Page 72 of Baited

“The procurator is a shrewd operator. Opening a dome somewhere like Sartak doesn’t take anything away from the dome here in Tatatunga, but it does increase his income considerably,” Madame says, with something in her tone which could be awe.

“But then he does also profit from indentured killers, regardless of whether they want to kill or not.”

The madame rolls her eyes. “I know your species is new in this quadrant, and none of you are here by choice, but the dome and Trefa go hand in hand.”

“So, I should park my sensibilities?” I blurt out. “Blayn has a family, he told me, but he can’t remember them, so he can’t find them. It’s wrong.”

The madame strokes her chin. “Why doesn’t he remember them?”

I give her a long, even look while folding my arms over my chest. “You’ve met him. Whatever they did to him in the dome or before they bought him, it’s scrambled his memories. It scrambled him.”

“And I suppose you think you unscrambled him?” The madame looks smug.

“Far from it,” I say, the words twisting in my chest. “But he let me touch him and that has to count for something.”

Her harsh features soften.

“Right answer,” she says. “If you thought you could change the nature of that beast, I’d be concerned about you. But you seem to understand what you have and what he is, and that way you can’t get hurt.”

“Blayn would never hurt me,” I reply. “I’m not sure he wants to hurt anything other than himself. What he has done has been because he was forced into it.”

“As it ever was on Trefa,” the madame mutters. “The Gryn are, from what I’ve heard, not just gladiators but warriors. Perhaps it’s about time the way the dome gets its indentured occupants’ needs reconsidered.”

The transport slides to a halt outside a brushed metal building, and she exits as bots enter to take her luggage. I keep a tight hold on my bag and hurry after her as she makes her stately way through the throngs of other species until we reach another transport, much larger and this one has compartments. We’re led through to one by a slim Oykig and shown inside with a flourish.

“Home from home.” The madame snorts at me as we settle into the space which is about double the width of my room back at the pleasure house.

I sit down on the bed-cum-sofa and stare out of the window as we lift up into the Trefa sky.

For all the madame has done for me, why am I still scared I’m not going to find the same Blayn when I get to Sartak? And once I find him, what do I do next?

BLAYN

“You must help this gladiator!” I yell loudly at the guards while Rych writhes on the floor clutching his abdomen, blood covering his hands. “He’s badly injured. He needs a medic.”

A pair of eyes appears at the slit in the door to our cell, where we’ve been locked for the past nova-day due to our transgressions. They widen when they see the state of Rych.

“Gakking Gryn have been fighting again!” I hear a voice call out. “One of them has been hurt bad.”

I hear the locks chime as they’re disengaged and stare coldly down at Rych. “You can overdo these things.”

He opens one clenched eye. “You wanted them to believe you.” He gives a half shrug from his position on the ground. “Although you don’t take much believing. I’ve been got by you on multiple occasions. So has Maxym.”

“If you weren’t so slow…”

A pain spears through my head, cutting off my words and causing me to fall to my knees as the door to the cell opens. Rych goes for the guard, calling out my name, and it’s all I can do to stumble after him, my wings knocking me off balance as I shake my head, attempting to rid myself of the pain.

We make it through and out into the training arena where there are the rest of the indentured gladiators. The pain spike drops to a low throb, and I stand straight again.

They are a motley collection of Xnosson and Haalux. All of them will have some reason to have forsaken their homelands and come to this place, given the stigma which will follow them should they ever decide to return home.

No one comes to a dome with an intention of going back to their former life. I have to hope these creatures have some honor left within them, gladiators or no.

“Gryn.” A large Xnosson bull bares his teeth and stamps a hoof. “You here to train?”

“No, we’re escaping,” I say as Rych grabs the shoulder of my wing.

“What my colleague means is we’re getting out of the dome for an hour or two. Presumably that’s straightforward?”

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