Riff sighed. "And Nova calls the Blue Strings a pit."
The arena rose ahead of him, looking like some giant, steel bird's nest which had fallen from the sky. It was all rusty beams, spikes, leaking water spouts, and blinding spotlights. Neon lights blinked above the main doors, spelling out "Alien Are a", missing the n.
Thousands of people clogged the streets, heading toward the arena. Almost all were men, a sort so rough they made even the Blue Strings' patrons seem gentlemanly. Riff had never seen so many hairy shoulders, scruffy beards, and beer can hats in one place. The smoke of cigarettes and cigars stung his eyes. The smell of cheap booze infiltrated Riff's nostrils; at least half the men here were drinking home brew from paper bags. There wasn't even any decent blues playing. The arena's speakers were blasting out old rock 'n' roll, the sound so distorted Riff couldn't make out the tune.
A few people had set up soapboxes in the crowd. One woman lifted a "Friends of Aliens" banner, shouting that aliens were to be loved and accepted, not gawked at. An old man stood on another soapbox, crying out that "illegal aliens" were an abomination, that only humans belonged on Earth. On a third box stood a Cosmian monk, preaching about the "skelkrin masters." Riff grimaced and made sure to steer clear of that last soapbox.
A voice roared out from the arena's speakers, rising louder than the music and street preachers: "Tonight only—Nova, the fiery Ashai Assassin, vs. Brog, the Behemoth of Belethor! The battle of the ages at the Alien Arena! Only fifteen bucks a ticket!"
Riff reached into his jeans pocket, rummaging for money. His hand brushed against the rumpled envelope he had found in his room, the one from his father. Riff decided to keep it unopened for now. It was too dark here to read, and besides, Riff wanted to be alone when reading the first communication from his father in a year. Somehow, that moment seemed too important to share with ten thousand roaring, overweight drunkards in sweat-soaked wifebeaters. Riff pushed his hand deeper into his pocket and fished out the last money he had in the world: a crumpled twenty-credit note.
Riff approached a scalper—a ratty little man with metal legs—and bought a ticket and a hot dog. The meat tasted like it probably came from the arena's last loser, but Riff was hungry enough that he ate the whole thing, ignoring his stomach's churning protests. He walked with the crowd, entering the arena.
A few years ago, Riff had owned an old car with a grungy engine that belched out smoke and constantly leaked oil. He imagined that if he shrank in size and stepped into that engine, he'd find a place that looked like the Alien Arena. The arena's insides made the exterior look downright classy. Tiers of iron bleachers rose in a circle, the metal stained with years of spit, gum, cigarette ash, and spat-up hot dogs. Thousands of people filled the place, their shirts just as stained—at least those who wore shirts.
Disk-shaped drones buzzed over the bleachers, tasked with both selling refreshments and providing security. On their flat tops, they carried bottles of beer, bags of popcorn, and dripping cheeseburgers. From their bottom sides, like legs under crabs, stretched out machine guns. One drunkard waved at a scuttling drone.
"You, drone!" the fat man shouted, reached into his pocket, and pelted the flying machine with spare change. "Cheeseburger!"
The flying drone spun toward the drunkard, spilling popcorn off its top. "Attack detected! Attack detected!"
The drone's machine guns unfurled and sprayed bullets. The drunkard wailed and dived for cover. The bullets slammed into the bleachers, blasting holes into the metal.
"Attacker destroyed," the drone announced, then dived down to sell a lollipop to a squealing little girl.
Riff walked along the bleachers, looking for a seat. It was a busy night. Even a few aliens sat in the crowd. A family of green, tentacled creatures with many eyestalks sat nearby, drinking from buckets of glag—a thick brew made from the fermented intestinal juices of Velurian rock spiders. Farther back sat a hulking, translucent blob, the contents of its stomach—a few burgers, a whole turkey, and a pair of sneakers—visible to all. Most humans seemed to give the alien visitors a wide berth. People didn't come here to socialize with aliens but to watch them fight on stage.
A round metal grill surrounded that stage like glass around a snow globe, forming a great cage. A little man stood within the enclosure, his hair bright yellow, his suit a garish monstrosity of green and orange stripes. He spoke into his microphone, and speakers blared across the arena.
"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to tonight's match! We bring you another battle of the ages between two of the galaxy's most ruthless alien killers!"
Riff wasn't sure any ladies or gentlemen filled the place, but nobody seemed to mind. The crowd roared, and Riff found a seat and sat down. The emcee continued.
"Now, in the blue corner—he comes to us from the pits of Planet Belethor in the Vega constellation. The Consumer of Worlds. The Crusher of Souls. The Behemoth of Bloodshed. Raise your voices for Brog the Bonecruncher!"
The crowd roared as doors opened, and the first alien trundled toward the stage.
"It's huge." Riff gulped. "It's bloody huge. It's a mountain with eyes."
The living mountain trundled forward on thick, clawed legs that made elephant feet seem dainty. Warty gray hide covered its body, making rhinoceros armor seem as thin as the transparent skin of a baby fish. The creature was so tall it would make giraffes seem short, and it was just as wide. Its massive fists dragged along the floor, each larger than a curled-up man. When the beast reached the stage, it opened its mouth wide, revealing fangs longer than human arms. It roared, strings of saliva quivering between its teeth.
"It's going to crush her." Riff grimaced. "It's going to crumple Nova into a ball."
As the behemoth roared to the sound of applause, the emcee spoke again into his microphone. "And now, in the red corner! She comes to us from Planet Ashmar, the daughter of a warrior king. The Princess of Pain. The Mistress of Mayhem. The Beauty of Bloodletting. Welcome Nova the Ashai Assassin!"
Hard rock music blared out of the speakers, deafeningly loud. Engines roared. The crowd roared just as loudly. With a shower of sparks and smoke, a golden motorcycle, shaped as a scorpion, raced up a ramp and onto the stage.
Nova straddled the bike. The young woman wore a golden catsuit sewn from kaijia, an alien fabric that was thin as silk but strong as armor. A black scorpion sigil raised its stinger upon her chest. Her green eyes shone, and pointy ears thrust out from her long blond hair like antennae. Her lips peeled back in a snarl, and she cracked a golden whip that shot out sparks of electricity. She let out a roar that shook the arena, and even the great behemoth, many times her size, took a step back.
"That's my girlfriend," Riff said to the man beside him, a slob sipping from two cans of beer attached to his hat. The drunkard nodded appreciatively.
At least, she used to be my girlfriend before I took my brother's side in their feud. Riff sighed.
Nova pushed down on the throttles, and her bike roared and raced right up the rounded wire mesh that surrounded the stage. She did a full loop, for an instant riding upside down along the cage ceiling, then halted her bike before the behemoth. She cracked her whip again. Sparks showered.
"I am Nova of Ashmar!" she cried to the crowd. "I will tame this beast! For fire and venom!"
Thousands of years ago, Riff knew from the books, humanity had spread to the stars. Most of those starships had been full of scientists, engineers, philosophers—peaceful colonists. But one starship had been full of soldiers, and on the fiery planet of Ashmar, they had formed a new nation. Since then, living in the harsh conditions of Ashmar, they had evolved into a subspecies of humanity. The books now catalogued them as homo sapiens ashai. They weren't technically aliens, but not quite human either, not anymore—which was good enough for the Alien Arena. Across the galaxy, the ashais were famous. Warriors of legend. Fighters of pride and bloodlust.
Just the type you'd want on your side when chased by a maniacal cyborg monk and his henchmen.
<
br /> As the crowd roared, the behemoth swung one of its massive fists; the thing was nearly as large as Nova's entire motorbike. The ashai gladiator pushed down on the throttle, and her bike roared forward and raced up the cage wall. As she drove overhead, upside down, she lashed her whip. The thong slammed against the behemoth's head, and blood sprayed. The beast wailed. Nova drove her bike back down onto the stage, swung her whip again, and blasted out sparks that slammed into the towering alien.
The beast wailed.
"Down!" Nova shouted and cracked her whip. "Down, behemoth!"
Her whip shot out more sparks, slamming again into the alien, knocking it back against the cage wall.
Riff turned to the man at his other side. "Did you hear? That's my girlfriend."
The fight didn't last long. The behemoth kept swinging its fists, but Nova kept riding her bike within the cage, driving up walls, along the ceiling, crisscrossing the floor. Her whip lashed in a frenzy, its sparks slamming against the alien, cutting into its skin. Finally, as her bike roared forward, Nova leaped right from her seat. She soared a dozen feet into the air, cried out, and drove her whip down hard.
The lash slammed into the behemoth's forehead.
The alien groaned and tilted forward.
Nova landed back on her motorcycle's seat and spun around in time to see her opponent crash down, unconscious.
The crowd grumbled, disappointed that the fight was so short. A few grumbled louder than others, handing over sweaty wads of cash to gloaters. Another pair of aliens approached the stage to fight—a slime devil with many eyestalks and a clattering isopod with a bright purple exoskeleton. Ignoring this fight, Riff left his seat and elbowed his way through the crowd, moving down the bleachers.
As the slimer and isopod faced off, Riff walked down a ramp toward Nova's dressing room.
Her bodyguard stood outside the door, a hulking alien who looked like a living granite boulder. Riff could not begin to imagine what star system this creature came from. He was not a short man, yet this stony brute dwarfed him.
"I'm here to see Nova." Riff cleared his throat. "I'm her boyfriend. If you'll step aside, good man—I mean, good . . . rock?—I shall much appreciate it."
The living boulder grabbed Riff and yanked him off the ground. A crack in the stony countenance opened, and words rumbled out. "Go away."
Riff coughed. "Lovely breath. I detect mint, a hint of cherry wine, and possum carcass. Now please, put me down, and—"
The bodyguard tossed Riff a good ten feet, slamming him into several onlookers. Riff winced and struggled back to his feet.
"Watch it, buddy! Carrying a signed guitar here." Riff stepped back toward the rocky brute and leaned around the creature. "Nova! Nova, you in there? It's Riff. Call down your pet rock and talk to me."
The bodyguard turned toward the door. Riff waited expectantly.
Nova's voice rose from behind the door. "Voora, crush his skull."
The living boulder grinned and took a step toward Riff, reaching out paws the size of dinner plates.
Riff gulped. "Nova, this is important! I'm in trouble, all right? I need your help."
Her voice rose again from behind the door. "Voora, after crushing his skull, tear off a limb or two. You deserve a treat."
Riff scurried back as Voora advanced. "Nova, this is serious! It's about the man who killed my mother, all right? He's after me now, and—God!"
The massive, living boulder lifted Riff right over its head. The stony fingers dug into him. The brute was about to crush Riff, but Nova's door swung open.
"Voora, wait." Nova stood in the doorway, eyes narrowed. "Put the bastard down. Let him in. I'll crush his skull myself."
With a grumble like rolling stones, the living boulder lowered Riff to the floor. Before Riff could regain his balance, Nova grabbed his collar, yanked him into her chamber, and closed the door.
Her dressing room could put most armories to shame, Riff thought. Dozens of weapons hung on the walls: electric rods, laser blasters, plasma spears, mechanical axes. A hundred guns or more rose upon racks. The skulls of defeated enemies gazed from shelves. Her motorbike stood in the center of the room, a great golden scorpion, its stinger raised as if ready to strike.
Some women collected decorative plates. Others collected cats. Nova collected pain and death.
"Mind if I borrow a couple of these?" Riff grabbed two plasma chargers from a shelf. "My Ethel's low on ammo, and—"
Her whip lashed out and wrapped around his wrist. She glared at him. "What do you want, Riff? I told you never to speak to me again."
He winced and pulled the whip off his wrist. It left an ugly mark, but luckily Nova hadn't turned on its electricity. If she pressed the button on the handle, that whip would be more than a lash; it would conduct enough electricity to knock out an elephant.
"Nova, I'm sorry. All right?" He stuffed the plasma packs into his pocket, then held out his open palms. "What else can I say?"
Riff had once read a very old book of mythology titled The Lord of the Rings. The ashais reminded him a little of the elves, at least in appearance: slender and beautiful with almond eyes, flowing golden hair, and big pointy ears. But the resemblance ran skin deep. Tolkien's elves had been creatures of grace, wisdom, and nobility, while Nova was . . . well, about as graceful as an enraged wolverine with a thorn in its backside. Facing him, Nova spat right on his face. She grabbed his collar and sneered, a wild animal.
"No!" she shouted. "No, you cannot do this to me, Riff. Gods damn you! After the shit you pulled, you do not come back into my life like this, broke, thugs on your tail, smelling of cheap booze."
"It's not my booze!" Riff objected. "Some drunkard spilled it on me. Guy was drinking beer out of his hat."
Nova growled and shoved him against the wall. "It's always somebody else's fault with you, isn't it? Always somebody else to blame." Suddenly tears filled her eyes, and her voice rose louder. "I left my planet for you, Riff! I disobeyed my father—the damn king of Ashmar. I disobeyed him to come to this stinking planet with you. With a man whom I thought loved me."
"I do love you," Riff said, voice soft now. "I never stopped. I—"
She slapped him. Hard.
"I don't need to hear your shit. Lies. Always lies with you. When are you going to grow up, Riff? When are you going to take some responsibility for yourself? I haven't seen you in two years." The tears were now flowing down her cheeks. "And this is how you show up. When you need me. That's all you ever care about—what others can do for you. Never what I want. Never what's important to me." She laughed mirthlessly and turned away. "Same old Riff."
He stood, his back to the wall, and lowered his head. The guilt filled him, and suddenly he felt about as worthwhile as a sack of alien slime.
She's right, he realized.
He stepped closer to her and placed a hand on her shoulder. He didn't know if she could feel him through her armor. The golden kaijia fabric was thin, clinging to her body, but Riff knew it could stop bullets and plasma blasts. Even with his hand on her shoulder, he felt as distant from her as if she wore armor of thick metal plates.
"I'm sorry, Nova." His voice was soft. "I feel like shit."
She spun around to face him. "That's how you made me feel these whole past two years."
Ouch. That one hurt.
"Nova, the Cosmians are after me. I think my dad's involved. And . . ." Riff's throat tightened. "One of them killed my mother, Nov. You know that. And now the same guy, some bastard cyborg named Grotter, is trying to kill me. He knows where I live. I need a place to crash, at least until I can figure things out. I didn't know where else to go. I haven't seen my dad for a year, and all my friends just live at the Blue Strings or the alleys around them."
He was careful not to mention his brother, Steel. Riff's last big fight with Nova—the one that had finally shattered their fragile relationship—had been over Steel. If he mentioned his brother now, Riff was likely to toss Nova into another rage.
He sighed. As angry as Nova was, a meeting with Steel would be even worse. Best not to even think about his brother now.
Nova sighed too. "I'll let you crash on my couch for tonight. Just tonight! Tomorrow morning, I want you gone."
He nodded. "Deal." It was as good a deal as he was going to get, he knew.
She opened the back door, revealing a tunnel, and tossed Riff a ring of keys. "You drive the bike. You still remember where I live?"
He nodded. Of course he did. He climbed onto the bike and let his guitar rest against his hip. Nova climbed onto the seat behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist. And by the stars above, it felt good. Just at the touch of her body against him, memories flooded Riff: him and her flying across the galaxy, heading back from her planet to a new life on Earth; long days riding this very bike down highways, trees rustling at their sides; and long nights making love in his bed at the Blue Strings.
Riff sighed. But I could never give her the life she needs.
Nova was a princess of Ashmar, and he was just a bluesman who lived in a run-down club. Their confrontation over Steel had been only the last straw. Was it any wonder Nova had found a better life, a life without him? She lived in a fancy building now, and she performed for crowds of thousands, while he was still stuck living in the same dump, playing the same old tunes to the same old drunkards.
Her talking pet rock would probably make a better boyfriend than I ever was, Riff thought.
He turned the keys, and the motorbike roared to life. The golden scorpion shot forward, blasting out of the dressing room and into the tunnel. Nova's arms tightened around Riff's waist.
The tunnel took them straight to the 707, a highway outside the arena. Most folk flew their small, slick aerocars above, but Nova had always preferred driving on the road. There were fewer people down here, a chance to move faster, to feel the tarmac against the tires, the jostle of every bump on the road. It was an old way to travel. It was freedom.
Alien Hunters (Alien Hunters Book 1): A Free Space Opera Novel Page 3
