Approaching the center of the arena, Rho’uk considered the man that knelt, bloodied and battered, in the sand before Shu’ma’s body. His remaining contingent of warriors, which had overseen the match from a respectful distance on the floor, were now formed in a tightened perimeter around the pair. Rho’uk motioned them to stand down as he passed through their invisible barrier and neared Shu’ma’s body, the human watching his every move with eyes that were clearly exhausted, but still very much alert. Still out of striking range of the man, Rho’uk felt confident he could turn his attention to his fallen comrade. His remaining warrior contingent had their bo’ruuk directed at the man to keep him in place, something that caused Rho’uk to smirk. They were wary of him, even in the state he was in. And rightly so. He was not a person to be underestimated. He had proven that much.
His match with Shu’ma had been a balanced one, though Rho’uk had noted his diminishing strength as the events of the spectacle had gone on. Shu’ma had pressed that advantage, along with that of his mastery of the bo’ruuk. Surprisingly, the human had faired well with the weapon, appearing to have been educated in the use of at least similar forms of weaponry. That basic knowledge didn’t prepare him for the full range of a master warrior’s personal bo’ruuk, however.
Every Rai Chi was both the master and craftsman of his bo’ruuk and all of his weaponry. Even the armor each warrior adorned was fashioned by his own hand. The more experienced and skilled the warrior, the more elaborate and deadly constructed were the weapons of his trade. A highly skilled warrior could slay the most deadly and matured of Cresche, unlike the adolescents unleashed in the arena this day, their armored shells far more durable than their younger spawn. The bo’ruuk was much the same. A higher warrior fashioned his weapon from stronger materials and with a multitude of varying functional abilities based on his own personal strengths and fighting style.
The human had been given a basic training weapon at the onset of the match. Against Shu’ma’s personal bo’ruuk, it paled in comparison, but he had still managed to hold Rho’uk’s comrade at bay with it, and even gain an offensive advantage several times. However, the human’s waning strength seemed to catch up to him and it had looked as though Shu’ma would strike the killing blow that had so consumed his thoughts and directed his every action from their first encounter with him.
And then the human had . . .
What
had
he done?
Shu’ma had been standing over him one moment, and was inexplicably being thrown, by what Rho’uk could only describe as a ball of light, across the arena the next. From that
moment the balance had turned in the human’s favor. Shu’ma had fought viciously, but in the end it had not been enough. The human had proven too strong. Too resourceful. He had prevailed and struck the final blow.
Rho’uk knelt next to Shu’ma’s body, resting a hand on his friend’s chest. He was dead. Passed on to the next place. To join his ancestors as the warrior he had once been. Rho’uk hoped his transgressions would be forgiven.
“May the Gods welcome you, brother,” he said, letting his gaze rise to settle on the human once again.
He was weakened. Spent. But not broken. His eyes still held a quiet resilience. Rho’uk considered whether he may try to attack. To force him to kill him in defense. Rho’uk did not want that. For one, it would put him right back where he had started, having to explain why the human hadn’t survived. Secondly, he didn’t
want
to kill him. It wasn’t a matter of not wanting to face him again. On the contrary, he would have welcomed the opportunity. But not like this. Not now. The man had fought valiantly in this arena, cutting his way through an army of Cresche, gladiators and rabid infected before proving himself against Shu’ma. There might come a day when they would face one another again. But it would not be this day.
Rho’uk stood and approached the human, stopping short enough to be out of direct reach, but still within striking distance. As he stood before the man, his stance non-aggressive, they only watch one another. Most likely the human was tying to gage his intent, no doubt thinking he meant to enter into battle with him, as Shu’ma had. After the long moment had passed, Rho’uk gave the man a simple slow nod, a respectful gesture he hoped the human would understand. He appeared to, as his body sagged noticeably, something akin to relief coming over his features.
“Your fight is over,” Rho’uk assured him. Though he knew the man would not understand his words, it made them no less true, and he felt obliged to speak them. What would happen to him once they returned to Gaia, he did not know. “For now.”
* * *
As he watched the Rai Chi remove both their fallen leader and the human victor of the match from the arena, to roaring applause from the charged crowd of spectators still reeling from the spectacle of the day’s events, Traug was left to ponder the repercussions of what he had set into motion. A simple attempt to gain favor with his warrior guests had gone down a path he could not possibly have predicted. Shu’ma was not dead, but from all appearances, did not seem far from it, and the bounty hunter . . .
This human was indeed something special. A pity he was most likely being taken to his death. Execution for treason, or sacrifice before the Rai Chi’s absurd Gods, Traug wasn’t sure what archaic plans the warriors had for the man. Whatever they were, it would be a shameful waste of a, potentially, very viable and profitable specimen. There was a great deal that could be gained from keeping the man alive, at least for a time, until his profit yield could be exploited. Who knew what wealth could be harvested from him. Traug knew only one thing for certain. There would be no profit gained now. So it had all been a waste. Or had it been?
He had gained useful insight into the Sect’s current interests and that was always valuable to have. Though he knew little more of the being Orna, or her importance to the Dominion, than he had when all of this began, he had at least confirmed the lengths to which they were prepared to go to obtain her. That told him a great deal about her worth. And, of course, if something had value, Traug could always find some way to exploit it to his own profitable ends.
As for the strangely gifted bounty hunter, he was disappointed that he would not be able to take possession of the man. After what he had witnessed in the arena, it was clear to him that the man had great potential worth. It was a shame that he would not be able to exploit it, the human most likely set to be destroyed for the trouble he had caused. Luckily, Traug had been gifted with a keen sense of foresight, and having seen both the human’s potential and the very real possibility of his destruction, he had prudently taken it upon himself to acquire a variety of genetic samples for study in Syntax’s R&D labs. What would come of that, he did not know, but knowledge was always a wise investment.
At least he still had the bounty hunter’s female acquaintance. Perhaps there was something to be gained from her. She was connected to the man in some way, that much was certain. A fellow tradesperson; he doubted that was the case; or a concubine perhaps. Regardless, if she knew anything of the man, that attributed to her some value, at least in Traug’s eyes, and like anything of worth, he would exploit it to his benefit.
“Praxis,” he beckoned of his mechanical assistant, who came forward from the corner he had retreated to after being chastised earlier. “Have my shuttle prepared for launch. We are returning to the Ryzan waste facility. Also, have security bring the human female to my personal office. I would have words with her.”
When Praxis didn’t immediately set to work on the tasks he had been given, Traug actually turned in his seat to look at him. “Is there something wrong with your audio sensors, Praxis?”
“No, sir,” the mech answered. “My audio receptors are functioning at optimal levels. It is just that . . .”
“Just that
what
, Praxis?”
“As I was trying to inform you earlier,” the mech continued, “it seems that there has been a security breach in the waste facility detention center.”
Traug felt the color drain from his face. “What? What
kind
of security breach?”
Praxis backed up slightly as Traug rose to his feet, but continued. “Security reported that prisoners had laid siege to the compound and were attempting to escape by way of a docked freighter.”
“Attempting?” Traug pressed.
Praxis appeared hesitant to answer. “I tried to alert you, sir. Security forces have since reported . . . their failure to contain the situation.”
“
Failure
to contain
. . ?” Traug stopped himself, the fury rising in him like a volcano preparing to erupt. He took a step toward the mech, his eyes never leaving its glowing photoreceptors. When he spoke again, through his tightly clenched teeth, his words were slow and deliberate. “
What
is the status
now
?”
“I am sorry, sir,” Praxis apologized. “I regret to report that the prisoners escaped aboard the freighter nearly twenty standard minutes ago.”
“How many prisoners escaped?” Traug could feel his blood pressure rising. He needed to regain control of the situation. For that he needed hard data. Figures. Those were things he understood. Could deal with. Manipulate.
The mech’s answer came after what Traug felt to be an eternity, it’s vocabulator seeming to slow to a drone as it spoke each terrible word. “All of them, sir.”
“
All
of them?” he repeated, incredulously, his voice becoming hoarse. It was a disaster. A few slaves could easily replaced, but the entire facility’s workforce? How could this have happened? As he tried to come to grips with the revelation, his mind suddenly reverted to a far more important factor in the equation. The slaves were a problem, for certain. Their loss, like any other, would be a hit to the Corporation’s bottom line. Yet, for a price, that loss could be remedied. But there was one factor which could not be replaced. It was that factor which was now fully occupying Traug’s thoughts.
“The woman!” he demanded. “What of the woman? Was she among them?”
“My apologies, sir,” Praxis answered. “
All
prisoners are reported escaped.”
Feeling on the verge of exploding, Traug had to remind himself to breath. He wanted to scream. To destroy something. Perhaps the mech aid before him for having relayed the message. But what would that accomplish? He was not like the brutish thugs he had so recently been dealing with. He was a civil business person. Dignified. Composed. As he reminded himself of those things, he considered what it was he truly wanted to do. What he
needed
to do. To remedy the situation. Salvage it. He wanted to get his slaves back. And more importantly, the woman.
“Praxis,” he said, finally collecting his thoughts and coming to his usual senses. “Is the freighter’s homing transponder still transmitting?”
“Affirmative, sir,” Praxis returned. “I am happy to say that it is.”
Traug felt his blood pressure beginning to return to an acceptable level again as well as confidence in his own innate ability to resolve any issue. He was actually disappointed in himself for having any doubts.
“Have another heavy freighter with ample security meet us at port,” he requested of his aid. We are going hunting.”
Perhaps this disaster could still be averted.
Chapter 38
ISYSS
Ethan watched from the copilot seat as Mac guided their stolen heavy freighter in for a landing on an open section of the wreckage strewn docking ring of what remained of
Wasteland Station
. It seemed like almost a lifetime ago that he and his sister had arrived at the outpost with high hopes of starting a new life. Durak and his soldiers had vaporized those hopes, along with the lives of many others. He wondered how long the Sect’s list of victims was. Truthfully, he probably didn’t want to know the answer.
He had been the one to suggest Isyss as the place to rendezvous with Sierra and Kern. Partially to see what had become of the outpost, but it had also seemed a fitting choice to return to where their journey had begun. Sierra and Kern had probably agreed for similar reasons. Their friends had died here trying to help the being Orna escape. He imagined they felt the same kind of need to come here and see it with their own eyes. To gain some kind of closure. That seemed to be what people were always after when it came to things like this. Coming down over the ruins of the outpost, and seeing the extent of the carnage that had occurred, Ethan couldn’t say he understood why anyone would think doing that would make them feel any better. It just made him feel more sick.
Mac set them down, relatively lightly, on the dock’s surface, appearing a bit relieved as he did so, immediately setting to work powering the freighter’s systems down. Ethan remained in his seat as the whining of the engines began to fade, his hands gripping the arm rests as he gazed out through the viewport at the devastation they had returned to, feeling unable, or perhaps unwilling, to stand and move for the exit ramp. He had felt compelled to come back to this place and see this, but now that he was actually here, he suddenly found himself beginning to have serious doubts about his choice. He had seen and experienced a lot of things in his life, most people were fortunate enough to never be exposed to, none of them preparing him for the events of the past week. He wasn’t sure he wanted to be exposed to any more.