Page 5 of Sol Survivor

“Gladiators, meet Vic.Ande,” Erv swung out his arm, “train her.”

She growled, holding each person’s gaze with blatant challenge.

A young man stepped forward, his skin dark, his hair and eyes black.“Come.”He held out a hand, offering her refuge.

She hesitated, not sure she could trust him.Scanning the crowd, she waited, tense, like a cobra ready to strike.Erv flicked his hand, and they dispersed.Inhaling sharply, she lowered her fists but didn’t relax her stance.

“Come.”Ande waited, letting her decide even though she didn’t have any options left.

Taking a step, she slipped her hand in his and allowed him to tug her behind him.He led her through a weathered door and along a narrow passage that opened into a long room.

“This is the canteen.”The stench of burned food filled the air.He pointed to another door as they strolled between the metal trestle tables.“The ablutions.Don’t ever shower alone.”He held her gaze until she nodded.They stepped through double doors into a room lined with bunk beds.No windows meant no escape.“You can sleep next to me.”

She stiffened, curling her fingers into fists.“Farg, no.”

“You’re pretty but not my type if you get my meaning.”He focused on a blond man sprawled on a bunker.“Stick with me, Vic, and you might survive this.”

Clasping her hands behind her back, she opted for a casual air, as if she hadn’t been about to pummel him.“How long have you been here?”She tested the bunker he bumped with his booted foot.

“Four years.”He flexed his arm, showing a bulging bicep.“I get my freedom in six years if I don’t lose a challenge or die during the deca-match.”

She winced, running a fingertip over her bleeding and bruised knuckles.The pain was negligible compared to the panic squeezing her ribs.Aware he studied her, she drew in slow, silent, and deep breaths.

He tapped his gray vest.“We need to find you a uniform.”Dark gray pants clung to muscled thighs, hiding nothing from her admiring gaze.Also in gray, a sleeveless and padded vest molded to his chest.“Come.”

Throwing her legs off the side, she pushed off the bunker and hurried after him to an open door.Inside were shelves lined with folded garments.He grabbed items and tossed them at her before pointing at thick black boots.

While she peeled off her oil-stained worker breeches and dirty tank, she kept her gaze on his back.He faced the metallic wall, the gesture of privacy appreciated.As she crisscrossed the straps of the vest around her waist, he tapped a red button on the wall.A panel glided aside to reveal a window.

Her breath lodged in her throat.A tear slipped past her defenses, and a deafening roar consumed her mind.

“There is no escape.”He dipped his head.

Through the portal were endless parsecs of space with the curve of Earth in the left corner.

“Farg.”She gasped and pressed a splayed hand on the cold glass.

“Yup, welcome to theConqueror, Carne’s out-in-space training academy.”

Chapter Three

Planet of Qaldreth

Meorri tribe

Drafesqueezedfivedropletsof water onto his tongue.The sweet liquid nourished and cooled as it slid down his throat.His pouch sloshed with the heavenly goodness, but drinking more than the allowance was taboo.Still, he was tempted, hefting the bladder in his hand while trailing a thumb over his father’s star burned into the leather.Sighing, he set it aside.Any water he returned with would add to tomorrow’s rations.Not that he could recall having quenched his thirst.He, like all Meorri, survived on Osnir-blessed five drops at a time to hold back thirst.

On a pale-yellow stone ledge, he rested.Enjoying the cool shade of a cucooya tree—its thick, bulbous roots offering him a backrest—he stared across the Aguura salt plains.In the distance, hazy mountains rose, dark and mysterious.The Riermus tribe reigned over the Ki’irinzi Mountains stretching as far as the eye can see.He had never hunted far enough across the plains to meet a Riermus.There was talk their skin was the color of pale-yellow rock, mottled green and brown.

He sprawled with two dead garaks beside him.The length of his forearm, they would provide food for a few days, and their thick fur would please Larya, his sister.It was nearing midday.Qaldreth’s two suns tortured the soil, burned the air, and siphoned what water trickled to the surface.He slumped, resting against the spongy bark.Having set out before daybreak, exhaustion drained him.Every big prey he’d targeted had slipped through his fingers.

His symbiotes flooded him with memories of his past fathers’ hunts, hoping Drafe would learn from their skill and mistakes.A poor substitute for a lost parent.When he had a son, he would share the symbiotes as his father had done with him.So did the knowledge and condemnation of his ancestors survive.

“My thanks,” he grumbled.

None of the symbiotes’ guidance helped him.They slithered under the surface of his skin, rippling like a vasquva under the desert sands.Now that would be a worthy kill.The massive worm would feed his village for a year.Holy Osnir, even a baby vasquva would be worth the effort.

He shifted his legs, bare beneath the leather loincloth, his koq tucked into its pocket.His feet and chest were bare too.To hunt clothed was cowardly.To his right lay his father’s sword.The shimmering Borven blade caught the suns’ light.The hilt had strips of leather, hinting at past kills.It wasn’t a Cainus-made sword, but it had survived generations.He had his spear beside that, the Borven head sharp enough to kill.No vasquva leather wrapped around the butt, only garak.One day soon, he would add a worthy kill to his symbiotes’ memories.

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