Lifer (13 page)

Not for long, I hope. I let the soft material of Samuai’s tank top slip from my grasp.

It takes less than a second for Davyd to notice the black undergarment. His jaw tightens and I imagine his teeth grind together. He spins away and stalks toward the doorway. “Time to go.”

It worked. Is there hurt in the too-straight line of his back? Not Davyd.

I’ll only have a moment before he’ll come looking for me.
Please let it be long enough
. Mother closes the gap between us even as I’m tugging the new top over my head. “Nice performance,” she whispers.

It’s either censure or pride in her voice and I don’t have time to think about it. Under the cover of a final mother-daughter embrace I warn her.

“There’s a listening device hidden beneath Neale’s bed frame. They think he’s the rebel leader.”

She nods and I hope she’ll connect the dots on everything I don’t have time to say. Then I’m following Davyd back to the upper levels.

He’s silent until we reach the training levels. “Mother doesn’t expect you to return until dinner. You’re under my supervision until then.”

Is this where I get payback for downstairs? “Don’t you have work to do?”

Young Fishies don’t work shifts like us but they’re given junior roles in the system. From what I heard yesterday, Davyd’s somehow been allowed some Naut work too.

His slow headshake borders on menacing. “I finished up before babysitting duty.” He stretches his thick-muscled arms above his head. “I could use a work out.”

“There’s probably someone free.”

His jaw sets. “You.”

“No. No way.” He must know I avoid the training rooms other than the minimum required for fitness aboard the ship. After what happened to Zed and Samuai, I taste bile at the mere thought of going in there.

“Yes way. Unless you want to refuse a direct order?” His sigh is long and exaggerated. “Won’t look too good on your sentencing report.”

Davyd’s father already noticed me more than I’d like. I don’t need any more red flags if I hope to find out anything more about Samuai and Zed. I need Davyd’s help and I don’t want to piss him off any more than I have already.

But fighting?

My hesitation seems to improve Davyd’s mood. He’s smiling and against my will I notice again just how good-looking he is. I drag my gaze away. I have too much to lose by refusing and he knows it. I swallow nausea. “Fine.”

There’s a free room set up with a variety of suspended rock-like obstacles. They allow the full area to be used with fighters able to leap from one to another. Falls are rarely serious thanks to the protective mats on the floor. Directed lights create bright areas and deep, dark shadows. The winner is decided when the other player cries for mercy or when the wrist straps we collect by the door detect serious injury.

We both remove our shoes. It’s strange to be in here. I haven’t entered a training room since Zed and Samuai died in one.

Davyd seals the room, and flicks the switch to reduce gravity. The familiar hum vibrates through my body and I make a show of limbering up a little and familiarizing myself with the layout.

“Ready?” he asks.

Despite having already decided to lose, I can’t help the lick of nerves beneath my skin. He won’t be gentle. Not after what happened in the sleeping quarters. I tighten the wrist straps and feel the nano-probes nestle into my skin. I breathe in the scent of past fights—sweat and fear, adrenaline and triumph.

My mouth’s too dry for words. I nod and slap my wrists together, the start signal. Davyd does the same. We begin.

He saunters toward me, his muscles rippling with every step. “You’re pale.” He arches a brow. “Scared?”

I jump lightly onto a rock behind me. It gives slightly beneath my weight. Now I’m looking down on him. “Are you?”

“Of you? Never.” He follows me with a bound, but doesn’t move to strike.

I wait for the attack. I’ve seen him in the training rooms, he’ll act first. Patient, but deadly, and he wants to win. Sick of the tension, I jump higher and feel him on my trail, but still not closing to make contact.

Just fight already
.

I stop on the highest obstacle. Under the direct beam of a white, bright light. Nowhere to hide. It’s a long way down from here and being around Davyd gives my usually steady legs the shakes. Questions battle in my head. Was Zed this high when he took his last breath? Did Samuai die first? The waiting feels like one of the kitchen graters slicing across my nerves.

Enough. I launch a half-hearted kick at his groin. His left wrist swings down to deflect and his right follows up with a punch to my solar plexus. I huff and automatically block a kick while I catching my breath.

My hand rubs the spot I know will bruise in the morning. A leap to a lower rock seeped in shadows gives me a second to recover. Davyd’s there a moment later. It’s easy to drop to my haunches in pain.

“Mercy,” I say, exaggerating my gasp for air.

His brows come together. “You’re not this weak.”

“It was a good punch.”

“Fight properly or don’t fight at all,” he growls.

I shrug. “I tried that option. You weren’t interested.”

His annoyance adds gravity to a place where I should be light on my feet. He stares down at me. “What will it take, Asher?”

“To fight you? Why does it matter?”

One fist pounds into his palm in obvious frustration. “Everyone else on board lives for the training rooms, whatever level they were born to. Lifer, Fishie, Naut. Not you. What makes you think you’re better than everyone else?”

The question hangs there. Hovering in the low gravity.

“I don’t.”

Is that how I come across? Does Mother think that? Did Samuai and Zed? I clamp my mouth shut to stop from defending myself further and giving weight to the accusation.

And then his words sink in. He’s noticed. He’s been watching me. For how long? I try to read his shadowed face for answers but the flat line of his mouth says nothing more than I’ve pissed him off again.

He glares. “Then compete for once.”

He doesn’t even hide how much he wants this.

I could use him. He wants me to fight and I need his help to get a look at the cremation logs. My distaste for pointless fighting must be secondary to getting the answers I need. I rise to my feet in an easy movement. “You want me to fight?”

“Yes.”

I settle my hands on my hips. “I’ll fight you on one condition.”

“You’re not in any position to be asking for favors.”

“Whatever.” A flip puts me on a lower rock and I swing to the ground, leaving him behind.

There’s a long silence. “What do you want?”

“If I win, I want access to cremation logs. I promised your mother.” I hold my breath.

“You want me to get you into the Control Room? You know it’s forbidden.”

“Yes.”

A long pause and then a shrug. “Okay.”

“I want your word you’ll help me.”

“My word?” He laughs. “You think that’s worth anything when given to someone like you?”

Like me, a Lifer. Less than human. “Give me your word. Or I walk away.”

“Fine. You have my word I’ll help you get to the Control Room.”

I slap my wrists together. “Let’s get this over.”

He gives the signal and we begin again. This time I move warily. I don’t have the training room experience to trouble someone like Davyd but I suspect he’ll know if I don’t try. He’s balanced, his weight distributed on both feet, the consummate fighter.

He holds his hands high. “Free hit to get you started.”

I know he expects me to argue. Instead I step close. Punch him hard, aiming for the kidneys. My fist hits a wall of muscle and I cover a wince, but he couldn’t hide his surprise.

“I said hit, not tickle.”

“Now you’re making me wish I’d gone for your face.”

His chuckle brings an answering smile to my lips despite my determination to hate this. To hate him. Then he closes in. Swinging. One. Two. Three. My ribs are on fire and I can’t breathe. I manage to block the next one and I swing as hard as I can for his head but he dodges out of my reach.

Can’t breathe, can’t move. That hurt. That really hurt.

I retreat to the rock, blocking his blows and attempts to follow me as I go higher and higher. Twice I land a good kick but my foot bounces off his muscled thighs. By the time I reach the top I have a bruised calf and my ribs still burn.

Davyd looks at me from the rock below. “Nowhere else to go, baby.”

“There are always choices.”

“Not for us.”

He leaps and I attack before he lands. Left. Right. I punch with everything I’ve got. Then he’s closer and there’s amusement in his eyes. I’m scratching, clawing at his throat. There’s a rush of adrenaline through me but it’s gone as fast as it arrives. My blows have no effect. I can’t hurt him. I can’t stop him.

He grabs first my right wrist and then my left, holding them easily in one hand. I kick out, slam my forehead into his grinning mouth but he’s too strong.

“See? Nowhere to go.” His hand closes around my throat, but doesn’t squeeze. “Nice that you put up a bit more effort though.”

I glance at the ground a long way down. Launch it. “Always…choices.”

I throw all my weight forward, knocking him off balance. His hand tightens at my throat and then releases as we both go over the edge of the rock.

It is a long way down. Long enough for me to have time to regret my impulsive action. I might not like the fighting in the training rooms, but it doesn’t mean I like to lose.

We land in a painful tangle of legs. I can’t breathe and my body refuses to respond to the orders I’m sending.

Move Asher
.

Then I’m scrambling to get away but Davyd’s faster. He straddles me, holding me down with superior strength and weight. He presses me back against the smooth surface of the ground mats. Everything about him, from his cocky grin to his puffed out chest, screams victory. He leans close.

“You never fought against Samuai.” His low voice caresses. His breath is warm and sweet on my mouth. “So nice to have something special, just between us.” His finger trails down my cheek. “Then again, my brother was always pretty soft.”

He’s gone too far. “You think this makes you special?”

His smirk is answer enough.

With an arch of my back, I bring my body flush against his, forcing him upwards and follow through with a knee to the groin. I put everything I’ve been through since my brother and my love died into the blow.

Flesh crumples under my knee. Davyd’s eyes bug and breath explodes. He doubles over.

I manage to stand. He’s distracted, open for the finishing blow. I jab at the side of his knee with the ball of my foot. Hard. He topples over, his hands still covering his private parts, the color missing from his face. I crouch over him so my knee presses against the side of his neck. “Say it.”

“What?” He barely squeaks the word.

The pressure of my knee increases just enough to make sure he knows I’m serious. His brow arches. He’s amused, I’ve just kneed him in the balls and could cut off his breath in a heartbeat and he’s amused.

My breath hisses through my nose because my teeth are clamped shut. “Say it.”

He hesitates long enough that I think I’m going to need to suffocate the bastard before he’ll give in. “Mercy,” he says loudly.

The game’s over, but with the amusement in his eyes as he climbs to his feet, I’m not sure who won.

“What a little surprise package you’re turning out to be.” His gaze sweeps me from head to toe. “You’re not as piss weak as you look.”

I don’t like that he knows how to get under my skin. I should’ve lay down and lost. Hand-to-hand fighting isn’t the answer. The big battles are won with words, not losses of temper and lashing out. But I’m never going to convince him.

“The Control Room,” I say simply. Time to remind him of his promise. Funny that for all my dislike of Davyd I have no doubt he’ll work out a way to get me there. Oh, I fully expect him to twist his obligation, but he won’t break his word.

Not even to me.

[Blank]

Breathe. I can’t breathe.

Something soft is across my face. Smothering. Soaked in a chemical that coats my throat and makes my mind wander. My hands scrabble for purchase on the slippery material.

Is it a pillow? It must be a pillow.

My nails find skin. Someone’s hands hold the pillow down. Tiny, wrinkled hands. I should be able to dislodge them but the heavy weight on my chest crushes every other thought.

“Get off me.” I waste precious air trying to yell but the material muffles the sound.

Bucking and writhing, I fight to get free. I fight to keep conscious. I fight to win. I know with a sudden certainty that if I lose this fight I’m dead.

The liquid on the pillow makes it hard to focus, makes me think how easy it would be to slip away to the fuzzy place in my thoughts.

“Why isn’t this working?” my assailant mutters.

A woman’s voice, old and stretched with time. I should overpower the owner of such a voice. I attempt to throw her off me, but I’m strapped to the bed with ties across my chest, stomach and hips. My legs are free and I kick out at the voice while my hands search for the skin on the pillow.

I’m not getting anywhere.

Think
.

First I need air, and then I’ll worry about escape.

I go still. Completely. Drop my hands. Relax my legs. Freeze the thrashing of my head. My lungs scream for oxygen. My thoughts blur. Black teases the edge of my mind. Despite it all, I play dead. I feel it. A slight movement of the pillow. She thinks she’s won.

My hand snakes out, finds a wrist. I pull down hard, twisting her back and with my last ounce of strength and bring my knees up. Crack. The happy sound of kneecap finding bone is followed by a woman’s cry of pain.

Yes
.

The pillow lifts a little and I suck in air, scratching at the material to get it off my face. Then I’m free and gasping. Above me, the skylight’s a black shadow in the darkness. I haven’t been asleep for long. The horrible chemical that almost knocked me out lingers in my mouth. Sweet, sickly and gut-churning.