Page 3 of Chained

And the worst thing is I’m a better fighter for it. I was good in the dome before, but now I’m unbeatable. My odds are excellent. I’m being paid thousands of credits for my deaths. The procurator is pleased. My future is secured.

Until the day I die.

In the undercroft, in the dark, in the cold, I could already be dead. These are my little deaths. This is where I feel what it’s like to be living once again as my breathing slows and rationality returns.

I’m covered in the dirt from the dome. My feathers itch, and I would like a bath and a hot meal which isn’t raw. I’d like to be how I was before my injuries, even if it was a life sentence.

With a groan of pain, I slide to the floor. The rage is replaced by resignation. I can’t stay here, not while my head hurts and blood flows. I close my eyes. If I rest for a while, I can return. I’ll be punished but not much, not while I’m making credits for the procurator and Tatatunga’s council. They don’t care about anything else.

When I wake, water is dripping onto my face and pikrats skitter away from my feathers. I heave myself to my feet, the heel of my hand shoved into the scar on my forehead as I stagger back through the struts and stone columns until I reach the entrance.

Not surprisingly, there are a couple of Zarvu guards. One of them is called—I wrack my limited brain—Keef.

“Look what the Cirmos dragged back,” he barks with a laugh.

“And he’s supposed to be the crowd favorite.” The other guard who is not called Keef looks me up and down. “He’s half dead.”

“I wish,” I grumble.

“You’re coming with us, gladiator. The captain needs to see you,” Not-Keef says.

“Vrex off,” I growl. “I’m hungry.”

“I prefer Klynn,” Not-Keef grumbles as he reaches for his pulsar weapon. “He doesn’t even pretend to be nice when we capture him.”

I slam my wing into his neck, and he drops the pulsar as he chokes, his hands around the offended part of his anatomy. The other guard fumbles for his weapon but he’s too late. I already have the fallen pulsar in my hand.

“Come on, Maxym,” the so far uninjured Keef says, wheedling, his palms flat. “I’ve never hurt you, have I? I’ve always been good to you, haven’t I?”

It’s not untrue.

I power up the pulsar.

“You’re a murderer, like they say,” his friend chokes, hand still clutching at his throat.

I fire at him, and he yells as the bolt impacts the wall immediately behind him.

“You want to find out?” I snarl. “I’m happy to provide proof, one way or another.”

CLEO

The vast metal doors swing inwards in a way reminiscent of a certain dinosaur film as Retah’s ground transport approaches the dome. We’re swiftly ushered through various layers of security to the main armory.

“Can you unload and set up?” Retah asks, craning his neck to look around. “I need to speak with the gladiator captain. He’s an old friend, and I’m hoping he’ll put in a good word for me.”

“You know I can,” I respond.

This contract is all Retah’s been talking about for nova-weeks. He sees it as a way of becoming more legitimate, although given the dome is simply a palace of death, I have my own opinions on how ‘legitimate’ any contract with this place would be.

But it’s what Retah wants, and he’s been pretty decent to me, so I want to do a good job for him. And if he gets it, maybe I can broach the subject of my pregnancy with him.

Then at least I might be a thirty-four-year-old with a plan, rather than not knowing what the hell I’m going to do.

I pull my long light brown hair back into a ponytail and get to work. The feeling of nausea is still with me, but if I concentrateenough, I can pretend it’s not there and that I’m not going to throw up…again.

I sort of wish I’d paid more attention to my friends when they were going through pregnancy, in order to know if what’s happening to me is normal. But as soon as they got pregnant, and I wasn’t, it didn’t take them long to drop me for someone in a similar position. And as for when they’d had their baby, let’s just say I didn’t interest them in the slightest.

It’s amazing how the divide between those with children and those who are childless manifests itself time and again, as if there’s some unwritten code and never the twain shall meet.

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