Valerie’s Elites

by Justin Sloan

  The other two Skulla turned, and their mouths fell open in surprise when they saw a strange gray alien holding a weapon to their friend’s head.

  “Nobody move!” Kalan shouted. His eyes flicked to the pistol, and he realized what it was. “Hey, a Tralen-14! I love these things!”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Planet Tol: Capital Market District

  Kalan didn’t give much thought to what he’d done until it was too late. The sun was beating down on him, and he blinked fast to get as much dust as possible out of his eyes.

  He held the gun to the head of the heavily-modded seven-foot-tall Skulla in front of him. The other two glared at him like they couldn’t believe someone could possibly be so dumb as to challenge them. In that moment, Kalan didn’t disagree with their assessment.

  He’d attacked three authorities on an alien world where he was supposed to be keeping a low profile. Even if he managed to get out of this, he’d still brought unnecessary attention on himself, and maybe Valerie’s team. He silently cursed his stupidity.

  And yet he’d done it to protect a kid. If he were being honest, he would admit he’d do the exact same thing one hundred times out of one hundred.

  The two other guards exchanged quick glances, then both started slowly inching away from each other to try to flank him.

  “Stop right here, or your friend gets—” That was as far as he made it before the Skulla threw his head back. It painfully connected with Kalan’s chin.

  Kalan staggered back a step, his grip loosening enough for the Skulla to slip out of it.

  The other two quickly spread out and their hands went to their weapons.

  Kalan hadn’t intended for this to turn into a shootout. He hadn’t intended much of anything, but here he was. His enemies were drawing on him, and he had no choice. He raised the Tralen-14 and fired at the guard to his right, dropping him with three quick blasts to the chest.

  He turned, intending to fire on the guard to his left, but found the unarmed guard charging him. Instinctively, he moved his aim to that guard and fired at center mass. The big guard tumbled forward and Kalan had to dodge to his left to avoid the body.

  “You have any idea what you just did?” the last guard snarled. His gun was trained on Kalan, and Kalan knew there’d be no way he could get a shot off before the guard dropped him.

  Thankfully he didn’t need to. Nata, the boy they’d come to make an example of, had risen from the dirt and snuck up beside the guard. He threw a wild haymaker of a punch that connected with the big Skulla’s left ear. The guard was more surprised than hurt by the blow, but it was enough.

  The guard turned an angry face toward Nata, and Kalan was clear to fire. He put two shots into the guard’s chest and one in his head for good measure.

  Kalan drew a deep breath, the adrenaline still coursing through his body. He scanned the squat, simple homes lining the street and saw more than a few Skulla standing at windows, presumably having watched what just went down.

  Someone touched his shoulder and Kalan spun, ready to attack. It was Duol, his face scrunched with concern. “We need to get you the hell out of here now.”

  Nata looked shell-shocked. Kalan wished he had time to stay and talk to the kid, to make sure he was all right, but Duol was correct. They needed to get out of there before more goons arrived.

  “Will the kid be okay?” he asked Duol as they wove down the side streets, working their way back toward the old man’s home.

  Duol nodded. “He’s a survivor. If he has any sense—and I think he does—he’ll find a friend or relative to hide out with for a few days. Then I’ll help him get off this damned ball of dust.”

  Kalan raised a skeptical eyebrow. “How are you going to do that?”

  Duol grinned sheepishly. “Didn’t I tell you? I’m in the import-export business.”

  Kalan knew without asking that Duol meant the illegal kind of import-export. Duol was a smuggler.

  Duol sighed. “Warlord Nibor and his damn modded Skulla. Things like that shakedown you just saw are all too common these days. It’s not like it was back when Sslake was in charge. Sslake wasn’t perfect, but he was the closest thing I’ve ever seen to an honest politician.”

  “Now I know you’re spinning fairy tales,” Kalan said with a chuckle. The only things he’d ever gotten from politicians were headaches.

  “I don’t blame you for thinking that, but in Sslake’s case it’s the truth.”

  Kalan whistled through his teeth. “Damn. It’s a shame he died.”

  A shadow crossed Duol’s face.

  “What is it?” Kalan asked.

  After a long moment Duol answered, “Nothing.”

  “That wasn’t nothing. I saw your face when I mentioned that Sslake died. You know something.”

  Duol gave Kalan a hard look before he spoke. “Maybe I do, but it’s not the kind of thing you say out in the street. Wait until we get to my house.”

  They walked another ten minutes in mostly silence, weaving their way through alleys and side streets and avoiding the main roads they’d used on their way to the forger’s home.

  When they finally reached their destination, Duol led Kalan inside and pulled the curtains shut before resuming the conversation.

  Even then he spoke in a low, conspiratorial tone. “Not many people know this. I wouldn’t tell it to anyone, not even another saby. But after what you did for that kid, dumb as it was, I’m going to tell you.”

  Kalan waited, afraid to speak for fear that he might say the wrong thing and discourage the old male from continuing.

  Duol drew a deep breath. “Sslake isn’t dead.”

  Kalan tilted his head. “Where the hell is he?”

  “A place you and I know all too well,” he said with a smile. “I don’t know why the Bandian kept him alive. Maybe he’s trying to get Sslake to support him, or maybe he’s going to use him as some sort of bargaining chip. All I know is, the Bandian didn’t kill Sslake. He abducted him and shipped him to SEDE.”

  It took a moment for that information to sink into Kalan’s brain. “Wait, SEDE? Our SEDE?”

  Duol nodded. “The isolation block, from what I hear. It’s a damn shame. He was one of the good ones, and you and I both know what that place can do to good people.”

  “Yeah. It chews on them until they aren’t so good anymore. But wait, how do you know this?”

  The old male smiled wryly. “I made friends with the pilots who run the transport ships.”

  Kalan’s eyes narrowed. That was impossible. One of the things that made SEDE the most secure prison in the galaxy was that it was constantly on the move. It was hard to arrange a breakout if you didn’t know where the damn ship was at any given moment. Even the movement of the transport ships that carried new inmates to and paroled inmates off SEDE was a closely-guarded secret.

  Or so Kalan had thought.

  Duol continued, “A lot of folks don’t have anywhere to go when they get out of SEDE, so the transport pilots came to an arrangement with the Bandian. They bring those people here to Tol, to be used as slaves or as fodder for the lowest-level fights. Not the Damu Michezo, but the underground stuff.”

  “You’re kidding me.” The very thought of it made Kalan simmer with rage. To finally get out of that hellhole, thinking you have a new start—a chance to make things right—only to be sold into a brand-new form of hell.

  “I’m afraid I’m not.”

  Kalan glared at Duol. “Let me guess—you pay those same pilots to smuggle contraband to SEDE?”

  The old male turned his palms upward with an innocent look on his face. “A Skulla has to make a living.”

  Kalan couldn’t blame Duol too much, even though he was working with despicable people. During Kalan’s childhood on SEDE, the contraband had been one of the few things that always brought him a job.

  The screen on the wall chirped, startling Kalan.

  “What’s that chirp mean?” he asked.

  “City-wide aler
t.” Duol marched to the screen and tapped it a few times. “Holy tongue dust, this isn’t good.”

  Kalan’s pulse quickened as he began to suspect the cause of the alert. “What is it?”

  “Seems a big gray alien killed some of Warlord Nibor’s loyal soldiers today. Luckily, a few helpful citizens managed to grab a picture of him through their windows.” He turned toward Kalan and gave him a joyless grin. “Congratulations. You’re now officially the most wanted being on Tol.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Planet Tol: The Slums

  While Kalan was out working to get her the letter of introduction needed for the fights, Valerie and the team decided to check out one of the Skulla bars their companions from the journey here had told them was a must.

  Little did Valerie know that the Skulla idea of a bar was more akin to a fight club. As soon as they walked into the little building they were surrounded by crude carvings on the walls of people fighting in a great arena, and alien scratches along the walls that must’ve been their alphabet. It smelled of sweat and blood, the call of bloodlust loud below it all.

  When Valerie stepped off the last step she noted it was as they had figured—male and female Skulla lounging around the place, drinking and talking, two in a corner rubbing hands in a very awkward and seemingly inappropriate way. But in the middle of it all, where a ring of them had gathered, two fighters were beating the shit out of each other.

  “We shouldn’t stop it, should we?” Flynn asked. “I mean, they’re all here for this, right?”

  “Try and stop it,” the Skulla at the next table said. “That would be the funniest thing I’ve seen all week, and I saw an Orduan try to eat a Woro earlier today.”

  “And that’s funny?” Valerie asked, not sure if she should ignore the guy.

  “Hilarious! You see what we’re up against here. Go for it—intervene.”

  Valerie and the others glanced at the female Skulla serving drinks, then meandered over.

  “How many drinks if the scrawny one wins a fight?” Valerie said, motioning to Robin.

  “Wait a minute!” Robin protested, but the bartender was already smiling.

  “I pick? A round on the house.” The bartender leaned back, poured a shot, and slid it over. It was green with a line of red down the middle, resembling a snake’s eye. “First one on me, to calm the nerves.”

  “No nerves needing calming here,” Robin said, waving her off. “Where do I sign up?”

  There was a loud crash and they all spun to see that the larger of the two fighters had been slammed into a table. His back had shattered it, and he lay groaning on the floor.

  “Winner!” a tall Skulla said, raising the other fighter’s hand in the air. When the bartender went over and whispered something in her ear, the female looked at Robin suspiciously.

  “You sure we should be doing this?” Robin hissed at Valerie. “Seems like playing, when—”

  “Wrong,” Valerie interrupted. “We’re not playing. We’re getting in with the locals, seeing what they’re really like. Seeing if we can earn some trust, maybe make a friend.”

  “By me beating the snot out of some guy?”

  Valerie shrugged. “Maybe? Or maybe it’s better if you don’t whup him too hard. Make it look like beginner’s luck.”

  “Wonderful.”

  The announcer turned to the patrons of the bar and smiled, arms spread. “My fellow miscreants, do we have a treat for you! For the first time in Tol history, we have a special treat. A human fighter!”

  She gestured to Robin and everyone cheered, though half seemed to think it was some sort of joke.

  “And why aren’t you doing it?” Robin asked Valerie as she nodded to the room.

  “Can’t give up the moves yet, and can’t let myself get out of control.”

  Robin sighed and stepped forward, hand raised.

  “And her opponent tonight will be… Volunteers?”

  Several large men stepped forward, but a pair of female twins shoved the others out of the way. They only came up to Robin’s chest, and glared at her like they would eat her for lunch.

  “The champions have been chosen!” the announcer stated, stepping back and raising a fist. “Fight!”

  “She acts like it’s the damned arena in here,” Valerie heard someone behind her whisper to his friend. “Give me a break.”

  Valerie glanced back to see two Skulla at the bar, a male and female of similar look and build. They might have been brother and sister, or—and Valerie hated to admit this to herself—it might’ve been that she still couldn’t tell them apart so well.

  CRACK!

  The sound drew her attention back to the fight, where Robin had apparently served one of the twins with a knee to the face. The former vampire stepped back, releasing the head to allow the unconscious Skulla to collapse to the floor.

  One of them out, just like that. The crowd was stunned. Silence followed, then the other gave a blood-curdling scream and charged Robin. This one was either more skilled or not overconfident, because she was smart enough to stop out of Robin’s range before leaping for her legs.

  Robin kicked the Skulla, catching her in the ribs, but the Skulla still managed to grab her other leg, taking Robin down.

  It was about time, too, because Robin was making this look way too easy.

  Now that they were grappling, the Skulla attempting to rain blows on her opponent. The attacks kept coming, but Robin cast a quick smile Valerie’s way—fast enough that the rest of them likely didn’t notice.

  An elbow connected, and blood splattered from Robin’s lip. She snarled, grabbed the twin by the shirt, and tossed her head-first into the closest wall.

  The Skulla pushed herself up and staggered toward Robin, but the woman apparently couldn’t help herself—she ran forward, swept the Skulla’s legs, and leaped into the air to land a sound kick to her head before the Skulla had even hit the ground.

  It was definitely over.

  No cheering this time, Valerie noted. Some grumbling, some confusion, and many glares.

  “A deal’s a deal,” the bartender said, pouring several more drinks for them. With a wave of her hand to some nearby tough-guy Skulla, she added, “Get those losers out of my bar.”

  The tough guys dragged the twins out while Valerie and her team went for the drinks, not sure what to make of this situation. It certainly hadn’t gone as she’d expected. And then it hit her—of course you don’t show up in some foreign place and kick their asses. This was different from the arena. A glance around showed very proud Skulla, many glancing at her from the corners of their eyes.

  “You didn’t give them a chance,” she hissed at Robin as she walked back over and downed her drink.

  Robin wiped blood from her lip and shrugged. “I know how to win, not lose. You want that, you put Bob in the next fight.”

  “Hey, now,” Bob protested. “You don’t know what I’m capable of. I’ve modified myself in more than one way, if you get my drift. Fighting, fu—”

  “Nobody gives a shit, Bob,” Robin countered, then took Valerie’s drink and downed that too. “That’s for making me hurt people. Or…Skulla.”

  “You don’t think I’ll be doing my fair share of that in the contest?” Valerie asked. “Hell, by that logic I’d be stumbling back to the ship wasted tonight.”

  Strange thuds came from out back, then more, followed by a yelp. A crack followed, and some of the Skulla started trickling out through the rear door.

  “What’s that about?” Valerie wondered aloud.

  “Justice,” the Skulla brother from the bar said. “Or that’s what they call it.”

  “Watch yourself,” the bartender warned the brother.

  He tilted his head back and forth. “They lost, they get punished. I understand it, but that doesn’t mean I like it.”

  Valerie didn’t wait to ask what that meant. She had already been heading for the door.

  “Here we go,” Garcia said behind her. “Look lively.�
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  They all followed, with a groan from Bob.

  As Valerie had expected, the twins had been pinned against a wall as several of the tough guys, and others, too, took turns hitting them with batons—long and metal, with a glowing red line up the side. Each hit made the red glow brighter, as if charging it.

  The bartender joined them now, standing beside Valerie. “Best go back inside, Wandrei.”

  “Wandrei?” Valerie asked, debating her move here. Dammit, this was her fault, but intervening would make enemies fast—which was counterproductive to her mission.

  “‘Outsider,’ is an easier way to say it,” the bartender replied. “Your translator chip pick that one up?”

  Valerie glanced at him and frowned, then moved in to stop the beating. Screw it, she was a Wandrei, right? So what would hold her back from stopping this brutality? This wasn’t justice. It was barbaric.

  The first tough guy turned on her and tried to hit her with the baton. She grabbed it mid-strike, twisted it from his hand, and tossed it over her shoulder to clatter against a couple trash bins.

  “Who do you think you are?” a larger one said, clearly modified for size. He attempted to grab her, while the first one came in with a fist.

  She stepped back and slammed their heads together, then did it again when she saw that it hadn’t had much of an effect. Those two dropped, groaning, and three more took their place.

  By this point Robin and the rest of the Elites were at her side, and there was a clear standoff. Everyone out here—and there were a lot of them now—had seen what Robin could do. Now they had seen Valerie take on two of their thugs. None were eager to make the first move.

  “We may be outsiders,” Valerie announced, “and this might be a cultural thing we’re not supposed to mess with—hitting females in alleys, with metal rods no less. Maybe I’m supposed to walk away, to ignore it? Join in? Well, fuck all of that.”