Terminus (Fringe Worlds #1) (17 page)

“Oh?” Maker said, honestly surprised. “I must have misunderstood about the time.”

“That’s quite likely,” Quinzen noted. “Many of the species here operate on different time frames, and misunderstandings about meeting times are not uncommon. But it’s not of great consequence, since I’d planned to be here all this evening.”

“Thanks for understanding,” Maker said, to which the Panoptes merely nodded.

“How do you like the arena?” Quinzen asked, inclining his head towards where the two animals were fighting. The squid-like creature seemed to have the advantage at the moment, with two of its tentacles wrapped around its opponent’s neck and constricting. The warthog-like creature stung it with its tail, but it seemed to have little effect.

Maker shrugged. “It’s not really the type of action I go for.”

“I understand,” Quinzen replied, nodding. “Still, should you choose to bet, you’d be better off placing your money on the jwaedin.” The Panoptes gestured towards the warthog combatant. “The poison in its stinger is often slow-acting, but invariably fatal to most life forms.”

At that moment, a fight seemed to break out among two patrons sitting in the bleachers almost directly across from where Maker and his party were sitting. A woman with an eyepatch and wielding a pair of sais stood facing a rugged-looking scamp holding a dirk in one hand and a kukri in the other. For a moment, the crowd grew silent as the two stood there almost motionless, and then there was a thunderous outburst from the spectators as the man and woman closed on each other.

Much like the arena, those watching swiftly gathered around the two in a circle, shouting encouragement (although keeping far enough back to avoid getting accidentally skewered by the fighters). The action in the actual arena seemed to be forgotten, and Maker commented on it to Quinzen.

“Yes,” Quinzen agreed. “The spectacle of watching civilized beings slaughter each other has much more appeal in these parts than watching non-sentient creatures do it.”

As if in confirmation, Maker saw bets being hurriedly placed on the fight between the man and the woman. Back in the true arena, Maker saw Quinzen’s prediction come true as the squid-beast, perhaps as a result of its adversary’s poison, lay unmoving on the ground as the jwaedin ripped its tentacles off and began eating them.

Across from them, the fight came to an abrupt end as the woman, with blood oozing from a dozen cuts, performed a feint that her opponent fell for. She then danced nimbly inside his guard and slammed one of the sais into his neck. A moment later, the man collapsed to the ground, convulsing.

There was a sigh of disappointment from the crowd, who began fading back to their original positions, with money exchanging hands between most of them.

“There will be a lull now until the next contest,” Quinzen said. “Most times beasts are removed immediately after combat, but it’s dangerous to disturb a jwaedin in the middle of a meal.” He pointed back to the arena, where the victor was still feasting on the remains of his fallen enemy. Now that he wasn’t distracted by the animals battling each other, Maker also noticed a door on the arena floor – presumably to let combatants in and out of the ring.

“The jwaedin’s trainers starve it in the days before a fight,” the Panoptes continued, “to make it more vicious during the fray.”

“It seems to be an effective strategy,” Maker commented, “judging from the current results.”

“Indeed,” Quinzen said. He turned his head towards Erlen, who had been silent and almost motionless since the moment Maker had sat down. “What about your pet? Does it fight?”

Maker frowned, involuntarily balling his hand into a fist. Watching two wild animals was bad enough; the thought of Erlen in an arena like that was incomprehensible.

“No,” Maker replied, after a silence that had gone on just a little too long. “He’s not a creature with that kind of entertainment value.”

“Pity,” Quinzen said, but something in his tone suggested that he actually found this to be good news.

They sat quietly as people in the crowd milled about, expectedly waiting for the next bout. After a few moments, Maker found himself growing impatient. They had yet to discuss the real topic of conversation – something he was loath to do in public anyway – but they weren’t doing anything else either. The complete lack of activity (and discernable interest) on the part of Quinzen seemed unusual, given the circumstances. It was almost as if they were waiting for something – a thought that made Maker somewhat nervous and anxious.

“I realize that we’re imposing on you,” he finally said to Quinzen, “so if there’s some place we could talk, where we can have a short conversation about what brought me to your doorstep, my companions and I will quickly be on our way.”

“Of course,” Quinzen replied. “My apologies. I forget what a rush you humans are always in, your lifespans being so short and all. I have a private suite on one of the upper floors here that I use to conduct business.”

Maker glanced up, noticing not for the first time that, near the ceiling, the interior walls of the building seemed to support some sort of luxury boxes. He’d seen similar upscale seating at numerous entertainment complexes across the galaxy – places where the rich could enjoy spectacles or exhibitions without having to rub elbows with the masses.

Here, the tinted windows of the opulent booths looked down not just on the specific action in the arena, but across the Pit in general. Based on Quinzen’s statement, Maker assumed that each luxury box was also connected to an opulent suite of rooms.

A harsh scream sounded behind him, causing Maker to spin around in alarm. The first thing he noticed was that the railing a few feet away from him had given way, and a portion of it now swung out ominously over the arena. The next thing he realized was that Wayne was missing.

Glancing down, Maker saw the young Marine stretched out in a prone position on the arena floor, slowly trying to rise but obviously stunned. Not far away, the jwaedin, its meal interrupted by Wayne’s yell, looked around to locate the source of the commotion. Almost immediately, it spied Wayne lying helplessly on the ground. The creature howled, then dropped the tentacle it had been munching on and turned its attention to its new visitor.

Maker barely hesitated. Placing a hand on the top of the rail, he jumped – going up and over the barrier. As he was descending, he cast a concerned eye towards Erlen and was alarmed by what he saw: Quinzen’s ursine bodyguard, Graxel, had gathered Erlen up in his arms and was attempting to hold the Niotan. Maker, however, had no time to dwell on the scene; the short glimpse he’d seen was cut off as he fell below the level of the bleachers and a second later he landed on the dirt floor of the arena.

Maker bent his knees on contact to help absorb some of the impact. At the same time, a deafening roar erupted from the crowd. Having two humans face off against a jwaedin was more than they had expected, and Maker could only imagine the bets – and the accompanying odds – now being made.

His sudden appearance (coupled with the unexpected scream from the crowd) startled the jwaedin, causing the beast to momentarily halt its advance on Maker’s comrade. However, it quickly recovered. Screeching, it headed towards what appeared to be the weaker of the two adversaries facing it – Wayne, who had just struggled up to his knees.

Maker drew his sidearm and fired, sending three slugs at the jwaedin’s chest. While they obviously did some damage – knocking the creature back and making it yelp in frustration – they failed to penetrate its flesh. Clearly, the jwaedin had an armored hide, and Maker found himself regretting the fact that he’d only brought standard projectile rounds with him.

Taking aim at the jwaedin’s head, Maker fired again. The round struck one of the beast’s six-inch tusks, snapping it off. The creature howled in agony, stamping around in a circle as its paws went up to its face, soothingly gripping the bloody gap in its maw where the tusk had been.

With the jwaedin distracted by its pain, Maker saw an opportunity to take advantage of the situation. He rushed over to Wayne, who was still on his knees but somewhat cognizant of his surroundings.

“On your feet, Marine!” Maker hissed, slipping Wayne’s arm over his shoulder and helping him rise groggily to his feet. “Now move!”

As quickly as possible, they staggered over to the door Maker had seen earlier that led into the arena. It was about eight feet in height and made almost entirely of high-grade steel. The only part that wasn’t metal was a small glass window in the middle of the door, obviously intended to let those on the other side know when it was safe to open up.

As Maker could have guessed, the door was locked. However, through the window, he could see movement on the other side.

“Open up!” Maker yelled, banging crazily on the door with his fist. “Open the damn door!”

Either those on the other side were too afraid of the jwaedin, too enthralled by what they were seeing, or too callous to be concerned, because the door remained locked. Behind him, Maker sensed movement and heard a low, savage growl. He spun himself and Wayne around; the jwaedin was staring fiercely at them from about ten feet away, but hadn’t charged them. Behind it, Maker could see its scorpion-like tail swinging ominously in the air, the malignant stinger almost pulsing with venom.

It was clear what was happening: having been stopped by gunfire the two previous times that it tried to approach Wayne, the jwaedin had changed tactics. Instead, it was poised to let its tail do the dirty work. Moreover, the light body armor that the two Marines currently wore was unlikely to offer much protection.

Maker kept his eye on the thing’s tail. After a few seconds, it suddenly ceased its swaying motion and became still. Maker shoved Wayne away and simultaneously dove to the side as, lightning-fast, the tail lashed between them, striking at the spot where they had stood a moment before. Maker went with his momentum, rolling on the ground and coming up on the balls of his feet. Wayne, on the other hand, had fallen to all fours, but – from the look in his eyes – had come to his senses and fully realized the predicament they were in.

The jwaedin growled fiercely, plainly preparing to strike again, although it was impossible to tell who it would aim for. Seeing that Wayne still hadn’t fully recovered physically, Maker tried to ease his way over to the younger man.

Unexpectedly, a body landed lithely on the arena floor just a few feet away from Maker. It was Erlen. Maker also noticed something else hit the ground next to the Niotan – a bloody, severed forearm that Maker recognized as being from Qunizen’s ursine bodyguard, Graxel. The person who, just moments before, Maker had last seen trying to hold Erlen.

The jwaedin was momentarily taken aback by the appearance of yet another combatant, but it wasn’t about to be cowed by sheer numbers. It howled and seemed to fixate on Maker, who at the moment was between Erlen and Wayne. Before it could do anything, however, Erlen leaped at the beast, making an incredibly powerful jump that not only cleared the horizontal distance between it and the jwaedin, but vertically brought it up to the height of the creature’s head.

The jwaedin swatted Erlen aside like an annoying insect, sending the Niotan flying into the arena wall with frightening force.

“Erlen!” Maker shouted in concern, his voice causing the jwaedin to direct its attention once again to the two humans. Wayne, finally appearing to be steady, was just getting to his feet when Maker saw the jwaedin’s tail pause. Again, he acted instinctively, racing over and shoving Wayne out of the way just as the creature struck.

Something akin to a white-hot lance pierced the upper part of Maker’s chest, just below his right clavicle.

He looked down and saw the jwaedin’s stinger lodged in his pectoral. Blood arced out as the stinger was viciously yanked out by the creature.

Maker dropped to his knees, stunned. He probably would have fallen forward onto his face had not Wayne rushed over and, gripping Maker in a bear hug, begun lifting him to his feet.

From Maker’s perspective, the world seemed to stagger and then go into slow motion. The crowd around the rim of the pit moved like they were under water, limbs and bodies struggling against some unseen resistance. Their lips moved and facial expressions changed at a glacial pace, while their screams and shouts stretched into an unending drone. Off to the side, he saw Erlen rising up from the ground like an aged sloth, as if each muscle in his body had to be individually commanded to move.

Maker found himself concentrating fiercely, trying to remember whether there was anything vital in the area where he had been hit. The blood pounded in his ears; he couldn’t focus. Wayne was trying to say something to him, but Maker couldn’t make out the words.

He tried to remember what Quinzen had said about the effectiveness of the jwaedin’s poison.
Slow-acting, my ass
, he thought. Speaking of the beast, he looked over the shoulder of Wayne and saw the creature preparing to strike again.