Blaedergil's Host by C.M. Simpson (reading well .TXT) 📕

For a long moment, I did not move, trying to work out what I was going to do. In the end, I left the food, and put myself through a rigorous series of stretches and relaxation routines. By the end of them, I was shaking with fatigue, and tired enough to sleep.

It was hard to stretch out on the floor of the cell, and close my eyes, but I had to believe that the arach had a strong, clan-based warrior culture, and would keep their word. I knew I’d impressed them. Firstly, because I was still alive—and, secondly, because I’d been offered food, a courtesy, even if it was only to ensure I had sufficient blood for them to share.

Pushing that thought out of my mind, I wondered how Mack and the others were going. I figured that, at the end of this, Mack was going to have more than a little to say. I listened in the silent dark of the cell and my mind, hoping Mack would do his usual trick of being around to answer me when I needed him to—but he didn’t, and I eventually drifted off to sleep.

The arach came at the twenty-fourth hour. By that stage, I’d been awake long enough to work the stiffness out of my joints and muscles, and put myself through a set of warm-ups and kata that would see me as ready for battle as I could be. The food from the evening before still sat beside the door, untouched, and the arach who collected it looked askance.

“It was a gift of hospitality from the leader of my clan,” he said, and I looked at him.

“Would you have eaten or drunk?”

From the look on his face, he might have, but then he thought about it, and some of the confusion ebbed out of his expression.

“I meant your clan no insult,” I added, but he did not acknowledge my words, and I didn’t know what that meant. With any luck I wasn’t going to be around long enough to find out.

My stomach clenched, and I pushed down a sense of nausea. There was nothing left in my gut, as far as I could tell, but I still couldn’t afford to look weak. I stood, and waited for the arach to come and fetch me. It seemed like forever, before their leader of the day previous stepped into the room.

“Come,” he said. “Your weapons are waiting.”

That caused a flurry of concern at the other end of my implant.

“What did he mean by that?”

“Stand by for assassination.”

“Not helpful, guys,” I transmitted back, and I hoped they were wrong, because it had seemed like an odd turn of phrase. I hesitated.

“My weapons await,” I said, “but does the arena?”

“Everything stands in readiness.”

And now I was really on edge. Somehow, I thought this had a lot to do with the meal I had not eaten, but I couldn’t be sure. I wasn’t exactly up on arach cultural mores.

“You’re gonna have to be fast,” Tens; “Something’s up.”

“Gotcha.”

“Come, little human. There is no avoiding fate,” and the arach leader came and stood, just inside the door.

It took an effort to take that first step towards him, and more to take a second. There was something in the way he was standing that made me think of a giant spider, just waiting to pounce. It was an image he lived up to when I came to a halt before him.

He laid a hand on my shoulder, and reached down to take my wrist. I had an idea just how much trouble I was in before he peeled back the cuff on the armor, and slid his finger beneath the wrist band.

“I am sorry,” he said, “but we do not allow jewelry in the arena.”

I had nothing to say to that, but stared at him wide-eyed, as he lifted the locator off my wrist and then snapped the band in two. He smiled, as he broke it into another two pieces, and dropped them to the deck, where he crushed them under the heel of his boot. His hand tightened on my shoulder.

“You have been sentenced,” he said, “and there is no escape.”

Fear felt like a solid lump in my throat, but I forced myself to nod, and swallowed hard against the scream that wanted to escape. I found it hard to find my voice, harder still to keep it steady.

“The arena?” I asked, forcing myself to keep my eyes on his face.

“Awaits,” he said, and let go of my shoulder, gesturing for me to precede him out of the cell.

I sure as shit hoped Tens had another plan for locating me on the teleport system, or I was well and truly fucked.

I reached the door, and got three steps into the cargo bay, before the light hit. There was just enough time for me to regret not having my weapons, but not enough time to wonder how much in penalties I was going to be fined for losing the helmet to the suit, before the arach and their ship faded from sight.

I don’t think I’d ever been so happy to find myself aboard Mack’s ship, in what seemed like a lifetime of running away from it. The light faded, and I reached for my weapons, backing up from the human shapes I saw in front of me, even as I pivoted to check out what was behind me. I knew this room.

I knew the room, and I recognized the people in it, but I’d been about to face down up to a dozen human-looking aliens who were going to beat me to a pulp, and then kill me, and my brain didn’t quite get that it was safe.

“Cutter!” Mack’s voice made me jump, and I half-turned, my eyes seeking an exit.

He came out from behind the console he’d been standing behind.

“Cutter. It’s all right. Stand down.”

Stand down. I knew those words. The trouble was I was almost always being told to