The Luxorian Fugitive

by J. Alan Veerkamp

  “Victor, it seems like it’s been ages since I’ve seen you here.” Her voice rolled through her ruby-painted lips with elegance and insincerity. Standing perfectly still, Liam worried where her hand would go next.

  Saarken barely looked at her. “Good evening, Marchella. If I only come occasionally to these events, it makes them more special.”

  “If you say so, dear.” She raked her gaze over Liam as her touch roamed closer to his codpiece. “I love your new toy, Victor. He’s a much better scale than the other two.” Brazen in her exploration, she brushed the edge of the only part of his outfit keeping Liam decent. He tried not to tense at the unwelcome contact.

  “Would you like to swallow his cock here in front of everyone?”

  Marchella dropped her hand and frowned at Saarken’s jibe.

  “How droll.”

  “I remember how you vanished with Isomoff’s Adonirati last year. I’m hardly going to let you drag him off into a private suite and leave me standing by myself. I need my escort. Perhaps another time.” Saarken dismissed her by turning his attention to nothing in particular on the other side of the room. In a practiced huff, Marchella spun on her high-priced heels and found another socialite to intrude upon.

  Liam shifted close so only Saarken could hear. “Thank you.”

  “You did well, but I didn’t want to test your limits before we’d barely gotten inside. Now do you believe me when I speak about the decadence of the wealthy here?”

  “I’ll never doubt you again.”

  “Good. Let’s make our way to my booth before I have to work through a crowd.”

  He followed Saarken through the next door, which brought them to a glass-enclosed platform. A simple touch to a small panel near the door and the enclosure slid sideways to a fixed point, then dropped below the ground level. The entire auditorium could be viewed from this transport.

  Circular rows of opera booths stacked on top of each other along the cylindrical room to dizzying heights. A sumptuous, hollowed-out skyscraper. At the bottom, Liam could see what had to be the arena. An open round space with matte-black flooring, it had several doors along the high walls surrounding it. Large vid panels hung like some grotesque chandelier down the center of the immense space. No one would have a bad view. Like every other aspect of the building, the theater dripped in unrestrained expense.

  The lift came to a stop at the bottom tier of booths. Following Saarken, Liam noted how good the vantage point was. If this weren’t such a serious matter, he might be looking forward to the event.

  It wasn’t long before the other booths filled with blood-sport fans. The murmur of noble voices echoed and layered upon themselves. Not standing in a swarm of people he couldn’t trust eased Liam’s mind some. An Adonirati waiter brought a tea service to the booth before moving along.

  “So, what are the rules?” Keeping in character, Liam poured a cup for Saarken.

  “The contestants enter, and when one is left standing, the fight ends. It’s as simple as that.” Saarken reached forward and activated the touchscreen attached to the balcony wall. A program of the night’s event scrolled across the monitor. “There are five fights scheduled tonight. Hadrian’s is last.”

  “Is anyone ever killed in the arena?”

  Saarken threw an amused look at Liam. “You’ve seen Hadrian’s skill set. Would you care to ask a less-stupid question?”

  “All right. How often has Hadrian killed someone in the arena?”

  “Every match. Phillip demands it. He’s always believed in manipulating or crushing the opposition.”

  The lights dimmed and the vidscreen chandelier came to life, announcing the first match. The fighters entered the floor from opposite doors and squared off. A wave of cheers expanded as the fight grew more aggressive. Eventually, the match ended with one fighter lying unconscious on the ground. One match down. Liam couldn’t give a damn about the program. After watching the fight with unfocused eyes, he could barely remember any details. He was only interested in Hadrian.

  “Have you ever sent Zero or Orez into the arena?” Liam watched two large Adonirati clear the unmoving loser from the arena floor in preparation for the next bout.

  “Never.”

  Liam studied the doctor. “Why not?”

  “Even though they would excel, that’s not what I have them for.” Saarken paused. “They are my companions. I may be willing to share them, but I will not risk losing them over money or glory. They’re all I have.”

  The second fight ended as one fighter broke the other’s spine. As the maimed contestant writhed on the floor, the crowd roared its depraved approval. A nauseous chill ran down Liam’s spine. What would he do if that were Hadrian mortally wounded on the ground?

  The third fight was well under way when Saarken leaned close.

  “It appears his highness has finally graced us with his presence.”

  Liam followed Saarken’s gaze to a booth across the arena, which had previously been empty. Chien and his consort Donovan were taking their places. Anger swelled in Liam’s chest as he gripped the armrest of his chair.

  Saarken reached over and covered his hand with his own.

  “Stay calm. The two of them never miss one of Ronan’s matches.”

  Liam realized how clearly he could see the pair. “Is there any chance they’ll recognize me?”

  “Unlikely. Your appearance is radically different from when they met you. And from what you told me about the incident in the cargo bay, Donovan barely saw you, and Phillip doesn’t pay attention to any Adonirati except his own.” Saarken picked up his tea and nodded to the couple across the way. Phillip smiled, gave a brief nod in return, and resumed his smiling conversation with Donovan.

  Saarken patted Liam’s hand. “See? We’re fine. Try to enjoy the match.”

  Keeping his stoic face was becoming difficult. The sight of Phillip and Donovan made Liam wish for a weapon. For some reason, he had known but hadn’t acknowledged the idea they would be present. The excitement of seeing Hadrian had blinded him. Saarken looked over as Liam took long, slow breaths.

  “Steady yourself, Sergeant. You’ll serve no one if you give us away.”

  Liam exhaled and stiffened his back. “Sorry.”

  “You’re doing fine. No one’s the wiser. Once we see Hadrian, we’ll begin planning how to remove him once and for all.”

  “I’m a sniper. I’m used to sitting back in the shadows and waiting. Hidden intelligence, not this public spying. It makes me very uncomfortable.”

  “Learn to adapt, Sergeant. Quickly.”

  The third fight dragged on, and he wondered if the eventual cheers were for the winner or because the match had finally come to a close.

  He kept Phillip and Donovan in sight, without direct stares that might draw any attention, through the intermission and the fourth bout. They socialized with other well-dressed aristocrats and sampled hors d’oeuvres and drinks. They laughed amongst themselves and whispered in each other’s ears. It was as if they were on a date. The idea infuriated Liam, but he refused to let on.

  Distracted by the couple, he barely noticed the fourth match ending. A surge of spectator noise broke his preoccupation. He turned his attention back to Saarken and found the doctor perusing the program.

  “A warning, Sergeant. Hadrian’s match will be bloodier than the rest.”

  “You already said he’s under orders to kill his opponent.”

  “No. I said bloodier. This match will feature weapons.”

  Liam frowned in confusion. “All the rest of the fights were hand-to-hand.”

  “This one is different.”

  It was difficult for Liam to restrain his disgust. “I don’t know how you can be so calm about all of this. It’s sickening.”

  “Only because you’re not used to it.” Saarken sighed. “I did some checking earlier. Phillip has placed a substantial bet on Ronan’s victory tonight.”

  “Your point being?”

  “Current bets
on Ronan’s matches are made based on how long it will take for him to win. Not if he will win. The majority have been placed for a quick fight. Phillip’s bets are marked for anything beyond fifteen minutes. He expects Hadrian to drag the fight out.”

  “Why would he bother?”

  “To reestablish his dominance. Either Hadrian does as he’s told and makes fools of everyone who gossiped over his defection, or he’s maimed or killed in the ring. When it comes to winning, Phillip has no limits.”

  A sense of dread filled Liam as he settled back into his chair. The more he learned of Luxorian society, the more treacherous Hadrian’s removal was becoming. The hope of a silent rescue in the dark was eroding fast.

  The crowd erupted as the vidscreens came to life, Ronan’s image splayed across them in garish color. His match was close at hand. Even the sight of Hadrian larger than life on the screens brought a tightness to Liam’s chest. It was an effort to maintain the calm facade his disguise required.

  Saarken’s eyes gleamed. “That’s a striking look for Hadrian. The hair removal is very appealing.”

  Liam’s brow flattened. “Don’t get any ideas, Doctor.”

  “Sergeant, now that Hadrian’s appearance is in my known realm of interest, it would not be suspect if I purchased him for the evening.” Saarken smiled when Liam gasped. “It would give you a chance to plan.”

  “You’d do that?” Liam tried not to sound too hopeful.

  “I think it would be a good idea. I’ll contact Phillip after the match and make the arrangements.”

  Sitting still became difficult as Liam’s excitement crested. An evening with Hadrian was more than he could have hoped for. He wanted to grin but had to show restraint. The theater’s volume rose in a deafening arc, and Liam had to remind himself to breathe as Hadrian stepped out into the arena floor.

  Liam feasted on the sight of his mate dressed only in a leather kilt and the requisite Adonirati manacles. The view was so good the fine details of Hadrian’s tattoos were visible. A chant of “Ronan!” arose as Hadrian turned, eyeing the vast number of spectators. Hadrian’s gaze spiraled skyward over the endless stacks of seats, searching. Hadrian stood tall, but his poise was off. A fracture in his confidence seeped through his Adonirati demeanor.

  This was dangerous. If Hadrian was unfocused, he risked injury or worse. Worry gripped Liam at the prospect.

  Even thought he couldn’t possibly hear him, Liam whispered him a prayer. “You can do this, Hadrian.”

  Hadrian froze, spun, and locked eyes with Liam. He beamed and his chest rose, his determination renewed. Fresh and invincible, Hadrian turned to face Phillip’s booth. Donovan sneered and looked away, while Phillip gave Hadrian a commanding nod. Hadrian bowed, then strode over to the weapon rack rising out of the wall. He selected a well-balanced sword. It rolled in his practiced hand as he moved away, taking his place on one side of the floor.

  Signaled by the crowd’s roar, the opposite door opened, letting Hadrian’s opponent into the ring.

  “For fuck’s sake, he has to stay in for fifteen minutes with that?” Liam gaped in shock.

  The menacing fighter easily stood four meters tall, dwarfing Hadrian. His size and musculature placed Zero and Orez as sad second cousins. The fighter was barely covered by a loincloth that left little to the imagination, including his green skin and blue spotting down his back and limbs. His blue-black hair ran in a long, thick braid down to his buttocks.

  Saarken paged through the program information. “It appears his DNA donor was a Tharrasian native. They are wild, savage humanoids that live in a tribal setting. They are known to be aggressive and brutally raided the first surveyors to their planet until the military pacified them.”

  The Tharrasian walked to the weapons cache and picked up a huge bladed staff. Every footstep echoed, even over the noise of the theater, as he took his place opposite Hadrian. Hadrian appeared unfazed, taking a moment to glance at Phillip and back to his opponent.

  Liam’s pulse pounded in his chest as he listened to the rhythmic chimes count down to the start of the match. The Tharrasian dug his feet into the floor and gripped his weapon with both hands, every muscle tensing, waiting to strike. Hadrian stood perfectly still. Liam couldn’t breathe. The crowd was louder than ever before.

  A loud siren flared and the Tharrasian sprang from his stance. His jade flesh blurred as he swung the pole arm overhead, then down at Hadrian. Hadrian narrowly sidestepped as the blade embedded itself in the floor. Like in the cargo bay, Hadrian’s eyes were glazed and unfocused.

  Hadrian whirled, stepped onto the weapon’s shaft, and ran up its length until he was face-to-face with his opponent, who was still holding on. One quick, sudden thrust and Hadrian sank his sword hilt-deep into the Tharrasian’s throat, just above the collarbone. The giant’s eyes flared wide and his face went limp as he fell backward. Hadrian stepped onto his chest and surfed his torso until it crashed to the ground. Then he jumped to the floor, withdrew his sword, and tossed it to the side.

  The crowd lost its mind.

  Fist raised, Hadrian met the cacophony of cheers with a defiant stare. Rotating, he addressed the entire amphitheater, until he settled on the booth of Phillip Chien and Donovan. As a final motion, he threw a sharp nod at them both. Donovan’s face was a mask of shock as he turned to Phillip, who rose from his seat. His stoic eyes gazed down at his slave with the faintest hint of a scowl. The emperor was displeased.

  Liam grabbed Saarken by the arm. “It’s time to go.”

  “I agree.” Saarken was stunned, his words barely audible.

  “I guess it’s safe to say we won’t be purchasing Hadrian tonight.” Liam helped Saarken to his feet and slipped his crutches over his arms. It struck him that Saarken wasn’t objecting. Liam’s pulse began to race.

  “That’s an understatement.” Saarken’s grim face added to Liam’s worries.

  “Doctor, you know Phillip.” Supporting Saarken, he pushed him along to the lift. “How bad is this?”

  The lift doors slid open and the pair stepped inside. Saarken activated the control and the enclosure moved upward.

  “It’s disastrous. Hadrian’s usefulness is coming to a quick end.”

  “Over losing a bet?”

  Saarken closed his eyes. “Phillip can’t abide being embarrassed. It’s part of why he left me. Now not only has Hadrian escaped him, but he’s defied him in public.”

  “We have to hurry. I’ll gather my gear as soon as we get back.”

  Saarken shook his head and pierced Liam with a stare. “I hope you’re good at improvising, Sergeant. Hadrian’s run out of time.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  HADRIAN WONDERED IF he was screaming. He couldn’t hear or see anything, only feel the scorching knives stabbing every square centimeter of his flesh inside and out, peeling him apart. Even his vision was useless. Everything was violent color splashes made up of nothing in particular. Was it possible to bleed from every pore?

  “GUI CHO TOI!”

  With those words, the torture stopped. It was unfair the same phrase was used to start and end the agony, making him beg to hear it again after dreading its use.

  His whole body felt damp. Cool air on his skin raced a shiver through him. The pungent scents of sweat and urine were most likely his own. Even the carpet crushed against his face felt wet.

  With a herculean effort, he rolled over. Every muscle screamed at the task, his weakness was so profound. His head lolled and his vision spun. He was laid out on the floor of his suite. Father and Donovan were here. As he tried to catch his breath, he began to remember.

  They’d left the amphitheater in silence after the match. He was escorted to his room and had the opportunity to shower and dress in his favorite sarong before they entered. He’d seen what was coming. There was no path to avoid it. Father and Donovan had taken turns using the pain command on him for what he thought must have been the last hour or two. It might have been longer. His sense of time was shattered
.

  Every muscle spasmed in the aftermath of the correction. His breathing was labored and rapid. Despite his attempts to move, his leaden limbs refused to budge. One session with the pain command would leave him as weak as an infant. He didn’t know how many times it had been. He’d lost count some time ago.

  Donovan stepped forward and knelt over him while Father poured himself a drink from a bottle resting on the occasional table between the two doors.

  “You’re disgusting.” Donovan clicked his tongue piercing along his teeth. “Drooling into the carpet. Sweating like a day laborer. You’ve even soiled yourself.” He shook his head. “You’re pathetic.”

  “You have never punished me so much before.” So exhausted, his words were slurred.

  Donovan sneered. “You’ve never required it before. It was only a matter of time.”

  When Hadrian attempted to move his arm, Donovan jumped back, kicking at the flailing limb as if it had the strength to harm him.

  “Don’t touch. I don’t want you to dirty me.”

  Hadrian’s voice was as listless as his arms, yet it didn’t stop him. “You do not need me for that.” Donovan’s backhand was faster than he thought his brother was capable of.

  “Do you see?” Donovan shouted at Father while gesturing at Hadrian. “This is your favorite? This is what I’ve played second best to for all these years?” He stalked over to Father and invaded his personal space. “You can’t trust him anymore. He defies you at every opportunity.” Donovan’s anger was taking hold and his words were strained. “You need to put him down. Retire him. Now.”

  Father rolled his shoulders back. He set down his drink and stood tall. “No.”

  “You can’t be serious! He’s dangerous! He’s not like the others. Every day, he becomes more likely to try to kill us all.” Donovan’s voice became a growl. “Either you put him down or I will.”