The Akseli, page 17
Simone slammed the glass down on the table. Her eyes narrowed to squints and teared up as she swallowed. Then her mouth popped open and emitted a gust of air flavored with the powerful drink. “Wow,” she wheezed and hit herself in the chest several times with a fist, “you weren’t kidding. That shit burns all the way down.”
His heart pounded a frantic rhythm as he waited to see how it would affect her. He knew so little about her species. Would she pass out? Become ill? It wouldn’t stop her heart, would it? Why the srul hadn’t he consulted Chief Medic Adaos about what was safe and what wasn’t safe for her to eat or drink?
Simone stretched her arms out in front of her and flattened her hands on the table as if to brace herself while she coughed and drew in a couple of deep breaths.
Soval shot him a look of fear that Janwar hadn’t even seen on his face during battle.
Then Simone’s shoulders relaxed. Her pretty brown eyes ceased squinting, and she blinked back the tears. Eyebrows lowering, she pursed her lips and shook her head. “Nope. Nothing,” she declared, her melodic voice normal again. Resting her arms in her lap, she cast him a disgruntled look. “Well, that sucks.”
He stared. “What?”
“Other than burning a path down my throat, that did absolutely nothing for me. I thought I’d at least get a momentary buzz, but pfft. Nothing.” Her expression lightened as she looked back and forth between them. “What’s wrong? You two look like you’re having mini heart attacks. Did you think it would kill me or something?”
Soval grunted. “We thought it would knock you on your ass at the very least.”
She laughed. “I guess I neglected to tell you that alcoholic beverages don’t affect me. My body metabolizes and counters them too quickly.” She motioned to the empty glass and sighed. “I thought perhaps alien liquor would affect me differently, particularly after Janwar’s warning.” She narrowed her eyes at him as if it were his fault the drink hadn’t lived up to her expectations. “But it didn’t.”
Janwar realized he’d been staring at her far too long in a place like this and tore his gaze away. A figure making his way through the throng caught his attention. “My contact is here,” he murmured.
Nandara nodded as he reached their table. Another Akseli who had objected to the totalitarian turn their government had taken, he was one of only a handful of people Janwar trusted to deal honestly with him on this planet.
Soval scooted over to make room for him.
Nandara sank down across from Janwar. His skin was considerably darker than Janwar’s but still bore a reddish hue. His thicker black hair was drawn back from his face in similar braids adorned with almost as many warrior beads as Janwar’s: one for each battle from which he had emerged victorious. “Good to see you, brother,” he murmured.
Janwar clasped his forearm in greeting. “Good to see you, Dar.”
His friend’s curious gaze slid to Simone.
“This is Simone, the newest member of my crew. You may speak freely in front of her. Simone, this is Nandara.”
Simone showed no surprise over being labeled a crew member. Her face impassive, she nodded. “Pleasure to meet you. Are you a brother by blood or more of a brother in arms?”
“Brother in arms,” Dar replied and sent Janwar a quizzical look.
He ignored it. “What do you have for me?”
Leaning forward, his friend lowered his voice. “Not as much as I’d hoped. A battered Gathendien ship reportedly limped into port a couple of beks ago. They lingered only long enough to buy whatever they needed for repairs, then left.”
“Does anyone know where they’re headed?”
“They’re rumored to have a base on a moon not far from here. But Pulcra is the only one who claims to know its location.”
Janwar and Soval both swore.
“Who’s Pulcra?” Simone asked curiously.
“He owns the fighting arena that draws most of this sorry planet’s visitors,” Janwar grumbled. “Of course, that grunark would know. It wouldn’t surprise me if the Gathendiens supplied some of his competitors.”
Simone frowned. “Fighting arenas? Do you mean places where people pay to watch others fight?”
“Yes,” Janwar said.
“Do the players fight voluntarily or because they’re forced to?”
“Most are forced to.” Slavery was illegal in all Aldebarian Alliance worlds. But Promeii 7 had been colonized by wanted criminals, escaped prisoners, and others who wished to hide for one reason or another. When rumors of the precious stones found on the planet had leaked, the gem industry had swept in and installed mines that reaped greater rewards when those running them disregarded Aldebarian Alliance rules. And the profits they’d raked in had inspired local businessmen to do the same. “Others fight by choice.” Although it wasn’t much of a choice. Fight to earn enough to feed your family, or don’t fight and watch your children starve because you couldn’t find work.
“For sport or to the death?” she asked.
Dar answered this time. “In the matches with the highest viewing fees, it’s usually to the death.”
“Or dismemberment,” Soval added.
Dar nodded. “Sometimes they stop it when a competitor loses a limb.”
Janwar grunted. “And sometimes they can’t before the competitor loses another.”
Scowling, Simone slumped back and crossed her arms over her chest. “Well, that is damned disappointing.”
“What is?” he asked.
“That alien races who have advanced enough to travel through space,” she snapped, “are backward and barbaric enough to still do that shit.”
Dar looked at Janwar.
He shrugged. “She’s from a planet that is not yet advanced enough to explore the galaxy.”
She snorted. “And they call us primitive? At least we don’t force people to fight to the death for our entertainment.”
“Not all are forced,” Dar reiterated cautiously, as though he didn’t want to increase her ire. “Some volunteer, knowing that their families will receive enough credits to keep them fed for at least one solar orbit if the contestant dies. And if he lives, he might earn enough to get them off this drekking rock.”
Some stiffness left her posture as she leaned forward and rested her arms on the sticky table. “It’s regrettable that some would have to resort to such. I noticed on our way here that poverty is a serious problem on Promeii 7.” She grimaced. “And in all honesty, I’m sure there are plenty of assholes back on my planet who would pay richly to view such contests.”
“What planet is that?”
“Back to business,” Janwar said, forestalling her answer. He’d already identified at least a handful of bounty hunters scattered throughout the bar. If Gathendiens had let it be known that they would pay richly for Earthlings, it would be best to keep Simone’s origins a mystery. “Did you talk to Pulcra?”
Dar grimaced. “Yes. But the grunark refused to tell me, so I set up a meeting. He should be here shortly.”
“Does he look like a pug?” Simone asked as she examined the crowd behind Dar. “Because if he does, I think he’s already here.”
Janwar followed her gaze and saw Pulcra’s stout form plodding toward them. According to his translator, a pug was a small mammal similar to an Akseli taelanu with drooping jowls and a flat, wrinkled face. An apt description for the wealthy grunark. Except Pulcra walked upright on two legs and had a broad, boxy body.
He also stood only a head taller than Simone.
Pulcra halted beside their booth. “Janwar, my Akseli friend,” he boomed in Alliance Common, “it is good to see you again.” Without waiting for an invitation, he grabbed a chair from a nearby table, dumped its occupant onto the floor, and seated himself facing the booth. “Nandara told me you wished to see me but didn’t say why.” He motioned to the bar. “Has my brother served you well? Would you like another drink? No payment necessary, of course.”
Janwar motioned to his half-full glass. “This will suffice.”
Pulcra nodded, jowls jiggling, and clapped his hands together. “What can I do for you, my friend?”
Pulcra didn’t even qualify as an acquaintance, let alone a friend. But the bloviating sack of bura knew claiming friendship with Janwar publicly would increase his status.
“A Gathendien ship docked here a couple of beks ago,” Janwar said. “You can tell me the location of the outpost they were headed toward when they left.”
“Hmm. A Gathendien ship, you say?” he asked and appeared to search his memory.
Dar sighed heavily.
“Yes,” Pulcra said finally with a nod. “Yes, I believe I did hear such a rumor.”
Dar released an impatient growl. “It wasn’t a rumor. You told me yourself that they docked here.”
“Indeed, I did.” His golden eyes acquired a cunning gleam as he addressed the other male. “That I told you for free.” His gaze slid to Janwar. “But where they went? This will cost you.”
Janwar had assumed as much. Men like Pulcra cared nothing for right or wrong. They cared only for profit. “How many credits?”
Pulcra leaned back in his chair and linked his hands over his belly. “No credits this time.”
Janwar kept his face impassive. That was different. “If not credits, then—”
Pulcra pointed at Soval. “I want that one to battle the Dotharian in my arena.”
Janwar didn’t even look at Soval to catch his reaction. “Not going to happen. Name another price.”
Pulcra shrugged. “I’m afraid that is the only price I will accept.”
Fury rose. Why did grunarks like this always have to make things complicated? “That price is too high, and you know it. Stop drekking around and tell me what you really want.”
“That is what I really want,” Pulcra insisted, his face turning to stone. “I paid heartily for that Dotharian. Yet fewer and fewer patrons are willing to pay to see the matches.”
“Because the Dotharian always wins!” Dar blurted with disgust.
“Which is why I want that one”—he again jabbed a finger at Soval—“to get in the cage with him. He is one of the biggest beings planetside. He should be strong enough to put up an entertaining fight.”
“No,” Janwar gritted, knowing that even someone of Soval’s size and strength would inevitably fall when pitted against such a monster.
“What’s a Dotharian?” Simone asked suddenly, her face alight with curiosity.
Pulcra smiled at her. “My greatest champion. My patrons love him.”
“It,” Dar snarled, his expression livid. “It. Not him. And it isn’t a champion. It’s a drekking beast.”
Janwar nodded. “A genetic experiment gone wrong.”
“How wrong are we talking?” she asked, face somber. “Like Incredible Hulk wrong? Or something worse.”
“I don’t know what a hulk is or why it’s incredible,” he answered. “But it doesn’t matter because Soval is not fighting the Dotharian.”
Soval opened his mouth.
Janwar shot him a glare. “You aren’t fighting it. I’m not sacrificing you for information.” He shot Pulcra a menacing glare. “I’ll just torture it out of this one.”
Though Pulcra kept a smile plastered on his flat face, moisture formed on his wrinkled brow. “I wouldn’t try it, my friend. My brother will see you dead if you harm me.”
Janwar offered him a cold smile. “Many others have tried and failed.”
“Many others,” Soval added.
A long, tense silence ensued.
“What exactly does this Dotharian look like?” Simone asked as though death threats weren’t flying.
Janwar sighed. “Simone…”
“What?” she asked, all innocence. “I just want to understand what we’re talking about here. Soval is practically as big as the Hulk. I can’t imagine what could possibly conquer him.”
Smiling, Soval puffed out his chest.
Janwar sighed and looked at Dar. “Show her.”
The Akseli drew a datapad from his pocket and tapped several commands on its surface. A three-dimensional, translucent image rose from it and hovered above the table, depicting the Dotharian in all its glory towering over some poor drekker in Pulcra’s arena.
Simone’s brown eyes widened as she leaned closer. “Holy hell. It’s like a rancor got together with King Kong and had a baby.”
Janwar had no idea what a rancor was or why the srul a king on Earth would want to drek it. And he didn’t get a chance to ask.
Her pretty face lighting with a grin, Simone blurted, “I’ll do it! I’ll fight the Dotharian.”
Shock tore through him.
“Srul no!” he and Soval shouted.
Dar’s jaw dropped.
“Why not?” she asked and actually seemed drekking puzzled. “I mean, look at it! When will I ever get another chance to battle one?”
Even Pulcra seemed astonished by her offer.
“I don’t have to look at it,” Janwar countered. “I’ve seen it. And I’ve seen what it can do—what it will do—if you step into the cage with it.”
Her face brightened even more. “We’d be fighting in a cage?”
“Yes.” Without taking his gaze from her, he said, “Pulcra, tell her why you had to build a cage around the arena floor.”
“Because the Dotharian kept eating audience members after he finished off his opponents,” Pulcra said without hesitation or care.
If anything, her smile broadened as she met Janwar’s gaze. “Perfect. Then you and Soval will be safe while you watch me fight.”
Was she insane? “No,” he repeated and couldn’t believe he had to repeat it. “You are not fighting it.”
“Oh please,” she cajoled. Curling both hands around his biceps, she gave his arm several tugs. “Please, please, please. Let me do it.” She sounded like a child begging her parents to buy a toy she wanted.
“I agree with Janwar,” Pulcra said, his countenance reflecting utter bafflement. “You wouldn’t last long enough in the cage for the audience to finish finding their seats. Then they’d all demand their credits back.”
Simone turned her attention to Pulcra. “Are you so sure about that?” Determination replaced excitement as she stared at him long and hard.
Pulcra opened his mouth to speak but closed it after a moment as he stared back.
Janwar looked back and forth between them as the silence stretched. What was happening?
“No,” Pulcra said at length. “Hmm. Perhaps she would put on a good show,” he murmured.
Janwar frowned.
Simone nodded. “I mean, how many females have battled your Dotharian in the past?”
“None.”
“Then the novelty of that would surely bring in a large crowd, don’t you think?”
A sly smile stretched Pulcra’s wide mouth. “Indeed, it would.” Nodding, he rapped a hand on the table. “I rescind my offer. The female must battle the Dotharian.”
Simone pumped a fist in the air. “Yes!”
Janwar stared at her. “No!”
Soval frowned as though he, too, questioned her sanity. “No!”
“Oh, come on,” she coaxed. “I promise I’ll put on a good show.”
When Janwar would’ve again objected, she tugged his arm and drew him down until she could touch her lips to his ear.
“Could Soval defeat a ship full of heavily armed Gathendien warriors with only two swords, a dagger, and no one else’s help?” she whispered.
Her warm breath sent a shiver rippling through him. “No,” he acknowledged reluctantly.
“And yet I did.” Something that still amazed and impressed him.
He turned his head slightly so he could meet her gaze.
“I am capable of far more than you know, Janwar. Trust me in this and agree to his terms. It’s a win-win situation.”
“How the drek is this win-win?” he whispered, familiar with the term, thanks to Lisa.
“You will get the location of the Gathendien outpost, and I will get to fight a giant alien monster.” She grinned. “You see? Win-win.”
He stared at her for a long moment.
Soval leaned forward, his brow puckered with concern. “You aren’t considering it are you?”
Simone just kept smiling up at him without a shred of worry or self-doubt.
Janwar questioned his own sanity as he turned back to Pulcra. “Agreed. Simone will fight the Dotharian in exchange for the location of the Gathendien outpost.” He infused his voice with warning and specified, “The exact location.”
“Done!” Pulcra all but shouted, then rubbed his hands together with glee. “I’ll have my minions put the word out immediately.”
CHAPER NINE
The temporary translator lodged in Simone’s ear only allowed her to understand Akseli words Janwar spoke, leaving her clueless regarding his thoughts. As she understood it, a translation implant would’ve allowed her to understand his thoughts, but her body had rejected that. Truth be told, she’d come to like that. Her inability to understand the Tangata crew’s thoughts, which her telepathy constantly carried to her whenever she let down her guard, had transformed them into white noise that filled the background like one of those machines that produced beach sounds to help people sleep.
As an empath, however, she had no difficulty discerning Janwar’s emotions. They were all over the place as he clutched her hand, his long fingers woven through hers, and followed Pulcra through the bar.
Once the pug-faced man told his bartending brother to get the word out about the fight, he refused to let Simone out of his sight. “Can’t have you changing your mind now, can I?” he boomed with a rough laugh as he studied a tablet. “Ah, yes. Credits are already pouring in.”
Simone might have used a bit too much of an empathic push to get him to agree to this because he was crazy excited about it now, insisting the battle take place later that night.
Janwar didn’t want to let Simone out of his sight either. He’d told Soval to return to the ship, perhaps worried Big Blue might be asked to step in and fight if the Dotharian killed her too quickly. But Soval had refused.
