Page 3 of Star Champion

In the blaze of the spotlight, Jemm was still processing the incredible turn of events when Bounce’s spongy hand snatched her wrist and thrust her arm in the air, yanking her to her feet. “We have a new champion! Seeeeeeeea Kestrel!”

That was when it finally registered that the sound coming from the audience was not cheering. It was angry shouting.

“Jackpot!” A spectator crowed in the midst of it. “Forty to one. How do ya like them odds, ya dozers? I’m rich—!” Someone’s fist caught him in the jaw.

Throughout the arena fights broke out, quenching the sporadic celebrations like cold water dumped on molten rocks. None of the miners had placed wagers tonight expecting to lose, and not a single one of them was interested in hearing the good news of the few who had bet against the champ. Already security guards were storming the stands, armed with shock batons. A miner leaped down to the ring floor, pursued by a small gang focused on finishing the fight.

Where was Nico? It looked like they were going to have to fight their way out of here to wherever they would collect the winnings. That was what people like them had to do. Just as the galaxy’s elite possessed an inborn sense of entitlement, the Baréshti lower class were hardwired to fight. They fought their way into the world and fought against being taken from it, fighting every day in between.

“Come to the office.” Bounce grabbed a fistful of her bajha suit to steer her toward an exit between the stands but she dug in her heels.

“Wait!” she croaked in the lowest, most masculine voice she could manage. “My manager…” She struggled not to drop her sens-sword or have her hood ripped off by all the jostling. A pair of wiry security guards with mean eyes and batons in their gloved hands worked at keeping the throng away from them.

“Here! I’m here.” Her brother plowed his way toward her, sporting a bruised cheek and a split lip. His eyes sparkled with excitement, a grin making dimples in his cheeks that she could not recall seeing since he was a boy. Pumping his fist in the air, he somehow had the good sense not to shout out her name. “By the dome, ya did it! You won!”

It was still sinking in. “I know, I know.”Holy crat!

“Get back!” Security guards muscled Nico backward. One of the men jammed a baton in his stomach, causing him to double over. The other raised his baton to strike the back of Nico’s skull.

No! Jemm tore free of Bounce, armed her sens-sword and slapped it against the guard’s hamstrings. A strangled shriek. The guard’s knees buckled, his baton falling, and he went down like a bag of rocks. She pivoted to the other guard, aiming her sens-sword at his heart.

The guard’s startled gaze swung from Jemm, who faced him in full-on, nostrils-flaring, eyes-narrowed attack mode, to the much smaller shock-baton in his fist. He absorbed the sight of his partner writhing on the arena floor with saliva foaming between his lips. Then his gaze snapped back to the player who had just taken down the longest-running bajha champion in Rumble’s history.

He released Nico.

Jemm hooked her brother’s arm in hers while the guard helped his partner stand on wobbly legs. “You okay?” Jemm whispered.

“I’m good.” Her brother winced a little as he rubbed his belly. “Are yacrattin’crazy, though? It’s a capital offense to attack someone with a sens-sword.”

“Do ya really think they’re gonna arrest their new champ, Nico? I’m aware of the laws, but I’d have cooked his brains if he hurt ya.”

“Aye,” he said ruefully. “I know.”

“Both of you lads, this way.” Bounce propelled them through a doorway and down a narrow, stuffy corridor. Here, the turmoil was somewhat muffled.

Nico took her by the arm, yanking her closer for privacy. “Let’s talk about the rematch. Right now no one knows if you’re a fluke or the real deal. If ya face Black Hole again, and put him on his ass—again—they’ll know. The betting will be through the dome!”

Jemm choked out a laugh of disbelief. Talk about putting the ore-trailer before the tug. “Let’s get paid for this match first.”

“Oh, we will. I promise you. Rumble’s owner’s got plenty of silver to spare. He made his fortune from bajha betting.”

She shrugged, not caring about some aristo’s good luck. She was more concerned with getting paid and leaving Rumble before they got rumbled themselves.

“Migel Arran owns ten or eleven clubs. He offers lucrative player contracts; some of the best in the colony.”

“How’d we jump from talking about a rematch to playing under contract?”

The announcer, living up to his name, bounced along ahead of them, clearing a channel through a stream of security team members flowing past in the opposite direction, rushing toward the brawl. She forced her voice lower. “This is dangerous talk, Nic. A rematch is one thing, but signing a contract? The more exposure, the greater the chances we’ll get caught.”

“What about expectation ballast?” he countered.

“Bias. Anyway, the plan was to play one match. One.”

“That was before you blew Black Hole out of the ring. I knew you’d do well, and you knew, too, but holy, craggin’ crat—”

“I know,” she breathed, giddy with incredulity. Taking down the champion was as unexpected as the powerful sense of freedom and control that buoyed her the moment she stepped into the ring. The exhilaration of playing the sport she loved in actual competition was a heady new rush, and she wanted more. Then she remembered that someone in their family needed to act like a responsible adult. Needed to keep a roof over their heads and food on the table. Bajha, no matter how thrilling, could prove extremely temporary. “I have a job.”

“It pays crap.”

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