Forbidden Planet

by Cheree Alsop

  I accepted his hand even though I knew it wasn’t the type of headache that would go away with sleep. He dragged me to my feet and righted me when I stumbled. I took another pull of the greasky as the pounding in my head increased.

  Gardsworn let out a grunt of disapproval. “Come on.”

  Ivana had vanished. I couldn’t blame the little maid. She had seen enough on Lorv to be terrified. The fact that she had even stuck around to help after seeing the condition I was in said a lot about her character. I approved of Nova’s kindness in taking her aboard.

  “I’ve heard plenty of your stories,” Gardsworn said. “Plenty of tall tales, too, I’m guessing. Imperious Kovak Sunder, the fastest rising gladiator of the Bacarian Star System. You were a god to some people. Fortunes were made and some people’s livelihoods rose and fell on your fights, and yet here you are. How does that happen?”

  I wouldn’t have been in the mood to tell the story even if my head didn’t feel like it was being stepped on by an ephiam. Unfortunately, the greasky was strong enough to loosen my tongue and it spoke before my brain could tell it to knock it off.

  “I was betrayed.” My words came out slurred just enough to tell me not to take another drink.

  “By someone you know?” Gardsworn guessed.

  I didn’t want to say. My betraying mouth went ahead anyway. “By Sigmian Calladar.” I took another swig of the greasky to chase away the bitter taste left by saying the name.

  Gardsworn whistled. “You make enemies in high places.”

  I glared at the floor. “Tell me about it.”

  “I think this is it.”

  It took me a moment to realize the man was referring to my room. I put my hand to the panel.

  “Welcome, Smiren Scum,” the monotone voice said before the door slid open.

  Gardsworn gave me an interested look but didn’t comment. Instead, he helped me into the room and deposited me on the couch.

  “Are these for your concussion?” he asked. I heard the rattle of the pill bottle he picked up from the side table. “They’ll probably help better than that excrement.”

  I snorted. “Is that what it is? Explains the flavor.” I shook the flask and judged it to be about half full.

  “It’s probably best not to take them at the same time,” the Mechadocian noted.

  He set the pill bottle on a shelf far enough from the couch that I would have to work to get at it. I was in my mind enough to appreciate the man’s precaution.

  “I’ll leave you to your stupor,” he said.

  I was trying to puzzle out through the haze in my mind whether he meant that as a shot when he paused at the door.

  “Just for the record, if the Imperious Kovak Sunder had broken my arm, I would have worn the cast with pride.”

  The door closed and left me alone. I sat back on the couch and stared up at the ceiling. Memories fueled by the greasky washed past my eyes.

  “One more fight and you’ll make High Imperious. How do you feel about that?” Sigmian Calladar, the new Grand Lord of the Bacarian System, walked around me with a calculating expression.

  “I’m looking forward to it,” I answered honestly.

  Delight showed on the younger man’s face. “I’ll bet you are. Yet,” he paused and faced me directly, “Being High Imperious carries weight and honor, not to mention,” he touched the riding crop that never left his hand to the tattoo on my chest, “Your freedom.”

  The word thrummed through my body. I hadn’t been free since Father sold me when I was so young I could barely lift a sword. It had been my driving force through all of my fights and through my harrowing rise through the ranks; now, freedom was so close I could almost taste it. I had fought and bled for it; I deserved it.

  Sigmian Calladar clicked his tongue. “What would one give for freedom? It’s such a curious question.”

  He walked around me again.

  I stood in the battle garb of the arena. It was stained with blood from the fight I had just finished. Three against one. They weren’t unusual odds for an Imperious, but I could feel the aches of the battle beginning to set in. I longed for a bath and food; maybe both at the same time if Sigmian was feeling generous. The problem was that there was no telling what Sir Calladar’s son felt. It had been easy to guess his father’s intentions; since his passing and the changing of the Palladium into his son’s hands, everything had been off-kilter.

  “I wonder if you’re too old to be High Imperious,” Sigmian mused aloud.

  I kept my gaze forward and my hands behind my back in a posture of attention. A trickle of blood dripped down one of my fingers from a shallow knife wound across my arm. I counted the drops to keep myself calm.

  “Perhaps a younger, more virile gladiator should be the face of the Bacarian Star System,” Sigmian said.

  I turned my head to face him, breaking my careful calm. “Twenty-seven isn’t old, Lord Calladar, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

  His eyebrows rose. “Yet you’re the oldest gladiator at the Palladium.”

  I stated the fact both of us knew. “That’s because the rest of us died in the Centari Wars.”

  “The rest of us,” Sigmian said in a mocking tone. “Do you hear yourself?” He stepped close enough to whisper in my ear, “Do you wish you had died beside them? Do you regret that your throat wasn’t torn out like Chasus or Gray, or that your bowels weren’t spread along the desert plains of Grivius like Imperious Cowllas?”

  I sucked in a breath through my teeth and kept silent as their faces rose in front of my eyes.

  “Tell me, Smiren, did you take the oath for them? Did you bleed for them?” He stepped in front of me so I could see his mocking smile. “Did you do your soul ritual for the dead? Did you carve an x for them in your skin to carry them with you forever?” His eyes narrowed and his smile fell. “Did you do the same for my father?”

  I knew what my answer was supposed to be. The one thing Sigmian craved above all else was devoted worship. I had seen the other gladiators fawn at his feet like the minstrel women Sigmian bought from the Firican System. Fawn or die; we all knew the drill.

  I had performed the Essen al Tirin for Sir Calladar. The wound high on my ankle was still healing from the loss of a man who had come to speak to me as an equal instead of a purchased servant. I had learned much from the man, including what it meant to thrive instead of just survive. His son had definitely taken that lesson to heart.

  The truth hit me as surely as the sneer on the younger man’s face. Sigmian wouldn’t allow a gladiator to reach High Imperious who had cared for his father enough to mark his body in mourning. He had always been jealous of the gladiators’ devotion to his father, the same devotion he tried to obtain through fear and punishment tactics. But he knew loyalty obtained in such a way was shallow like his soul.

  If I denied it, there was a chance he would command his guards to strip my boots and check for the mark, or he would take my word for it because he desperately needed my loyalty to gain that of the other gladiators. He needed a High Imperious who would follow him without question.

  My freedom waited for me to say the one word he waited for with bated breath. Yet if I denied performing the ritual, I would deny not only my heritage and my gratitude to Sir Calladar for giving me the chance to become a gladiator, I would deny the very thing that made me a Smiren.

  Soul becomes self.

  I had accepted Sir Calladar as a part of me. I couldn’t deny him just as I couldn’t stop breathing. Though the latter may be soon if I didn’t pay Sigmian the homage he desired.

  “I did.”

  The Great Lord of the Bacarian System stared at me. His green eyes were multi-faceted like his father’s had been, yet they held none of their depth, their compassion, their shrewdness, or their intelligence. Instead, all I saw was a spoiled rich brat who had just realized his favorite toy would never be truly his.

  “That’s a shame,” he said. The smile of malice that twisted his lips made my heart slow.
He lifted a hand. “I was afraid you would say that.”

  Footsteps marched from the darkness. Spears were pointed at me from every direction. The Captain of the Calladar Guard I had fought beside during the wars motioned for me to kneel. I searched his face, but found only coldness. I lowered to my knees and bowed my head as electric manacles were fastened around my wrists.

  When I was safely secured, a hand grabbed my chin.

  “Now you’ll see what happens to those who don’t choose the right loyalty,” Sigmian spat down at me.

  Spittle landed on my cheek. I glared up at him with all of the unabashed hatred I felt.

  “You’re a coward, Sigmian. You were born a coward, and you will die a coward. That is why your father never respected you,” I said.

  Sigmian’s face paled. His teeth ground together with such force that I could hear it.

  “I should kill you for that, Kovak,” he growled. “You should die a slow, painful death stretched on the boiling plains of Davaria with your flesh pecked off by bacaas.” He rose back to his full high and glared down at me with a terrifying light of glee in his eyes. “However, I couldn’t give such treatment to our highest celebrity, could I?” He looked around at the guards. “That wouldn’t be fair!” His gaze returned to me. “Instead, I’ve sold you to the owner of Roan Seven.”

  The name was familiar, but I couldn’t place it.

  The new Grand Lord must have seen my confusion because he said, “The prison planet where the gladiators who failed in the arena are sold to slave away the rest of their days in the mines.” His eyes gleamed when he said, “Imagine the joy with which you’ll be greeted by those you sent to such a horrible fate. I’m sure they’re dying to get reacquainted!” He leaned down and said, “Don’t worry, Kovak. I’ll be sure to pay the warden enough to open the cells of your friends the first night you’re there for a proper welcome.”

  He held out a hand. A metal object was placed into it by one of the guards. I couldn’t see what it was from where I knelt.

  “Oh, this is just a parting gift,” Sigmian said as he slipped the metal bars over his fingers. “I don’t think we’ll see each other again, and I want you to remember me.”

  He slammed his fist into my face. Fire erupted through my cheekbone as it broke beneath the blow. A howl of pain answered, but it wasn’t mine. I peered up from my place on the ground and saw Sigmian jumping around holding his hand.

  “You didn’t say it would hurt!” he whined. “I think I bruised my fingers!”

  I could feel the hot blood coursing down the side of my face, but with my hands locked behind me, I couldn’t check to see how bad it was. A curl of satisfaction welled up in my chest at the thought that the blow didn’t hurt me nearly as much as it had hurt Sir Calladar’s delicate little terror.

  Chapter Fourteen

  NOVA

  The sight of the Trayshan supply ship looming closer made it hard to breath. Nova willed her heartbeat to slow. The rogue trader ships used to be interstellar trash collectors until the mercenaries who ran the fleet realized they would make more money selling what they found instead of gathering it for the Blavarians and Society to reuse at their whim. Now, they paid runner ships known as Rabbits to deliver supplies ordered by outlier planets and those within the Accord Systems.

  While the Accord ruling families frowned upon such displays of independence, they figured they had bigger fyn to fry than a few supply runners. Besides, looking in the other direction also meant a handy supply outpost for their own patrols without the added cost of creating their own. The Trayshans permitted this as long as they didn’t have to pay the Accord taxes. The Accord Systems balanced this by charging a hefty price for supply runner permits paid for by the individual Rabbit ships. Both parties settled into a shaky peace of sorts that erupted at times in blood baths.

  “As long as they don’t ask for a permit, we’re fine,” Junquit said. She glanced at Kaj. “What are the odds they won’t ask?”

  “I’m guessing good,” the older man replied. “They don’t need the permit to sell us supplies. It’s the Tributaires we need to worry about.”

  “What if we go around the Accord Systems?” Guinea asked in her high-pitched voice as she set a tray with Earthling coffee onto the table near the door.

  “It would take weeks, if not longer,” Junquit replied. “We can’t risk more time.”

  “McKy can’t risk more time,” Nova said. “Every minute he’s in Akrul, he’s in danger.”

  Everyone nodded. An atmosphere of heavy concern hung over the bridge.

  “It’s settled, then,” Kaj said solemnly. “We’ll get the supplies and hope we can make it through the Accords without drawing any attention. If we do, then we’ll figure out what to do at that time. There’s no use wasting time worrying about what hasn’t happened yet.”

  “But we definitely need to worry about that,” Junquit said.

  Her controls moved and she let them go. “The Trayshan is bringing us in.”

  “Gear up,” Nova told her crew. “I want everyone armed in case this turns south.”

  “Where’s the gladiator?” Kaj asked. “We could use his experience.”

  “I’ll get him,” Nova replied.

  She made her way down the hallway. The familiarity of the corridors was a comfort during all the chaos. She had grown up playing on the SevenWolf. Her father had loved the ship almost as much as he had loved his children. It was a relic to be sure, but the care he had taken in restoring it showed in every corner. He had delighted in updating the systems and adding the newest luxuries and technologies.

  Thoughts of her father made Nova’s heart ache. Her foot gave a little throb of reminder from the tiny x she had carved there in his honor. It gave her comfort to know that she would carry his memory with her in that way forever.

  The sight of the dozens upon dozens of scars that marked Kovak’s foot ate at her. She knew gladiators killed each other in the ring; it was one of the reasons she had sought out a gladiator to help rescue McKy. What she hadn’t expected was to see how the deaths affected him. The realization that he carried the weight of every person he killed made him seem less like a barbarian and more like a wounded soul. She didn’t like thinking of him that way. It would only make things harder.

  “Kovak?” she called out when she reached his door.

  There was no answer.

  She put a hand to the panel. The door slid open to reveal Kovak lying on the couch. An empty flask lay beneath one of his hands. She picked it up and sniffed the contents. The hair-curling scent made her hold it far away from her face.

  “It’s not that bad,” Kovak said in words that slurred slightly. He looked up at her with a crooked smile that would have been charming if it wasn’t for the danger of their situation.

  Anger burned through her. If he wasn’t going to be of use when they needed him in a bind, why was he even aboard the ship? She crossed her arms and glared down at him. “We’ve just reached the Trayshan and you’re drunk.”

  Kovak surprised her by sitting up smoothly. “I’m fine,” he replied.

  “I don’t believe it,” she argued. “You nearly snapped Gardsworn’s arm.”

  “I wasn’t myself,” he replied off-handedly.

  “Your concussion—” she began.

  “Taken care of,” he said as he rose easily to his feet. “Self-medicated.”

  She tossed the empty flask on the couch. “You may have a problem.”

  Kovak’s easy smile angered her further.

  “I can handle my liquor,” he said. He gave the flask a glance. “Though I should give Gardsworn’s brew master some credit; that’s the strongest grug I’ve had in a long while. It’d put Chasus’ brew to shame.”

  Curiosity made her ask, “Who’s Chasus?”

  Kovak’s smile fell and he turned away. “A gladiator I used to know. He was a Gorian.” He glanced back at her. “You know, heavy armor and all that. He was a master metal craftsman and should have been
creating armor for the Lords instead of killing fighting stock for sport.”

  “Like you?” Nova asked.

  He shook his head. “I was a master warrior.”

  His tone wasn’t boastful or self-deprecating. It was simply a fact, a fact she needed to rely on.

  “Ready to put that to use?” she asked.

  “Always,” the gladiator replied.

  A tremor ran down Nova’s spine at his words, but she didn’t let it show as she led the way to the loading dock. The rest of the crew was already there. The sight of the guns in their hands did little to calm Nova’s nerves.

  The intercom tolled overhead, then Junquit said, “We’re touching down. Weapons at the ready.”

  Everyone cocked their guns.

  “Is that a good idea?” Kovak asked.

  “Why not?” Nova replied. “I figured that if we show them our strength, they won’t mess with us.”

  A slight smile crossed the gladiator’s face. “Or they’ll think you’re putting on a show. Do you think the other Rabbits put on a front when they land?”

  “He has a point,” Gardsworn said.

  “Yeah,” Jashu Blu seconded, barely remembering to add, “Um, My Lady.”

  Nova looked at Kaj.

  The Verian lifted a shoulder. “It’s up to you, My Lady.”

  A metallic tap on the door let her know that their ship was ready to check in.

  Nova’s instincts screamed for her to present an armed front, but the rational side of her argued that she should trust Kovak’s experience. She hoped she wasn’t wrong.

  “Put your weapons away, but be ready in case Gardsworn calls for you,” she instructed the members of the engine crew and maintenance staff.

  Their guns were sheathed. She nodded at Gardsworn. The man entered the code into the airlock control box. The first door slid aside, then the second. A ramp lowered to the deck of the Trayshan starship.

  “Welcome to Trayshan X Eighty-four,” a man in a black suit said. “Fill out this document.”

  Nova entered the ship’s information onto the screen the man gave her. As soon as she confirmed with her thumb print, the page switched to an approval document for a shipment of supplies dog-eared for the Nefastus System.