I stood in the bridge of the Golden Hound, along with the rest of the crew, looking out the viewscreen at the largest ship I had ever seen in my life. To call it enormous would not do it justice. This ship was titanic, gargantuan. It was what looked like every single ounce of metal in several systems bundled together in one mass. Easily nine miles long and a mile high, it could have comfortably held the populations of several outer rim planets.
And it was only one of eight. It was the largest of them, but the rest were not much smaller, the smallest being seven miles in length. Surrounding the eight supercarriers were a vast multitude of smaller ships, the largest of those no more than a mile in length. Those were the carriers and the battleships and numerous other, smaller, personal crafts.
When all of it was considered, the amount of beings in those hundreds of ships was equal to one of the outer garden worlds, numbering in the hundreds of millions. The beings here outnumbered the Rebellion two to one. This was the Free Fleet of N’Rachel Lruch.
But for all of the ships, all of the beings, this Fleet was only a fraction of the numbers the Swrun had at their command. Realizing that, I fully understood, for the first time, what we were up against. The Swrun military numbered in the billions, and we had less than a fraction of their numbers, many of whom were non-combatants.
“Is that a Chimera-class supercarrier?” asked Clint, the awe evident in his voice. “I didn’t know those still existed. I thought the Swrun tore them all apart for scrap after the Conquest of Enaglan.”
“As far as we know,” said Lady Night, “this is the only Chimera still operational.”
I saw Clint’s eyes widen. “It has to be a hundred years old! How would they even get their hands on one?”
“I don’t know,” said Lady Night. “Perhaps you can ask them after we get them to sign the treaty.”
She had returned to her hard manner soon after breakfast. The closer we got to the Free Fleets, the more she grew colder and harsher, until it was as if she had not changed from when we had first met her in Skuar’s office. Clint had melted her icy exterior, but it had refrozen, hard as ever. She had emerged from her quarters dressed in the scarlet and purple uniform of a Diplomat, the edges chased with gold to provide a slight flair to the uniform. It worked. Her long black hair was pulled back sharply in a single braid at the back of her head.
“Keres, hail the High Realm and tell them Lady Night has returned for negotiation.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the Skilon said, turning to the communications array. She turned to us. “Go make yourselves presentable. Weapons are allowed.”
We looked at her. “What are you waiting for?” she said. “Go!”
We did as she said. I walked out of the bridge, waiting for Clint to pass through the door before me. As soon as we got out of ear shot, I asked him, “Was she that commanding last night?”
He gave a little half-smile, looking into the distance. “A gentleman does not kiss and tell,” he said. And that was the end of that. When Clint did not want to talk about something, nothing could get him to say one more word than he wanted to.
Once in our room, we heaved our bags onto our respective beds and rummaged through for our clothes. Each of us had several pairs of clothes we only wore when we were expecting them to be stained with blood. Clint had his brown pants, leather boots, red shirt, long overcoat, and his brown hat. He loved that thing. I had a pair of deep blue, almost black, pants, cut loose to allow for my fur, and a plain dark green shirt. I did not wear boots, unless we wore our suits, which we were going to.
We wore the tight suits under our clothing, to conceal our advantage. After the clothing, I placed my gun belt around my waist. Two inches wide, made of dark brown leather, it held a holster on both hip and had several slots for knives, which I filled. It was a well crafted piece, bought in one of the more prestigious gun shops of the independent systems. While we dressed, I attempted at conversation.
“Lady Night has changed since we met her,” I said to Clint. “I remember when she was making doe eyes at you at her father’s feast.”
“And he kicked us out because I kissed her hand. Yeah, that was an eventful day. I guess she’s just grown up. Her father is a leader of the Rebellion and her homeworld is occupied by the Swrun.”
“When did that happen?” I asked. I hadn’t heard anything about Pthunas Major being invaded.
“Oh, a few weeks after we were there. Some Swrun sympathists staged a coup, and took out the central government. They surrendered to the Swrun as soon as a puppet government was installed. Her name isn’t Lady Night, that’s just her title. Her name is Jaien,” Clint looked at me and raised a finger under my nose.
“Don’t ever call her that, though. She will kill you. Stick with Lady Night, or ma’am and you’ll survive. Maybe.” He smiled wistfully. “She’s got quite the temper if you rile her up.”
I could not believe my ears or eyes. They were telling me that Clint Stone had feelings for this woman, that he was in love. How did-
The ship jumped and I threw my arms out for balance. Clint sighed. “We’re here. Could have done a better job on the landing.”
We gathered in the common room. Jaien, sorry, Lady Night, stood surrounded by an air of command, her icy exterior clasped tight. Clint and I strode in, dressed in full battle attire. Lady Night turned to us. “Do not say anything, do not do anything unless I tell you. This treaty has been months in the making and I will not see you mess it up.”
The door slid open and I looked into the hangar of the High Realm. Like the rest of the ship, it was huge. There was enough room to fit hundreds of personal crafts, which it had. From wall to wall were ships of all styles and makes, crammed together as tightly as possible. And from what I knew of Chimera ships, this was only one of six hangars throughout the ship.
Standing just outside of the door was a collection of armed fighters. I would not call them soldiers, as they lacked the discipline and rigidity of soldiers, but they looked formidable none the less. A Cthyn stepped forward, looking decidedly less formidable. He was short and thin, dressed in a light tan robe, a necklace with a gold and red pendant hanging around his neck.
He inclined his head in a slight bow as we left the Golden Hound and stepped onto the hard metal floor of the hangar. I could feel the rumble of the engines through the floor, a slight vibration that seemed to permeate the air. “Welcome back, Lady Night. N’Rachel Lruch is waiting for you.”
He glanced up at Clint and I, towering over everyone else in the room. “New bodyguards, my Lady? These are much more fearsome than the last two.”
“Why do you think I brought them?” She was much friendlier with this Cthyn than with us. Her voice was not harsh or cold, but warm. I wondered suddenly if she changed her manner on purpose. I had had the opportunity to meet several Diplomats before, and they had all been masters of emotion and body language. That was one of the most important aspects of negotiation, or so they told me.
“The Warlord is waiting for you,” said the Cthyn. “Come, I will take you to him.”
Lady Night followed him and we followed close behind. I had never been a bodyguard before, but I knew the basics. Watch for weapons, avoid getting in the way of your charge, and, above all, look intimidating. That stopped most threats before they could be a problem. And we were not here to truly be bodyguards, we were here to impress N’Rachel Lruch with our size and reputation. We marched down the hangar, through a set of wide, plain metal doors, and down a large hallway. It fed into an even larger hallway, which cut through the center of the ship. This was the main highway, the central avenue for travel.
In the middle of the highway was a series of rails, on which raced several transports, metal tubes with enough room for hundreds of people. This was how people travelled quickly back and forth across the ship, otherwise it would have taken hours. The Cthyn lead us to the edge of a platform and one of the tubes stopped before us. It was occupied by a couple dozen beings, all of whom were herded off by the fighters, without a word.
The tube shot forward down the highway, travelling fast. There was no conversation, other than Lady Night and the Cthyn discussing trivial matters. It sounded like two friends catching up. Clint and I stood, backs straight and arms folded, before Lady Night. I watched the left and Clint watched the right. The fighters watched us. I could see that they had been in their fair share of combat and they looked like they knew how to use the guns they were carrying.
The Tube jerked to a halt, sending us stumbling for our balance. All but Lady Night. She had the foresight to grip the side of the Tube and so was unaffected by the change in speed. The doors slid open and we disembarked. Lady Night stepped to the fore and Clint and I took our positions behind her.
We stood before large metal stairs, leading up to metal doors, made of what looked like bronze, covered in carvings of scenes of violence. We climbed the stairs and stood before the doors. Before we could walk in, the Cthyn turned around. “Your weapons, please,” he said, hand outstretched, palm upwards.
“What is the meaning of this?” said Lady Night. “You have never disarmed my guards before.”
The Cthyn smiled apologetically. “That was before last week. There was an incident and now the Warlord does not allow strangers to carry weapons in his presence.”
She sighed, sounding like she wanted to argue, but there was nothing she could have done. She nodded at us. “Hand over your weapons.”
I looked at her and she looked back. I unclipped my gun belt and placed it in the Cthyn’s hand. Clint did the same. The Cthyn looked pointedly at Clint’s metal arm. Clint stared at the Cthyn, his face flat and emotionless. The Cthyn swallowed and looked away. “Search them,” he ordered a fighter behind me.
I thought about refusing, but that would not have been helpful for Lady Night. I held out my arms and the fighter frisked me, finding nothing. He missed the knives up my sleeves. Clint was searched as well, and the fighter found several of his hidden knives. Not all. It was laughable to think that they thought us harmless after they had disarmed us. I could have taken them all, weapons or no weapons. And Clint could likely account for the ship.
When we had been searched, the Cthyn opened the doors. We were marched into the throne room. That was the only way to describe it. Broad and deep, the room was lit by torches, of all things. Large pillars stood in two rows on either side of the center, forming a path to the dais at the back of the room. On that dais was an imposing block of bronze, shaped in the form of a chair. As we drew closer, I could see that there were carvings in the chair that matched those on the door.
Seated in the bronze throne was a hulking Irgh. Seven feet tall, muscle bound beings with razor teeth and claws, Irgh were the sole subjects of the Swrun Empire. The Irgh know nothing but violence and death, taught to them at a young age. Every adult Irgh is conscripted into the Swrun army as a shock trooper, used for those situations where the Swrun do not care about collateral damage. That there was an Irgh here was a very bad sign. But I had seen a Swrun in the Rebellion and I supposed that an Irgh could be free of the Empire as well.
The bronze doors slammed shut behind us, with a dull boom I could feel in my chest. I looked around and I saw thousands of beings seated in risers around the throne room. They looked down at us with a hunger I did not like. I turned to Lady Night, about to ask what we should do. But her gaze was focused on the Irgh on the throne.
“Where is Warlord N’Rachel?” she asked, her voice the same icy tone as when she spoke with us. The Irgh laughed, a rasping, grating sound that sounded very much like cracking bone. He stood and his booming voice filled the throne room.
“I am Warlord now. N’Rachel has betrayed that which we Fleeters hold dear and so he has been condemned to the Pit.” He gave a wide, toothy grin. He was very well articulated for an Irgh. Most of them can’t string more than a couple words together in a sentence. That is not to say Irgh are stupid. They were fiends on the battlefield, understanding more about fighting than most beings. But when it came to the gentler side of intelligence they tended to be lacking.
“Why?” asked Lady Night. “What did he do?”
“He sought to join us to a group of planet dwellers, who wished to only use us as ships. You and your Rebellion.” The Irgh stood high on the dais and looked out over the crowd gathered in the stands. “We are the Free Fleet! We bow to no government or ruler.”
The crowd cheered loudly and the Irgh raised his arms to quiet them. He cast his gaze down toward Lady Night and Clint and I. “We will not help you or any other government. And they need to be reminded of that. Bring in the pilot.”
The crowd murmured loudly and a few cheers broke out. Clint and I looked at each other and moved closer to Lady Night. I watched the fighters surrounding us. They had wide grins on their faces and their hands caressed their guns, as if they expected to use them soon. This was bad. We were in the center of the room, with no cover and surrounded by over a hundred fighters. If it had just been Clint and I, we could have dealt with them.
But it wasn’t just Clint and I. We had Lady Night to worry about. She would be no help in a fight and we would have to cover her from the plasma fire. From a hundred guns, the fire would overload our suits and we would fry. The crowd roared. I looked around, seeking the object of their attention. I saw Keres being led through a small door. He was pushed up the dais and forced to his knees before the Irgh. He had clearly been struck on the head, as he was swaying back and forth, forcing his captors to hold him up.
The Irgh stood over Keres, nearly twice his height. He looked down at us. “Your Rebellion needs a message sent to them. We will not be bought as mercenaries or join any cause other than our freedom. His head will do nicely.”
Lady Night stepped forward, her face panicked. “You can’t do that,” she cried out.
“Can’t?” asked the Irgh, his deep voice soft. “There is nothing you can do about it. Nothing your Rebellion can do about it. You have no ships, remember? That’s why you wanted to enslave us.”
“We were not going to enslave you. We wanted to work with you, to make an alliance,” she said. She glanced at Keres, rocking on his knees. “We made a mistake. We insulted your honor and I apologize. Let us leave and we will forget this happened.”
The Irgh seemed to think it over. His face contracted thoughtfully for a moment, then twisted in fresh rage. “But then how will we send a message? You could tell them, but I find a head is a much more powerful message.”
With that, he dragged his large claws across Keres’ neck. He stepped backwards to avoid the spray of blood that covered the floor in front of Keres. The fighters holding Keres’ body let it drop limply to the floor.
“No!” screamed Lady Night, in an anguish much more powerful than that of a Diplomat for her pilot. The Irgh smiled again, his eyes lighting up. His claws were red as he lifted them high in the air.
“You three are going to be tonight’s entertainment. Clear the floor,” he ordered the fighters behind us. The fighters backed off, guns trained on us to prevent us from following. The crowd started to chant.
“The Pit. The Pit. The Pit.”
Clint and I stood as close to Lady Night as we could. She was oblivious to everything other than Keres’ body, lying in a slowly expanding pool of blood. It reached the edge of the dais and dripped off, forming a little stream of red down the steps. I watched every direction that I could, ready to defend against the first strike, no matter where it came from.
But no one came. I glanced around. The fighters had backed away in a large circle, leaving us in the center. Where was the threat? I could not see one.
The floor dropped out from underneath us and we fell into darkness. My head struck something solid and my thoughts ceased.
Jaien lay on the ground. No, it’s too hard to be earth. Rock? Her hand touched the hard surface. Metal. It came flooding back in a rush. The floor had opened up and dropped her in here. She had hit the floor hard and lost consciousness. She sat up with a groan, opening her eyes. Then blinked, turning her head.
She couldn’t see anything. Am I blind? she thought with horror. No, she could see a speck of light high above her. No doubt the floor she had fallen through. No sooner had she seen it than it disappeared. She tried to stand, but the sudden movement made her head spin. There was a noise to her left, a boot scraping across the floor.
“Hello? Clint? Tedix? Ker-” She stopped, realizing he was dead. Damn it, how did this happen? It had been a routine treaty signing, nothing difficult. She had done the hard stuff weeks ago. All that had been left was to make it official. But it had gone terribly wrong.
N’Rachel had been overthrown, the treaty was now smoke, and Keres was dead. He had been like a father to her. Ever since Cerberus had cut ties with her, Keres had been the one she went to for advice or for help. Now he was dead. What am I going to tell Heru? she thought. Keres’ son was just a boy. He had already lost his mother. He was an orphan now.
It was almost enough to overwhelm her. But she refused to let it. She cut off her emotions and put her face in Hardface. The Diplomats who had trained her called her Hardface the best they had ever seen. Jaien would have been proud, but Hardface did not allow for emotion. When negotiating with those who valued strength or with those who could not be allowed to see your weaknesses, Hardface was the best Manner to assume.
Jaien found it a good state of mind to be in when she needed to think logically and clearly. When she had seen Clint Stone standing there in the General’s office, she had been so surprised to see him, she had assumed Hardface by instinct. She hadn’t seen the human since her father’s Celebration Feast. She had been a naïve girl back then, easily impressed and very curious. The human had just been so different from the rest she could not keep herself away.
And then on the Hound. His words had been so-. Enough, she thought. Focus on the problem at hand. She was in the dark and she had no way of knowing where she was. Well, she did know she was under the throne room and that Clint and Tedix had fallen in with her. Very likely the boot had belonged to one of them. But they had not answered.
She quieted her breathing, listening carefully. Breathing came from the direction of the boot scrap, ragged and harsh. It was not Clint or Tedix. She did not move and tried to breathe as quietly as possible. The breathing moved below her feet and passed by, accompanied by more boot scuffing. Whoever the boot belonged to had a slight limp, causing them to drag their foot with every step.
The sounds faded into the distance. She waited several minutes after she heard the noise fade away, then pushed herself up again. This time she was not overcome with dizziness and could stand. She did so, feeling the muscles in her back tense from movement after falling a couple dozen feet, but she ignored them. Hardface was good for ignoring a lot of things. Now I just need to find my way out of here.
Jaien put her hand out in front of her and walked slowly forward, moving carefully to avoid running into anything too fast. Her hand touched metal. She ran her hand along it. Smooth, like the walls of the rest of the ship. She placed her hand along it and walked. There was no way she was going to get out of here if she just stayed put.
I awoke, my head pounding. I opened my eyes and saw a tiny sliver of light far above me. It winked out, leaving me in total darkness. I sat up, my head spinning. I waited for it to pass, then stood up. I managed to stay on my feet as a fresh wave of dizziness hit me. I put out my arm to steady myself and found it against a wall. I leaned against it and felt my head.
I did not feel any blood, but there was a large lump above my right ear. I inhaled and my nose was assaulted with a particularly nasty scent. I coughed and called out.
“Clint, you down here?”
“Yeah,” came the reply. “Give me a second, I’ll get us some light.”
Light? Where was he going to get light? A narrow blue beam blazed into existence. The plasma blade on his hand glowed, illuminating the room we found ourselves in. Narrow and short, there wasn’t much in it. Other than several skeletons and one partially decayed body in the corner. That explained the smell.
“What the hell happened down here?” I asked.
Clint walked closer and I could see him in the light of his glowing hand. “Well, that Irgh called this place the Pit. I’m guessing some kind of gladiator-murder-maze-type thing.”
“So you have no idea.”
“Pretty much, yeah.”
He looked around, lifting his hand to better light the room. “Where is Jaien?”
I looked around. “I don’t know.”
Clint didn’t say a word, just ran out of the room into a corridor outside. I followed. We ran down the hallway shouting Jaien’s name. Well, Clint did. I shouted Lady Night. The hallway looked like it hadn’t seen light for a long time. Mold and rust coated the walls and bodies littered the floor in various stages of decay. The smell was awful.
We rounded a corner and Clint almost ran over a being who was crawling on the ground. It looked up at the light and fell backwards, hissing and covering its eyes in pain. It was clearly not Lady Night and so we ignored it and ran passed. There were more important things to be looking for. Our voices echoed down the hallway as we shouted for Lady Night.
Over the sound of our shouting, I could hear a faint noise. I told Clint. We slowed and stopped yelling. The noise grew louder. It had a rhythmic sound to it, thump, thump, thump. I strained to figure out what exactly would make that noise. It sounded like … boots.
As I made the connection, light spilled out of one of the doorways in the hall and a squad of fighters gathered before us. They gave a roar and attacked us. There were only five of them. I slip one of my knives out of my sleeve and threw it, burying it hilt deep in one fighter’s neck. Then they were on us. Clint took out two of them with a single swipe of his plasma knife and, after a few seconds of maneuvering, I managed to knock the fourth on his back and crushed his windpipe with a stomp.
The last fighter turned and ran. He didn’t get very far. I pulled my knife smoothly from the throat of the first fighter and sent it sailing into the fleeing fighter’s back. He collapsed, arms reaching behind him at the sharp pain. He didn’t struggle long.
“Are they gone?” I spun at the voice that came from behind us. I saw a thin, ragged j’Kuine walking toward us, dragging his leg slightly. He peered around us as he got closer. His eyes widened as he saw the bodies stretched out on the floor. He looked at us, his eyes reflecting the light of Clint’s plasma and the fallen lights of the fighters.
“That’s far enough,” said Clint. “Who are you and what is this place?”
The j’Kuine stopped, his breathing sounding harsh and forced even from here. “My name is N’Rachel. Until recently, I was the Warlord of this Fleet. Now, I am a resident of the Pit.”
He leaned forward on his knees and coughed. I backed up slightly. I did not fear the danger of a fight, but sickness was another thing. The thought that something invisible could bring me down without giving me a chance to defend myself was horrifying. N’Rachel noticed and raised his hand.
“Do not worry, it is not contagious. Merely a combination of bad luck and poor genes. Despite what it may sound like, the Free Fleet is not a paradise. We have little in the way of medical care here. And when you have a blood disease… It’s not pretty, let’s leave it at that.”
“You’re N’Rachel?” Clint asked. “We came here looking for you and that Irgh threw us down the Pit after killing a friend of ours.”
“That sounds like Grach. He was once a trusted lieutenant, but when I got sick, he saw his chance and challenged me for leadership. I couldn’t have beaten him healthy, but Grach always liked to be sure he would win.”
“That’s great,” said Clint, “but we’re looking for someone else who fell in with us. A Pthuni female. Perhaps you’ve seen her.”
N’Rachel shook his head. “You don’t see much down here in the Pit. Always dark unless the fighters are down here.”
“Do you know where she could be then?” Clint asked, impatience clear in his voice.
“I did pass someone back in the antechamber, but that could have been -”
“Where?” asked Clint. “Where is it?”
“That way,” said N’Rachel, pointing a thumb over his shoulder. Clint took off in a dead sprint down the hallway, leaving me and N’Rachel standing by ourselves in the light of the fallen fighters’ lanterns. I picked one up and sighed. “You might as well follow me. If Clint does find Lady Night, she’ll want to talk to you.”
“Lady Night! Why didn’t you say so? Grach threw her down in here as well? That bastard,” said N’Rachel. He limped quickly down the hall, following the direction Clint had gone. I followed.
Jaien stumbled blindly through the dark. She had lost contact with the wall and now she walked around trying to find it again. Her foot struck something and she fell. She threw out her arms to catch herself and landed on her palms, preventing her face from hitting the metal. She pushed herself to her knees and felt back for what she had tripped on.
Her hand touched something cold and hard. She patted it, trying to figure out what it was. When her fingers touched the eye sockets, Jaien knew she had tripped over a skull. She recoiled, scrambling backwards. She collided with a hard surface and she knew she had found the wall. She stood up, using the wall as a support.
She had lost her way when she lost contact with the wall. Not that I knew where I was going in the first place. So she just put one foot in front of the other and walked down the wall. She went slowly, dragging her feet, not wishing to trip over anymore bones. Her eyes strained uselessly to see anything in the darkness, but it was absolute, hiding everything. There was a flicker of light.
She focused on it, slowly making her way toward it. She didn’t know what it might mean, but it was better than the darkness. She heard talking. The accent sounded Ghurkish. Then another voice spoke, this time sounding Beiwish. The light burst from around a corner Jaien hadn’t known was there and she was blinded. She threw up her hand, blocking the light. Squinting, she could see two figures standing in front of her.
“What do we have here, Jueb?” asked the one with the Ghurkish accent.
“Looks like that Diplomat bitch,” said the other. Jaien’s eyes had adjusted enough that she could lower her hand. The two beings were fighters with large knives clutched in their hands and more on their belts. They looked at her with evil expressions etched in their faces.
“We’ll have some fun with you,” the Beiwa growled. His eyes lit up with lust. What can I do? They’ve got weapons and I don’t. Then she had to get one. She assumed Allureface, a Manner designed to overwhelm her opposite with lust and cloud their judgment. Usually she could only use it on males, but several females had been know to fall for it.
It was no trouble at all to bewitch these two. It was a dangerous game to play, though, when they were intent on hurting her, but she only needed to distract them for a moment. “Oh, please do,” she said in a sultry, breathy tone. “I have never been with someone as strong as you before.”
That was a lie. Clint Stone had been the strongest being she had ever known, and he was much stronger than these two. But they didn’t know that, and her words and Manner work very well on them. She slinked closer to the Beiwa, reaching her arms up and running them across his chest.
“Ooo, so big. Is the rest this big?” she asked as she slid her hand down his stomach. His eyes filled with pleasure. Then they flared with pain as Jaien squeezed. He hunched over and received a knife to the stomach. While he had been distracted, Jaien had pulled a knife from his belt and plunged it in his gut, once, twice, three times. He fell backwards, hands clasping his stomach.
They were soon wet with blood. But she did not concern herself with him. Even if he didn’t die, he was out of the equation. Now she just had to worry about the Ghurk. That might be a problem. She had no combat experience and the Ghurk looked like he had plenty. But there was nothing for it.
She held the knife high in a ready position. I hope it’s a ready position. She had seen several of her bodyguards practicing with them and she tried to imitate the stance. Wide feet, bent knees, square shoulders, and arms tight to the body.
“Nice attempt at a stance, but it could use some work. I can teach you, if you want.”
The voice came from behind the Ghurk, deep and smooth, like honey over rocks. She knew that voice.
Clint Stone stepped into the light of the fighter’s lantern, a wide grin on his face. “Miss me?” he asked, looking at Jaien. She looked at him blankly, then at the Ghurk, who was still registering the giant who had appeared behind him. His brain seemed to finally accept it and he lunged at Clint. Clint sidestepped and brought his arm down on the Ghurk’s head in one smooth motion. Jaien could hear the crack of bone.
“Are you alright?” he asked, walking toward her. “They didn’t hurt you, did they?”
She shook her head but he still looked her over, patting her front for wounds. That better be what he’s doing. “I’m fine,” she said. She raised her chin at the dead Ghurk. “I could have taken care of him.”
“Of course you could have,” said Clint. He enfolded her in his big arms, giving her a strong hug. “I was worried.”
She hugged him back. She heard footsteps behind Clint and she pushed him away, looking around him at the intruders. It was not more fighters, as she feared, but Tedix and a frail being who looked like -.
“N’Rachel! You’re alive!” she exclaimed. “I thought Grach killed you.”
“No, my Lady, merely threw me in the Pit. It would have been a death sentence, but it did not occur to him that, after twenty years as Warlord of this Fleet, I knew the inside of this ship like the back of my hand.”
Clint looked up. “Do you think you could get us out of the Pit?”
“I do know the way out, but it’s blocked by several inches of steel. We can’t get through-”
He cut off as Clint raised his hand and a blue blade extended from the tip of his finger. “I don’t think that will be a problem. Can you get us to the hangar after I get us out?”
“No. The only way out of here leads directly into the throne room. There is no way we can sneak out of there without getting caught.”
Clint sighed. “Then there is no way out without a fight. I had hoped to avoid more violence than necessary.”
Jaien spoke up. “There is a way. It’s risky, but if it works, only one more has to die.”
“I’m listening,” said Clint.
Grach sat on his bronze war throne. He had it made after he threw N’Rachel in the Pit. The old bastard had deserved it. Death was too good for him. He had tried to sell the freedom of the Fleet to planet dwellers and that could not be tolerated. He sat on his throne, lounged, really, and a young, pretty Fnera was cleaning the dried blood from his claws.
It was good to be Warlord. Everyone did as he said and he did not want for anything. But he was not content. When N’Rachel had been Warlord, everyone did what he said without question. Grach had to threaten and order for anything to be done. He would have to work on that. But how?
He could always make a few examples. Heads made good examples. That skilon pilot’s head was on its way to the Rebellion as he sat here and they would soon learn no one made a slave out of the Free Fleet.
The crowd murmured as the screen showed the two bodyguards, the tall pink being and the freakish jahen, demolish the hunting squad. Grach watched with disinterested eyes. He had seen it all before. He had yet to see a -. Oh, now that was interesting. The bitch Night had managed to kill Jueb with a knife to the stomach.
Grach hadn’t thought she had it in her, but there it was, on the screen hanging high from the ceiling for all to see. But she still had to deal with Kadwa. No, there was that human. He said something, Grach did not know what, as the screen did not have sound, then smashed the back of Kadwa’s head in when Kadwa tried to attack. A formidable fighter, that human. And he was augmented by that metal hand of his.
He leaned to the side and spoke to his aide, one of several standing by to get him anything he desired. “Send in the next squad.”
“Yes sir,” the aide said and rushed off. Grach turned back to the screen. What he saw made him sit up straight, knocking the girl cleaning his claws to the side. The last shot the camera’s had of the residents of the Pit was a large hole carved into the door leading up …
“Grach!”
He turned at the sound of his name and saw the human, the jahen, Lady Bitch, and N’Rachel standing to the left of his throne, by the entrance to the Pit. The fighters in the room raced to surround them, guns leveled at their heads. The human had been the one to speak. He stood at the forefront of the group, head held high and defiance in his eyes. Grach hated defiance.
He stood. “I see you escaped the Pit. No matter. You will die the same. Fill them with fire,” he ordered the fighters surrounding the group. They shifted their aim and readied their weapons.
“Wait!” It was the human again. The fighters did not fire. Grach became angry. They had not followed his orders, the Warlord of the Free Fleet. “I have something to say.”
Grach growled deep in his throat, the noise rumbling across the dais. “Words will not save you now, human. I have made up my mind to kill you and you shall be killed. Shoot him!” he ordered again.
“I challenge you for leadership of the Fleet!” shouted the human. “You cannot deny a challenge.”
“I can if I wish,” roared Grach. “I am Warlord of-”
The crowd drowned him out, shouting “Chall-enge. Chall-enge. Chall-enge.”
They would pay, those traitorous beings. He could not deny the challenge now. If he did, he would look weak. After he crushed this human, he would see each and every audience member beheaded. It would send a message. Heads were always a good message. They got the point across.
But he saw a way out. It was not that he did not wish to fight, it was that fighting was beneath him. Why fight yourself when you could have others do it for you? And that left you with the fun of the prisoners. “You are not one of the Free Fleet,” Grach roared. “You have no right to challenge me.”
“You call this a Free Fleet?” replied the human. “They live in fear of you. You rule through fear and threats. These people are not free, they are enslaved by you. And I am freer than anyone in this place. I have no family, no nation, no people who can claim my allegiance. The human race is dead and I am the last. I am free of everything. I have no responsibility to anyone and so I call myself Free. By that right, I challenge you.”
A loud cheer erupted from the crowd. Grach was going to kill each and every one of them personally with claws through the gut. That was the most painful way to go. He had to fight the human now or his leadership would be revealed as the lie it was. Grach did not care for their freedoms, just his own to do as he pleased. But they had to think they had freedom. That was the tricky part.
“I accept the challenge, human. I will take great pleasure in removing your spine from the rest of your body.” He leaned to the side and spoke to another of his aides. “Get me my Flow.”
He straightened to his full seven and a half feet and stomped down the dais, the steps shuddering under the force. “Clear the floor!” he shouted. The floor was cleared very quickly. A circle formed in the middle of the crowd, fifty paces wide across the center of the room. Grach stepped into one side of the circle and removed his shirt and kicked off his boots, leaving him standing in his pants. His muscled form rose feet above the rest of the room, gray and hairless.
He knew he was an impressive sight. At six hundred pounds of muscle and bone, Grach was the most powerful warrior the Free Fleet had at its disposal. And he intended to remind them of that fact. The human stepped into the other side of the ring and removed his coat, shirt, and boots as well. He was wearing a skintight white suit under his shirt, but he did not remove that. Grach could see the metal hand from across the ring. That would not do.
“By the right of the challenged, I decree that we shall fight with only what nature has given us. That means your glove there is not allowed.”
The human looked back at Grach. “This is no glove. It is my hand.”
Grach had heard whispers of beings who had metal limbs, but he would not allow it. “Were you born with it?” he questioned the man.
He shook his head. “No. But I will not remove it.”
Got him. “Are you saying you refuse the terms and wish to forfeit?”
“No! But I cannot fight with only one hand.”
“Then we have a problem. Either you remove your hand, or I tell my fighters to kill your friends.”
The Freak jahen leaned in to speak into the human’s ear. He listened, then grudgingly nodded.
“Fine.”
The human reached up and grasped his metal hand. There was a rippling motion under his white suit and an audible click. The human was left with a metal forearm in his right hand and a stump starting at his elbow. The jahen stepped up and grasped the empty sleeve and cut it off at the shoulder. The human’s muscled upper arm was pale in the light but it was whole. The arm ended below his elbow with a metal cap on the stump. He handed the dull gray arm to the Diplomat.
It was not as much of an advantage as Grach had been hoping for, but it was still significant. He had not been worried in the first place, as the human was a good foot shorter than him and a great deal skinnier. He was a huge specimen when compared to the rest, but against Grach he was still a child. Grach knew the man was fast, but he knew he could move faster.
His aide returned with his Flow, mixed with a glass of water to disguise what it was. He downed the drink and felt the effects immediately. The world slowed down around him and his muscles swelled. He could hear the heartbeats of the beings next to him and he could see the faint threads hanging from the human’s torn sleeve. He was ready.
He stomped into the center of the ring. The human did the same. Grach stared down into the human’s bright green eyes. He did not see a trance of fear in them. He was either very brave or very stupid. It did not matter. This fight could only end one way. “Are you ready to die, human?”
“No. I am ready to kill.”
With that, Grach swung his arm down with a roar, feeling the Flow energize the limb and send it speeding down into the human’s face. The human dodged to the side, rolling and regaining his feet. He was fast, Grach gave him that. But Grach was faster. With another roar, he charged the human, arms outstretched. The human jumped, placing his foot on Grach’s arm and leaping over his charging mass.
Impossible. But he had done it. Grach grew angry. He knew it was the Flow, but he did not stop himself. This human was taunting him. Grach would show him what happened to those who taunted the Warlord. He came in slow, arms spread wide like before. There was no way the human was going to get away from him this time.
The human charged him. Grach smiled, his teeth showing. As soon as the human got within arm’s reach, Grach grabbed at him. The human slid to the side and avoided Grach’s grasp. But he had been expecting that. He swung his other arm and caught the human in the chest, scoring four, long slashes down his chest. They started to drip blood, a red blotch spreading across the white suit.
The human jumped back, out of Grach’s reach. Grach pressed onward, keeping the advantage. He lunged at the human’s left, his weak side, where he was missing an arm. The human could not defend himself. Grach felt a sharp pain in his hand and pulled it back. The human had used his metal covered stump to strike Grach on the hand. He flexed. Nothing broken, it just stung a bit.
The Flow washed his pain away. Grach swiped his hand down again, aiming for the human’s head. The human dodged it as before, but Grach was ready again. The human dodged Grach’s left fist and met his right full on. He went flying, crashing into the ground a couple yards away. Not as far as he should have flown, but far enough. Grach leapt into the air and sailed down on the human, landing with one leg on either side of the human. He swung his fist down into the human’s face, looking to end this fight as soon as possible. If it had connected, the human would have been dead.
But it didn’t. The human twisted in a way that made Grach’s eyes struggle to follow him and snaked out from under the Irgh. He slipped up behind Grach and punched him in the back. Grach felt like he had just been shot by a rifle at close range. He collapsed to his knees, putting his arms out to steady himself. After a second, the Flow washed the pain away. Grach lashed out with his leg, forcing the human to jump out of the way. He stood and faced his opponent with new respect.
It took a great deal of force to hurt an Irgh, but this human had managed it. It did not matter, as Grach would see this human’s head separated from his body. But the human seemed to have other plans. He came in swinging, his one arm moving fast enough for two. The Flow allowed Grach to block them with ease. Had he been without the Flow, it would have been difficult, but the Flow let him see and react to the strikes much faster.
The human was fast, forcing Grach to use both hands to block his one handed attacks, but he would soon tire. Grach was sure of it. But the human’s speed increased. His fist flew in at greater speeds than Grach had ever seen before. He was forced to react faster and faster and he was soon retreating from the human in order to keep up with his swings. Grach could not attack, it was all he could do to defend.
This was not the way it was supposed to be. Grach was bigger, stronger, faster than any other being. And that was without Flow. With the performance enhancing drug, he should have been able to wipe this human in a bloody smear across the ring. But he almost couldn’t defend against a one armed fighter. What was happening? To Grach’s horror, the human swung faster, his fist a blur even to Grach’s Flow enhanced eyes.
He desperately tried to stop the blows but he couldn’t. They fell with such speed that Grach could do nothing. He blocked several of them, but most got through. Pain erupted along his arms as the human brought his fist crashing down on the nerve endings. Grach felt his right arm go numb. The Flow rushed through his veins, dulling the pain, but it was coming so fast that it couldn’t get rid of it entirely. Then the human struck with his metal capped left arm.
The force of that blow landed squarely on Grach’s left forearm and he felt the bones shatter. How was that possible? He had only half an arm, but he managed to break Grach’s bones, some of the thickest in the galaxy. The human spun on his left leg, sending his right leg crashing into Grach’s chest. It felt like a ship had just crashed into him.
Grach fell backwards, the Flow, what was left of it, making it seem as if he fell for minutes. He crashed down on his back and the floor shook. His vision dimmed for a moment and when it returned Clint Stone was standing over him, with his foot raised.
“Looks like I’m Warlord now.”
His foot came down and Grach felt a flash of pain in his forehead, followed by … nothing.
I stood, my jaw open as I watched Clint walk away from the Irgh’s body. I had seen Clint fight the Diunf Gang, I had seen him fight Kra-ort, I had seen him fight five hundred Swrun from the back of a dragon. What I had seen then paled before what I had just seen. Clint had moved so fast I could not see his arm and he had defeated an Irgh, one jumped up on Flow, with one arm. The rest of the spectators were silent, in awe of what they had just seen.
I blinked and Clint was standing in front of me. “Arm?” he asked Lady Night, who was just as slack jawed as the rest of us.
“Huh? Oh, sorry,” she said as she gave him his arm. Clint took it from her and pressed it to his stump. It clicked and the metal flowed up his arm until it encompassed his whole arm again. He drew a deep breath and walked up the dais steps, the crowd parting wordlessly in front of him. He stood in front of the bronze throne that had, until recently, belonged to the Irgh.
He stood in front of it and faced the crowd. “I am your new Warlord. Do any of you wish to challenge my claim?”
He was met with silence. “Very well. I do not have any interest in ruling you, you are free beings. You are free to leave if you wish. But those of you who remain will do so under the leadership of N’Rachel Lruch, who will act as my steward. Any deep issues will be brought to me, but I trust N’Rachel will do a fine job.
“We are going to join the Rebellion. Those of you who think that this is enslavement, you are free to leave. But for those who stay, we will become truly Free. Which is freedom: fleeing from a threat, allowing it to decide where you can or cannot go? Or is it to fight back, forcing the threat to bow to you?
“That is what we will be doing. We will free the galaxy from the greatest threat to freedom it has ever known. And in freeing them, we shall truly free ourselves.”
It was not a very impressive speech, as they go, but the emotion and the conviction emanating from Clint were more than enough to make up for it. He finished speaking and walked down the stairs towards us. The crowd did not close in around him, leaving several yards on either side of him. He reached us.
“Let’s go,” he said. He looked at N’Rachel. “I’ll be in touch.”
We found our gunbelts and collected Keres’ body. We boarded the Golden Hound and left for Aldemere.