I heaved in a long, rattling breath, cold sweat gathering in the small of my back.And then I did what I always did when things got too bad, what had gotten me through years of misery on Seraphim, and what had given me enough courage to make a break for it into the wide dark unknown.
I counted down from five.
Five.
So I might die.
Four.
What was the alternative?Going back to Seraphim?Fuck off, that wasn't happening.
Three.
I could make a run for it, but now that the notice of debt was imminent, I couldn't make it to any port.It was coming, and my name would be out there, and Seraphim would collect.
Two.
Maybe I'd die on the arena sands.Just a blip in the universe.There, and then gone.And what would it matter?Genuinely, why would I care?No one else would.
One.
Besides, what it if worked out?Better to be moving toward something than resigned to nothing.The nothing got us all in the end, no matter what.I could at least try; oblivion would be waiting for me if I failed.
Okay.
I considered the Tournament.It wasn't held often – every six years or so, in cycle with some ketaar lunar eclipse or something because they were nothing if notmelodramatic.This one was set to be especially splashy as the last scheduled Tournament had been cancelled after some sort of political unrest in the region had made a slew of sponsors pull out.They'd aired a dating show instead with the same contestants, which had been nothing short of disastrous.The contestants had come for blood; they definitely hadn't been interested in making out instead.Someone had gotten their tongue bitten off.
So the public wasparticularlyhungry for a Tournament this time around.The fact that there had also never been a human contestant would only fuel the audience's blood lust: we were known for many things, and being durable and fun to hit were pretty high up there on the list.There were reasons why almost every human who made it off Seraphim ended up as a pit fighter, and it wasn't because our calisthenics classes made us good at fighting.But wecouldtake hits, bleed dramatically, and get back up and keep going.
I pulled the feed back up and started poking around statistics instead of getting lost in the blood-soaked depths of video compilations.I knew better than getting all my information from vids.And the statistics were… well, they weren't promising, but they were slightly better than the endless stream of beheading videos (why were there so many?) led me to believe.A lot of contestantsdidyield and they sometimes left with their heads still anchored to their shoulders.The deaths were memorable, sure, and seemed to make up the whole ofthe video compilations ofMost Epic Moments of the 3.063 Galactic Tournament of Superiority, NO ADS.But not everyone died, and it wasn't likethatmany people entered.You had to be desperate, or insane, to enter.Most of the prizes were absurd and not worth risking your life for – unless your life was already on the line.
And mine was.So if I didn't win, if I didn't get those credits, I might as well be dead, because I would throw myself out an airlock before being flown back to Seraphim and stuffed into one of their re-education centres.
I had the element of surprise – so many members of Primus still thought humans were terrifying (see aforementioned dramatic bleeding!) – and I was good with my swords.Sure, I mostly used them for ceremonial dances that were meant to be sexy instead of deadly, but I could probably figure out how to stab someone instead of seduce them.I was scrappy like that.
It looked like the contestants all ate well, at least; there weren't scanners in the kitchens in the footage from previous Tournaments, so they could probably eat whatever they wanted.And the accommodations were pretty plush, judging by the footage of the contestants inside of their housing, wandering through bright hallways, sleeping on soft beds, and doing lengths in a pool.
Maybe I'd float in some water before dying.It had been a long fucking time.All that,andfree food?Come on.
My lips twitched into something that might have been a smile if I was trying, but it was just me in my bunk so I didn't bother.Either I'd win the damn thing, or I'd have an excellent few weeks of life.And since I was a blip, just dust tumbling through the universe on borrowed time, that sounded okay, maybe.
I'd grown up being told I was special, that we wereallspecial, that we were chosen for our mission.Our souls had been plucked from the ether and put into our mortal forms so that we might serve our Earth god and do right by His sacred mandate.We all had a role to play.
In truth, being no one, being nothing… there was a lot of comfort in that.There wasn't any pressure; it wasn't like I had loved ones to worry about or anyone who'd miss me beyond a wistful thought or two now and again.So either I'd make it or I wouldn't.Sure, I'd love to win –the desire wasa sharp ache beneath my breastbone – but if I didn't… then the conglomerate could have my corpse delivered to Seraphim and none of it would have mattered anyway.
It was a thin comfort, but I was used to that: threadbare and familiar.I tapped the lights of my bunk out and rolled over, pulling the soft blanket up to my chin and letting my eyes flutter shut.Tomorrow, I'd pack up and start looking for a way to the arena.Because who was I kidding?Alet might be lending me the entry fee – that was about as kind as she got, giving me a loan she knew I'd never repay; it was more than I would have expected, which was depressing in its own right – but she sure as hell wasn't going to book my way there.
It was up to me to make my way.I'd figure it all out.Ialwaysdid.
I dreamt of blood that night.I mean, of course I did.That was my just reward for watching too many compilations likeMost Surprising Contestant Conclusions at Galactic Tournament (NO BEHEADINGS)before bed; there hadn't been beheadings, but I saw some rib cages explode and that was, all things considered, maybe worse.Even with my head throbbing from lack of sleep, and nausea churning away in my stomach, I got out of bed and ready for the day with what others might call a spring in my step.
As I poked my head into the den and grabbed a carb square to go, my bag and my swords slung over my shoulder, I took a moment to survey the space that had been my home for a decade.This early in the morning, there weren't any guests and the overhead lights were on, casting watery light over the usually dark and moody den.The large circular space looked… worn.A bit grimy.The raised platform where I danced was scuffed, its paint in desperate need of a refresh.The bar was still sticky with last night's drinks.The branching rooms where guests placed bets or had private visits from the employeeslooked dingy, fabric torn at the edges of sofas where claws had dug in a little too vigorously.
I nibbled at the edge of my lip, something like an ache pulsing in of my chest: it was like the moment as a child when you realize that what you've believed so far has been wrong, that you've been tucked safely inside of a fantasy that you've now passed beyond, and there isn't ever any turning back.It might have been nostalgia or maybe wistfulness, while also feeling like I was standing in clothes two sizes too small.
Honestly, as a human living on an alien space station, the secondhand clothes I could afford werenevertwo sizes too small.I always had to have them tailored to be even close to the right size, and the right size for a dancer in Trident's den was always justonesingular size too small.
It was embarrassing how little time it had taken me that morning to pack.My whole life was on my back – a handful of clothes, a few hygiene products, a tatty journal, and my identity documents, the ones I'd gotten back when I first arrived on station.They'd put me a whole year in debt to Alet, because Seraphim didn't equip its young scions with actual identity papers and so we were, to Primus anyway, complete non-entities.I didn't know what kind of strings Trident had to pull in order to get documents for a gangly human teenager, but they sure had been fucking expensive.
