Chapter 18 – Not Here to Make Friends #2
I laughed and got changed into something soft and comfortable, and when we settled onto the couch to drink tea and watch the introductory videos – which were, in the end, kind of impressive; the sequence of the two of us looked like it should have been part of a massive romance film, like we were so in love that we were both glowing – I was almost able to pretend that this was normal.
Just the two of us together, laughing at some of the bad intro lines – Araxis loved mine and insisted on watching it three times; his (I am here to prove my worth.
I will be victorious. Woe to any who stand in my way.) wasn't even funny, but he looked hot as hell delivering it so I also insisted we watch it three times.
We'd pause during the combat sequences to point out what we were observing about each competitor: who was clearly unfamiliar with holding a blade, who might be proficient.
Of course, we knew a lot of that already – but it was good to speculate on camera.
When Araxis went to leave, tray and dishes in hand to return to the kitchen, we stood at the door for some time, chatting.
I should go, he'd say, and not leave. It's been nice, though, I'd reply, standing a little closer than was strictly friendly.
And then we'd do the whole thing over five minutes later.
I suggested he come back the next night.
"I've got a pole in my room," I said, smile crooked. "I could dance for you."
Araxis flushed, and my smile grew bigger. "Or I could walk you through a few manoeuvres. I'm sure you'll pick it up up quickly. You can prove your worth." I mimicked his serious tone from the intro, and he trilled, shaking his head.
"If you would like to see me fail, then I will certainly accept your instruction. So long as you don't think less of me when I fall."
"I'll catch you," I promised, lost in his eyes.
Araxis swayed a little on his feet, then, as if he was thinking of leaning forward and kissing me, as if his body knew what he wanted.
But it was only our fifth day. He was allowed to kiss me in two days' time.
So instead of doing that, he reached one hand out and touched the charms dangling from my ear, which tinkled quietly in the space between us.
He made a soft sound, almost a hum – thoughtful – and then withdrew. And this time, he really did leave.
I exhaled hard after closing the door and threw myself onto the bed, rolling to stare up at the ceiling, my stomach full of butterflies like this was real. Like any of it was real.
There was something real I needed to contemplate though, I told myself as I sprawled on my bed, late in the evening. What exactly had Grigor Spade meant when he told me that, if I wouldn't stop talking shit about Seraphim, his god would deal with me? And what the fuck was I going to do about it?
I’d like to say that when I finally admitted that night that I wasn’t going to fall asleep, it was because I was bingeing season six of Across the Timescape.
But I was trying. Sleep just evaded me, always beyond the tips of my fingers.
And the longer I laid in bed, trying to sleep, the worse my traitorous mind started behaving.
Things had been pretty bad since coming to the village, as if Grigor's appearance had stirred up all of the dark things that lurked in the distant corner of my memory, which meant that the small hours of each night were haunted by everything I wanted to forget.
Since I didn't want to keep lying in bed, shivering and having a hard time breathing for no reason at all, I relented. Maybe if I could figure out what the fuck was going on with Grigor Spade and Seraphim, I’d be able to sleep.
Maybe if I could understand what the fuck they were doing here, I'd stop feeling like I had a foot half in the past; honestly, the present was challenging enough.
So I tapped on the lights to the kind of soft glow appropriate for very late at night and I made myself a cup of abayan tea – I'd collected a stash a few days earlier in anticipation of Araxis's scheduled visits – and then I sat and played over my interactions with Grigor.
I thought about writing them down, but that would be too obvious.
Instead, I gathered props.
I set down an extra mug on the low table. That could stand in for the mixer. He'd said he needed to talk to me about something, that I had to listen. Grigor had also pointed out that I was disgusting and shameless.
Then he'd tracked me down in the kitchen (represented by a spoon).
He'd talked about Seraphim and what they were like – my supposed misconceptions – and had told me I should go back.
He'd also told me I was, shocker, disgusting and shameless; he'd been repulsed by seeing me spend time around Araxis.
There had been a handful of other times when we'd been in the same vicinity, but he hadn't approached again. Until tonight, when he'd come to speak with me at my apartment.
This time, he'd seemed… angry. I dropped a crumpled tissue on the table to represent this latest interaction. He'd seemed filled with a simmering rage. Grigor had quoted a Shepherd at me, and I hadn't missed the way his hands had curled into fists.
I knew the glint of violence in his eye. And I wasn't stupid enough to miss his threat. You keep badmouthing Seraphim, and you see how that works for you, he'd said. You remember this moment. You could have chosen differently.
What exactly was he doing here? I stared accusingly at the cup, the spoon, the tissue. He'd barely been able to get out three words that first night before insulting me in the easiest way he could: by calling me filthy, by saying I should be ashamed of myself. He'd been lit up then with anger too.
Had his second attempt been a correction? I glared at the spoon, scowling. The way he'd spoken about Seraphim, his attention drifting to the cameras overhead… And then he'd come to my room, but the moment he'd set eyes on my robe, he'd lost the thread again. It was back to insults.
Clearly, Grigor had known I was going to be at the Tournament; he knew too much about me not to have known.
That meant that someone from Seraphim had gotten wind of my participation between the time I signed up and when I arrived.
It was a narrow window, but it fit with Grigor being a last minute addition.
Maybe he was the best they could find at such short notice – a bleak statement on their current populace.
So why had Seraphim entered someone? Was this a way to try and collect on the debt claim? Like they were chasing me down?
That didn't make sense though. Grigor had tried to convince me to just return to Seraphim, and spending credits on the entrance fee made a significant dent in the debt claim, although they didn't seem to care about the credits. Grigor said my debt would be forgiven as long as I went 'home.'
Then again, maybe it wasn't about me, not really. I'd seen Grigor's eyes flick upwards as he blathered on about Seraphim's galactic intentions. I'd seen the logo on his jumpsuit and on his shirt.
What I wouldn't have given for a connection to the datasphere. With access to information, I could go digging into the mining corp Grigor was affiliated with – Grace Mining Initiative – and see what it was up to. Were there deals being stuck with other galactic enterprises?
Clearly, Grigor Spade and Seraphim – and by proxy Grace Mining Initiative – were conscious of the image that was being broadcast across the galaxy.
Grigor didn't strike me as a particularly measured man – he'd been furious at the mixer and had felt dangerously close to violence in the hall – but he had been careful and precise in the way he spoke about Seraphim.
We're happy to share our culture if others are interested.
We wouldn't force anything on anyone.
Seraphim respects alien cultures and ways of life. In what reality would Grigor fucking Spade ever use the phrase ways of life unless he'd been fed it, a line to spit out when someone pulled his cord.
There, as I sipped at the dregs of my tea, staring at my little display until my eyes watered, I felt like I'd finally figured…
something out, and it made sense. It made the pieces work.
Grigor's purpose had to be to make sure Seraphim's image didn't get too tarnished.
And I was a problem – the debt claim had come through for me.
No doubt they'd guessed that I would speak about it when I was interviewed.
What had he said again? That I should stop talking shit about Seraphim, or God might work in a mysterious way that would no doubt leave me with a mouthful of broken teeth, courtesy of his special little brute.
Because if Seraphim wanted to expand, or wanted partners, or whatever, it wouldn't do to have me badmouthing them on broadcast. So Grigor wanted me to shut up. The preference was for me to leave. And if I wouldn't leave… what else had he been told to do?
I didn't think he'd feel sorry about shutting me up permanently. And the moment we hit the arena, he'd have license to do anything he pleased.
It was considered in good taste to accept a participant's yield, but it wasn't mandatory, and many of the goriest and most viewed clips from over the years featured contestants being killed while their heads were bowed in submission.
There was a whole compilation to counterbalance the many that promised NO BEHEADINGS.
I hadn't made it far into BEHEADINGS ONLY.
Grigor was a problem, then. Because if I kept running my filthy mouth, why wouldn't he act earlier?
Sure, disqualification sucked – but would Grigor care if his holy mission of shutting Sashen up was a success?
Would he be happy to be a martyr for Seraphim?
Maybe that wasn't Seraphim's first choice, but if the objective was to remediate their image, when was it more important to keep me from running my mouth?
Where was the threshold and would Grigor even recognize it, or would he just be happy to deal with me in the way he wanted to – violently?
So the real question I had to consider was if Grigor would choose to act before the arena, and how badly that might fuck up what Araxis and I were doing here.
It wasn't like I could avoid talking about Seraphim, even if I wanted to.
The debt claim – why I'd entered and insisted on staying instead of just heading back – was essential for our story.
And Seraphim deserved to be dragged through the mud of their own making, especially if they were going to kick and scream the whole way.
I was going to have to deal with Grigor, and to do that, I needed more information.
Thankfully, I had a line to someone I was pretty sure would love to tell me more about rules.
I sent Silver Sea a message as I made myself a second cup of tea, asking her what exactly would disqualify a participant.
I'm not asking for myself, I stressed, following that with many exclamation marks (well, the Standard equivalent).
I just don't like how Grigor Spade has been looking at me.
Call it human intuition, but I think he'll try something. That part was true anyway.
Implausibly, she replied immediately, citing the exact clauses outlining what actions against other participants would result in disqualification. Accidental harm during training did not meet the stipulations. Deliberate harm did.
And if he did hit me – I really thought he might tonight! – specifically not during training and specifically with the intention to harm, and I hurt him back in self-defense… What then??
Her response had been almost instantaneous.
Self-defense is considered justified so long as the response is proportional.
In 2.683, Belira Voss struck Te'riss in the dining facility and broke his orbital bone.
He then ate her hand. Both were disqualified.
If Te'riss had refrained from ingesting his competitor's appendage and had instead struck her, he would have been permitted to compete.
Huh. Whenever I thought I'd reached the bottom of the pit of awful things that had happened at a Tournament…
And if a certain abaya happened to be around when someone came at me and that abaya intervened on my behalf so that I didn't end up being horribly murdered because I was wearing a sexy little robe, would that cute alien be in a lot of trouble? Or is bystander intervention okay?
Her reply took a little longer in coming, while I chewed on the edge of my thumbnail. Bystander intervention is considered acceptable so long as the aim is to to preserve the integrity of the Tournament. All interactions are subject to scrutiny.
A moment later, another message popped up. Why? A floating cartoon of her face followed, scowling.
I snorted at the ceiling. She was kind of great.
It's just all very tense. Grigor is being a real asshole about a lot of things, and he seems kind of unpredictable.
You'd think he'd never seen a bit of thigh before, honestly!
This is what happens when the conglomerate allows late minute additions, RIGHT!
Before she could respond, I added, I just want to be sure I understand the rules. I promise I'm not planning anything.
I was, in fact, planning something, or I was beginning to. A plan-shaped thing was beginning to take a semi-corporeal form in my head.
For a long moment, nothing came back, and then her words floated up. Please review your schedule: you are meant to be sleeping. Humans require many hours of sleep. Please engage your rest cycle now.
I sighed and shoved myself off of the couch. I was going to give myself a day to think it over and to gather a bit more information, and then – well. Then I thought I'd go a little off-script. After all, what was the worst that could happen?