The Hunter on Arena (21 page)

The day was like all others, but because of its very ordinariness when they had hoped for so much more, it seemed to have
no end. There was only one unexpected occurrence during the day—an alien being, stranger than any they had encountered as
yet attacked the guards. The thing stood more than seven feet tall and was deep blue in color. It was squarish in shape and
no thicker than Braldt’s hand. It propelled itself through the air by a curious rippling which appeared along its lower edge
and took it in whatever direction it aimed. It was capable of reversing itself instantly, with its edges fluttering in both
directions, then flowing all together at once. Hands or some form of appendages appeared wherever they were needed along any
of the edges or even growing out of the main body if it were necessary; they were as short or as long as required. The thing
did not appear to have a head and even though it was impossibly thin, it was incredibly strong.

The guards had never been able to make the thing do anything they wanted it to do. Nor were they able to communicate with
it despite the silver disc which had been attached to the upper left quadrant of its body. Perhaps it had no language. It
took no nourishment that anyone could discover and had no apparent needs. Its cell was next to Braldt’s and at night it merely
rolled itself up into a tight cylinder and lay still and unmoving until morning. Nor would it fight.

The guards grew increasingly frustrated with their lack of ability to control it, and on this particular morning had begun
to beat the creature and prod it with the points of their spears, all to no effect. One of the guards, more aggravated than
the others, lost control and plunged his spear completely through the thin, blue body. All around the arena, guards and prisoners
alike stopped to watch the strange conflict.

For a long moment nothing seemed to happen. The arena fell silent. The guard looked around, uncertain what to do, for while
the guards were there to guard the prisoners, and violence was always implicit, the blue being had done nothing to warrant
the severity of his action. Yet all wondered just what if anything it would do.

The blue alien stood unmoving, the spear sticking out of its body. The guard, feeling the weight of eyes upon him, felt it
imperative to pretend that he had intended his action. He swaggered forward, and bracing his foot on the body of the creature,
made as if to pull his spear free. Instead, his foot slowly sank, drawn inexorably inward as the guard stared at his entrapped
limb in horrified disbelief. And then he began to scream.

At the sound of his voice, everyone rushed toward him. Some of his friends grabbed him around the upper body and began to
pull backward, trying to free him, but it was hopeless. Inch by screaming, struggling inch, he was pulled forward, sucked
in, absorbed by the impossibly thin, blue body. No sign of him appeared on the other side, nor did the blue square grow any
larger. Several of the guards began hacking at the blue being with swords,
knives, clubs, and even the metal lightning arcs; nothing seemed to affect it. The blades merely penetrated its thin body,
emerging on the other side. Clubs and blunt weapons bounced off and the blue arc of light sizzled along the edges without
seeming to bother the being in the slightest. But in the end, despite all his friends’ efforts, the guard was taken, every
single bit of him, leather, metal, flesh, and bone, until he was completely gone.

Septua watched the entire happening with wide eyes. When it was over, he gave a long, low whistle of appreciation. “Whew,
wotta we ’ave to do to get that guy on our side, I wonder! Wotta technique! I never seen nothin’ like it! Did you see the
way it just sort’ slurped ’im in, I mean it was nothin’ short of amazin’! Oh, sorry, Randi, ’ere, lemme ’elp you sit down!”

Randi gave Septua a black look, and deftly avoided his hand which had already inched upward from her waist to the side of
her breast. “You’re disgusting! A man was just killed and all you can think about is the technique!”

“Well, ’ey, better ’im than us!” Septua exclaimed in his own defense, placing his hand on his breast and trying to look offended.

“Enough,” said Braldt as he stepped between the two. “Much as I hate to admit it, Septua is right. It was an amazing technique.
Think about it,” he said to Randi. “When else has anyone ever been able to stand up to the guards? Never. Many have tried
and some of them have been very good warriors indeed, but no one has ever succeeded. How does one speak to this being? Has
anyone ever tried?”

His question went unanswered because the day was brought to an abrupt halt as they were herded back to their cells and locked
down without food or water. There was none of the banter and casual talk that normally accompanied this procedure. It was
clear that the guards were badly shaken. No further action was taken against the blue alien who returned to his cell, coiled
itself tightly, and promptly went to sleep, or whatever it was that it did at such times.

Braldt sat down as near as he could get to the creature and studied it, pondering how they could persuade such a thing to
help them in their fight for freedom.

Lomi struggled back to consciousness and fought off the waves of darkness that threatened to envelope her by sheer strength
of will. Her flagging body infuriated her. She could not, would not die now, now that she was needed! She rose from her bed,
and using the walls for assistance, made her way out into the hall. The corridors were thronged as always; so many people
hurrying about their business, everything so very important. So many people, but who among them could be trusted? Despite
her resolve, she felt her knees weaken, and still clinging to the doorframe, slid gently to the floor.

Before she could struggle upright, a crowd had gathered around her, murmuring sounds of concern. A grim-looking, take-charge
sort of fellow leaned over and peered into her eyes, then listened to her hesitant heart. Guards shouted orders. She tried
to speak, to tell them it wasn’t necessary, but somehow, her voice never quite left
her lips, or if it did, it went unheard. She felt herself lifted by efficient hands and carried down the corridor. She had
led such a quiet life, it seemed odd to have such a fuss made over her. It was quite nice, actually. A pity one had to nearly
die to have it happen.

Lights streamed past and fragments of conversation came to her. It seemed that they did not think she would live to reach
the infirmary. She closed her eyes and smiled. She would live long enough to do what was needed, but she wished she could
stay around to see what would follow. Quite irreverently she wondered if there weren’t someone you could complain to. It was
like having a mystery novel taken away at the last chapter. As the darkness closed in again, she wondered why life had to
be so unfair.

There was trouble. Something was wrong. Even Keri
could feel it. It was in the air. Batta Flor had been pacing back and forth all morning from one end of the cell to the other,
pounding on the bars of the door and shaking them violently. No guards came to yell threats or strike his fingers with their
clubs and that in itself was odd. They had seen no guards other than a small guard that had raced through the cellblock early
that morning. They had been fully armed.

They were supposed to have fought this morning, but as yet there were no sounds to indicate that a game day had begun. No
blaring of horns, no pounding of drums, no sound of the crowds. Batta Flor’s constant motion was making her nervous; she wanted
to scream at him to stop, but she was afraid to. More and more she felt fear. The way he looked at her now frightened her.
She was certain that he had lost all memory of their past existence, their friendship. The look in his eyes was quite different
now. A cunning look and something else as well, a look of ownership.

He had begun to lash out at the lupebeast pup whenever it came too close. But Beast was now the only thing that kept her sane,
a link with Braldt and what had
been, and she was not about to relinquish him to Batta Flor’s moodiness. She did her best to keep him by her at all times,
even sleeping beside him at night. She hugged him to her now and felt the tension in his body. She drew her legs up under
her and huddled against the coarse-furred pup. Hot tears pricked behind her eyelids and she closed her eyes, unable to bear
the sight of Batta Flor pacing off the steps of their captivity.

Young Leif Arndtson, a Thaneson of the first circle, had hoped to make a name for himself on this mission. He had hoped to
acquit himself well enough so that he could erase the memory of the shameful manner in which he had disgraced himself during
the skirmish on the captive freighter. It had been his first real fight. No one was more surprised than he to find that he
could not stomach the sights and sounds of battle. Before he could strike a single blow, he became hopelessly nauseous and
spent the rest of the brief affair emptying his stomach of its contents. Although there had been a few awkward attempts at
joking about the situation, even his men had been embarrassed over his behavior and not anxious to remain under his command.
Most had transferred out within the month that followed.

He had hoped to remedy that blot on his career by following his instructions to the letter, winning the commendation of his
superiors and making his father proud. It hadn’t seemed so much to wish for, but now he would settle for escaping with his
life, or at the very least, the chance to kill himself and avoid dishonor and betrayal. A bitter taste filled his mouth as
he began to
realize how slender were his chances of doing even that.

He had stepped through the transmission chamber with a contingent of twelve men, fully armed and ready and willing to do his
bidding. He had also been entrusted with the safety of two tectonic specialists, the men who would set the charges that would
cause the planet known as K7 to self-destruct in a manner that would seem entirely natural. He had been assured that there
would be more than ample time for him and his men to return in safety.

At no time had there been any mention of crazed natives and swarms of hostile, armed Madrelli, which was what they had found
waiting for them…. Now there would be no honor, nothing but ignominious death at the hands of primitives.

Leif Arndtson closed his eyes and sighed, closing his mind against the pain of his tightly bound wrists and ankles, trying
to think of what they might have done to have prevented this debacle from happening.

He had known about the Madrelli of course, for he had often organized new shipments of the shaggy, cloned workers to replace
those killed in the mines. But the Madrelli had always been a placid, abiding race and it had never occurred to him to fear
them. One merely ordered them to do something and they did it. Only these Madrelli didn’t.

They had emerged from the transmission chamber in the ruined control room on K7, astonished at the degree of destruction they
found. Pipes and ceiling panels, ductwork and bits of machinery were strewn all over.
There were watermarks all along the edges of the walls indicating the depth of the water as the river poured through the chamber.

The Madrelli had done this; this Leif and his men had been told. But they had thought it had been the work of a few rogues
who were themselves killed in the fierce deluge they had caused. Or so they had been told. There were several robots lying
about as well, violently disassembled. This should have given them a clue what to expect, but instead, they had merely been
horrified at the waste and cost of replacement.

Leif and his men made their way through the maze of broken and semi-collapsed tunnels following the carefully drawn schematics
which would bring them to the heart of the mountain where they would set their charges.

They had met no one on the way in and that was unfortunate, for in the tangled mass of fallen debris that clogged the corridors,
some of them might have escaped. The mountain had rumbled continuously and bits of rock and broken panels rained down on them
incessantly which made them increasingly nervous. Occasionally, the mountain would shake so hard that they would be unable
to keep their footing. Several of the men had been injured and their lights lost or broken.

The thunderous rumble that accompanied these shakings was even more terrifying, for all of them were aware of the vast mountain
of rock above them. It was all too easy to picture a sideways slip of rock or the collapse of an already weakened corridor,
crushing the life out of them as easily as one might swat an annoying insect. Many had wanted to turn back, and even though
Leif
Arndtson had held them in place, in his heart he had wanted to flee as well.

Would that they had. He could have reported to his superiors that interior damage had prevented him from reaching his goal.
They might even have believed him.

Instead, fearing that he would forever be branded a coward, he had pressed on and had led his men unerringly to the throat
of the volcano. The fiery maw had yawned beneath them, churning, boiling, spitting out chunks of flaming rock that leaped
high into the air above them only to return and be swallowed by the crimson flood once again. Here, the shaking and rumbling
roar had been constant, the noise too loud for them to be heard even if they shouted. They crept from place to place, clinging
to every knob and projection, holding their bodies flat against the heated ground to avoid being thrown into the flaming cauldron.
They made their needs known by signs though they feared letting go long enough to do so. At last, the technicians set their
charges and they were free to go, which they did with all possible speed.