At least, he hoped so. The other alternative didn’t bear thinking about.
“You sure you want to do this?”
Beauty looked up to find T’Raal leaning in the doorway to his quarters, his huge shoulders almost filling the frame. He hadn’t even had to knock, not that he ever did, because of Beauty’s habit of leaving the door to his quarters open.
He hated enclosed spaces, like seriously hated them, which was a bit of a problem on a small ship like the Sprite. It had been such a problem when he’d first come on board that he’d slept in the main cargo bay, up in the storage nets so no one could sneak up on him. Life in the catacombs would do that to a guy.
There were… other reasons for his dislike of small spaces, but those could get him killed, even here on the Sprite. Especially here on the Sprite. The Warborne weren’t pit fighters, but unlike pit fighters, they worked together. He couldn’t beat them all. Far better that everyone assumed he was claustrophobic.
“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I?” he asked, a book held lightly in his hands. He’d retreated to get some space to himself and, as always, picked up a book. It was some kind of fantastical tale from Earth about space. Humans had awesome imaginations, he’d give them that, but boy, had they been wrong about space.
“Well, I dunno… perhaps I’m a little concerned that you’re headed back to the place you were a slave, forced to fight and kill other slaves to survive?” T’Raal pushed off from the door and wandered into the room, an act that took him all of two steps, and leaned down to look at Beauty’s hoard.
The desk in his room was piled high with books, in all languages and from all cultures. Some, like the one he held, were Terran. But he had scrolls from Kalandia, story tabs from Unatt, even some rocks with the chicken-scratches that passed for the Krin written language. Their stories were short and more recipes than tales, but he’d found them interesting all the same.
“It was a long time ago, boss,” he said, carefully sliding a bookmark between the pages and closing the book.
As T’Raal bent down to look, Beauty tensed up, every cell in his body alert in case the big Lathar tried to touch his books. Fortunately, T’Raal knew better and straightened up, leaning his hips back against the edge of the desk instead to fix Beauty with his pale gaze.
“Sure? It’s the first time we’ve been back this way.”
Beauty cocked his head to the side, a smile flirting with his lips. “Why, boss? Thinking you wanna get rid of me?”
T’Raal snorted. “Like draanth. You’re the backbone of this unit. If I get rid of you, I’d have to promote Fin to second.”
“Yeah? He’d probably want a banner or a badge or something.” Beauty chuckled. “And you’d spend hours extra on every job when he found someone to flirt with.”
T’Raal groaned. “Then Red wouldn’t talk to him for weeks. Or they’d pass messages through me. No, that won’t work for a second. Not at all.”
Beauty just grinned. Everyone could see the link between the Navarr and the beautiful half-Krynassis.
“How about you promote Sparky instead?” he suggested slyly, hiding his smile when T’Raal shot him a look of utter horror. “Then they could pass messages through him instead.”
Given the crazy human had already hit on both Red, the Warborne mechanic, and Fin, their operations officer, he was fairly sure that making him second officer would be… interesting.
“Not. A. Draanthing. Chance.” T’Raal ground out between clenched teeth. “Not that I have a thing against humans. Well, not all of them… Well, any human except Sparky. Even the other humans on board think he’s insane. But I do want a ship left in the end.”
“Fair point.” Beauty reached up and slid his book away on the shelf above his bed. “Looks like I’ll have to stay then. Save you from the rest of the crew.”
“Thanks, I appreciate it.” The smile dropped from T’Raal’s face. “Seriously, Beauty. Are you sure about going down there? The last time Vaxel Ri wasn’t so hot on letting you leave.”
Beauty shrugged.
“I was undefeated champion for a long time,” he said, without ego. “I made him a lot of money. He wouldn’t be in business if he hadn’t wanted to protect an asset like that.”
“True. How do you know, though, he won’t try and reacquire you?”
“Oh, he will. I’m sure of it.” Beauty sighed and ran his hand through his hair. It was overlong, falling into his eyes. He presented as Lathar but he wasn’t imperial, so he’d never bothered with honor braids. No one expected that of a pit fighter anyway. The pits were not about honor. They were about one thing—survival.
“Yeah? You don’t sound bothered about it.”
“Nope.” Beauty shook his head as he levered himself up from his bed. He might not have been as heavily muscled as T’Raal, whipcord lean to the Lathar’s bulk, but he was just as tall. The two of them filled the small space but he didn’t back down.
“When I left this place last time, it was just as pit champion… but I’m returning as more than that. Much more than that.”
“Oh?” T’Raal asked, raising an eyebrow.
Beauty grinned coldly.
“I’m returning as one of the Warborne, and goddess help anyone who tries to fuck with me.”
4
Nat woke up on a metal floor with what felt like the hangover from hell. She’d been on some benders, like three-day epic benders, but had never felt like wanting to die quite so much.
Groaning, she pressed her forehead to the blessedly cool metal and kept her eyes closed. Rule one of hangovers, control the spinning and work on movement. With movement came the ability to find water and painkillers.
“Shhh…” a woman whispered as cool hands smoothed over the back of her neck.
“What the fuck!” Nat hissed, flinching to try and get away. She snapped her eyes open but the scene that resolved around her was not the tiny bathroom cubicle of her habit-pod. “Shit!”
Hangover or not, she jerked herself up and scuttled away from the woman bending over her. Her back hit something hard, a wall, and she stopped, looking at the other woman.
She was tall and slender, masses of red hair falling around a pinched and nervous face. Her tunic and pants were good quality, far better than anything Nat had worn in her entire life.
“Who the fuck are you?” she demanded.
The redhead shot a worried glance behind her and moved closer, her finger against her lips in warning. “Please, be quiet,” she begged. “They’ll hear you. You don’t want them to hear you. Believe me.”
Nat looked away from her long enough to take in her surroundings. The metal floor belonged to a cage. Smaller than the ones she fought in, and designed to keep people in, it was a cell. She and the other woman weren’t the only ones in here. A group of women huddled in the far corner, their gazes hard and suspicious as they looked over.
The redhead sat down next to her, making Nat jump as she crowded close and looped her arm through Nat’s.
“You’ve been out for days,” she murmured. “I thought they’d hit you too hard and you were dead. I shared my water ration with you. Dribbled it over your lips. You drank a little. That’s when I knew you were going to be okay.”