Page 61 of Taken to Heimo
I make my way to the opposite side of the arena from the gate and turn to face it. “Behind me,” I tell her and she doesn’t question the order I give her. “Not too close to the arena wall.”
I don’t need an eager spectator reaching down behind me and grabbing her. I can fight whatever opponent they send through that gate, but I can’t fight ten thousand bloodthirsty spectators all at once.
I grab her by the front of her shift and yank her up against my spine and away from the raging crowd gathered on the nearest blocks of seats.
They froth and shout and roar, holding up paper credits, metal chips, plastic canisters, and digital pads for the Eshmiri to come around and collect in their floating hover stands. Each time the xoking Eshmiri come to this section of the stands, they look down at Svera and wave at her.
Stupid little cusses.
And Svera waves back.
“Focus,” I bark, and I might have laughed if the stakes weren’t so high. Literally.
The bet that hangs suspended from the biodome high above our heads, trapping in breathable air, is in the millions and beside it are a host of non-monetary prizes the Eshmiri are likely more eager to take. Weapons from Quadrant Eight. Even a Niahhorru stealth ship. A rare animal from Quadrant Two. The golden hair of a Quadrant One prince that is said to be magical.
I snort at that and ready myself as I stare at the arena’s only gate. The spectators here must know already who I’ll be fighting, given their bets and their excitement. Maybe there’s a favorite. Will it be Niahhorru? That’d be a challenge, but not one I’d mind. Will it be an Oosa? I frown at that. I don’t want to fight an Oosa. They’re too hard to kill and they fight savagely when a sexual object that they want is on the line, and there will be no doubt that they will want her. She’s a liability in here with me, but I wouldn’t have her anywhere else. I need to see her at all times.
I shake off the heat attacking my bones. The air is hot beneath the dome. The asteroid Evernor is caught in the gravitational pull of a lonely moon. There is no nearby sun in the grey zone, so it’s dark, but the fires from the city thriving in the tunnels beneath our feet are hot and make the surface temperature heat.
The gates start to crank open. “You ready, Svera?”
“Nox.”
I chuckle. “Where’s your sword?”
“With my prayer mat.”
“Maybe put the rug down for now.”
“Can I put the sword down, too?”
“Nox. Hold onto that. Just try not to stab me with it.”
“I make no promises.”
I laugh but…not for long. Because when the gates are fully open my opponent walks into the arena.
And there are eighteen of them.
“Krisxox!” Svera grabs the strap of my blaster. “You said this was the safest option! This doesn’t look safe!”
She might be right about that. “It’s a derby,” I tell her.
“What does that mean?”
“What it looks like. I’ll have to fight all of them at once.” No wonder the bets are so high. No wonder the species are so mixed. A small thimble of fear enters my bloodstream but just as quickly, I banish it. I have no choice but to win. There is no alternative.
“Krisxox!”
“Don’t worry. This will be easy.”
“You’re lying.”
Hexa, I am. “Nox, I’m not.”
“There are Oosa,” she hisses. “Aren’t they almost impossible to kill?”
“Nox, easy,” I lie again.
