Amish Vampires in Space (74 page)

Rathe reached into a pouch on his left thigh strap, pulled out a clip containing four small explosive bolts, and snapped it into the kothas launcher built into his right gauntlet. He checked the time on the computer on his left gauntlet. Ten more minutes, and then his fate would be known.

Ever since the competition began three weeks ago, when the transport had left Karn behind, Rathe had remained undefeated. And as long as he kept winning, the judges were unable to touch him. Winning tonight would put him beyond their grasp forever. He would have earned his position in the Imperial Light Infantry. The most they'd be able to do to him after that would be to give him a posting with a less reputable Spur.

He checked the brace of throwing spikes strapped on the outside of his right thigh pouch, making sure each was securely sheathed but accessible. He reached over his back and pulled the parts of his sokae from their sheaths on his back—two fivefoot poles, each ending in a curved blade.

The right blade split in two, forming a slot that could be used to trap an opponent's blade. Rathe twirled the sokae halves in a series of maneuvers, then with a deft twist brought the two halves together and joined them into a single, ten-foot-long weapon. Rathe's breath shot in white gusts from his nostrils and mouth, his body warmed by the exercise.

He continued his warm-up, fluidly twirling, slashing, and stabbing with the sokae. In a final flourish he separated the halves and slipped them back into their sheaths. Loosened and relaxed, he resumed his walk across the deck toward the Sokojae dome.

Groups of saurn milled about the entrance. Some placed wagers on the remaining fights. Others waited for their own matches to begin, going through warm-up exercises. A few called out shouts of encouragement or jeers to Rathe as he passed. He ignored them as he moved to the edge of the transport's deck and stared out over the northern sea.

"Be careful not to fall in, Rathe," said a sneering voice behind him. "I hear there are balroi in these waters that could swallow you in a single bite."

Rathe didn't bother to turn around. "I wouldn't be worried about things like that if I were you, Votak. You're too small for them to even notice."

He heard Votak growl. "When I'm done with you in the pit there won't be enough left to feed a genrik."

Rathe turned and looked down at him. Votak of the Deinon clan stood only five feet tall and eight feet long. But what he lacked in size he made up for in quickness, cunning, and ferocity. His black gear stood out against his light brown skin and obscured his markings.

Votak ran his finger-claws around the cups of the gauntlets blades that were sheathed on his thigh straps. Rathe studied the shape of the weapons' sheaths. The deinon used the weapons favored by his clan. On the left: a slender, straight blade used for punching. The right gauntlet's blade had a flat, dull blocking surface along the front. The blade then curved back along the forearm for slashing attacks. A rhythmic clicking drew Rathe's attention to Votak's other set of weapons, his pair of six-inch sickle-claws, clicking against the metal flooring. They were just as deadly as the blades.

"A bit nervous there, Votak?" Rathe asked.

Votak's claws struck the deck with a sharp clack. "You are the one that should be nervous, late-hatch. You're way out of your shell here, and I'm going to be the one to put you back in it."

Rathe's eyes narrowed and his tail twitched in anger. "I have earned my way here through my own skin and blood. Unlike you, who just happened to manage to squirm out of your slime-ridden egg first."

Votak snarled. "The only reason I even have to bother with you is because you took credit for saving an Inquisitor's hatchling. I wouldn't be surprised if you'd staged the whole thing, including killing the jerkrenak."

Rathe fought down the urge to smash the small deinon then and there.

"Tell me, where did you find the corpse?" Votak grinned. "Don't think your lies will help you in the pit."

Rathe scraped his toe claws on the deck. "You are facing me because I fought my way here."

"And just where did you get the kriz to bribe your opponents into letting you win?" Votak said.

"Starspawn!" Rathe's roar echoed over the deck as he took a step forward.

Votak crouched, ready to spring, and tapped his sickle-claws on the deck. Rathe armed the kothas in his right gauntlet.

A female spika's voice cut through the tension. "Save it for the pit." Her large eyes stared up at them from where she crouched on all fours. Her frayed skin wafted in the gentle breeze. "You two are up. Get to your gates."

Votak snarled at the female spika, looking like he would enjoy nothing more than to tear the small saurin to shreds.

"Lay a claw on me," she said, "and you'll find yourself on the first transport back to the mines—as a worker. I'm sure the miners would welcome you as one of their own, after you spent the last three years keeping them in line."

Votak snarled again then sprinted off toward the entrance.

"You watch that one," the spika said to Rathe. "He nearly killed his last two opponents."

"Thanks." Rathe fought back the urge to step on the small saurin as he moved past. Spika disturbed him. Despite their seven-foot length and three-foot height, spika preferred to scuttle about on all fours, which gave them a distinctly insectoid feel. Their large eyes, spindly limbs, and frayed skin only amplified the notion.

Rathe shook off his disgust. He needed to focus on the fight ahead or Votak's threats would be fulfilled. He stepped through the combatant's entrance into the outer ring of the Sokojae pit and got his first glimpse of its new configuration through the observation windows set to either side of his entry gate. The arena was altered each day to keep the matches lively and the terrain unfamiliar to the combatants. He peered through the left window and looked onto the battleground that would host his victory.

Today the arena simulated a typical forest from Kryst, Sauria's northern continent. Fabricated trees rose to the top of the pit. Large leafy ferns covered the ground. The circular arena was a hundred feet from wall to wall, guaranteeing that the combatants had plenty of room to maneuver and stalk each other.

A clear dome thirty feet above the floor gave the spectators a clear view of the action below. Four tiers of platforms ringed the clear dome, all of them packed with any saurn capable of fitting through the doors. Cameras placed strategically throughout the pit broadcast the fight to closed circuit screens for the audience to enjoy and the judges' panel to oversee.

Rathe stepped up to his gate and stuck his claw into the slot beside the door, signaling that he was ready. Votak had already signaled in on the other side of the pit. Rathe heard the muted roar of the crowd above as the match began. The door in front of Rathe slid open, and he leapt into the pit.

He landed lightly and drew his sokae, pausing a moment to ensure his balance as the transport rolled with a surge of the sea. The springy ground muffled Rathe's heavy footsteps as he ran into the simulated forest. While smaller saurn could employ stealth, Rathe's size made it impractical to sneak around. Still, he worked to be as quiet as possible, aided by the cheers of the crowd above, as he searched for a clearing that would allow him to combine his sokae and give him freedom of movement.

Halfway around the pit Rathe saw a clearing twenty feet to his left. Thick ferns covered the ground between him and the glade, tall enough for Votak to easily hide in. Covering the distance to the clearing would be risky, but well worth it to gain favorable fighting ground.

Rathe bolted for the clearing.

A rustling in the underbrush warned him of Votak's ambush. Rathe dove to the ground and used his momentum to roll back to his feet. He came up in time to see Votak land lightly in the brush.

Votak darted toward the clearing. Rathe sprinted after the smaller saurn but wondered why he would run toward ground that favored his opponent's larger size. Rathe received the answer just before Votak reached the clearing.

The deinon sprang into the air and used the trunk of a large tree to launch himself back at Rathe.

Rathe dove to the side. Votak's claws raked the air beside Rathe's head.

Rathe slammed hard into a tree, felling it with a resounding crash. He ignored the pain and surged to his feet. He wove his sokae halves in a defensive pattern as he met Votak's attack.

The deinon pressed his advantage and managed to keep himself between Rathe and the clearing. They whirled in a deadly dance. Rathe twirled his sokae in a wild defense while Votak spun in a vicious circle of blades and claws.

The close spacing of the trees forced Rathe to use short jerking swings rather than sweeping strokes more suitable to the sokae. The trees also hampered his movement. He found himself forced into a face-to-face encounter, unable to bring his tail to bear.

Votak had no such limitations. He swirled in a lethal cycle, striking now with his blades, then kicking with his claws or slamming his tail against Rathe's desperate defenses. Rathe couldn't keep up this pace much longer.

He let a swing go wide. The blade glanced off a tree, breaking his defense.

Votak seized the opportunity and darted toward Rathe.

Rathe grinned as the deinon took the bait. With a deft twist, he altered the course of his sokae halves. They came together with a crash where Votak's head had been a moment earlier.

Votak ducked low and shot up between Rathe's parting sokae. He caught Rathe in the left shoulder with a powerful kick, then followed through with a back flip that slammed his tail into Rathe's head.

Lines of fire raced through Rathe's body. The bitter taste of blood filled his mouth. He roared and felt half of his sokae slip from his limp left hand. Blood flowed from the gash in his shoulder left by Votak's sickle-claw.

The deinon sprang forward. Rathe parried the attack then reversed his swing into a vicious backhand that sent Votak tumbling into a tree.

Rathe dropped his remaining sokae half and fired a bolt from the kothas in his right gauntlet. The shot slammed into the tree just above Votak. The concussive charge splintered the fake tree and filled the air with a blinding cloud of white powder. Rathe snatched up his sokae halves and sprinted for the clearing.

Once he reached the center, he glanced back at the forest.

No sign of Votak. He hoped the deinon had been stunned enough by the quarrel's explosion that he wouldn't be able to follow immediately.

Rathe stuck half of his sokae into the ground and sheathed the other. Combining the weapon would be pointless now that he could only use one arm. He resisted the urge to look up as the roar of the crowd above reached a crescendo. He pulled a field bandage from his right thigh pouch and slapped it over the gash in his shoulder. Rathe winced as the chemicals stanched the wound. He pulled his sokae half from the ground and stood ready, weaving with the movement of the ship beneath his feet.

"First blood is mine, late-hatch."

Rathe spun to face the voice, but only the forest met his gaze. "It will be your last, Votak. Come fight on my ground. Or are you afraid I'll stuff you back into the slime you squirmed out of?"

Votak shot from the forest with a snarl. Rathe parried Votak's initial strikes, then swung at him with his tail. Votak ducked under the swing easily. Rathe followed with a kick that caught him on the left hip. Votak tumbled across the ground.

"Second blood," Rathe said, nodding at the three ragged gashes that ran across Votak's thigh.

The deinon screamed in rage and rushed him. The small saurn's frenzy kept Rathe's defenses hard-pressed. He backed across the clearing but kept Votak at bay, and soon Votak's movements slowed as exhaustion and wounds began to drain his bloodlust.

With a scream Votak spun in under Rathe's sokae and kicked him hard in the chest. The blow knocked Rathe off balance and sent him staggering back.

Votak made a break for the trees. Rathe knew he had only a few strides to catch the deinon before he entered the forest and regained the advantage.

He was only a step behind as they reached the tree line. In desperation Rathe threw his sokae to the ground and launched a kothas quarrel after the fleeing saurn. The bolt struck a tree just in front of the deinon. Votak threw himself against another tree and launched back at Rathe.

Rathe pivoted to his left and caught him in mid-jump with a broadside smash from his tail.

Votak slammed into the trunk of a tree and slid down into a heap.

Rathe walked over to where Votak lay stunned. He grabbed the deinon by the neck and lifted him into the air. The crowd above reached a frenzy. The entire dome shook with their roars. "Do you yield?"

Votak snapped his jaws at Rathe's hand and attempted a kick. But the stunned saurn's legs didn't seem to be working properly.

Rathe shook him. "Do you yield?"

He felt Votak's throat buck under his palm as the deinon tried to form words. He loosened his grip enough to allow the smaller saurn's speech muscles to work.

"Not in this skin," Votak snarled. This time he managed a stronger kick.

"Have it your way." Rathe slammed Votak against the tree and let him fall to the ground unconscious.

• • •

Rathe stepped lightly despite the layer of bandages that obscured his left shoulder and immobilized his arm. His gear hung from his right shoulder as he turned toward his quarters. A black bruise marked the left side of his head, running from the lower tip of his snout to just below his eye. But the pain of his body was no match for the elation that welled up inside him.

A grin split Rathe's mouth when he saw Rakjear standing next to the door to his quarters. "Here, hold this." Rathe dropped his gear into Rakjear's arms, then keyed the lock to his quarters.

Rathe ducked his head as he entered his small, featureless quarters. The room was little more than a metal box—just enough space for a sleeping bench, a stool, and a rack for his gear. He sat on the resting bench and leaned into the left wall while Rakjear dropped his gear onto the rack that stood on the right. A small refresher station, nothing more than a water basin a mirror and a disposal chute, occupied the middle of the rear wall.