage. I’m certain it was Xeno. I think one of two things happened. Either there’s a kind of Xeno that can wear skin like a costume, or the Xeno in this area of space have learned how to tweak DNA. Or they’ve infested some of the population—laid eggs in them or something. It’s all speculation, but it’s all plausible, too. Or, Demetrios was here to soften-up the population until the rest of the Xeno arrived. Maybe that’s who the Sitar are. Maybe they’re actually Xeno.”

  “The king was ugly,” Beatrix said, “but he did not stink. I have smelled many dead bodies. They always stink. Unless he tanned the skin, it would rot. I do not think it was a mask.”

  “I’ve only been here a little while,” Reaver told her. “But I watched reruns of previous arena matches. And he’s always looked that way as far as I could tell.”

  “Yes,” Beatrix agreed, “he was always that ugly.”

  “What do the Xeno look like?” Beatrix asked. Reaver and I filled her in, and she went silent and thoughtful for several seconds.

  “Maybe that is what has happened to the planet,” she whispered. “Legends say there was a war. We fought the Sitar for a hundred big cycles. Many died. But the ancestors did not have three Void-touched warriors, one a great leader, a dragon-tamer and… well… a sneaky, four-armed asshole. They did not have us.”

  “Then, it can’t be a coincidence that the Lakunae left us here,” Reaver said.

  “There’s no telling whether or not the Lakunae and the Xeno are working together,” I said. “But until we figure that out, we need to get moving.”

  “Asshole?” Skrew interrupted, still behind in the conversation. “Is good, yes? Asshole?”

  We all laughed. When Skrew joined us, with a confused look on his face, we laughed even harder.

  “What will you do now?” Reaver asked Beatrix. “Now that you’re free.”