Cleo
CLEO
The vast metal doors swing inwards in a way reminiscent of a certain dinosaur film as Retah’s ground transport approaches the dome. We’re swiftly ushered through various layers of security to the main armory.
“Can you unload and set up?” Retah asks, craning his neck to look around. “I need to speak with the gladiator captain. He’s an old friend, and I’m hoping he’ll put in a good word for me.”
“You know I can,” I respond.
This contract is all Retah’s been talking about for nova-weeks. He sees it as a way of becoming more legitimate, although given the dome is simply a palace of death, I have my own opinions on how ‘legitimate’ any contract with this place would be.
But it’s what Retah wants, and he’s been pretty decent to me, so I want to do a good job for him. And if he gets it, maybe I can broach the subject of my pregnancy with him.
Then at least I might be a thirty-four-year-old with a plan, rather than not knowing what the hell I’m going to do.
I pull my long light brown hair back into a ponytail and get to work. The feeling of nausea is still with me, but if I concentrate enough, I can pretend it’s not there and that I’m not going to throw up…again.
I sort of wish I’d paid more attention to my friends when they were going through pregnancy, in order to know if what’s happening to me is normal. But as soon as they got pregnant, and I wasn’t, it didn’t take them long to drop me for someone in a similar position. And as for when they’d had their baby, let’s just say I didn’t interest them in the slightest.
It’s amazing how the divide between those with children and those who are childless manifests itself time and again, as if there’s some unwritten code and never the twain shall meet.
But I’m going to be joining the new mums’ club soon. How soon that will be, I’m not entirely sure as time is counted differently on Trefa. I’m hardly showing, I think. Since my abduction I’ve struggled with food, and as a result, I’ve lost weight rather than gaining it, which doesn’t make it easy to date anything.
However, one thing I do know is I hadn’t had a period for two months which prompted me to take the pregnancy test on Earth, and I’ve been here on Trefa for what has to be another two months at least. Which means very soon, I’m not going to be able to hide any longer.
I consider what I might say as I set out Retah’s selection of pulsar pistols, the latest in weapons tech, and then I get out the swords and daggers.
My old job as an accounting assistant didn’t put me in contact with much more than figures and spreadsheets. I certainly didn’t ever pick up a sword. However, Retah’s enthusiasm has somehow rubbed off on me. Maybe he reminds me a little of my dad, who loved hunting, even when I didn’t. The big horned alien has shown me how to inspect a sword for quality, how to swing one, and how to move with one. Turns out maybe I inherited some sympathy for weaponry.
I like performing the slow dance of death Retah taught me because it clears my mind.
As I pull the swords out of their individual sheaths, I can’t help but marvel at their beauty. Some have a Damascus style ripple, the metal folded over and over on itself until it forms waves and patterns like a fingerprint. Some are so light I can balance them flat on one finger.
Each one is a masterpiece.
With one of the swords in one hand and a dagger in the other, I move across the deserted armory. It’s a little weird to be doing my dance now, but as I’d rather not throw up when Retah comes back with the procurator, settling the mind will settle the stomach.
With every swing of the blade, I’m centering myself, thinking only of the movements my boss taught me, thinking about the way to tilt the sword, to move across the floor without sound, to be able to catch my enemies unaware.
I’m never going to be abducted again, not without a fight. Not after what I’ve been taught. I will be keeping my baby and myself safe, now and in the future.
I’m in the zen when I hear the growl from behind me.
It reverberates around the large, vaulted room, causing weapons to rattle in their positions.
Maybe there was a reason the place was deserted. The dome is filled with Trefa’s most deadly creatures, after all, and plenty not from Trefa who attend simply to slaughter in the games.
I pirouette on the spot, both blades raised.
He stands in the doorway. Massive. Winged. Blood and dirt streak his bare chest, where a light glows dully on some leather straps. As I take him in, he uncurls the biggest set of claws I’ve ever seen from each hand. They have to be four inches long, sharp and as dark as night. I rake my eyes up his impressive muscled abdomen to his face. It’s handsome, rugged even with his brow pulled down, a livid scar searing across his forehead, giving him the ultimate in bad boy vibes. Light glitters in his dark eyes in a way which entirely convinces me I am prey.
Only this prey has a trick or two up her sleeve. I spin the dagger in one hand and beckon him with it.
This time he doesn’t growl. He groans.