83. Chapter Three
Chapter Three
T arrex
After Steele pretends to pound me to oblivion and I give the terrin sign of defeat, he takes his victory lap, obviously favoring his left leg, then returns to where I’m still lying on the ground and gives me a hand up. With his arm around my waist and mine over his shoulders, we stagger into the underground together. This is not an uncommon action. When we are not being forced to kill each other, there truly is a brotherhood among gladiators.
Three of his comrades jog in through another doorway before we’re fully out of the sunlight at the opening to the darkened catacombs.
“Ho! Steele. Another win!” His friends are full of happy congratulations, not even giving me a second glance as Steele lowers me to sit on a stone bench.
Barta’s brows are knit. He’s glowering as he approaches me and the four males beside me, his sandals slapping on the worn stone floor.
“Zar,” Steele addresses the fanged Ton’arr male who looks as if he could happily eat me for breakfast. “Zar, I’m buying this male. I’ve never asked for much since we’ve traveled together.” His voice lowers, “I’ll explain everything, but now is not the time.”
The furred feline claps Steele on his upper arm and nods his head. “I trust you, my brother. We have your back.”
Although Barta has told me a hundred times how worthless I am and that he could get more for me by melting my fat into tallow than selling me at auction, he drives an expensive bargain for my freedom.
If I didn’t want to die so badly, I’d be wary of what this silver male wants from me. On the sands of the arena, Steele’s thoughts were focused on creating a convincing win, but I could sense his emotions. He was excited about me, wants to use me for something. Something important.
Finally, when the deal is struck, Barta slams his hand against my helmeted head, the four rings on his fingers striking the metal so loudly the sound pierces my eardrums and buzzes in my ears. He knows exactly what he did. His ugly gray face is smirking.
I try to avoid his thoughts at any cost. They’re dark and disgusting and filled with avarice and hate. After two annums of exposure, you would think I’d be immune to them. They still have the power to make me feel dirty.
“You’re a free male,” Steele announces as the five of us climb into a hover.
I know better. Secretive thoughts swirl through the back of his mind.
I was a good male before I was abducted and forced to learn to fight, he thinks . I can’t believe I’m about to do this. I am sentencing a male to death. I don’t care if he asked for it or not, my God won’t approve of this. A gust of his remorse hits me.
If I wasn’t afraid of revealing my secret, I’d reassure him, tell him it’s okay. My life is worth nothing.
We arrive at a warrior-class spaceship. As we mount the ramp, I hear the pilot over the vessel’s comm system, “As soon as the hatch closes we’ll be leaving atmo, then entering hyperdrive.”
The males seemed pleasant in the hover, talking about my freedom. Even though their thoughts were exactly what they said out loud, I know I didn’t just climb aboard a ship filled with friends and well-wishers. Steele promised me my death. The word he used, spectacular, didn’t suggest easy, pretty, or painless.
The four males have me surrounded as we traverse the narrow metal hallways. One on each side, one in front and one in the back.
“The dining room isn’t good for this,” says Steele. “It’s lunchtime, the females will be around. We need privacy. Take him to the cellblock—and get him a loincloth.”
The cellblock. I have no argument. If they want me dead, it would be lunacy to give me free rein on this ship. What is it? Manned by all gladiators? Who owns this vessel? Certainly not them, although the announcer said Steele was a free male.
As this hallway converges with another, I see two females going in another direction. Are they Earthers? Morganians? They’re laughing and talking. This proves there are more than gladiators on board. I guess the presence of females explains Steele’s demand for a loincloth to cover me. Cestus matches are fought nude. I hadn’t even realized I’d neglected to cover myself.
I’m taken down a lift, still surrounded by a thousand rextans of gladiator muscle, escorted into a cellblock, then politely pointed to a cell. There are three cells with thick bars and a single cot on the right side in each.
My three escorts lead me into the middle one, and I take a seat on the foot of the bed. They don’t lock the barred door, but it’s clear I’m not going anywhere—they’re congregated in the narrow hallway between me and the exit. A moment later Steele rejoins us, loincloth on, and hands one to me.
Zar speaks into his wrist-comm. His voice is calm and direct, as if he’s inviting people to a picnic when he says, “Would all males meet me in the cellblock? All males and Savannah? Just a meeting. That’s all.”
“You think keeping your voice calm is going to help the females stay relaxed, Zar?” the one they call Shadow, who appears to be second in command, asks. He speaks into his comm, “Petra, it’s all good. No worries. I’ll see you at dinner. Tell the other females nothing’s wrong.”
Steele laughs, “Sure, Shadow, that will work. Now they’re definitely going to be suspicious.” Shadow shrugs while the other males join in the laughter. Watching their obvious camaraderie is like a balm to my tortured soul even though I’m not a part of it.
Four males straggle in, take second looks when they see me, then find a space in the corridor to lean against the wall. A few have pulled in chairs from the nearby hold, a couple sit on beds in the adjoining cells.
What the drack ? Wonders the red male from Halckon.
What’s with the helmet? The bearded Thracian thinks, his chin tipped up so he can examine me through slitted eyes.
“Where’s Savannah?” Zar asks. He receives shrugs.
I squeeze my fingers through my helmet’s eye slits to rub my temples. Being bombarded with the thoughts of eight males in such a relatively small space is making me want to bang my head against the back wall. It’s less of a coping skill and more of a method to drown out the noise or knock myself unconscious. I clamp my teeth together and hope this doesn’t take long.
If they wanted to kill me, I’d be dead already. I think they have a more complicated plan.
“Savannah, come to the cellblock,” Zar repeats into his comm.
“Care to tell us what this is about?” Shadow asks.
“Savannah is part of the war council. She deserves to be here for this,” Steele answers.
War council? She?
Everyone is thinking, their unanswered questions gaining momentum and sounding louder inside my brain. I scoot to the back of my mattress to where the bed butts against the solid rear wall, my fingers furiously circling my temples to no avail. When I press my fingers against my closed eyes, I see stars, but it doesn’t diminish the noise bombarding my brain.
The door opens with a hard thrust and bangs against the wall as a female enters. She’s human or Morganian, with long, brown hair and green eyes. Her hair is wet as if she just emerged from the shower, which is possibly why she’s last to arrive.
“Welcome all. Get comfortable. This is Steele’s meeting,” Zar says.
One of the males on the end of the bed in the next cell rises and offers his place to the female. She wordlessly refuses, but he moves out of the cell to stand with his back resting against the wall. With a shrug of her shoulders, she takes the seat he offered.
Steele relays the gist of our conversation in the arena. A few questions are asked and answered, and Steele turns to me and asks, “Tarrex, tell me. Say it again. Do you truly wish to die?”
“Aye.”
“Zar. You said you wouldn’t send one of your crew on a suicide mission. What about a male who wishes to die?” Steele asks.
The room is silent for long moments.
Silent.
Silence? I haven’t experienced silence since Maleen died two annums ago. I’m lost to any further discussion. I can’t track their words. I can only swim in the bliss of the blessed quiet inside my head.
I hear nothing. No thoughts.
I feel nothing. Not one person’s emotions are shoving their way inside my head and heart. My helmet covers a great deal of my face except for my eyes and mouth. I duck my head to make certain they can’t see the tears clouding my vision.
Blessed, blessed relief.
Who’s causing it?
I stand, completely ignoring the conversation that has become heated. Every gladiator who was sitting has now jumped to their feet and they’re in an animated huddle of massive bodies outside the door to my cell.
Not even the thought of a suicide mission can distract me. I’m on the hunt for the null. I edge to the front bars, seeking the emotional void who is my null. Focusing on each male, I test the connection, but it’s none of them.
When I cross my cell to where the female sits on the narrow bed directly next to the bars of my cell, I feel it. It’s her. This Savannah.
She’s trying to follow the conversation, except her eyes keep cutting toward me, wondering, perhaps, if I’m going to reach through the bars and grab her. On the contrary.
I move closer and clutch the bars for support as my legs suddenly feel as if they can’t hold my weight. I’m only a hand’s breadth from where she’s perched on the bed.
“Blessed relief,” I say as I drop to my knees on the floor, my gaze riveted on her as if I’m praying at an altar.
Savannah
What the fuck?
Nothing is as it should be in this cellblock. Nothing’s been right since I walked through the door. Steele’s talking about a suicide mission. Everyone is discussing the stranger as if he’s not even here. Discussing his death, for God’s sake!
And him? I don’t think he’s heard a word they’ve said. He’s distracted, almost acting as if he doesn’t have a translator. Really, how could anyone hear a group of people discussing his demise so passionately and not register a thing? Not a care in the world.
And the helmet? They’re occasionally worn during gladiatorial matches. I’ve traveled with a bunch of gladiators for over a year and been to countless of their matches. The helmet isn’t unheard of, but wearing it after you walk out of an arena? It couldn’t be comfortable. Wait, there’s a lock on the back of it. Who locks a helmet onto a gladiator, and why?
“Blessed relief,” he says, as he grabs the bars and drops to his knees in front of me, his voice no more than a whisper. His words were meant for no one other than me. Or maybe not even me.
The huge warrior is practically genuflecting in front of me.
“Guys?” I say, trying to get everyone’s attention. They’re so busy planning and strategizing how to use this poor guy that no one notices what’s going on.
He’s sitting now, his ass on his feet, his helmeted head in his hands as he rocks back and forth.
No one introduced me. Steele got right down to business the moment I sat on the mattress. At least they’ve mentioned his name while they’ve spitballed ideas about how to use him to their own ends.
“Tarrex?” My voice is tentative. The males are huddled in the narrow walkway that borders the cells and aren’t looking this way. “Tarrex?” I reach through the bars and touch his shoulder. He glances up at me and I can see him take a long blink through the slits in his helmet.
He shudders, and a tingle jolts through my fingertips and ricochets through my body. Leaning closer, feeling like this conversation shouldn’t have an audience, I ask, “What’s happening?”
His gaze finds mine, and he explains, “I’m an empath. There are many types on my homeworld of Coronis. Some have the ability to read thoughts, to read emotions, to read bodily feelings. Some have premonitions about the future, some can communicate with animals. Most have one, maybe two, of these gifts. To some extent, I have them all.”
The males have finally quit deliberating and have migrated closer to our conversation.
“On Coronis, some people are what we call nulls. They create… a void, a quiet emptiness for us to be free of the bombardment of the constant mind-chatter of others.
“I was lucky. When I was stolen from my planet and forced to be a gladiator, my null was abducted at the same time. We were kept in the same ludus for annums . He allowed me to function. No one knew what I could do or how important Maleen was to me. He was killed in a match two annums ago and I’ve been on my own since then. Unprotected.”
The way he says that word, so raw and full of pain, communicates just how difficult it has been for him.
“I’ve had to kill people and feel their death in my body. Hear their last thoughts. Steele…,” Tarrex turns to the male, acting as if he just remembered there are eight males in the cellblock. “It’s how I knew to keep pounding your left knee. I’m a good male. I was studying for the priesthood before my capture. Being forced not only to kill others but to feel every shred of their pain? I couldn’t go on.”
I imagine for a second how terrible it would have been even with my normal life to live with Tarrex’s “gift.” Junior high? Hearing all the awful thoughts of a bunch of mean teenage girls? Then I multiply that by a thousand to think of hearing the death thoughts of a person I was just forced to kill. I may not be an empath, but I can imagine the torment this must have caused.
“So…?” I point to myself.
“You’re a null, Savannah. For the first time in two annums I don’t hear anything but my own thoughts, don’t feel anything but the beating of my own heart.”
“And your promise?” Steele asks as he steps closer, his face a mask of anger.
“Should be null and void ,” I say at the same moment Tarrex says, “I’m a male of my word. If you want me to go on this suicide mission you’re planning, I will go.”
Steele is a friend of mine. If I had to describe him in one word, it would be “upright” or “honest.” He’s someone I can count on for anything.
“I’m disappointed in you, Steele. You’re condemning this male to death? What if he wants to live now that his torment is over?”
“It’s okay,” Tarrex says. “I can’t stay by your side forever, Savannah, and I certainly won’t ask you to change your life to stay with me. I promised to retrieve your males or die trying, and I will. Can I ask one thing? Can I stay close enough for you to null me until I go on this mission?”
“What would that mean?”
“Stay in your room. I’ll sleep on the floor. I’ll ask nothing more of you. Just let me regain my sanity before I go. I’ll perform better. Be more likely to free your males.”
Every eye in the room is focused on me. Tarrex sleeping on my floor won’t be a hardship, but he’s a male. He was just released from his years as a slave. He could overpower me even though I’m a blackbelt in jiu-jitsu. I’ve sparred with every gladiator on this ship. There’s a certain point where no amount of technique can overpower strength and a hundred-pound weight differential.
“Okay,” I say with a tight nod. I bite back threats about keeping his hands to himself. I don’t think they’re necessary.
After Zar ensures I’m comfortable with the idea, he has no compunctions about threatening the big male. “I’ll kill you where you stand if you make any attempt to harm her, Tarrex. Do you understand?” His lips are pulled tight, revealing those terrifying fangs of his.
“I want nothing from her but proximity,” Tarrex assures the group, who all look coiled to strike.
“We’re no closer to having a plan,” Steele says, “but Callista is doing a deep dive on the Intergalactic Database. Now that we know your secret talents, we’ll come up with something. We’ll arrive on Aeon II in three days. We’ll certainly have a strategy by then.”
Tarrex is flanked by all eight males as they escort him to the dining room for dinner. The women have all eaten but are waiting for the males to return.
As we dish up, Zar announces to the assembly, “Welcome Tarrex aboard. He’s a gladiator we’ve enlisted to help retrieve Theos and Doctoré.”
That’s one way to describe this shitshow.