I take a closer look. The stadium surrounds a sandy oval, and while it’s packed full of spectators, there are only three people on the oval itself. One is blue with horns. One is…a humanoid cat with a tail. And the third is a Human.
“Who’s she?” My insides give a painful lurch as I point at the woman.
“I have heard of the Arena,” Killan says, but it isn’t an answer. “I did not think I would ever see it. Neverwantedto see it.”
“Who is she?” I repeat, my heart thumping madly in my chest.
“A gladiator slave. They all are.” He points to the three of them, crowded together. The woman is turning in a circle, as if searching for someone specific in the stadium. Then she says something to her companions. I see her mouth move, but there isn’t any sound with the video.
It takes a second for my brain to realize what Killan said. “Gladiator slaves? As in someone’s forcing them to fight?”
The woman has got to be about my age. She’s wearing jeans and a sweater. I can even see the patches sewn onto her sweater—one’s for a band. One’s the Aboriginal flag, and another one’s for women’s reproductive rights.
She isn’t just Human like me. She’s Australian like me.
She doesn’t look scared. She lookshorrified.
I don’t need the sound to guess the spectators are all calling for her death. They’re even throwing something at her…coins, I think. Trying to anger her. Trying to force her two companions to fight.
Set into the arena walls are huge screens displaying rows and columns. One column lists words (which I can’t read), and the column next to it lists…numbers, perhaps? Like betting odds. Which means all those sick creeps in the audience are betting on who’s going to win.
And who’s going to die.
A quick glance between the three people in the arena tells me the Human is at a significant disadvantage. She’s at least a foot shorter than the smallest of her opponents. And the blue guy—he might be bigger even than Killan, with massive ram-like horns that curl around the sides of his head.
“This is where Atakis is planning on taking us,” I say, but my voice doesn’t sound normal. It’s softer than usual. Quieter.
That could be us—Killan and me. Harlee and Roan. Briar and Sorin. We could be next.
For a second or two, nothing changes. Then, fast as lightning, the cat-like alien lunges. Even on the poor-quality recording, I see the flash of his sharp claws, long enough and strong enough to be knives. He launches himself at the much-larger male, sinking his teeth into the blue throat. Blood splatters across the woman’s face, and she screams.
She mightn’t be the one physically hurt (not yet at least) but I know I’m watching her heart break. The anguish on her face is unmistakable, and she throws herself into the fray.
The screen cuts to black.
“Is that…” I can hardly find my voice. “Is that livestreaming?”
“No. It is dated several Common months ago.”
“So is she—” I clamp my mouth shut before I can ask if she’s dead. Of course she is, and hearing Killan’s confirmation isn’tgoing to make me feel any better. Instead, I say, “So Atakis saw that video and then he saw Harlee and Briar and realized he could make some money selling Humans as gladiator slaves.”
“I think so.”
I drop the tablet, desperate to get as far away as possible from what I witnessed. For a second, I forget that the kitchen’s been trashed, though, and the table isn’t in its usual spot, so the tablet hits the flagstone floor with acrash, and another crack splits the already damaged screen.
“I don’t care if we have to blow up half the Freighter, we’re getting Harlee and Briar off that ship,” I announce, and I’m proud to hear my voice is almost back to normal.
“And Chloe,” Killan adds.
“Ah, fuck. Chloe!” I forgot about her, and I run my hands through my tangled hair. “Even Chloe doesn’t deserve to become a gladiator slave.” Nobody does. “Please tell me you’ve got some dynamite somewhere on this planet? Or a bomb? A grenade? A Molotov cocktail?” I’m prepared to be extremely flexible about exactly how we create our distraction.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Killan
Ido not understand most of what Lydia is asking, so I focus on the one item I do recognize. “What would I need dynamite for?”
“Widening tunnels?” Lydia suggests with a shrug.
