Rylee gasped. Her body tensed as she awoke with a jerk. Wescomti
reached down and placed a hand on her arm. She stared up at him.
“Feeling better?”
the commander asked.
She sat up as she
took inventory of her body. More importantly, her mind. She lifted a
hand to her temple, and a smile lifted her lips. “Thank you,
Freeberb.”
“Who’s Freeberb?”
one of the other men asked.
She took a deep
breath. “They’re close by.”
“Who’s
close by?” Wescomti pressed.
She tilted her
head. It was then it hit her that she was still alive. That they all
were. And they were no longer in the arena. It was quiet outside.
Too quiet. The commander noticed her listening.
“What?”
“Where’s the
yelling and all?”
“We’re between
shows,” the man informed her. “Now, tell us. Who is close by?” “My crew. Or some of my crew.” Her
heart thudded in her chest. She’d seen Beck’s face. No, not his
face. The image of his face. It was as though the Tol Hoso had known
his presence would calm her. That letting her know the man was still
alive would help in her healing. “I wish I knew what had happened to
the others. Are they still alive? If they are, where are they being
held?”
She shivered. “I
have a Tol Hoso in my crew. It must have sensed me.” Rylee touched
her forehead. “It took my migraine away. I can think again.” Drawing
a deep breath, she let it out slowly. “I can think again, thank the
stars. So what happened? Why are we still alive?” She looked at
Wescomti. “Commander, how many crewmen were on your ship?”
“Eighty-four. And
I can think of at least a couple dozen men and women I can’t account
for.” The man bowed his head as sorrow shadowed his features. “I
know there’s more, but I can’t think of them at the moment.”
Rylee laid a hand
on his arm. She understood. A short distance away from the
commander, she spotted the sword she’d selected lying on the ground.
The weapons the others had been holding were piled next to it.
The female ensign
noticed where she was looking. “If you’re wondering why they allowed
us to take you out of the arena, it’s a trick… No, it’s more like a
delaying tactic we learned from the people who were here before us.
They were told by the prisoners who were here before them. We don’t
know why it’s allowed, but we were told that if the Purej see you
overwhelming a prisoner, like mobbing them, and if the Purej are
convinced you’re attacking the prisoner and you drag him off into a
cave, they probably think you’re beating him to a pulp and maybe
feasting off of him later.”
Rylee stared at
them in disbelief. “Why would they think that? Wouldn’t the Purej
realize the person they mobbed was still alive and certainly not
eaten when they went to get the survivors to take them back into the
arena?”
A couple of
Wescomti’s people shrugged. “You would think so,” one of the other
men replied. "Especially if that person they supposedly beat to a
pulp reappeared along with them."
"Personally, I
think the Purej don’t care one way or another so long as the mobbers
put on a show,” the third crewmember said and pointed outside. “Did
you notice how worked up those fuckers got?”
Rylee nodded.
“Yeah. It’s like we’ve landed in an alien version of some kind of
ancient Roman colosseum. Those spaceships, they’re the audience, and
we prisoners are the gladiators.”
“I know what
you’re talking about,” Wescomti mentioned. “Only, the gladiators
weren’t killed at every fight. Yes, sometimes they fought to the
death, but most of the time they were expected to put on a show, and
the emperor got to decide on whether the combatants lived or died,
depending on how well they performed.”
“There’s another
thing,” she commented, addressing the commander directly. “I saw a
H’Ar grounder out there. And what I believe is a Tu Com De shuttle.”
Wescomti stared at
her. “A Tu Com De?”
Rylee nodded.
“Yeah. Last time I checked, those two were enemies of the Galactic
Forces, not counting the Purej.”
“Same here,” the
man acknowledged. “Damn. Why didn’t I notice it before?”
One of the
lieutenants grimaced. “No wonder they’re attacking us and having us
randomly killed for show. What do you want to bet all those species
out there are our enemies?”
Screams suddenly
came from outside the cave entrance, along with the blaring
cacophony rising from the spacecrafts sitting in attendance. One of
the lieutenants helped her to her feet as they all rushed to the
opening just as the horn she’d heard before signaled the start of
the next bout.
Keeping a good
distance away from the doorway, they peered out into the arena as
several figures chose their weapons from the pile dropped into the
center of the ring. Rylee cried out when she recognized their
clothing.
“No!
No! Not my crew!”
Hands held her
back to keep her from trying to rush outside and getting obliterated
by the door barrier.
“You can’t help
them!” one officer said.
“But, my crew!”
Wescomti threw an
arm around her neck and across one shoulder. “You
can’t help them!”
Rylee blinked away
the rapidly rising tears filling her eyes. Despair and sorrow stole
her breath as she watched the nearly two dozen alien creatures
emerge from a cave on the other side of the arena and advance
en masse on the group. |