Markram Battles: Omens of Doom (Part II) (2 page)

Thirteen directed her gaze toward the window, probably in an attempt to find the source of Seven’s distraction. “We are no good to anyone alive if our lives don’t mean anything.”

Seven’s eyes returned to her. I had the strange impression that her words, perhaps because of her tone, zealous, truly believing, had in some way awakened something deep within him. His reply confirmed my belief. “What would you have me do?”

I remember grimacing in disapproval as I waited for her response, knowing that Seven, either because of the changes I had already seen in him or the changes I feared were yet to come, wouldn’t easily dismiss her words. Her answer unsteadied me. “Dare to make a stand.”

Seven shook his head, scoffing in frustration. At least he had the common sense to pause at such a suggestion. “There is a time and a place for everything, even you should know that. I meant every single word I just said and I will enforce my orders whether you agree with them or not.” His eyes seemed to darken, bringing out the unremitting leader I knew lived inside of him. “You will remain standing, exactly where you are, until morning. Move and the entire unit will pay.”

Seven turned around and headed out of the training field. He stopped in front of me, acknowledging me with a nod. “Commander.”

My eyes fixed on the blank expression in his blue eyes. “The Major General has arranged a one-on-one combat between two fighters to honor the Senator of our newly acquired sector.”

He didn’t blink. “Has she already picked the fighters?”

I nodded.

“Do I have any say in the matter?”

I didn’t answer.

Seven nodded, requesting permission to leave, and I bit the inside of my mouth in response. Regardless of what many other army officials thought, Commanders had a very unique relationship with the leaders they trained, almost familial in a way. I knew Seven well enough to interpret, with perfect accuracy, the meaning of every expression. His blank stare, though compliant like it should be, was just part of the mask he had built through the years in order to conceal his true thoughts.

I bring my mind back to the present, storing away the memories that had slipped out of my mental repository, and smile easily as I address the Major General’s question. “Whether he is overcompensating for something or not, I cannot be sure. But Seven’s techniques are unrivaled. Whatever he is doing, in spite of anyone’s personal judgment, is working. I wouldn’t concern myself with the reason behind his actions, as long as his results are unblemished.”

The Major General narrows her gaze, but her eyes shift away to something happening behind me. I turn around to see Seven entering the Grand Hall. His long white hair has been pulled back over his head and weaved together around his skull like the pliable fibers of a basket. The black dress uniform he wears has single white stripes running along the side of his arms and a double badge over his left shoulder, setting him apart as one out of only eight Chief Leaders still standing. I have to grind my teeth together to repress laughter as I notice several women, all daughters of senators, heading toward him. He nods cordially as they approach, but his furrowed brow tells me he couldn’t be any more irritated.

Two senators and one of their consorts walking near by disrupt my line of vision and I turn to address them. “Commander,” Senator Thirty-Two greets me before I have a chance to speak. His short beard shimmers under the dim lights.

I nod. “Senator. I trust you are enjoying the opportunity to meet the leaders?”

“Most remarkably so. I believe my daughter is quite taken with one of the leaders of your unit,” he says, pointing to the young woman next to Seven. My gaze travels down her shockingly exposed body, following the gray lace running along the side of her legs, hips, and torso. “Though, I am afraid she will be heartbroken by the night’s end. Surely more than one woman with substantial means will request his company for the evening.”

“Unit leaders are free to accept invitations from whomever they wish,” the other Senator says. I can feel my forehead creasing in confusion as I study the familiar features of his face. I have no memory of him, none whatsoever, and yet, something about the curve of his nose and eyes seems familiar. “It is one of the benefits of winning battles. Women do love conquering heroes,” he adds.

“How do you find the results of this year’s battles so far, Commander?” Senator Thirty-Two asks.

I interrupt my inspection to address him. “They are the best we’ve seen in years.”

The Senator smiles, satisfied. “I have to agree. After the fighters’ rebellion during the rule of the Emperors, many were afraid the battles would never be the same again.”

Senator Thirty-Two’s consort lets out a sigh of disapproval, wrapping her arm around the Senator’s arm. “It was to be expected. The fighters’ rebellion was a catastrophe. Many Markram lives were lost in the uprising.” She rolls her free wrist in the air, using her extrasensory telekinesis to wave her long hair away from the elevated collar of her long black dress.

I nod in approval as my mind retrieves the encoded memories from my brain. “Our race was fighting a war against the Kîvera planet at the time, which allowed imprisoned fighters the opportunity to overtake our defenses. However, we conquered, yet again.”

“Wasn’t the recruitment of female fighters instituted as a consequence?” the Senator’s consort asks.

“It was the perfect solution, really,” Senator Thirty-Two answers. “Female fighters provide the perfect combination of aggression and brutality in the battles, while maintaining compliant attitudes outside the arena. A second rebellion would never happen.”

I consider his statement and make a conscious effort to hold back a reply. Fighters rebelling again might not happen in the same manner, since we have taken precautions to avoid it. However, new and different rebellions may occur due to the new regulations. An image of Seven and Thirteen flashes through my mind and I shake it away immediately. Surely they would never go that far. “The recruitment of female fighters also gave us an added opportunity to control population growth among Kîvera,” I say in an attempt to keep my brain occupied on other matters. “The Kîvera’s male dominant society, where males must compete to earn mating rights over a group of females and the gestation period of a female Kîvera is half the time of a female Markram, presented a serious concern, especially after the uprising.”

Senator Thirty-Two nods in agreement. I return my attention to the other Senator, retrieving every bit of information from my brain, no matter how trivial, that might help me solve the puzzle of his familiarity. Unsuccessful, I decide to approach the matter differently. “Senator,” I say. “I don’t believe we have been properly introduced.”

The Senator looks at me, the edges of his mouth barely curving into what I cannot interpret as anything else but a suppressed smile. “I am the new Senator of Sector 6.” My mind begins to race through the memories regarding Sector 6. The planet had a massive sandstorm five moon cycles ago, which disrupted the normal functioning of its facilities. Not only that, but several of the buildings caved in after a series of seismic activities, resulting in the deaths of hundreds of civilians, army officials, and the ruling senator in charge. “I am quite fortunate to have been in a position to attend. My consort, however, had to remain in Sector 6 to oversee several reconstruction projects. She was very disappointed to have missed the Opening Ceremony.”

“She is matron of one of the units, is she not?” Senator Thirty-Two asks.

Senator Six doesn’t look his way. Instead, his gaze intensifies even more, as if he wished he could tell me through this minor change of expression something of the upmost importance. “That is correct.” The tone he uses unsteadies me, making me wonder if I should know the unit he is referring to. Not that I have any way of finding out; private patronage of fighting units is a confidential matter. Only board members would have such information and even then, specific details are given the highest levels of confidentiality. Still, I cannot shake the alarming feeling that he knows something I don’t.

I turn my attention to the Major General, who hasn’t spoken a single word since the representatives approached us, and find her scrutinizing something in the distance. Her black eyes are locked onto what seems to be a passive dispute between Seven and Eleven, another unit leader in my squadron. The two leaders stare at each other with loathsome expressions. Something I have grown accustomed to, since they have always seemed to find quarrel with each other.

Seven’s arms tense, squeezing his fists tight, and for a second, I believe he will punch Eleven on the spot. He turns toward me, locking his eyes with mine. I take a deep breath and nod toward the representatives. “Excuse me.”

“Don’t go too far, Commander,” Senator Thirty-Two’s consort says. “The main entertainment for the evening will commence at any moment.”

I smile in acknowledgment before making my way toward Seven, desperation oozing out of his rigid façade in spite of his efforts to keep it concealed.

“Commander,” Eleven acknowledges me.

“Eleven,” I reply, inspecting his perfectly poised posture. Nothing in his stance or expression tells me there is something I should be concerned about, except for the fact that he seems too pleased with himself. I let my eyes scrutinize every detail about him, from his short, impeccably cut hair, all the way down to his polished black boots. “I don’t need to remind either of you that physical confrontations between unit leaders are completely forbidden.”

“There is no need to worry, Commander. Seven and I have had enough confrontations to know we are equally matched in many respects.” He eyes Seven and the features of his face tense as if he were attempting to suppress a smile. “Besides, there are other ways to confront rivals without the use of our own fists.”

Eleven bows, clearly requesting permission to be dismissed, and though I wish to inquire further, I nod. He walks away to join a group of representatives and I return my attention to Seven, whose tightly clenched fists only make his rigid posture all the more noticeable.

“Seven.” He doesn’t acknowledge me. “Seven,” I repeat.

His eyes find me, but his expression remains unchanged. The revulsion emanating from him takes me by surprise. I open my mouth to command an explanation when Senator Thirty-Two’s voice echoes through the Hall.

“My dear guests, it is my pleasure to present tonight’s entertainment. Two of the most admired fighters in our Arena will show us the true caliber of their training. As is customary, the match will be to the death. Please, let’s welcome from Squadron Twenty-Eight, Unit Eleven, Fighter Six.”

A tall woman with long black hair enters the Grand Hall. The ceremonial gown enveloping her body in a delicate combination of embroidered silks generates hushed whispers from the crowd. She wears a strapless red suit, nothing like the black or white uniform she is used to wearing. The glossy fabric embraces her skin, emphasizing her svelte, yet toned figure. The outfit is only partially concealed underneath the waves of delicately embroidered silk. The ceremonial gown drapes all the way to the floor from a sash wrapped around her waist. A giant bow, crafted from the same type of fabric, is firmly secured at the low of her back, where two moon daggers peek out of a hidden belt. She has somewhat of a fragile appearance in spite of the curved knives tucked behind her. A thick white base covers every inch of her face with the exception of her bright red lips and black eyeliner.

Senator Thirty-Two exhales at the sight of the woman. “And, from Squadron Twenty-Eight, Unit Seven, Fighter Thirteen.”

Seven lets out a low groan at the mention of Thirteen, followed by the softest exhale as she appears at the opposite end of the Hall. Thirteen steps forward. Long, rippling waves of braided hair swirl around her forehead, twisting and curling in tangled harmony all the way down to her shoulders. Her eyelids have been coated with a sparkly green powder and her eyelashes and eyebrows are outlined with green, shimmering feathers. Loose threads of hair graze her exposed collarbones, veiling the crisscrossed straps of the brown leather corset tightly secured around her torso. Thirteen begins to walk toward the center of the hall, revealing a pair of brown leather pants and strapped boots under the emerald sheer skirt swathing from the belt at her hips. The slow, delicate movement of the fabric caresses the air as she moves, demanding the undivided attention of everyone in the room. Two double-sided knives can be seen tucked inside the pockets on her belt.