Unlike the recreational version, no one got out of Retribution alive.
Well, Laksri lived.
He only survived because a rebel faction broke him out before the Retribution could be completed, though. He still lost members of his family who wouldn’t denounce him, two of his closest friends, and his current girlfriend before the rebels got him out.
According to Laksri, he’d been lucky.
It was a good reminder, if nothing else, that the Nirreth weren’t always as civilized as they liked to pretend, no matter how fancy their clothes or how many talk shows they hosted.
Another peppering of gunfire had Jet ducking reflexively in Laksri’s arms, right before someone else grabbed hold of her from the front and shoved her through a narrow doorway. Jet didn’t realize she’d been forced inside a vehicle until it began to move. Even then, the motion was so smooth and soundless that she doubted her senses at first.
Seconds later, the dark blanket was yanked off her head.
Jet found herself sitting on the floor of one of those trolleys that looked like sailboats, that followed tracks all along the streets of the Green Zone.
Well, that explained how quiet it had been.
“Damn it, Laks,” she snapped at once. “Why didn’t you let me go?”
Laksri grinned, lying on the floor next to her. Coiling his tail around her back, he used that and his hand to grip her waist and shoulder.
“What are you smiling about?” she said, still breathing hard, fighting to catch her breath now that the suffocating tarp had been removed. “Seriously. Why give me the gun at all, if you’re just going to go all macho guy on me?”
“Your hair, Jet Tetsuo,” he said, still laughing that Nirreth laugh. “You look funny.”
“I look funny?” Jet said. “That’s all you have to say to me?”
He shrugged, letting out an exhale close to a sigh. His eyes rolled sideways, meeting the backs of the five security guards crouched around them in a ring, blocking them from all of the windows. Tugging the gold embroidered cap off his head, Laksri sighed again. His three-fingered hand took hers, caressing her skin with his jointed thumb.
“We are alive.”
Jet grunted, rolling her eyes. “Fantastic. That’s the baseline now?”
He smiled. “They got enough footage to broadcast the coronation. It is all that matters.”
“And all the people who were there?” Jet said. “...What about them?”
“Most would know to expect this.” He purred softer, still stroking her arm. “There will be a few complaints about the security measures...that is all.”
“I didn’t only mean that,” Jet warned.
“They will be checked out by the security team.”
“I didn’t just mean that, either,” Jet said, feeling her mouth harden. “How many of them were killed Laks? Or is that only a detail, too?”
“No one forced them to attend.”
“So why did they?” Jet retorted. “Nirreth machismo?”
Smiling faintly, as if the idea amused him, Laksri shrugged, pulling at his tunic. Following his eyes, Jet saw that the shoulder of the garment was wet, dark with what had to be his blood. He winced even as she thought it, tugging the fabric from the hole in his midnight-blue skin and prodding it with a long finger. It looked like little more than a graze, but Jet felt her teeth clench as she stared at the wound, remembering how he’d pulled her down while she sat there like a wooden duck at one of those old carnival shooting games.
She knew she was still shaking from adrenaline.
That was a lot of her yelling at him too, she realized.
Sliding closer to him on the floor with her arms, she examined the wound once he finished, confirming it was mainly superficial. Then she looked and felt over the rest of him. He winced, but didn’t pull away as she examined his long form and limbs, only letting out a short gasp when she found the hole left by another bullet on his other arm.
Looking at the blood soaking his dark shirt, Jet felt her lips press together harder.
“Don’t do that next time,” she said.
He gave her an amused look. “Do what?”
“Get your own damned head down first,” she said sharply.
He hissed in mild disapproval, but didn’t bother to argue, other than to brush her fingers off when she tugged at his hurt arm.
Her frown deepened, even as she muttered again, “Nirreth machismo. Unbelievable.”
He chuckled that time, wrapping his tail around her tighter.
“You don’t give me orders,” he reminded her. “Anyway, you might as well get used to this. It will be worse, when I am king.”
“Really?” she said, meeting his dark gaze. “So this is our life now?” She held her expression still, fighting for the same nonchalance as him. “Periodic bullet wounds? Finding it a cause for celebration that the news crews got enough footage before the shooting started?”
He studied her face before answering. He winced at her hand on his wound as he did, even as he fingered the hair out of her face, a near caress.
“This is our life,” he agreed, exhaling in a kind of purr.
THE GIANT WOMAN
Jet stood in the cavernous amphitheater that comprised the main Rings stadium, folding her arms next to Alice Rajpoor, her human trainer.
Jet had been allowed to keep Alice as a trainer despite the older woman’s race, probably because she kept winning. As long as she won, she had a fair bit of say in who comprised her prep crew, whether human or Nirreth.
Laksri continued to hang out at most of her trainings, too, just like he had before, when he was just a bodyguard and not the First Son of the Royals. Given that Jet’s sponsors expected her to be stung regularly as a part of her training, Laksri’s presence wasn’t really an option at this point. Well, not unless he decided to let another Nirreth sting her in his stead, and he’d made it pretty clear he wasn’t in favor of that.
In fact, Laks made it publicly clear he didn’t want other Nirreth stinging her, male or female. The news had been met with a fair bit of grumbling, and not a small number of attempted bribes, both of Laksri and of Jet herself. That was especially true now, with Jet rising in the ranks of the Rings’ pro-level contestants and gaining a lot of overly-enthusiastic fans.
Between that and her role with Laksri himself, they couldn’t let anyone get that close to her anymore, not without a full contingent of bodyguards.
Anyway, Laksri had an excuse now, at least.
Before, he’d mainly cited the Queen’s codes to maintain his rights of exclusivity.
Those still held weight, but hadn’t been enough to keep them from being pressured by other Nirreth. Trazen, in particular, had been persistent about voicing his desire to “borrow” Jet for a period of time, but others made the request, too, including Metzet, the Voice of the Rings himself. A number of her more avid Rings fans did as well, some of whom ended up being Jet’s most generous sponsors. The general belief among male Nirreth seemed to be, even if Jet and Laksri’s sexual relationship remained exclusive, it would be more “polite” if Laksri didn’t monopolize the new darling of the Rings in all respects.
Al-En Mosq, the previous Ringmaster, had even planted the seed that Laksri had something to hide in his refusal to share Jet. Mosq had also been recorded saying, to the media no less, that Jet likely required “more Nirreth companions and guides” to fully appreciate the complexity of Nirreth culture.
Laksri and Richter both seemed to think he’d likely said it under pressure from Trazen.
It still didn’t diminish the impact of his words.
Al-En Mosq also insinuated, more than once, that he, himself, should be the first on that list of candidates, despite the blatant conflict of interest that presented, in terms of his role in the Rings. After all, he might not be Rings Operator any more, but he still could be called in to judge at any point, or act as a “neutral” consultant to the Board in the event of a problem.
Laksri
hated the idea of Jet being stung by other Nirreth almost as much as Jet did, and not only because they couldn’t afford to let Trazen, Al-En Mosq, Metzet or any other Nirreth in the government elite get that close to Jet’s real thoughts and feelings. It would be a death sentence for all of them if Jet’s real motives and thoughts got exposed, especially to someone like Trazen, who wouldn’t hesitate to send them all to Retribution if he discovered the partnership between Laksri and Richter.
Thankfully, all arguments around stinging her were now moot.
Jet had attained the status of royalty...or as close as she could, as a human. That meant, in part, that rich Nirreth couldn’t go around offering money to have sex with her.
Not only that, Laks could now refuse anyone he wanted.
He didn’t even need a reason.
Further, his security trumped even his own preferences; the Royal Guard, meaning the family’s private security force, would never have allowed it, even if Laksri had been okay with loaning Jet out to his new elite “friends.” No one could be allowed that kind of access to the First Son’s mate, whatever their race. They couldn’t allow any Nirreth, no matter how loyal-seeming, access to the Prince’s thoughts, even by proxy, much less the strategic information he held simply due to his position.
Laksri made it pretty clear he wouldn’t tolerate it from Jet, in any case.
Well, not in terms of their own relationship, that is. The part that wasn’t about her playing a role for the human and Nirreth rebellion.
They hadn’t talked about exclusivity in so many words, but he hadn’t exactly hidden his feelings on the subject, either. He still watched her warily whenever Anaze happened to be around, even though nothing had ever happened between Jet and Richter’s son...well, other than that one kiss behind the Trevi fountain the first night Jet spent in the Green Zone. Laksri had even less tolerance for the Nirreth males who tried to touch Jet and sting her following big Rings matches. They greeted her in mobs now outside the changing-room apartments, fighting to get close enough to collect strands of her hair, even keepsakes from her soiled clothes.
Laksri knocked one of those down personally, hissing at him in an undisguised threat when the “fan” tried to position his tail within stinging range of Jet’s leg.
That happened even before Laksri had been named First Son.
Since then, the Royal guard did most of the actual head-knocking following Jet’s matches. Even so, Laksri remained with her, usually with his tail poised in a threatening arc and Jet positioned firmly in front of his larger body.
Although it irritated her at times, Jet didn’t mind Laksri’s possessiveness, per se. Getting stung by some other Nirreth wasn’t high on her list of wants, even by someone as relatively benign as a fan. The idea of getting stung by Al-En Mosq, or worse, Trazen, made her feel sick, and not only because of what might happen to all of them if they were found out.
Besides, as much as she avoided the topic with reporters, along with Richter, Anaze and anyone else who asked, Jet knew Laks was pretty much her boyfriend at this point. That is, assuming the word “boyfriend” could even be used for a human-Nirreth relationship.
The thing with Laksri might have been less weird if it wasn’t also her first relationship with anyone, including any humans. Then again, the skag pits hadn’t exactly been conducive to that kind of thing, so really, it wasn’t that weird at all.
The fact that her first sexual relationship happened to be with a middle-aged lizard skin wasn’t something Jet let herself think about very often, though.
Keeping her expression casual, she glanced over the row of benches on the other side of the transparent wall marking the edge of the arena. Her eyes found Laksri almost at once, and remained on him when she saw the brooding expression on his dark face. Noticing her stare, he motioned subtly with his head towards the other side of the arena.
Only then did Jet notice that Anaze sat beside him, an occurrence unusual enough to heighten her attention on its own.
Anaze was staring in the same direction that Laksri had just motioned.
Hesitating only a breath, Jet followed both sets of eyes.
Al-En Mosq stood there, his round form hunched against the wall. Encased in form-fitting black pants and a tunic of dark brown embroidered with black and yellow threads, he didn’t return Jet’s stare, but instead watched another human, his dark eyes glittering with an emotion that might have been greed, perhaps even lust.
The way he stood there, his overweight body hunched over itself, peering out of the darkness with his fleshy face, reminded Jet of a mole, or maybe a sewer rat. Even though she knew it had to be thirty years ago now, and that most of his muscle would have turned to fat, Jet still couldn’t imagine him running in the Rings, much less being an undefeated champion.
Her eyes shifted to the object of the ex-Ringmaster’s stare a beat later, and immediately, she understood Laksri’s frown.
The largest human woman Jet had ever seen in her life stood there.
Her face sat on almost no neck, blocky and white above a sense-suit collar. She wore the same type of form-fitting black outfit Jet wore, but unlike Jet, her muscles seemed to strain every seam of the dense fabric, despite the fact that it had obviously been made specifically for her. One of the woman’s arms probably matched the width of one of Jet’s legs. Her actual legs each looked to be thicker than the width of Jet’s hips. Even beyond her wrestler-sized body, the woman stood taller than Anaze, who had to be over 1.86 meters on his own.
The woman was a monster.
Jet had heard rumors about other female human candidates, of course. She’d even heard rumors about “super-sized” humans who’d been created in the Nirreth genetic labs. Still, until today, she hadn’t actually seen one with her own eyes.
How had Al-En Mosq gotten permission to buy and train his own candidate, without anyone calling foul on him from the Rings Board or the judges circle?
Jet watched the woman do curl-ups on the high bar of one of the arena’s gymnasium-like apparatuses, wondering if she was even a full-blooded human. She looked like some kind of half-Nirreth hybrid, or maybe a radiation-dosed mutant. She certainly looked nothing like the underfed, wiry girls Jet remembered from the skag pits. Even the toughest and largest of those only weighed about a third of this woman.
Supposedly, the Boards banned genetically-manipulated creatures of any race from the Rings. Even so, Jet found herself frowning, watching the woman’s muscles strain as she did another curl-up, touching her chin to the metal bar with casual precision. She did another while Jet watched, and another, and another...seemingly without pause, or undue exertion.
She moved smoothly, easily, uniformly. Like a machine.
Her face had all the expressiveness of one, too.
The woman must have close to half a meter in height on Jet alone, and maybe forty to fifty kilos in weight. She made her previous rival, Tyra, look positively harmless.
Watching this new woman continue to do pull-ups like an automaton, Jet felt tension spreading over all of her muscles.
She jerked her eyes off the woman when she caught Al-En Mosq smiling visibly in her direction. Even so, she caught the sensual movements of his tail as he watched her stare, well enough to know he was getting off on her nervousness. He’d seen her looking at his candidate, and clearly, he liked watching her sweat.
Jet turned back in Laksri’s direction.
Seeing his eyes on her, she smiled, giving him a grim nod.
Laksri smiled faintly in return, but that other look didn’t leave his eyes. From the sting he’d delivered about an hour earlier, Jet found herself thinking Laks had also noticed Al-En Mosq’s reaction to her stare.
“Are you quite finished flirting with your lizard, Jet?” a clipped voice asked from her left. The woman’s cadence was heavily accented, but Jet didn’t miss the genuine annoyance underneath. “...Should I give you a moment alone with him? Or can you both wait until we finish? It is only your life, after all. What i
s it to me?”
Jet met the gaze of her human trainer, Alice Rajpoor.
Seeing the woman’s exasperated look, she grinned a little, in spite of herself.
Despite the real irritation in the woman’s voice, she saw the warning in her eyes, too, and found herself thinking it wasn’t all about Laksri. So Al-En Mosq wasn’t the only one who’d seen where Jet’s eyes rested in those few seconds.
“Who’s that?” Jet said. “Do you know anything about her?”
Alice frowned, her hands on her hips.
Despite her small size, Jet always got the feeling Alice had been some kind of professional fighter, too. A real one maybe, not one who only fought to entertain. Alice got fighting in a way that most people didn’t, not unless they were used to playing for keeps. She reminded Jet of Mishio, back at the skag pits.
“How would I know who that is, mammal?” Alice said. “I am your crystal ball, now? Your all-seeing gypsy? Is it because of my coloring, you think this? I am your exotic?”
Jet sighed, her hands on her hips. “Do you know, or not?” When Alice’s frown deepend, Jet exhaled louder. “How about just telling me something, for a change? Richter can’t possibly have you on that tight of a leash...”
Alice’s eyes swiveled to Jet’s, widening.
For an instant, Jet saw real anger in them. Then the look faded, leaving an dismissive look that bordered on contempt.
“What makes you think I would do anything that buffoon told me to do?” Alice said.
“Don’t we all?” Jet said, smiling humorlessly. “...Dance Richter’s little dances. Clap our little cymbols when he demands it?”
“Speak for yourself, mammal.” Alice sniffed. “I am not on anyone’s leash. That is only for lizard whores, like you.”
Jet might have been offended by that, a few months ago.
She’d started to figure Alice out a little, though, including her diversionary tactics.
From the beginning, Alice had been unnervingly good at getting Jet’s mind off a particular line of questioning she didn’t want Jet following. Usually Alice did that for her own reasons, including jabbing at Jet when she was getting too personal, or too distracted away from her work in the Rings. Jet knew Alice took her job seriously as Jet’s Rings trainer, whatever her pretend indifference. Jet suspected Alice cared a lot about whether Jet won, above and beyond Jet herself. It could have been professional pride or it could have been something else entirely, but Jet didn’t think she imagined it.
Alien Apocalypse: The Complete Series (Parts I-IV) Page 44
