Today, however, she had business in the city. She sat in the backseat of her luxury groundcar, Tazur curled up next to her, Jamirr across from her, with the two massive canines. Samyra had dressed in her usual flamboyant garb when making civilian appearances, although she was only going to discuss business with the arena manager. It was time to set the schedules and other details for the new season. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had to go in person or even deal with it at all. Usually her agent handled these things. This time though the arena manager had been polite but insistent she come to the office herself.
She expected there’d be press waiting outside the building, eager to get a chance to take holos and throw questions at her about her time fighting in the Five Systems, which is why she’d taken so much care with her makeup, the animals and her dress. Sure enough, there was a small group standing beside the entrance and she and her three pets exited the groundcar with the usual panache. She was in an excellent mood and gave the reporters more time than usual, throwing them tidbits about her adventures during the special off-season fights. The media was excited by the news of the documentary style trideo being put together about the special season, which would be released later. They begged for more information but she laughingly refused to spill details.
Jamirr touched her elbow deferentially. “You’ll be late,” he said in a quiet tone.
“He can wait,” she said with a laugh, enjoying her time in the limelight. She took a few more questions, signed an autograph for a child, and swept into the building, Jamirr on her heels. He ignored the shouted questions from the reporters directed at him as the door closed behind him. “Always such an ordeal getting past the scrum,” Samyra said with a sigh, handing him the three jeweled leashes.
“You enjoy it,” he replied. “It’s a different kind of skirmish for you.”
“True.” She gave him a big smile. “You can wait here in the lobby—the animals don’t do well in gravlifts and I don’t do well in poky old-fashioned elevators. I shouldn’t be long—after so many years this is routine and boring. I’ll sign wherever they put an X and be right back.”
“As you wish, mistress.” He tugged the boisterous pets toward a small courtyard on the other side of the lobby.
Five minutes later Samyra was ensconced in a chair in the arena manager’s office, stirring sugar into a cup of herbal tea the receptionist had brought her and taking a light tone with the man she was here to see. “Really, Barbour, you didn’t have to go to so much trouble today to see me. Having me come in person was a bit over the top, don’t you think?”
He was serious as he pulled a set of papers from his drawer and checked them over one more time as if nervous. “Things have changed, Samyra.”
“Well of course they have. New season, new gladiators…” She let her voice trail off as she sipped the tea.
Barbour slid the first piece of paper across the shining desktop. “We’ll start here, with the rankings and order of listing on the arena playcards.”
Rolling her eyes Samyra took the paper. She glanced at it and then did a doubletake, her body running hot and then cold. “What the fuck is this? Obviously a misprint or an error—you can’t possibly have slotted me into third. I’m the headliner. I haven’t been listed this far down the program since the first year when I had my debut fight.” She crumpled the paper and threw it. “Fix it and then we can discuss the rest of whatever is on your bullshit list.”
Barbour watched the sheet fall to the floor and then picked it up and smoothed the creases. “Your ratings have seriously declined. You finished last season in a lower spot overall actually, but the management thought you should be in third place at least. As you know the rankings aren’t based on wins and losses alone. There are style points, degree of difficulty based on opponents faced, and other factors. You can work up from third placement if things go right.”
“I’m not taking third place while Tirion and whoever the hell you fools put in the second spot strut around being dicks.” Tea forgotten, she leaned forward. “I just finished a special season in the Five Systems, fighting for the House of Badari. I was the first woman ever to wear their badge. Kyden gave me a personal endorsement when the season was done.”
“I’ve read it.” Barbour was unimpressed. “He very carefully doesn’t address your skill level. It’s all about what a terrific performer you are. And you are, no one denies that. But you’ve slowed down, Samyra, lost your edge. The audiences are tired of your act. They’ve seen enough exotic pets and you as well, in these—these outfits you insist upon.” He gestured dismissively at her dress. “Or maybe the public has shifted but the demand now is for new, younger blood. The ticket holders want the novelty of the new, not the predictability of the old and it’s my job to give them that. I gotta keep the seats filled and you as the headliner doesn’t work anymore. They want Tirion. He’s hungry and talented and the women fall all over themselves for him. He’s backed by a team of the same kind of fighters. Mikal, who’s in the second slot, is the same. The bouts between those two will be the big draw. You have your fans and loyal supporters but honestly? You’re tired. It shows. I rewatched last year’s key fights and I can see it. Maybe the audience hasn’t caught on specifically but they know when the time has come to move on. The voting in all the polls supports the things I’m saying. It’s not just me blowing solar wind here.”
Inside she was panicking but she kept her cool exterior. She’d been so sure she’d hidden the effects of the Lajaran’s Syndrome at least until the last few fights of the season and then Jamirr had been there to help her distract the crowds and the other fighters. Kyden’s words came to her, about fighters hanging on too long and destroying their own legacy. Samyra straightened her spine. She was not going out like this. “I obviously can’t sign this contract today. I need time to reflect, to talk to my manager and agent.”
“Don’t wait too long,” Barbour cautioned with a shrug. “This deal on the table is the best you’re going to get and a lot of it is due to generosity on the part of management based on your past history with us. Take too long to decide and the terms may change, and not in your favor.”
“Send it to me and I’ll study it tonight.” She forced herself to take a sip of the tea. “If there’s nothing else, I’ll be going.”
“You know, if you packaged it right, your new fighter could be a huge draw. Pit him against Tirion and Mikal. The crowds loved him last season when you let him appear. He polls higher than anyone else as far as interest in seeing more of him. Step back, let him be the face of your House this year. He fits the beast branding too, with those claws he’s got.” The arena manager’s voice held more enthusiasm than he’d shown earlier.
Impossible for so many reasons, she thought with clarity through the shocked fog in her mind which the previous discussion of her own career trajectory had created. “The Beast Lady is the face of the House. She always has been since I inherited the business and she always will be.” Samyra didn’t usually speak of herself in the third person but what she was trying to convey was how she saw it.
“Then be prepared to slip in the rankings and get scheduled in the less desirable time slots and maybe not even the main arena. You might have to appear in the outlying arenas. Samyra, as an old friend, let me urge you to think long and hard about whether you want to appear at all this year.” He studied her face, which she was keeping blank with much effort. “I know you think you can battle your way to the top of the leaderboard again, that this is a temporary setback. I’m here to tell you it’s time to face reality. You’re a young woman anywhere but in the arena, you must have enough credits banked to live in luxury and keep that zoo of yours going. We can do a tribute to you at the start of the season, announce your retirement as a big deal and let you go gracefully.”
Samyra stood up and stared him down. “I belong in the arena. I own the arena when I fight. You and your management team will regret underestimating me and when I’m the season champion again this year you’ll eat your words and thank the Lords of Space I didn’t decide to remain with the House of Badari and Kyden.”
Unflustered by her bravado, Barbour sat back in his chair. “Word on the street is he didn’t ask you to stay.”
“He knew I’d refuse,” she snapped before regaining control of herself. It would be a mistake to descend into arguing details with him. “Send me the damn contract and I’ll make my notes.” Pivoting on her heel she paced deliberately out of the room as if leaving the sands of the arena after a winning bout. It took all her inner strength to say a pleasant farewell to the receptionist and maintain her mask as she descended the gravlift and arrived in the lobby. Jamirr was waiting with the animals and had sense enough after one glance at her face not to say anything. He preceded her out the door, using the pets to force the gathered reporters to retreat a bit.
The shouted questions were more pointed now and Samyra heard at least three people ask if she was planning to retire. “Is it true the arena management thinks you’re washed up?” someone yelled.
She ignored it all, making her way to the waiting groundcar and sliding inside. Jamirr wrangled the great cat and the two canines into the backseat and closed the door behind himself. The chauffeur took off smoothly and Samyra hit the privacy screen. She sat trembling for the first few miles, while Tazur nuzzled her and tried to get into her lap.
“Mistress—” Jamirr began cautiously.
She raised one hand. “I literally can’t talk right now, I’m so angry.” And scared but she wasn’t going to tell him that. Samyra was hanging on by a thread and holding off the tears with great effort. She wasn’t going to break down in the damn car, not even in front of Jamirr.
The groundcar arrived at the compound and she climbed out and entered the house without a word, going straight to her quarters and slamming the door. The hot tears were falling, making her blind as she fumbled her way to the bedroom and collapsed onto the bed, weeping so hard she could barely breathe. Anger and embarrassment warred with fear. How dare they treat me like this rang through her head followed by how am I going to survive this and how will my gladiator House survive this? There were no comforting stacks of credits stashed in New Switzerland banks or anywhere else. Yes her zoo was a luxury but beyond that maintaining a stable of gladiators was incredibly expensive. Her team was good but too small to bring in huge profits. She’d tried to build on a core of fighters and expand but year after year her efforts had failed for one reason or another. The House of Kulcannon or Samyra’s Slayers as she styled them, existed primarily on her winnings and credits from her endorsements. If the arena management was downgrading her, there’d inevitably be a reduction in outside income as well.
And she had to admit to herself the Lajaran’s Syndrome was progressing. Much as she’d hated to hear Barbour say it, she wasn’t the fighter she used to be and she most likely wasn’t going to be able to win big enough and often enough this season to set herself and her House up to endure beyond her retirement.
