He releases me and reaches down to his grieves, pulling out a small, black device that looks a lot like a cellphone. It takes a considerable amount of effort not to pump my fist with excitement. While it’s great we have a way to call Marius, we aren’t out of danger yet, and I need to remember that.
Vexar stands and starts tapping on the small screen as I try to regain my situational awareness. My brain is still fuzzy, but I push through it. First things first. We need cover. I spin around, taking in the skybox we’re in.
“We need to move,” I say, planting a hand on Vexar’s chest and guiding him back against one of the only two walls available. The box is shaped like a fat piece of pizza, with the crust facing the arena, and a passageway where you’d take your first bite—if you aren’t a complete psycho, that is. The walls start about halfway back from the crust, and they end at the tip where the passageway is. Also, there’s no roof. No matter where you stand, you can see about 300 degrees of a sniper’s wet dream, and I’m dressed like a fucking disco ball.Awesome.
My fingers dig into the leather strap secured over the bandage wrapped around Vexar’s ribs. “I’ve got a question for ya,” I say as I use both hands to toss the leather strap over my shoulder. The metal cuffs burn my skin, but I ignore the pain and start working the bandage free. “If you were trying to kill someone at a distance without anyone seeing you, how would you do it?”
“What?” His eyes flick down to mine in confusion.
“Don’t stop what you're doing, just answer me. I need to know what I’m looking for here. Do y’all have sniper rifles? Like, am I looking for people or robots or what?”
“Reflected light or movement. No robots.”
Alright. Same as Earth. Cool.
My eyes flick between all the high points around the arena while I finish unwrapping the bandage so I can use it on his shoulder. When the bandage is free, I glance down at his exposed ribs and groan. A deep purple bruise has started to form, and it looks bad. Really fucking bad. I watch his face as I press my fingers into the bruise. No reaction. Ok…
Prioritize and execute.
I start packing the wounds on his shoulder with the gauze that somehow made it out of the fight mostly clean, and ask, “Is it working?”
“Patience,” he says, still focused on the screen.
Right, yeah. Patience. I’ve got a shit ton of that.
About two minutes later, the wounds are packed, and I use the leather strap to secure it all in place. It looks ridiculous, but the bleeding has slowed, so I’m considering it a win.
My hair whips against my face, stinging my skin and pulling my attention to the weather. “The dust storms are rolling in,” I warn. Our safety hinges on being in the public eye, and if we don’t hurry, we’re going to lose that safety net. I glance down at the stands. “And people are starting to leave.”
“I know,” Vexar says.
With Vexar as patched up as I can get him, I turn my full attention to our surroundings. We’re in the worst place imaginable right now, and there’s nowhere else to go.
“How much longer?” I ask, shifting nervously and trying to ignore the burning pain in my feet.
“Marius?” Vexar says. He’s holding the device to his ear like a cellphone.It must be working.There’s a beat ofsilence, and Vexar starts speaking quickly in Vhorathi. My translator tries to keep up, but the wind must be interfering with the microphone because it’s missing every other word.
Sand swirls around us as my eyes flick between sectors, praying I don’t see a flash of light. Hopefully, this storm moves faster than the crowd. The last thing we need is an empty arena while we’re still sitting in the open.
Movement at the back of the box catches my eye, and three guards step out carrying guns. Not cattle-prods. Guns.
Fuck…
I jab Vexar with my elbow.
He says something else into the holoCom and shoves the device in my hands. “Work with Marius. Get the ship here.”
“But I?—”
“Amara,” he says sternly, not taking his eyes off the guards.
I raise the device to my ear as Vexar takes a few threatening steps towards the three newcomers. They don’t raise their weapons, and Vexar doesn’t take out his axe. Yet.
“Marius?” I ask, hoping he speaks English.
“You must be Amara,” Marius says. I let out a sigh of relief. I don’t think my translator works with phones … or holoComs, or whatever.
“I am.” I press my back against the wall as Vexar unsheathes his axe and rounds the raised dais, where Gaius’s throne sits. “Are you working on getting the ship here?”
