Fic: In the Red Night, chapters 1 to 5
Aug. 29th, 2005 06:17 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
veldeiaTitle: In the Red Night
Auhtor: Veldeia
Fandom: Babylon 5: Crusade
Rating: PG-13 for badly written fistfights and gore
Category: Hurt/comfort, action, drama. Gen.
Spoilers: Techno-mage trilogy. Not really any for Crusade. Not that it matters much with this old a show anyway.
Summary: Captain Gideon goes missing on a roguish ex-Drazi colony, and Galen goes after him. When the rescue mission goes horribly wrong, both are caught in a desperate struggle for survival.
1. Afternoon
Captain Matthew Gideon stared at the scaly face in front of him. The green eyes were fierce, and numerous rings and spikes pierced the scales, sticking out into all directions. His opponent was unlike any Drazi he had seen before, but it was only suitable that he looked so warlike. After all, this Drazi was Gideon's enemy.
Like in all the previous fights, there was a nagging voice somewhere far away, in the back of his head, that said that he shouldn't fight. That this Drazi had done nothing to him. It was a weak voice that he could easily put aside. He had to fight the Drazi, like he had fought all his previous opponents.
They would fight until one of them faced the greatest humiliation of all, losing the battle and dying. The other would receive the glory and honor of victory, and would go on to fight other, stronger opponents. Defeating them would bring even more glory.
The Drazi let out a feral growl and charged.
Galen stormed into the bridge of the Excalibur, taking in the scene around him. The officers at their appointed posts were there, taking care of their required tasks. In front of the captain's chair stood lieutenant John Matheson. To the lazy observer he was as calm and cool as ever, his face revealing nothing at all. Still, there were small signs - how he constantly changed weight from one foot to the other, the way he stood, the way he kept glancing at the communications console. Matheson was clearly distressed. It was no surprise for Galen. After all, he knew the reason for it. Captain Gideon was missing.
Galen walked straight to Matheson and asked, "When did you last hear from him?"
"We haven't heard anything from him, or the two crew members that were with him, since we lost them down there, two hours ago," he told, pointing at the screen, which was dominated by a close view of the planet below.
The planet carried a curious resemblance to Mars. Its surface was mostly barren desert with ragged cliffs and red sand. But unlike on Mars, where most cities had been built in large domes, here on Sozirja, they were underground. There were almost no signs of sentient life on the surface itself, only the few spaceports and numerous small entrances to the cities below, difficult to notice if one did not know about them.
"And the same would apply to his last known location?"
"I only know where we split up in the capital city. After that, no one knows. He never showed up at the rendezvous and never contacted us."
They both knew well that Matthew would certainly not leave his ship and crew without any note or message if he could send one. He had not been able to come to the meeting place, and he had been unable to contact his ship. He had to be in serious trouble.
Galen had tried an electron incantation with Matthew just before he entered the bridge, and it had been an odd one. Matthew had attacked him the instant they saw each other, with no explanation, without even one intelligible word. It had not been as if he had had a quarrel of some sort with Galen, because then such a fierce, almost animal assault would have made no sense. It was as if he had not recognized him at all. Although Matthew could do nothing to harm him in the incantation, all Galen's attempts at communicating with him had failed. It had not offered much of an explanation. It had only served to make him more anxious.
Luckily Galen had also set a probe on Matthew. He had checked it earlier as well, and it had showed nothing of use. Just a sparsely furnished room where Matthew had been, apparently alone. Now he looked again, and the view was completely different.
The microscopic probe rested on Matthew's shoulder. It showed a rogue-like Drazi standing in front of him, gazing menacingly. Blood was trickling from the Drazi's mouth and many of the decorative piercings on his face were askew. As Galen watched, he saw Matthew launch a furious attack, flinging a fast series of punches and kicks at the Drazi. The Drazi fought back, but he was slower, looking tired and drawn. He went down. Apparently Matthew had won. Why he had fought the Drazi in the first place was a complete mystery. Through the limited view his probe offered, Galen could not be sure if Matthew was injured as well.
Galen did not tell Matheson what he had seen. Instead, he posed another question. "What are you going to do about this situation?"
"There's no way we can find him from up here, unless he manages to contact us somehow. I've already sent one search team down there, but so far they've come up with nothing at all. I'll be sending more men to help in the search."
"You must, of course, go on as you see best. I shall join the search myself, and I will go alone. I have means at my disposal that your men lack. I would prefer your men to stay out of my way. I'll try to maintain contact with you, if possible."
Careful preparation was always the most important part, whatever the task ahead. Considering this particularly important task, Galen had begun with gathering all the information he could find about what he might be facing on the planet.
Sozirja was originally a Drazi colony, founded a hundred years ago by an anarchist fraction that had strongly opposed their culture's tradition of periodic division to green and purple and fighting for the winning color. Since it had been a free world with very loose ties to its home world and government, it had quickly become a popular place for other non-wanted people, those who needed to hide, or those whose business could not stand direct daylight. It was a particularly good hideout since the nearest jumpgate was in another solar system, so there was little traffic.
The Drazi origin was almost forgotten these days, although the descendants of the first settlers still formed a major part of the population. Aside from them, there were groups of nearly all known races. There were even some sightings of drakh and streib. Galen did not know if those were just the usual spies and agents enjoying the suitably shady environment, or if they might be independent individuals who were not serving the general cause. All in all, Sozirja was a world similar to many others, shabby, difficult, unfriendly to officials and law-enforcers, but, in its own harsh way, welcoming to almost anyone else.
Matthew, along with several members of his crew, had first set foot on Sozirja because of nothing more than a rumor. It suggested that an ancient and wise alien of some unknown species who had an extensive knowledge of medicine lived among the assorted entrepreneurs of the planet. At some point along their search, Matthew had decided that they should split up. He had given a time and a place for rendezvous, which he and his companions had then failed to reach.
Galen had only returned when Matthew was already missing, so he had not been there when they had left the Excalibur. He had his doubts about this rumor, and he would have wanted to accompany the group had he been there. But his absence had been necessary, his mission a very important one, and he did not regret it. Although, should he fail to locate and rescue Matthew, so that his necessary absence would be the cause of Matthew's demise, he would certainly come to regret it.
Even though Galen knew as much as there was to know about the planet, he did not have many clues as to what Matthew's situation was at the moment. He was glad he had a probe on Matthew, since he could simply locate it and follow it to Matthew's physical location, but he didn't know if that would be enough. Maybe Matthew was heavily guarded, and Galen would have to find a way to distract or fight a whole regiment of angry natives. Or maybe Matthew was in no trouble at all, simply just in an awkward situation where it was important that he did not contact the Excalibur for one reason or the other, and Galen barging in with firebolts and lightning would not help at all.
Galen accessed the probe again, and found out Matthew had returned to the small, sparsely furnished room. It seemed he was lying on a bed - maybe he was asleep, or meditating, or recuperating from injuries he had suffered in the fight with the pierced Drazi. He had to be alive, since it would make no sense at all for him to be in that room if he was dead. At least that was what Galen told himself, and what he wanted to believe.
To reassure himself, Galen tried the electron incantation again, and found that Matthew was indeed alive. Alive and kicking, just as mad as he had been before.
Galen chose not to land at the spaceport, but in the shadow of a nearby rock formation, his ship covered with illusions. At the port, he would have had to face some officials, no matter how sloppy and non-inquisitive, and he would have had to follow the standard protocol in leaving the planet. Instead, he wanted to have his ship somewhere that was quick enough to reach by foot, and even faster to leave behind with the ship, in case they needed to run away from something.
The spaceport was still the nearest entrance to the burrowed city below, the largest of the five major cities of the planet, generally considered the capital, although such terms did not mean much on this world. Galen covered the distance to the entrance on a flying platform, surrounded by a shield. The planet's atmosphere was slightly more hospitable than that of its lookalike Mars. There was more oxygen and not nearly as much carbon dioxide, so one might survive short times without a breather mask. It might prove an important detail if they got into a lot of trouble while escaping, but he hoped that would not be the case.
It was an easy thing for Galen to enter the spaceport and mix into the crowd. He had spent time considering his plan. The two basic options were entering as a techno-mage and showing off as much as possible, deliberately drawing attention, or then doing the opposite, going in disguise and trying to go unnoticed. He had opted for the latter, since although the former might have been the more efficient way in some things, the risks would have been greater, and it might have brought unwanted attention to Matthew as well. So, he wore a full-body illusion, appearing shorter than he truly was, slightly thicker, with short sand-colored hair and a plain dark blue suit. No one looked at him twice - he was not interesting enough, since he did not look like an easy target nor a particularly threatening person.
The signal from the probe did not come from very far away. Matthew was still in the capital, but at some distance from the place where the teams had split. The place was far enough that walking would take too long, so Galen took the local train. The station was busy with all kinds of people, most of whom concentrated furiously on doing their own business and ignoring everyone else, eyes turned to face the bare metal floor or to the bright advertisements on the walls. It reminded him of the tube on Zafran 8, so long ago, and with that came the memory of Isabelle and the time they had spent together on that world, her home. It was a painful memory, but one that he cherished. He spent most of the way, only two stops from the spaceport station, lost in those thoughts, although a part of him was constantly and carefully observing the surroundings.
Galen left the station to find himself in a part of the city that was fancier than most, cleaner, more decorated. Even the people looked richer, wore better clothes and carried more sophisticated weapons. The street, which of course was actually a tunnel dug into the planet, was lined with a few shops that showed expensive wares from several different worlds, and a large amount of restaurants, night clubs and bars.
Matthew's signal originated from beneath one of the night clubs, which made sense as a potential place to look for information about an ancient alien. However, it made little sense as a place where Matthew seemed to spend most of his time sitting alone in an ascetic room, while occasionally beating up a Drazi. To the outside, the club - Red 'Zirja Nights - was much like all the others, except for a posh marquise of red velvet. It seemed to be favored by the younger people, with Drazi, Centauri and humans as the dominant groups.
Galen spent a while observing the club from the outside. He planted probes on several people who approached it, and found out that the club was strictly exclusive. Anyone wishing to enter needed a membership card or an invitation signed by a member, unless they were with a member at the moment. Inside, there didn't seem to be anything unusual about the club. The decor followed the style suggested by the fancy marquise, comprising of velvet curtains and antique furniture, and a long bar of polished mahogany. Most of the tables seemed to face a railing that traversed the side of the room opposite the bar, but unfortunately the person carrying Galen's probe took a seat at the bar and stayed there, sipping his drink and chatting with the Drazi barkeep. Another probe-carrying person took a seat at a table, but Galen's bad luck continued, as the table was one of the few that weren't located near the railing. Yet the place seemed to be all about that railing. Most of the people were gazing at something over it, cheering or pointing at things.
Galen decided to check Matthew's probe before going in. To his surprise, it showed something different this time, a long corridor lined with doors, like in a ship, or a hotel, and Matthew was walking along it. He reached the end of the corridor and a door with a complicated-looking lock system, and a Drazi stepped out from behind him to open it. Matthew stepped forward, entering what looked like a large, circular area, perhaps an arena of some sort. At the far end of the arena, another large door opened, letting out a Minbari. He looked young, and taking in the shape of his bone crest and his clothes Galen took him to be a member of the religious caste. A metallic device of some sort covered half of his face. He raised his hands in the traditional fighting stance, approached Matthew, and attacked. Matthew fought back.
Matthew fighting a young religious caste Minbari made no sense whatsoever, and the Minbari was acting oddly as well, attacking him without any provocation. Galen would not wait any longer. He moved on to enter the Red 'Zirja Nights.
2. Evening
Getting in to the Red 'Zirja Nights was hardly a challenge for Galen. He had a clear picture of the membership cards and invitations several members had shown to the porter, and he could easily fake one for himself. He went for an invitation, since the porter would probably recognize most members, and would become suspicious of someone that he had never seen before but who still held a membership. He copied the signature from the card of one of the people he had planted with a probe, and the illusion was complete.
He stepped on the absurd red carpet leading to the door and joined the line. It was quite long, but moved along quickly. The Drazi porter was efficient.
"Card or invitation, please," the porter asked Galen, speaking flawless English, unlike many others of his race.
"I was invited," Galen said, offering his illusion of an invitation.
The Drazi took a quick look at it and gave it back, without the slightest sign of hesitation. "Welcome to the Red 'Zirja Nights, Mr. Johnson. The latest match is still going on, I believe. Enjoy your stay."
Galen nodded to the Drazi and stepped in, wondering whether 'the latest match' meant what he expected.
He entered the main hall, which was now full of excited cheering from the tables next to the railing. Galen walked closer and saw that, just like he had guessed, beyond the railing there was a sheer drop of ten feet or so into a circular arena with smooth, metallic walls and floor. Down there, Matthew was just about to land a finishing blow on the young minbari, who was already lying on the ground, twitching in a pathetic attempt to get up and continue.
"It was too easy, I'm telling you. That guy's had nothing but easy ones ever since he got here. Look at that, he's just a poor little bonehead kid, and as for old Grazzle, well, he had it coming, really, he was pushing his luck, no one can handle it down there for over a week," an unpleasant-looking man was speaking loudly to his table company, mostly humans and a few Centauri.
"You're right, you are. If only some of those old folks were still around - the real old folks, the ones who used to rule before Grazzle's time, like that Tharen! She was always a pleasure to watch. But I guess she knew best, getting out when she was still well and in one piece," a Centauri with a graying crest commented.
"Well, that guy down there, he hasn't got that choice. He's got to keep going, until one day someone will beat him, and then he's gone for good. Until then, I'll be betting on him. See, there goes the little bonehead - that's got to hurt!" the first speaker added, as Matthew ended the fight, crudely and spectacularly.
Now that Galen could get a good look on Matthew, he saw that just like the Minbari, he had a device of some sort covering half his face. It was only too easy to deduce why it was there. Matthew would never beat up innocent people like this, without any reason, not out of his own free will. Whoever was behind this gladiator-circus had installed a mind-control device on him.
A Drazi guard stepped into the arena and took Matthew away, but Galen knew they'd only take him back to that little room. He needed to know more before he could get Matthew out. Judging by their talk, the people in the nearby table had seen a good many of these fights, and at least thought they knew all about them. Galen took up a chair and joined the company.
"I'm sorry, gentlemen, but I'm new here and I couldn't help overhearing you. You must know all there's to know about this?" he asked, waving his hand at the pit.
"Oh, you bet we do! And we bet too, often, and win lots of money," the loud human answered, laughing out at his own pun, joined by the rest of the table.
"And right now you're betting on that man, right?"
"Sure - he's been around only since the start of this round, but he's promising. I think he might last a whole week, or even longer. It's been a while since we've last seen one of his kind last that long," the man said, waving his hand about his face with the mention of "his kind".
"What would that mean? His kind?"
"The recruits, the ones from outside who the owners toss in. They play by the same rule as the ones who go in voluntarily, but they don't gain like the rest, and they can't leave the game, unless they survive a whole year, which has never happened. But you've got to know this stuff, right? If you want to, you can go and join the fight, and if you win, you get fame, glory, money, and you also get to loot the guys you've won. It's just that once you go in, you can only leave when the round's complete - you have to last until midnight. If you don't, well, there's nothing anyone can do about it."
"And the rules would be...?"
The man, and all the table, looked up at Galen as if he were a complete idiot. Galen rose from his chair and spread his hands. "I said I'm new here."
"I wonder how you came to be in here anyway - who'd invite you without telling you anything at all? Anyway, there's only one rule. Kill or get killed. Kill or die. It's as simple as that."
Galen nodded, and backed away from the table, like someone who didn't like the speaker's attitude, but would rather leave than respond.
He had learned almost as much as he needed to know, the rest he would find out easily. And he now saw that a change of plan was in order.
A menacing, dark figure approached the Drazi porter, passing all who were standing in line outside the Red 'Zirja Nights. His long, robe-like coat billowed about his feet, and the hood was pulled over his head, obscuring his face. In his hand he carried a dark, magical-looking staff. Still, the Drazi had his rules, and he stuck to them fiercely, no matter who was at the door. Even if it were Droshalla himself, he would still have asked the same question.
"Card or invitation, please."
"I carry neither. I will go in as I please. I wish to join in your little game."
"I'm sorry, sir, but I cannot let you in without the proper authorization."
"There is a well-known saying, 'Do not try the patience of wizards, for they are subtle, and quick to anger'. Do you not recognize a techno-mage, when one stands in front of you? And do you not know that standing between a techno-mage and his destination is a very dangerous and foolish thing to do?"
"Look, sir. It doesn't matter who or what you are. If you will join the line and wait for your turn, then perhaps I can ask the master to see you, and maybe, just maybe, he'll be willing to make the exception. It's not my decision to make, no matter what."
"Ah. I only came here to try my powers on the combatants in the arena, but I can start with you just as well."
Galen raised his hands and the staff in a series of showy gestures, always sure to impress the unknowing, and cast a complex illusion that surrounded the Drazi in a circle of flames. The fire looked very real, and it was hot enough to feel quite uncomfortable, even to set his clothes on fire unless he came to his senses soon enough. Which he did, of course. Galen had had every reason to believe that despite his extremely dense way of sticking to the rules, the Drazi was not stupid.
"All right, all right! I'll let you in - just this once - please, sir..."
With an uninterested wave of his hand, Galen put out the flames. He had nothing more to say to the porter, and nothing more he needed to hear. With his hood still down, he marched in through the red-draped doorway.
During the short time he had spent in the bar in disguise, Galen had located the man who accepted new challengers to the arena. He was a dark-skinned human with very short black hair, dressed in the Drazi way instead of any human style. He sat in the far end of the bar, behind the counter, but he never sold any drinks. Instead, he also took care of the betting, which was going on actively all the time.
There was another fight going on in the arena, between yet another Drazi and a Llort, neither of which carried a mind-control device. Galen had learned before that there would only be one representative of each race in the game at any given time, so if a challenger was of the same race with someone who was already in, they would be set to fight each other as soon as possible. He could guess that this new Drazi had just joined the fight after she had heard of the fall of the previous one, Grazzle, so she had not needed to fight him. But Galen wanted it to be the other way around when it came to him. He wanted to meet Matthew first, so there would be no more need for useless killing, for either of them. He only hoped that he would count as a human, even though he was a techno-mage.
"I believe you were notified of my entrance," Galen declared to the broker. "I have come to test my skills in the arena."
"Oh, I heard about your entrance, all right. I don't know what you did, but you really scared Zesra out of his wits, he's never let anyone in without the 'card or invitation, please'. So, you want to join in, sure, I can fix that. But do you really know what it means? Do you know the rule and the ways?"
Galen dropped down his hood and cast a piercing glance at the broker. "I am a techno-mage. Knowing all that there is to know is our purpose here."
"Yeeeah. And anyway, it's all on this form here, which I'll need you to sign. I'm sure you know all about what the fine print says, too - like the part where you promise that should you die, we're not responsible, since you went down there out of your own free will, and that we'll dispose of the body as we see fit, so there's no sending it anywhere for a fancy burial. And there's also the part where you agree that as long as you're down there, you play by the rule just like everyone else, just like the recruits who've got no choice. You kill or you die, and you only get out at the end of the round, which would be at midnight."
Galen only answered by entering his signature with a flourish.
"I'm sure I also don't need to remind you that no weapons are allowed in the arena itself, so that all potentially harmful personal possessions will be taken away from you and stored in a safe place until you either leave at the end of the round, when you get them back, or die, and they're given to the winner," the broker explained, eyeing Galen's staff.
"I am well aware of this, and most of my weapons are of such nature that they cannot be taken away from me."
Galen's words reflected no hint of the uncertainty he felt. It was continuously present when he followed the lead of a Drazi in a ridiculous red velvet uniform, who was to take him through some more formalities, and then show him to his room. Galen did have one thing he absolutely needed to smuggle in somehow. He didn't think it would be hard to cover with an illusion, or even simple sleight of hand. Still, he had a feeling that there was more to this place than met the eye.
3. Twilight
Galen sat on the luxurious bed in his room, in the complex beneath the Red 'Zirja Nights. It was completely different from the simple quarters where he had seen Matthew through his probe. The difference between "recruited", enslaved fighters and challengers who came willingly was made plain here as well. The furniture was, like in the club above, mostly made of polished wood and red velvet, the bed was huge and had sheets of crimson silk. A large armchair was set in one corner of the room, and a mirror with an impressive golden frame hung from the wall. Embedded in the wall was a screen that contained a selection of channels with all kinds of entertainment. There was also one that showed the current match in the arena.
Galen had the arena-channel open all the time. The fight between the Drazi and the Llort was still going on, and it was very even. Neither was very badly hurt yet, but both were getting tired. Soon, one of them would make the one fatal mistake it took to end the match. Then it might be Galen's turn, or Matthew's, or, as Galen hoped, the time for the both of them.
He had managed to smuggle in his one very important item - a special tranq tab that he had made before entering the game. He had designed it based on the data he had gathered on the mind-control devices. He was fairly certain that it would work as it was supposed to, not only putting the target to a deep sleep, but also disabling the device from within.
It had been a very close call. The Drazi guards who had searched him and taken his possessions for safekeeping had used a very effective scanner that had seen through all his illusions and attempts to hide things. Luckily, they had let him keep his healing crystal and several other things that apparently didn't look like anything that could be used in a fight. He was sure the tranq tab would've seemed like such a thing, though, and had only got it in by means of an extremely simple diversion. He had dropped the tranq tab and stepped on it, and then picked it up when the Drazi had finished scanning, making it look as if he was tying his shoelaces. It was almost shamefully primitive, but it had worked, and that was all that mattered.
The exceptional scanner had again made him wonder what, or who, was behind this whole thing. The technology was far more advanced than what he would expect from the Drazi, just like that of the mind-control devices. Nevertheless, he was fairly certain that it was not Shadow technology, since it was not organic, and did not carry the horrible familiarity, the likeness to his tech. Perhaps the source was the "wise and ancient" alien of the rumor that had led the Excalibur to Sozirja.
In the arena, the Llort let his guard drop for a very short while, taking a deep breath and relaxing his arms. The Drazi noticed this immediately and attacked, landing a forceful kick in the Llort's midriff. He doubled over, and she continued with another kick, this time aimed at his head. His head jerked back with a sickening snap that was clearly audible through the screen, and he fell flat on his back, completely still. The match was over. The next one would begin as soon as the staff had cleared the body from the arena and fetched the new combatants from their rooms.
Galen had just turned off the screen when there was a knock at the door.
"Enter," he replied, and in came yet another Drazi guard in a red uniform. After a closer look, Galen decided he had already met this one, although he saw no use for that piece of information.
This Drazi did not speak English quite as well as Zesra the porter. "I come to take you to first battle. I lead you to door to the arena and let you in. There you meet one you must fight. You know rule already. Now, please follow."
The guard led Galen to the long corridor lined with doors, familiar from his walk to his room, and from the earlier images from Matthew's probe. With mixed feelings, anxious and hopeful at the same time, Galen accessed the probe to see where Matthew was now. He saw an identical corridor, and as he checked the direction, he saw that the source of the signal was right in front of him and coming closer. Matthew was approaching the door at the far end of the arena.
It was exactly as Galen had hoped. He did count as a human, and so he was to fight the one other human currently in the game. He would fight Matthew.
Gideon was excited. Yet another match was coming, another chance to prove his worth and gain more glory. The previous one had been easy, the Minbari youngster religious caste and weak. He hoped this one would be more of a challenge, although easy fights had their advantages. His ribs were still aching from one tough blow that the pierced Drazi had delivered, and the cuts where the sharp nails had slashed his face were there as well. Still, the injuries were minor, and they did not slow him down at all.
His guard opened the door and he practically leaped in, gazing at the far end of the arena, where the other door opened, and his opponent entered. A human, like him, and still not like him, a severe figure with a bald head and a long dark coat. There was something odd about this human, something that he knew, as if they had met before. But the memory could not get through the endless, all-encompassing urge to fight and win.
Gideon stepped closer to his opponent, crouched in anticipation of an attack. He would let the man make the first move, so he could assess his strategy and skills. Then he would find the weaknesses, and use them against him.
The enemy was patient as well, and waiting. They circled each other slowly, but while Gideon kept his low stance, his enemy stood upright, seeming oddly at ease, not at all prepared to defend himself. Only his face looked tense. If his enemy was this stupid, Gideon would be mad not to take advantage of it.
Gideon went for a low kick, meant to take his opponent off balance. Instead of hitting, it slipped before it reached its goal, as if it had encountered a slick barrier of some kind. He followed it instantly with a punch at his enemy's face, but it, as well, was turned aside by some invisible force.
"So, you really don't remember me at all, Matthew?" the man said, taking a few steps back. Gideon retreated as well, befuddled. No, he did not remember this person, who knew his first name. But as confused as he might have been, he still stayed on guard. Maybe that was what this surprising talk was for - to make him slip, so he would be an easier target. He would never do that.
Galen was not in a hurry. Even though he had had little talent for shields when he was younger, all that trouble had disappeared when he had merged with his tech. They could create a barrier strong enough to stop any physical blow. Matthew could not harm him, and he had at no time been worried about that. Instead, he was concerned about Matthew getting hurt when trying to attack.
All he needed was a chance to hit Matthew with the tranq tab. But even that was a challenge. Matthew was a skilled fighter to begin with, and the mind-control device was pushing him further, making him more alert and more eager to fight. He could see that his words had some impact, but not nearly enough. And he was afraid that they would make those overlooking the match suspicious, since they revealed that he had known at least something about Matthew prior to the match.
There was always the option of simply waiting for Matthew to grow tired, but it would be a long wait. Matthew had noticed that Galen was passive, and had retreated to slow circling again, wanting to get at least some kind of initiative from him. As they paced, Galen went through his plan again. The tab would put Matthew in a sort of hibernative state, slowing down his metabolism so much that anyone except for a very careful observer would take him for dead. The nanotechnology he had put in would also instantly start disabling the mind-control device.
The Drazi guards would probably not care to check whether Matthew was really dead or just nearly so. Galen had seen them carry away losers when they were not quite dead yet. The young Minbari had been breathing, but so badly injured that without help he had probably died within the hour. So, they would take Matthew wherever they stored the bodies. Soon after, they would come and take Galen, the winner of the match, to that place, so he could loot the body. That was one of the set ways of the game - the winner always got to loot the loser's body with his own hands. Perhaps the Drazi did not wish to touch the corpses themselves if it wasn't absolutely neccessary.
From there on, Galen's plan was slightly less certain. He did not know the exact build of the complex, nor the location of the storage room with the bodies. Nevertheless, once he got there, he would need to disable the guards and escape the building. Matthew would come out of the tranq tab-induced hibernation in half an hour. Galen would try to stall with the looting until that, so he would not need to carry him. He would also need to fetch the possessions he had been forced to give away, but tracing them was no problem, since his staff gave a strong signal that was easy to follow. He planned to do that hidden with a camouflage illusion, so he would not need to fight all the Drazi guards he encountered.
His plan was clear. Perhaps it would be better to get it over with as soon as possible. He only needed to do something that would catch Matthew's attention for a while, to take him off his guard.
Galen lifted his hand and created an illusion of a fireball. Unlike the flames he had used with Zesra, he made this one bright, but without any heat emanating from it. He did not want to burn away Matthew's eyebrows. He tossed it, and it erupted in a blinding flash right in front of Matthew's face. Matthew shrank back, dropping his defences. In that very moment, Galen struck the tranq tab on Matthew's neck. He tried to make the blow look like a spine-shattering one, while actually not harming his target at all.
Matthew went down. Galen stayed near him, crouched above the body like a vicious killer gloating over his victim. Actually, he was constantly scanning Matthew, and he was happy to see that the tab worked perfectly.
All his sensors were on Matthew now, and he had let his shield dissolve the very moment he saw Matthew fall. The silent whoosh of something cutting the air at great speed was the first thing that alerted him something was wrong. Before he had time to turn around completely, a sharp pain pierced his back.
In the fraction of a second Galen saw his mistake. If there was someone behind this game who could build scanners delicate enough to reveal his illusions, then they would certainly have scanners that would show whether a combatant truly was lethally harmed or not. They had instantly seen that Matthew was neither dead nor dying.
The air in the arena rang with words spoken in a deep, inhuman voice, strangely familiar, but certainly not Drazi. "There is only one survivor in each battle. You kill or you die. Failure to kill is punished by death. There can be no compassion for the opponent. We are disappointed with you, techno-mage. You have lost."
Since Galen had been about to turn around, the blade entered the left side of his back at an angle. He both felt and saw through his sensors how it sank in, slicing through skin and muscle, slipping neatly between his ribs, and cutting through his lung. He was sure it would penetrate his heart, causing so much damage that his organelles would have no chance of repairing it in time, but he never felt or saw it happen. He passed out before his face hit the metallic floor, right next to Matthew's.
4. Nightfall
Gideon woke up with what was without any doubt the worst hangover he had ever experienced. His head was about to split, or worse, to shatter into tiny bits. The room around him was completely unfamiliar, and he didn't have any idea at all how he had ended up in it. His memories of last night were vague, and now that he thought of it, he couldn't even tell what day it was.
He had apparently fallen asleep – or whatever – wearing his uniform, but he didn't have his PPG, or his comm link, or anything that would tell him anything useful. He realized he didn't smell all that good. A moment later, it came to him that it wasn't the scent of someone who had spent the night out in some smoky saloon, but something else completely. There was dried blood on his knuckles, and splotches of it stained his clothes. Some of it had to be his own, and perhaps the assortment of aches he felt wasn't just the result of too much drinking. So he'd been in a bar fight? That wouldn't have been the first time, to be sure.
The vague memories about what had happened were slowly becoming more tangible. He had been in a fight. More than one, actually, and he hadn't been in a bar. He hadn't even been drinking. Overlapping the memory of the fights was an odd feeling, an urge to gain glory through the fighting, because it was the right thing to do, and the only thing there was. He had to kill, or he would get killed.
He remembered the first face, the first person he had fought. The fight had been in an arena of sorts, walls and floor of metal, and somewhere above it, a crowd, watching them, cheering. He knew the face, and the second face as well. They were members of his own crew, and the more he concentrated, the clearer the memory became, the more certain he was. He had killed his own men. He had killed Newfield and Ashley. He didn't want to believe it.
There were several other faces as well. A pierced Drazi, a young Minbari – and then he remembered the last fight, and everything that had happened before he woke up here, in the room that had become his prison. He had fought Galen. Galen had tried to speak to him, but he had not understood. He had had no idea of what he was doing, or who he was fighting. And as far as he could remember, he had lost that fight. Galen had hit him, and he had lost consciousness.
Gideon knew the rules. After all, they had been among the very few thoughts that had gone through his head during the time he had been caught here. He knew that there could only be one survivor from each match. Galen had attacked him and struck him down, yet now he was here, in his room, with a devastating headache, but not much more. He was not dead, and that could only mean one thing: Gideon had not lost the match. Galen had. And that would mean...
It couldn't mean what Gideon thought it would. There was absolutely no way Galen could possibly have died in that match. Gideon hadn't even gotten anywhere near to hitting him. With all the techno-mage powers Galen had, surely he could've handled a fight were no weapons were allowed. But still, why would they have let Gideon return to his room if his opponent had not died? Maybe Galen had fled. That was the only explanation that made any sense at all.
Obviously Galen had done something to snap Gideon out of whatever had had hold of him. He lifted his hand and tried his forehead, where he felt a strange weight. His fingers touched something cold and metallic. He followed its lines. It was a device of some sort that covered most of his forehead. He could guess it was what had kept him from thinking, waking up and understanding. Galen had disabled it somehow, and now Galen had probably fled, and was busy figuring out a plan to get them out. Gideon should think of a way to make it easier, or just get out on his own. He left the device in its place. Maybe it would fool his captors into thinking that he was still under their control.
With some effort, Gideon rose up from his bed, stood up. As soon as he got on his feet, the door slid open. Almost as if they had been waiting for him to come around. Behind the door stood his regular Drazi guard, a big, muscled one who spoke little, except with not-so-gentle nudging and pushing about.
“You win. You loot,” the Drazi said.
The thought hadn't crossed Gideon's mind. He cast a glance at the shelf, the only other piece of furniture in his room apart from the bed. On the shelf rested a few trinkets he had taken from his earlier opponents. Some of the more expensive bits of jewelry from the pierced Drazi, a fake antique pocket watch from one of his crewmen, a locket the young Minbari had had. Things of not much value. He remembered he had taken them because it was his right as the winner, it was expected of him, and every piece was further proof of his superiority.
Gideon could've just attacked his guard and tried to run away, but he didn't think he would make it very far that way. And he couldn't just leave Galen behind. He followed the Drazi's lead in a stupefied silence. He had won. Now he got to loot. The Drazi was taking him to loot Galen. He had won, and Galen was dead.
Galen woke up to the horrible feeling that he was underwater. He was suffocating. There was something wet in his mouth, on his face, inside his chest.
He had spent most of his life training and striving for control, and now it took every bit of that training before he could calm himself and look at the situation in a detatched manner. Of course, he was not really drowning. It was among his first thoughts that made sense. He tried to stop panting and took a deep breath, which he regretted immediately. It sent such an agony tearing through his chest that he nearly passed out again. He concentrated, gathered all his willpower, and settled for lighter, shallower inhalations.
Galen accessed his sensors and assessed his situation. It was, perhaps, a bit better than he had expected, but considering he had thought he'd be dead, that wasn't very much. He was lying on his stomach, and the hilt of the knife still stuck out from his back. His organelles had mended much of the damage it had inflicted, but as long as the blade was in its place, all they could do was to close the edges of wounds around it. The cuts were still bleeding, the blood gathering in the chest cavity, making it increasingly difficult to breathe.
Despite the serious hemothorax, he had been lucky. The blade had not went as far as he had feared. It was lodged in a precarious position, the tip just touching the pericardium. As he looked, he noticed that where it had scratched the membrane, the organelles were working furiously. The cut was newer than the rest. He must've inflicted it on himself, must have caused the knife to move those few critical millimeters when he fought to breathe.
During his early days as a mage student interested in medicine Galen had learned the principles of first aid throughly. They said that an impaled object should remain in its place until the patient could be taken into adequate medical facilities. Still, this was a special situation. If he was to have any chance of ever escaping this place, his organelles would have to be able to truly heal the wounds, not just try and close them around the sharp edges. As long as it stayed in, the blade would continuosly keep causing serious damage, even lethal - it only needed to sink yet a few millimeters deeper to enter the heart muscle.
He hardly had any choice. The blade would have to come out.
His right arm was pinned underneath him, and he dared not try to pull it out. His left arm was free against his side, but considering the position of the knife, trying to move it would be even more risky. He could not think of any spell he could use. Techno-mage or not, he was no telekinetic. He could conjure flying platforms, globes and shields, but trying to clamp the knife between a formation of them so that the grip would be strong enough to pull it out was a feat he was not up to right now.
Every minute he spent considering, more blood was seeping through the partially closed cuts, and his left lung could not expand with the knife going through it. He didn't know which would come first, suffocation or bleeding to death internally.
His concentration was slipping fast, coherent thought becoming harder again. But he could not afford to pass out. Galen fought with all his ability to control so he would remain conscious.
Gideon went through his earlier memories of looting bodies. The place were they lie was horrible to begin with, a plain room with the dead just tossed in and left there, never touched again, except by the winners who came to loot. He had only seen the bodies of those who had lost during this round, the series of matches that had taken place since midday. None of them were decayed yet.
He wondered briefly what would happen to the bodies after the round was finished. The most likely option was that they were burned, or vaporized, or whatever, so there would be no traces left, no problem of hiding them or disposing of them quietly. He didn't know the time, but he was sure that midnight wasn't all that far away. They would get rid of the dead soon after the round ended, soon after midnight. Gideon would get Galen out before that, if he could. He wouldn't let them do whatever they wanted with his remains.
The Drazi opened the door, one just like the others in another identical corridor, pushed Gideon in without another word, and closed the door after him.
It wasn't hard to locate Galen among the scattered corpses. Most of them were aliens, except for the two humans at the back of the room that Gideon did not want to think about, and the one figure in a dark robe lying right in front of him, near the door, a knife in his back. And it only took Gideon two seconds to get over the first shock of it and notice that Galen wasn't dead, at least not yet. His raspy breathing sounded horribly loud in the empty room.
Gideon had thought that the match only ended with the actual death of one combatant, but now he saw he had been wrong. No, they wouldn't even let the loser die. The match would end when one was lethally hurt, and then they would just toss them here with the rest of the losers, and let them suffer.
“Matthew,” Galen whispered in a weak, strained voice.
Gideon crouched closer, so he could hear properly. “They let me in so I can loot you. But whatever you did to me, it worked, I'm with you again. Now I'm going to think of something to do. We'll get out of this place,” he said, trying to sound reassuring. He kept his voice low so the guard waiting outside the door would not hear it.
“The blade,” Galen rasped. Gideon didn't get what he meant to say. Maybe he hadn't heard correctly, or then Galen was delirious.
“Yeah, you've been stabbed in the back, and I don't even know who, when or how. But the Doc will help you get it fixed once we get out of here.”
“No!” the answer was sharp, and was followed by a pause where Galen closed his eyes, his face contorted with pain. But he continued. “You - must - get it out.”
“Galen, I can't! I'd just hurt you worse. I can just guess how bad it feels, but isn't it better to let it be?”
“No. Quickly, now!”
He sounded absolutely adamant about it. Maybe he knew better. Gideon knew that as a techno-mage, Galen probably knew more about medicine than he did. Besides, he hadn't got a better plan, anyway.
“All right, I'll do it. Brace yourself, this is really going to hurt,” Gideon said, but Galen didn't answer. His eyes were closed again. He had probably passed out. It was all the better, since that way he might not feel the worst of it.
Trying to keep his hands as steady as possible, Gideon grabbed the hilt. Most of the blade seemed to be in, and he couldn't tell how long it was, how deep it went. He would just have to try and get it out straight, so he wouldn't do more damage.
The blade was pretty long. Gideon could only imagine the kind of injuries it must have caused. Still it came out easier than he had expected, and Galen didn't groan or gasp, didn't even flinch. For a moment, Gideon was again afraid that he had died, just like that, but no, he was still breathing, the sound even worse than before, wet and struggling. The now open stab wound was bleeding profusely. Gideon dropped the blade on the floor and pressed the wound with both hands, trying to slow down the bloodflow.
And then, at the worst possible moment, the door opened, and the Drazi glared at him. He moved his hands away from the wound, as if going over the body, looking for any pockets or anything. He found nothing, so he took the knife and stood up.
“All right, I'm finished here. He didn't have anything of value anyway,” Gideon said, and reluctantly turned his back to Galen.
“Give me that,” the guard said, gesturing at the knife. Of course, he would not be allowed to keep a weapon. It would be taken to a safe place where it would wait 'until he got out of the game'. And in Gideon's case, that would never happen. He knew he would have to survive a whole year here to be officially allowed to exit. It was hardly possible.
Gideon gave the knife away silently. He noticed that his hands were coated with blood. Galen's blood.
“Now you go fight.”
He had thought he'd have a while to consider what had happened, and maybe try and start thinking of a plan. No such luck. On the other hand, if he managed to win this fight, he would get to loot his next victim, and then he could check on Galen again, see if he had survived.
Gideon followed the Drazi towards that particular door at the end of a long corridor, and back to the arena again.
5. Midnight
The alien who entered the arena from the opposite door was of a species Gideon had never met before. He couldn't even tell whether it was male or female. Its face reminded him distantly of a Brakiri, but looked less human, with eyes of a vivid purple and no pupils at all, and dark blue hair growing in irregular patches around its scalp - and that was the most familiar part of the whole. The alien had long and thin arms and legs that seemed completely out of proportion. It also had the strangest way of moving about. When it slowly made its way towards Gideon, he got the impression that it didn't quite know where to put its long legs.
The alien had a mind-control device on its head, but Gideon didn't think that would answer for its walking problems. He kept his distance and observed. The alien didn't look like a very formidable opponent. Gideon's best guess was that it came from a world where the gravity was lighter than here, and the extra weight was hampering its movement. Probably its fighting skills would be equally disturbed by the circumstances.
Gideon edged away from the approaching alien, still eyeing it cautiously. There was always the chance that it was just faking this weird walk to get closer to him and take him by surprise. He could wait. Then again, Galen couldn't. Gideon tried not to think of it, but the image of Galen lying there among all those already forgotten corpses, about to become one of them, finally forced him to act.
He stepped closer and aimed a punch right at the alien's face – and hit it square on. It really was moving slowly. Its attempt to defend itself was so late that it only managed to scratch Gideon's hand when he was already pulling it away.
Gideon backed away again, considering his success. His blue opponent seemed even more dazed now. It had stopped moving, swaying on its feet. This would not be a long fight.
He attacked again, but this time, the alien was slightly more prepared. It dodged, and immediately returned his attack with a surprisingly quick slash of its long, sharp-nailed hand, which only grazed his thigh.
Something strange was going on. The lights around them, always uniformly bright, were going dimmer, and the floor was shaking.
When Gideon tried to step backwards, away from the alien, he realized that nothing was wrong with the arena. Something was wrong with him. He placed one involuntarily shivering foot down, but couldn't find his balance, and almost fell.
The alien hadn't moved a bit. On the contrary, it had sat down in an odd crouch, its hands resting on the floor. Gideon wasn't sure which way its purple eyes looked, but he was pretty certain it was staring at him. It had no need to do anything more. It was just waiting for him to go down. The long, bright blue nails had to be poisonous.
The arena was spinning wildly around him, and the sounds from the spectators above were distant, like an echo. He couldn't stand up straight anymore.
A second later he found himself lying on his back, without any memory of falling down. He felt like someone had just dropped a mountain on him, a huge weight was pressing him flat against the floor. He couldn't move at all, could hardly breathe.
Another second, and he blacked out.
Galen opened his eyes into complete darkness. The floor against his cheek felt cold and sticky with what he knew was his own blood.
He felt better. Breathing was still painful, but not overwhelmingly so, and without the knife in him, he could take deeper breaths. Scanning himself, he noted that the injuries were mending well, but not as fast as he had hoped. He'd need to stay put for a good while if he wanted to have it all safely healed, and that was something he couldn't do.
It was already midnight, the end of the round, and he was sure the owners, whoever they were, would soon dispose of the bodies in this room. Galen had a strong guess on how they would do that. He scanned the blackness around him, concentrating on the walls and the ceiling, and found confirmation for his thoughts. There was machinery surrounding the room that could be used to generate a flash of extreme heat, efficiently disposing of all organic material inside the walls.
He sat up and turned his face and sensors to the room and those in it. The lights were off, so he switched to infrared. Most of the bodies were cold and lifeless, some showed lingering body heat that told they had died recently. And one was still alive, though barely. He had to be the loser of the very last fight. His vitals didn't look good – blood pressure too low, pulse too fast, hardly breathing at all. And he was a human. There had only been one human left in the game after Galen had lost.
With a horrible sinking feeling, made worse by the renewed agony in his chest, Galen made his way closer to the man. Things had certainly not gone the way he had planned. Looking back at it all, his plan had been flawed at best, and now, it seemed like a complete failure. It wasn't enough that he had almost got himself killed because he had not thought of everything. His failure might lead to Matthew's death as well. It was up to him to stop that from happening.
He was glad he still had his healing crystal. He might never have been a terribly skilled healer, but, as with most things, joining with the tech had helped quite a bit. He might not be an equal to Ing-Radi or other great master healers of the past, but he could heal many injuries. Continuing his scan of Matthew, Galen quickly noticed that he wasn't really dealing with an injury. There were slight scratches on Matthew's right hand and thigh, not nearly deep enough to cause significant blood loss. The reason he was dying was the poison coursing in his veins. Luckily it was a simple, natural venom, probably a characteristic of the winner's species.
The thought of the winner, combined with the distant sounds of someone approaching the door, reminded Galen of yet another important thing he had forgotten. Just like Matthew had come to loot him, now Matthew's winner was coming to search the loser's body for anything of value. Galen was fairly certain that Matthew had nothing valuable left. The owners, whoever they were, had probably taken away everything, not only weapons, but any means of communicating to the outside, and any signs of who he was and what he had been doing before he came here.
Someone was speaking right behind the door, the rough voice of a Drazi guard. Galen leaped away from Matthew and landed painfully on his left side. He felt something give in, another sharp stab in his chest. Still, he didn't scan to check what had happened, or how bad it was. It would change nothing. He stayed very still, tried to keep his breathing as silent as he could. His face was turned towards the door, and he kept his sensors on Matthew.
The lights went on, and the door opened. In stepped an alien of some race Galen couldn't recognize right now, and he didn't care enough to try and figure it out. It was blue, and both the build of its body and its way of walking suggested it came from a low gravity world. Despite the mind-control, it didn't seem too eager to loot Matthew. It stayed near the door, its hands placed under its chin in a gesture reminiscent of a praying mantis. Slowly and hesitantly it moved closer and folded its legs.
Galen wanted to shout at it, toss it with a fireball, tell it to move faster, or just go away and leave them alone. Of course, he would do no such thing. It was a maddening feeling, watching through his sensors how Matthew grew weaker with every passing moment, and the alien just sat there stupidly, poking him with long, venomous, clawed fingers.
Finally the alien stopped, having found nothing. It stood up and went away. The door closed behind it, and the lights went out, leaving Galen in the dark. He pushed himself up, doing his best to ignore the sting in his chest. Matthew needed help right now, or it would be too late. With a few quick steps Galen was by Matthew's side again. He placed his hands on Matthew's chest and sent in the first wave of organelles. Accessing them through the crystal, he set them to neutralize the venom, and found that it was indeed not a difficult task. Yet the venom had had time to spread all around Matthew's system, and it would take a lot of organelles to stop it in time.
Galen knew there was only one way to do this, and the tech was with him. They didn't like it, but both agreed that Matthew must be saved. After all, it was their fault that he was dying. The tech assured it would work. The organelles might not be very smart, but they could just spread along the circulation and keep neutralizing the poison on their own.
Closing his eyes with concentration, Galen sent more organelles into Matthew's body. As many as he could. More than he could afford. Almost sooner than he had expected, he felt the darkness closing in on him once again. As he felt himself falling, he only hoped he had managed to give enough.
Auhtor: Veldeia
Fandom: Babylon 5: Crusade
Rating: PG-13 for badly written fistfights and gore
Category: Hurt/comfort, action, drama. Gen.
Spoilers: Techno-mage trilogy. Not really any for Crusade. Not that it matters much with this old a show anyway.
Summary: Captain Gideon goes missing on a roguish ex-Drazi colony, and Galen goes after him. When the rescue mission goes horribly wrong, both are caught in a desperate struggle for survival.
1. Afternoon
Captain Matthew Gideon stared at the scaly face in front of him. The green eyes were fierce, and numerous rings and spikes pierced the scales, sticking out into all directions. His opponent was unlike any Drazi he had seen before, but it was only suitable that he looked so warlike. After all, this Drazi was Gideon's enemy.
Like in all the previous fights, there was a nagging voice somewhere far away, in the back of his head, that said that he shouldn't fight. That this Drazi had done nothing to him. It was a weak voice that he could easily put aside. He had to fight the Drazi, like he had fought all his previous opponents.
They would fight until one of them faced the greatest humiliation of all, losing the battle and dying. The other would receive the glory and honor of victory, and would go on to fight other, stronger opponents. Defeating them would bring even more glory.
The Drazi let out a feral growl and charged.
Galen stormed into the bridge of the Excalibur, taking in the scene around him. The officers at their appointed posts were there, taking care of their required tasks. In front of the captain's chair stood lieutenant John Matheson. To the lazy observer he was as calm and cool as ever, his face revealing nothing at all. Still, there were small signs - how he constantly changed weight from one foot to the other, the way he stood, the way he kept glancing at the communications console. Matheson was clearly distressed. It was no surprise for Galen. After all, he knew the reason for it. Captain Gideon was missing.
Galen walked straight to Matheson and asked, "When did you last hear from him?"
"We haven't heard anything from him, or the two crew members that were with him, since we lost them down there, two hours ago," he told, pointing at the screen, which was dominated by a close view of the planet below.
The planet carried a curious resemblance to Mars. Its surface was mostly barren desert with ragged cliffs and red sand. But unlike on Mars, where most cities had been built in large domes, here on Sozirja, they were underground. There were almost no signs of sentient life on the surface itself, only the few spaceports and numerous small entrances to the cities below, difficult to notice if one did not know about them.
"And the same would apply to his last known location?"
"I only know where we split up in the capital city. After that, no one knows. He never showed up at the rendezvous and never contacted us."
They both knew well that Matthew would certainly not leave his ship and crew without any note or message if he could send one. He had not been able to come to the meeting place, and he had been unable to contact his ship. He had to be in serious trouble.
Galen had tried an electron incantation with Matthew just before he entered the bridge, and it had been an odd one. Matthew had attacked him the instant they saw each other, with no explanation, without even one intelligible word. It had not been as if he had had a quarrel of some sort with Galen, because then such a fierce, almost animal assault would have made no sense. It was as if he had not recognized him at all. Although Matthew could do nothing to harm him in the incantation, all Galen's attempts at communicating with him had failed. It had not offered much of an explanation. It had only served to make him more anxious.
Luckily Galen had also set a probe on Matthew. He had checked it earlier as well, and it had showed nothing of use. Just a sparsely furnished room where Matthew had been, apparently alone. Now he looked again, and the view was completely different.
The microscopic probe rested on Matthew's shoulder. It showed a rogue-like Drazi standing in front of him, gazing menacingly. Blood was trickling from the Drazi's mouth and many of the decorative piercings on his face were askew. As Galen watched, he saw Matthew launch a furious attack, flinging a fast series of punches and kicks at the Drazi. The Drazi fought back, but he was slower, looking tired and drawn. He went down. Apparently Matthew had won. Why he had fought the Drazi in the first place was a complete mystery. Through the limited view his probe offered, Galen could not be sure if Matthew was injured as well.
Galen did not tell Matheson what he had seen. Instead, he posed another question. "What are you going to do about this situation?"
"There's no way we can find him from up here, unless he manages to contact us somehow. I've already sent one search team down there, but so far they've come up with nothing at all. I'll be sending more men to help in the search."
"You must, of course, go on as you see best. I shall join the search myself, and I will go alone. I have means at my disposal that your men lack. I would prefer your men to stay out of my way. I'll try to maintain contact with you, if possible."
Careful preparation was always the most important part, whatever the task ahead. Considering this particularly important task, Galen had begun with gathering all the information he could find about what he might be facing on the planet.
Sozirja was originally a Drazi colony, founded a hundred years ago by an anarchist fraction that had strongly opposed their culture's tradition of periodic division to green and purple and fighting for the winning color. Since it had been a free world with very loose ties to its home world and government, it had quickly become a popular place for other non-wanted people, those who needed to hide, or those whose business could not stand direct daylight. It was a particularly good hideout since the nearest jumpgate was in another solar system, so there was little traffic.
The Drazi origin was almost forgotten these days, although the descendants of the first settlers still formed a major part of the population. Aside from them, there were groups of nearly all known races. There were even some sightings of drakh and streib. Galen did not know if those were just the usual spies and agents enjoying the suitably shady environment, or if they might be independent individuals who were not serving the general cause. All in all, Sozirja was a world similar to many others, shabby, difficult, unfriendly to officials and law-enforcers, but, in its own harsh way, welcoming to almost anyone else.
Matthew, along with several members of his crew, had first set foot on Sozirja because of nothing more than a rumor. It suggested that an ancient and wise alien of some unknown species who had an extensive knowledge of medicine lived among the assorted entrepreneurs of the planet. At some point along their search, Matthew had decided that they should split up. He had given a time and a place for rendezvous, which he and his companions had then failed to reach.
Galen had only returned when Matthew was already missing, so he had not been there when they had left the Excalibur. He had his doubts about this rumor, and he would have wanted to accompany the group had he been there. But his absence had been necessary, his mission a very important one, and he did not regret it. Although, should he fail to locate and rescue Matthew, so that his necessary absence would be the cause of Matthew's demise, he would certainly come to regret it.
Even though Galen knew as much as there was to know about the planet, he did not have many clues as to what Matthew's situation was at the moment. He was glad he had a probe on Matthew, since he could simply locate it and follow it to Matthew's physical location, but he didn't know if that would be enough. Maybe Matthew was heavily guarded, and Galen would have to find a way to distract or fight a whole regiment of angry natives. Or maybe Matthew was in no trouble at all, simply just in an awkward situation where it was important that he did not contact the Excalibur for one reason or the other, and Galen barging in with firebolts and lightning would not help at all.
Galen accessed the probe again, and found out Matthew had returned to the small, sparsely furnished room. It seemed he was lying on a bed - maybe he was asleep, or meditating, or recuperating from injuries he had suffered in the fight with the pierced Drazi. He had to be alive, since it would make no sense at all for him to be in that room if he was dead. At least that was what Galen told himself, and what he wanted to believe.
To reassure himself, Galen tried the electron incantation again, and found that Matthew was indeed alive. Alive and kicking, just as mad as he had been before.
Galen chose not to land at the spaceport, but in the shadow of a nearby rock formation, his ship covered with illusions. At the port, he would have had to face some officials, no matter how sloppy and non-inquisitive, and he would have had to follow the standard protocol in leaving the planet. Instead, he wanted to have his ship somewhere that was quick enough to reach by foot, and even faster to leave behind with the ship, in case they needed to run away from something.
The spaceport was still the nearest entrance to the burrowed city below, the largest of the five major cities of the planet, generally considered the capital, although such terms did not mean much on this world. Galen covered the distance to the entrance on a flying platform, surrounded by a shield. The planet's atmosphere was slightly more hospitable than that of its lookalike Mars. There was more oxygen and not nearly as much carbon dioxide, so one might survive short times without a breather mask. It might prove an important detail if they got into a lot of trouble while escaping, but he hoped that would not be the case.
It was an easy thing for Galen to enter the spaceport and mix into the crowd. He had spent time considering his plan. The two basic options were entering as a techno-mage and showing off as much as possible, deliberately drawing attention, or then doing the opposite, going in disguise and trying to go unnoticed. He had opted for the latter, since although the former might have been the more efficient way in some things, the risks would have been greater, and it might have brought unwanted attention to Matthew as well. So, he wore a full-body illusion, appearing shorter than he truly was, slightly thicker, with short sand-colored hair and a plain dark blue suit. No one looked at him twice - he was not interesting enough, since he did not look like an easy target nor a particularly threatening person.
The signal from the probe did not come from very far away. Matthew was still in the capital, but at some distance from the place where the teams had split. The place was far enough that walking would take too long, so Galen took the local train. The station was busy with all kinds of people, most of whom concentrated furiously on doing their own business and ignoring everyone else, eyes turned to face the bare metal floor or to the bright advertisements on the walls. It reminded him of the tube on Zafran 8, so long ago, and with that came the memory of Isabelle and the time they had spent together on that world, her home. It was a painful memory, but one that he cherished. He spent most of the way, only two stops from the spaceport station, lost in those thoughts, although a part of him was constantly and carefully observing the surroundings.
Galen left the station to find himself in a part of the city that was fancier than most, cleaner, more decorated. Even the people looked richer, wore better clothes and carried more sophisticated weapons. The street, which of course was actually a tunnel dug into the planet, was lined with a few shops that showed expensive wares from several different worlds, and a large amount of restaurants, night clubs and bars.
Matthew's signal originated from beneath one of the night clubs, which made sense as a potential place to look for information about an ancient alien. However, it made little sense as a place where Matthew seemed to spend most of his time sitting alone in an ascetic room, while occasionally beating up a Drazi. To the outside, the club - Red 'Zirja Nights - was much like all the others, except for a posh marquise of red velvet. It seemed to be favored by the younger people, with Drazi, Centauri and humans as the dominant groups.
Galen spent a while observing the club from the outside. He planted probes on several people who approached it, and found out that the club was strictly exclusive. Anyone wishing to enter needed a membership card or an invitation signed by a member, unless they were with a member at the moment. Inside, there didn't seem to be anything unusual about the club. The decor followed the style suggested by the fancy marquise, comprising of velvet curtains and antique furniture, and a long bar of polished mahogany. Most of the tables seemed to face a railing that traversed the side of the room opposite the bar, but unfortunately the person carrying Galen's probe took a seat at the bar and stayed there, sipping his drink and chatting with the Drazi barkeep. Another probe-carrying person took a seat at a table, but Galen's bad luck continued, as the table was one of the few that weren't located near the railing. Yet the place seemed to be all about that railing. Most of the people were gazing at something over it, cheering or pointing at things.
Galen decided to check Matthew's probe before going in. To his surprise, it showed something different this time, a long corridor lined with doors, like in a ship, or a hotel, and Matthew was walking along it. He reached the end of the corridor and a door with a complicated-looking lock system, and a Drazi stepped out from behind him to open it. Matthew stepped forward, entering what looked like a large, circular area, perhaps an arena of some sort. At the far end of the arena, another large door opened, letting out a Minbari. He looked young, and taking in the shape of his bone crest and his clothes Galen took him to be a member of the religious caste. A metallic device of some sort covered half of his face. He raised his hands in the traditional fighting stance, approached Matthew, and attacked. Matthew fought back.
Matthew fighting a young religious caste Minbari made no sense whatsoever, and the Minbari was acting oddly as well, attacking him without any provocation. Galen would not wait any longer. He moved on to enter the Red 'Zirja Nights.
2. Evening
Getting in to the Red 'Zirja Nights was hardly a challenge for Galen. He had a clear picture of the membership cards and invitations several members had shown to the porter, and he could easily fake one for himself. He went for an invitation, since the porter would probably recognize most members, and would become suspicious of someone that he had never seen before but who still held a membership. He copied the signature from the card of one of the people he had planted with a probe, and the illusion was complete.
He stepped on the absurd red carpet leading to the door and joined the line. It was quite long, but moved along quickly. The Drazi porter was efficient.
"Card or invitation, please," the porter asked Galen, speaking flawless English, unlike many others of his race.
"I was invited," Galen said, offering his illusion of an invitation.
The Drazi took a quick look at it and gave it back, without the slightest sign of hesitation. "Welcome to the Red 'Zirja Nights, Mr. Johnson. The latest match is still going on, I believe. Enjoy your stay."
Galen nodded to the Drazi and stepped in, wondering whether 'the latest match' meant what he expected.
He entered the main hall, which was now full of excited cheering from the tables next to the railing. Galen walked closer and saw that, just like he had guessed, beyond the railing there was a sheer drop of ten feet or so into a circular arena with smooth, metallic walls and floor. Down there, Matthew was just about to land a finishing blow on the young minbari, who was already lying on the ground, twitching in a pathetic attempt to get up and continue.
"It was too easy, I'm telling you. That guy's had nothing but easy ones ever since he got here. Look at that, he's just a poor little bonehead kid, and as for old Grazzle, well, he had it coming, really, he was pushing his luck, no one can handle it down there for over a week," an unpleasant-looking man was speaking loudly to his table company, mostly humans and a few Centauri.
"You're right, you are. If only some of those old folks were still around - the real old folks, the ones who used to rule before Grazzle's time, like that Tharen! She was always a pleasure to watch. But I guess she knew best, getting out when she was still well and in one piece," a Centauri with a graying crest commented.
"Well, that guy down there, he hasn't got that choice. He's got to keep going, until one day someone will beat him, and then he's gone for good. Until then, I'll be betting on him. See, there goes the little bonehead - that's got to hurt!" the first speaker added, as Matthew ended the fight, crudely and spectacularly.
Now that Galen could get a good look on Matthew, he saw that just like the Minbari, he had a device of some sort covering half his face. It was only too easy to deduce why it was there. Matthew would never beat up innocent people like this, without any reason, not out of his own free will. Whoever was behind this gladiator-circus had installed a mind-control device on him.
A Drazi guard stepped into the arena and took Matthew away, but Galen knew they'd only take him back to that little room. He needed to know more before he could get Matthew out. Judging by their talk, the people in the nearby table had seen a good many of these fights, and at least thought they knew all about them. Galen took up a chair and joined the company.
"I'm sorry, gentlemen, but I'm new here and I couldn't help overhearing you. You must know all there's to know about this?" he asked, waving his hand at the pit.
"Oh, you bet we do! And we bet too, often, and win lots of money," the loud human answered, laughing out at his own pun, joined by the rest of the table.
"And right now you're betting on that man, right?"
"Sure - he's been around only since the start of this round, but he's promising. I think he might last a whole week, or even longer. It's been a while since we've last seen one of his kind last that long," the man said, waving his hand about his face with the mention of "his kind".
"What would that mean? His kind?"
"The recruits, the ones from outside who the owners toss in. They play by the same rule as the ones who go in voluntarily, but they don't gain like the rest, and they can't leave the game, unless they survive a whole year, which has never happened. But you've got to know this stuff, right? If you want to, you can go and join the fight, and if you win, you get fame, glory, money, and you also get to loot the guys you've won. It's just that once you go in, you can only leave when the round's complete - you have to last until midnight. If you don't, well, there's nothing anyone can do about it."
"And the rules would be...?"
The man, and all the table, looked up at Galen as if he were a complete idiot. Galen rose from his chair and spread his hands. "I said I'm new here."
"I wonder how you came to be in here anyway - who'd invite you without telling you anything at all? Anyway, there's only one rule. Kill or get killed. Kill or die. It's as simple as that."
Galen nodded, and backed away from the table, like someone who didn't like the speaker's attitude, but would rather leave than respond.
He had learned almost as much as he needed to know, the rest he would find out easily. And he now saw that a change of plan was in order.
A menacing, dark figure approached the Drazi porter, passing all who were standing in line outside the Red 'Zirja Nights. His long, robe-like coat billowed about his feet, and the hood was pulled over his head, obscuring his face. In his hand he carried a dark, magical-looking staff. Still, the Drazi had his rules, and he stuck to them fiercely, no matter who was at the door. Even if it were Droshalla himself, he would still have asked the same question.
"Card or invitation, please."
"I carry neither. I will go in as I please. I wish to join in your little game."
"I'm sorry, sir, but I cannot let you in without the proper authorization."
"There is a well-known saying, 'Do not try the patience of wizards, for they are subtle, and quick to anger'. Do you not recognize a techno-mage, when one stands in front of you? And do you not know that standing between a techno-mage and his destination is a very dangerous and foolish thing to do?"
"Look, sir. It doesn't matter who or what you are. If you will join the line and wait for your turn, then perhaps I can ask the master to see you, and maybe, just maybe, he'll be willing to make the exception. It's not my decision to make, no matter what."
"Ah. I only came here to try my powers on the combatants in the arena, but I can start with you just as well."
Galen raised his hands and the staff in a series of showy gestures, always sure to impress the unknowing, and cast a complex illusion that surrounded the Drazi in a circle of flames. The fire looked very real, and it was hot enough to feel quite uncomfortable, even to set his clothes on fire unless he came to his senses soon enough. Which he did, of course. Galen had had every reason to believe that despite his extremely dense way of sticking to the rules, the Drazi was not stupid.
"All right, all right! I'll let you in - just this once - please, sir..."
With an uninterested wave of his hand, Galen put out the flames. He had nothing more to say to the porter, and nothing more he needed to hear. With his hood still down, he marched in through the red-draped doorway.
During the short time he had spent in the bar in disguise, Galen had located the man who accepted new challengers to the arena. He was a dark-skinned human with very short black hair, dressed in the Drazi way instead of any human style. He sat in the far end of the bar, behind the counter, but he never sold any drinks. Instead, he also took care of the betting, which was going on actively all the time.
There was another fight going on in the arena, between yet another Drazi and a Llort, neither of which carried a mind-control device. Galen had learned before that there would only be one representative of each race in the game at any given time, so if a challenger was of the same race with someone who was already in, they would be set to fight each other as soon as possible. He could guess that this new Drazi had just joined the fight after she had heard of the fall of the previous one, Grazzle, so she had not needed to fight him. But Galen wanted it to be the other way around when it came to him. He wanted to meet Matthew first, so there would be no more need for useless killing, for either of them. He only hoped that he would count as a human, even though he was a techno-mage.
"I believe you were notified of my entrance," Galen declared to the broker. "I have come to test my skills in the arena."
"Oh, I heard about your entrance, all right. I don't know what you did, but you really scared Zesra out of his wits, he's never let anyone in without the 'card or invitation, please'. So, you want to join in, sure, I can fix that. But do you really know what it means? Do you know the rule and the ways?"
Galen dropped down his hood and cast a piercing glance at the broker. "I am a techno-mage. Knowing all that there is to know is our purpose here."
"Yeeeah. And anyway, it's all on this form here, which I'll need you to sign. I'm sure you know all about what the fine print says, too - like the part where you promise that should you die, we're not responsible, since you went down there out of your own free will, and that we'll dispose of the body as we see fit, so there's no sending it anywhere for a fancy burial. And there's also the part where you agree that as long as you're down there, you play by the rule just like everyone else, just like the recruits who've got no choice. You kill or you die, and you only get out at the end of the round, which would be at midnight."
Galen only answered by entering his signature with a flourish.
"I'm sure I also don't need to remind you that no weapons are allowed in the arena itself, so that all potentially harmful personal possessions will be taken away from you and stored in a safe place until you either leave at the end of the round, when you get them back, or die, and they're given to the winner," the broker explained, eyeing Galen's staff.
"I am well aware of this, and most of my weapons are of such nature that they cannot be taken away from me."
Galen's words reflected no hint of the uncertainty he felt. It was continuously present when he followed the lead of a Drazi in a ridiculous red velvet uniform, who was to take him through some more formalities, and then show him to his room. Galen did have one thing he absolutely needed to smuggle in somehow. He didn't think it would be hard to cover with an illusion, or even simple sleight of hand. Still, he had a feeling that there was more to this place than met the eye.
3. Twilight
Galen sat on the luxurious bed in his room, in the complex beneath the Red 'Zirja Nights. It was completely different from the simple quarters where he had seen Matthew through his probe. The difference between "recruited", enslaved fighters and challengers who came willingly was made plain here as well. The furniture was, like in the club above, mostly made of polished wood and red velvet, the bed was huge and had sheets of crimson silk. A large armchair was set in one corner of the room, and a mirror with an impressive golden frame hung from the wall. Embedded in the wall was a screen that contained a selection of channels with all kinds of entertainment. There was also one that showed the current match in the arena.
Galen had the arena-channel open all the time. The fight between the Drazi and the Llort was still going on, and it was very even. Neither was very badly hurt yet, but both were getting tired. Soon, one of them would make the one fatal mistake it took to end the match. Then it might be Galen's turn, or Matthew's, or, as Galen hoped, the time for the both of them.
He had managed to smuggle in his one very important item - a special tranq tab that he had made before entering the game. He had designed it based on the data he had gathered on the mind-control devices. He was fairly certain that it would work as it was supposed to, not only putting the target to a deep sleep, but also disabling the device from within.
It had been a very close call. The Drazi guards who had searched him and taken his possessions for safekeeping had used a very effective scanner that had seen through all his illusions and attempts to hide things. Luckily, they had let him keep his healing crystal and several other things that apparently didn't look like anything that could be used in a fight. He was sure the tranq tab would've seemed like such a thing, though, and had only got it in by means of an extremely simple diversion. He had dropped the tranq tab and stepped on it, and then picked it up when the Drazi had finished scanning, making it look as if he was tying his shoelaces. It was almost shamefully primitive, but it had worked, and that was all that mattered.
The exceptional scanner had again made him wonder what, or who, was behind this whole thing. The technology was far more advanced than what he would expect from the Drazi, just like that of the mind-control devices. Nevertheless, he was fairly certain that it was not Shadow technology, since it was not organic, and did not carry the horrible familiarity, the likeness to his tech. Perhaps the source was the "wise and ancient" alien of the rumor that had led the Excalibur to Sozirja.
In the arena, the Llort let his guard drop for a very short while, taking a deep breath and relaxing his arms. The Drazi noticed this immediately and attacked, landing a forceful kick in the Llort's midriff. He doubled over, and she continued with another kick, this time aimed at his head. His head jerked back with a sickening snap that was clearly audible through the screen, and he fell flat on his back, completely still. The match was over. The next one would begin as soon as the staff had cleared the body from the arena and fetched the new combatants from their rooms.
Galen had just turned off the screen when there was a knock at the door.
"Enter," he replied, and in came yet another Drazi guard in a red uniform. After a closer look, Galen decided he had already met this one, although he saw no use for that piece of information.
This Drazi did not speak English quite as well as Zesra the porter. "I come to take you to first battle. I lead you to door to the arena and let you in. There you meet one you must fight. You know rule already. Now, please follow."
The guard led Galen to the long corridor lined with doors, familiar from his walk to his room, and from the earlier images from Matthew's probe. With mixed feelings, anxious and hopeful at the same time, Galen accessed the probe to see where Matthew was now. He saw an identical corridor, and as he checked the direction, he saw that the source of the signal was right in front of him and coming closer. Matthew was approaching the door at the far end of the arena.
It was exactly as Galen had hoped. He did count as a human, and so he was to fight the one other human currently in the game. He would fight Matthew.
Gideon was excited. Yet another match was coming, another chance to prove his worth and gain more glory. The previous one had been easy, the Minbari youngster religious caste and weak. He hoped this one would be more of a challenge, although easy fights had their advantages. His ribs were still aching from one tough blow that the pierced Drazi had delivered, and the cuts where the sharp nails had slashed his face were there as well. Still, the injuries were minor, and they did not slow him down at all.
His guard opened the door and he practically leaped in, gazing at the far end of the arena, where the other door opened, and his opponent entered. A human, like him, and still not like him, a severe figure with a bald head and a long dark coat. There was something odd about this human, something that he knew, as if they had met before. But the memory could not get through the endless, all-encompassing urge to fight and win.
Gideon stepped closer to his opponent, crouched in anticipation of an attack. He would let the man make the first move, so he could assess his strategy and skills. Then he would find the weaknesses, and use them against him.
The enemy was patient as well, and waiting. They circled each other slowly, but while Gideon kept his low stance, his enemy stood upright, seeming oddly at ease, not at all prepared to defend himself. Only his face looked tense. If his enemy was this stupid, Gideon would be mad not to take advantage of it.
Gideon went for a low kick, meant to take his opponent off balance. Instead of hitting, it slipped before it reached its goal, as if it had encountered a slick barrier of some kind. He followed it instantly with a punch at his enemy's face, but it, as well, was turned aside by some invisible force.
"So, you really don't remember me at all, Matthew?" the man said, taking a few steps back. Gideon retreated as well, befuddled. No, he did not remember this person, who knew his first name. But as confused as he might have been, he still stayed on guard. Maybe that was what this surprising talk was for - to make him slip, so he would be an easier target. He would never do that.
Galen was not in a hurry. Even though he had had little talent for shields when he was younger, all that trouble had disappeared when he had merged with his tech. They could create a barrier strong enough to stop any physical blow. Matthew could not harm him, and he had at no time been worried about that. Instead, he was concerned about Matthew getting hurt when trying to attack.
All he needed was a chance to hit Matthew with the tranq tab. But even that was a challenge. Matthew was a skilled fighter to begin with, and the mind-control device was pushing him further, making him more alert and more eager to fight. He could see that his words had some impact, but not nearly enough. And he was afraid that they would make those overlooking the match suspicious, since they revealed that he had known at least something about Matthew prior to the match.
There was always the option of simply waiting for Matthew to grow tired, but it would be a long wait. Matthew had noticed that Galen was passive, and had retreated to slow circling again, wanting to get at least some kind of initiative from him. As they paced, Galen went through his plan again. The tab would put Matthew in a sort of hibernative state, slowing down his metabolism so much that anyone except for a very careful observer would take him for dead. The nanotechnology he had put in would also instantly start disabling the mind-control device.
The Drazi guards would probably not care to check whether Matthew was really dead or just nearly so. Galen had seen them carry away losers when they were not quite dead yet. The young Minbari had been breathing, but so badly injured that without help he had probably died within the hour. So, they would take Matthew wherever they stored the bodies. Soon after, they would come and take Galen, the winner of the match, to that place, so he could loot the body. That was one of the set ways of the game - the winner always got to loot the loser's body with his own hands. Perhaps the Drazi did not wish to touch the corpses themselves if it wasn't absolutely neccessary.
From there on, Galen's plan was slightly less certain. He did not know the exact build of the complex, nor the location of the storage room with the bodies. Nevertheless, once he got there, he would need to disable the guards and escape the building. Matthew would come out of the tranq tab-induced hibernation in half an hour. Galen would try to stall with the looting until that, so he would not need to carry him. He would also need to fetch the possessions he had been forced to give away, but tracing them was no problem, since his staff gave a strong signal that was easy to follow. He planned to do that hidden with a camouflage illusion, so he would not need to fight all the Drazi guards he encountered.
His plan was clear. Perhaps it would be better to get it over with as soon as possible. He only needed to do something that would catch Matthew's attention for a while, to take him off his guard.
Galen lifted his hand and created an illusion of a fireball. Unlike the flames he had used with Zesra, he made this one bright, but without any heat emanating from it. He did not want to burn away Matthew's eyebrows. He tossed it, and it erupted in a blinding flash right in front of Matthew's face. Matthew shrank back, dropping his defences. In that very moment, Galen struck the tranq tab on Matthew's neck. He tried to make the blow look like a spine-shattering one, while actually not harming his target at all.
Matthew went down. Galen stayed near him, crouched above the body like a vicious killer gloating over his victim. Actually, he was constantly scanning Matthew, and he was happy to see that the tab worked perfectly.
All his sensors were on Matthew now, and he had let his shield dissolve the very moment he saw Matthew fall. The silent whoosh of something cutting the air at great speed was the first thing that alerted him something was wrong. Before he had time to turn around completely, a sharp pain pierced his back.
In the fraction of a second Galen saw his mistake. If there was someone behind this game who could build scanners delicate enough to reveal his illusions, then they would certainly have scanners that would show whether a combatant truly was lethally harmed or not. They had instantly seen that Matthew was neither dead nor dying.
The air in the arena rang with words spoken in a deep, inhuman voice, strangely familiar, but certainly not Drazi. "There is only one survivor in each battle. You kill or you die. Failure to kill is punished by death. There can be no compassion for the opponent. We are disappointed with you, techno-mage. You have lost."
Since Galen had been about to turn around, the blade entered the left side of his back at an angle. He both felt and saw through his sensors how it sank in, slicing through skin and muscle, slipping neatly between his ribs, and cutting through his lung. He was sure it would penetrate his heart, causing so much damage that his organelles would have no chance of repairing it in time, but he never felt or saw it happen. He passed out before his face hit the metallic floor, right next to Matthew's.
4. Nightfall
Gideon woke up with what was without any doubt the worst hangover he had ever experienced. His head was about to split, or worse, to shatter into tiny bits. The room around him was completely unfamiliar, and he didn't have any idea at all how he had ended up in it. His memories of last night were vague, and now that he thought of it, he couldn't even tell what day it was.
He had apparently fallen asleep – or whatever – wearing his uniform, but he didn't have his PPG, or his comm link, or anything that would tell him anything useful. He realized he didn't smell all that good. A moment later, it came to him that it wasn't the scent of someone who had spent the night out in some smoky saloon, but something else completely. There was dried blood on his knuckles, and splotches of it stained his clothes. Some of it had to be his own, and perhaps the assortment of aches he felt wasn't just the result of too much drinking. So he'd been in a bar fight? That wouldn't have been the first time, to be sure.
The vague memories about what had happened were slowly becoming more tangible. He had been in a fight. More than one, actually, and he hadn't been in a bar. He hadn't even been drinking. Overlapping the memory of the fights was an odd feeling, an urge to gain glory through the fighting, because it was the right thing to do, and the only thing there was. He had to kill, or he would get killed.
He remembered the first face, the first person he had fought. The fight had been in an arena of sorts, walls and floor of metal, and somewhere above it, a crowd, watching them, cheering. He knew the face, and the second face as well. They were members of his own crew, and the more he concentrated, the clearer the memory became, the more certain he was. He had killed his own men. He had killed Newfield and Ashley. He didn't want to believe it.
There were several other faces as well. A pierced Drazi, a young Minbari – and then he remembered the last fight, and everything that had happened before he woke up here, in the room that had become his prison. He had fought Galen. Galen had tried to speak to him, but he had not understood. He had had no idea of what he was doing, or who he was fighting. And as far as he could remember, he had lost that fight. Galen had hit him, and he had lost consciousness.
Gideon knew the rules. After all, they had been among the very few thoughts that had gone through his head during the time he had been caught here. He knew that there could only be one survivor from each match. Galen had attacked him and struck him down, yet now he was here, in his room, with a devastating headache, but not much more. He was not dead, and that could only mean one thing: Gideon had not lost the match. Galen had. And that would mean...
It couldn't mean what Gideon thought it would. There was absolutely no way Galen could possibly have died in that match. Gideon hadn't even gotten anywhere near to hitting him. With all the techno-mage powers Galen had, surely he could've handled a fight were no weapons were allowed. But still, why would they have let Gideon return to his room if his opponent had not died? Maybe Galen had fled. That was the only explanation that made any sense at all.
Obviously Galen had done something to snap Gideon out of whatever had had hold of him. He lifted his hand and tried his forehead, where he felt a strange weight. His fingers touched something cold and metallic. He followed its lines. It was a device of some sort that covered most of his forehead. He could guess it was what had kept him from thinking, waking up and understanding. Galen had disabled it somehow, and now Galen had probably fled, and was busy figuring out a plan to get them out. Gideon should think of a way to make it easier, or just get out on his own. He left the device in its place. Maybe it would fool his captors into thinking that he was still under their control.
With some effort, Gideon rose up from his bed, stood up. As soon as he got on his feet, the door slid open. Almost as if they had been waiting for him to come around. Behind the door stood his regular Drazi guard, a big, muscled one who spoke little, except with not-so-gentle nudging and pushing about.
“You win. You loot,” the Drazi said.
The thought hadn't crossed Gideon's mind. He cast a glance at the shelf, the only other piece of furniture in his room apart from the bed. On the shelf rested a few trinkets he had taken from his earlier opponents. Some of the more expensive bits of jewelry from the pierced Drazi, a fake antique pocket watch from one of his crewmen, a locket the young Minbari had had. Things of not much value. He remembered he had taken them because it was his right as the winner, it was expected of him, and every piece was further proof of his superiority.
Gideon could've just attacked his guard and tried to run away, but he didn't think he would make it very far that way. And he couldn't just leave Galen behind. He followed the Drazi's lead in a stupefied silence. He had won. Now he got to loot. The Drazi was taking him to loot Galen. He had won, and Galen was dead.
Galen woke up to the horrible feeling that he was underwater. He was suffocating. There was something wet in his mouth, on his face, inside his chest.
He had spent most of his life training and striving for control, and now it took every bit of that training before he could calm himself and look at the situation in a detatched manner. Of course, he was not really drowning. It was among his first thoughts that made sense. He tried to stop panting and took a deep breath, which he regretted immediately. It sent such an agony tearing through his chest that he nearly passed out again. He concentrated, gathered all his willpower, and settled for lighter, shallower inhalations.
Galen accessed his sensors and assessed his situation. It was, perhaps, a bit better than he had expected, but considering he had thought he'd be dead, that wasn't very much. He was lying on his stomach, and the hilt of the knife still stuck out from his back. His organelles had mended much of the damage it had inflicted, but as long as the blade was in its place, all they could do was to close the edges of wounds around it. The cuts were still bleeding, the blood gathering in the chest cavity, making it increasingly difficult to breathe.
Despite the serious hemothorax, he had been lucky. The blade had not went as far as he had feared. It was lodged in a precarious position, the tip just touching the pericardium. As he looked, he noticed that where it had scratched the membrane, the organelles were working furiously. The cut was newer than the rest. He must've inflicted it on himself, must have caused the knife to move those few critical millimeters when he fought to breathe.
During his early days as a mage student interested in medicine Galen had learned the principles of first aid throughly. They said that an impaled object should remain in its place until the patient could be taken into adequate medical facilities. Still, this was a special situation. If he was to have any chance of ever escaping this place, his organelles would have to be able to truly heal the wounds, not just try and close them around the sharp edges. As long as it stayed in, the blade would continuosly keep causing serious damage, even lethal - it only needed to sink yet a few millimeters deeper to enter the heart muscle.
He hardly had any choice. The blade would have to come out.
His right arm was pinned underneath him, and he dared not try to pull it out. His left arm was free against his side, but considering the position of the knife, trying to move it would be even more risky. He could not think of any spell he could use. Techno-mage or not, he was no telekinetic. He could conjure flying platforms, globes and shields, but trying to clamp the knife between a formation of them so that the grip would be strong enough to pull it out was a feat he was not up to right now.
Every minute he spent considering, more blood was seeping through the partially closed cuts, and his left lung could not expand with the knife going through it. He didn't know which would come first, suffocation or bleeding to death internally.
His concentration was slipping fast, coherent thought becoming harder again. But he could not afford to pass out. Galen fought with all his ability to control so he would remain conscious.
Gideon went through his earlier memories of looting bodies. The place were they lie was horrible to begin with, a plain room with the dead just tossed in and left there, never touched again, except by the winners who came to loot. He had only seen the bodies of those who had lost during this round, the series of matches that had taken place since midday. None of them were decayed yet.
He wondered briefly what would happen to the bodies after the round was finished. The most likely option was that they were burned, or vaporized, or whatever, so there would be no traces left, no problem of hiding them or disposing of them quietly. He didn't know the time, but he was sure that midnight wasn't all that far away. They would get rid of the dead soon after the round ended, soon after midnight. Gideon would get Galen out before that, if he could. He wouldn't let them do whatever they wanted with his remains.
The Drazi opened the door, one just like the others in another identical corridor, pushed Gideon in without another word, and closed the door after him.
It wasn't hard to locate Galen among the scattered corpses. Most of them were aliens, except for the two humans at the back of the room that Gideon did not want to think about, and the one figure in a dark robe lying right in front of him, near the door, a knife in his back. And it only took Gideon two seconds to get over the first shock of it and notice that Galen wasn't dead, at least not yet. His raspy breathing sounded horribly loud in the empty room.
Gideon had thought that the match only ended with the actual death of one combatant, but now he saw he had been wrong. No, they wouldn't even let the loser die. The match would end when one was lethally hurt, and then they would just toss them here with the rest of the losers, and let them suffer.
“Matthew,” Galen whispered in a weak, strained voice.
Gideon crouched closer, so he could hear properly. “They let me in so I can loot you. But whatever you did to me, it worked, I'm with you again. Now I'm going to think of something to do. We'll get out of this place,” he said, trying to sound reassuring. He kept his voice low so the guard waiting outside the door would not hear it.
“The blade,” Galen rasped. Gideon didn't get what he meant to say. Maybe he hadn't heard correctly, or then Galen was delirious.
“Yeah, you've been stabbed in the back, and I don't even know who, when or how. But the Doc will help you get it fixed once we get out of here.”
“No!” the answer was sharp, and was followed by a pause where Galen closed his eyes, his face contorted with pain. But he continued. “You - must - get it out.”
“Galen, I can't! I'd just hurt you worse. I can just guess how bad it feels, but isn't it better to let it be?”
“No. Quickly, now!”
He sounded absolutely adamant about it. Maybe he knew better. Gideon knew that as a techno-mage, Galen probably knew more about medicine than he did. Besides, he hadn't got a better plan, anyway.
“All right, I'll do it. Brace yourself, this is really going to hurt,” Gideon said, but Galen didn't answer. His eyes were closed again. He had probably passed out. It was all the better, since that way he might not feel the worst of it.
Trying to keep his hands as steady as possible, Gideon grabbed the hilt. Most of the blade seemed to be in, and he couldn't tell how long it was, how deep it went. He would just have to try and get it out straight, so he wouldn't do more damage.
The blade was pretty long. Gideon could only imagine the kind of injuries it must have caused. Still it came out easier than he had expected, and Galen didn't groan or gasp, didn't even flinch. For a moment, Gideon was again afraid that he had died, just like that, but no, he was still breathing, the sound even worse than before, wet and struggling. The now open stab wound was bleeding profusely. Gideon dropped the blade on the floor and pressed the wound with both hands, trying to slow down the bloodflow.
And then, at the worst possible moment, the door opened, and the Drazi glared at him. He moved his hands away from the wound, as if going over the body, looking for any pockets or anything. He found nothing, so he took the knife and stood up.
“All right, I'm finished here. He didn't have anything of value anyway,” Gideon said, and reluctantly turned his back to Galen.
“Give me that,” the guard said, gesturing at the knife. Of course, he would not be allowed to keep a weapon. It would be taken to a safe place where it would wait 'until he got out of the game'. And in Gideon's case, that would never happen. He knew he would have to survive a whole year here to be officially allowed to exit. It was hardly possible.
Gideon gave the knife away silently. He noticed that his hands were coated with blood. Galen's blood.
“Now you go fight.”
He had thought he'd have a while to consider what had happened, and maybe try and start thinking of a plan. No such luck. On the other hand, if he managed to win this fight, he would get to loot his next victim, and then he could check on Galen again, see if he had survived.
Gideon followed the Drazi towards that particular door at the end of a long corridor, and back to the arena again.
5. Midnight
The alien who entered the arena from the opposite door was of a species Gideon had never met before. He couldn't even tell whether it was male or female. Its face reminded him distantly of a Brakiri, but looked less human, with eyes of a vivid purple and no pupils at all, and dark blue hair growing in irregular patches around its scalp - and that was the most familiar part of the whole. The alien had long and thin arms and legs that seemed completely out of proportion. It also had the strangest way of moving about. When it slowly made its way towards Gideon, he got the impression that it didn't quite know where to put its long legs.
The alien had a mind-control device on its head, but Gideon didn't think that would answer for its walking problems. He kept his distance and observed. The alien didn't look like a very formidable opponent. Gideon's best guess was that it came from a world where the gravity was lighter than here, and the extra weight was hampering its movement. Probably its fighting skills would be equally disturbed by the circumstances.
Gideon edged away from the approaching alien, still eyeing it cautiously. There was always the chance that it was just faking this weird walk to get closer to him and take him by surprise. He could wait. Then again, Galen couldn't. Gideon tried not to think of it, but the image of Galen lying there among all those already forgotten corpses, about to become one of them, finally forced him to act.
He stepped closer and aimed a punch right at the alien's face – and hit it square on. It really was moving slowly. Its attempt to defend itself was so late that it only managed to scratch Gideon's hand when he was already pulling it away.
Gideon backed away again, considering his success. His blue opponent seemed even more dazed now. It had stopped moving, swaying on its feet. This would not be a long fight.
He attacked again, but this time, the alien was slightly more prepared. It dodged, and immediately returned his attack with a surprisingly quick slash of its long, sharp-nailed hand, which only grazed his thigh.
Something strange was going on. The lights around them, always uniformly bright, were going dimmer, and the floor was shaking.
When Gideon tried to step backwards, away from the alien, he realized that nothing was wrong with the arena. Something was wrong with him. He placed one involuntarily shivering foot down, but couldn't find his balance, and almost fell.
The alien hadn't moved a bit. On the contrary, it had sat down in an odd crouch, its hands resting on the floor. Gideon wasn't sure which way its purple eyes looked, but he was pretty certain it was staring at him. It had no need to do anything more. It was just waiting for him to go down. The long, bright blue nails had to be poisonous.
The arena was spinning wildly around him, and the sounds from the spectators above were distant, like an echo. He couldn't stand up straight anymore.
A second later he found himself lying on his back, without any memory of falling down. He felt like someone had just dropped a mountain on him, a huge weight was pressing him flat against the floor. He couldn't move at all, could hardly breathe.
Another second, and he blacked out.
Galen opened his eyes into complete darkness. The floor against his cheek felt cold and sticky with what he knew was his own blood.
He felt better. Breathing was still painful, but not overwhelmingly so, and without the knife in him, he could take deeper breaths. Scanning himself, he noted that the injuries were mending well, but not as fast as he had hoped. He'd need to stay put for a good while if he wanted to have it all safely healed, and that was something he couldn't do.
It was already midnight, the end of the round, and he was sure the owners, whoever they were, would soon dispose of the bodies in this room. Galen had a strong guess on how they would do that. He scanned the blackness around him, concentrating on the walls and the ceiling, and found confirmation for his thoughts. There was machinery surrounding the room that could be used to generate a flash of extreme heat, efficiently disposing of all organic material inside the walls.
He sat up and turned his face and sensors to the room and those in it. The lights were off, so he switched to infrared. Most of the bodies were cold and lifeless, some showed lingering body heat that told they had died recently. And one was still alive, though barely. He had to be the loser of the very last fight. His vitals didn't look good – blood pressure too low, pulse too fast, hardly breathing at all. And he was a human. There had only been one human left in the game after Galen had lost.
With a horrible sinking feeling, made worse by the renewed agony in his chest, Galen made his way closer to the man. Things had certainly not gone the way he had planned. Looking back at it all, his plan had been flawed at best, and now, it seemed like a complete failure. It wasn't enough that he had almost got himself killed because he had not thought of everything. His failure might lead to Matthew's death as well. It was up to him to stop that from happening.
He was glad he still had his healing crystal. He might never have been a terribly skilled healer, but, as with most things, joining with the tech had helped quite a bit. He might not be an equal to Ing-Radi or other great master healers of the past, but he could heal many injuries. Continuing his scan of Matthew, Galen quickly noticed that he wasn't really dealing with an injury. There were slight scratches on Matthew's right hand and thigh, not nearly deep enough to cause significant blood loss. The reason he was dying was the poison coursing in his veins. Luckily it was a simple, natural venom, probably a characteristic of the winner's species.
The thought of the winner, combined with the distant sounds of someone approaching the door, reminded Galen of yet another important thing he had forgotten. Just like Matthew had come to loot him, now Matthew's winner was coming to search the loser's body for anything of value. Galen was fairly certain that Matthew had nothing valuable left. The owners, whoever they were, had probably taken away everything, not only weapons, but any means of communicating to the outside, and any signs of who he was and what he had been doing before he came here.
Someone was speaking right behind the door, the rough voice of a Drazi guard. Galen leaped away from Matthew and landed painfully on his left side. He felt something give in, another sharp stab in his chest. Still, he didn't scan to check what had happened, or how bad it was. It would change nothing. He stayed very still, tried to keep his breathing as silent as he could. His face was turned towards the door, and he kept his sensors on Matthew.
The lights went on, and the door opened. In stepped an alien of some race Galen couldn't recognize right now, and he didn't care enough to try and figure it out. It was blue, and both the build of its body and its way of walking suggested it came from a low gravity world. Despite the mind-control, it didn't seem too eager to loot Matthew. It stayed near the door, its hands placed under its chin in a gesture reminiscent of a praying mantis. Slowly and hesitantly it moved closer and folded its legs.
Galen wanted to shout at it, toss it with a fireball, tell it to move faster, or just go away and leave them alone. Of course, he would do no such thing. It was a maddening feeling, watching through his sensors how Matthew grew weaker with every passing moment, and the alien just sat there stupidly, poking him with long, venomous, clawed fingers.
Finally the alien stopped, having found nothing. It stood up and went away. The door closed behind it, and the lights went out, leaving Galen in the dark. He pushed himself up, doing his best to ignore the sting in his chest. Matthew needed help right now, or it would be too late. With a few quick steps Galen was by Matthew's side again. He placed his hands on Matthew's chest and sent in the first wave of organelles. Accessing them through the crystal, he set them to neutralize the venom, and found that it was indeed not a difficult task. Yet the venom had had time to spread all around Matthew's system, and it would take a lot of organelles to stop it in time.
Galen knew there was only one way to do this, and the tech was with him. They didn't like it, but both agreed that Matthew must be saved. After all, it was their fault that he was dying. The tech assured it would work. The organelles might not be very smart, but they could just spread along the circulation and keep neutralizing the poison on their own.
Closing his eyes with concentration, Galen sent more organelles into Matthew's body. As many as he could. More than he could afford. Almost sooner than he had expected, he felt the darkness closing in on him once again. As he felt himself falling, he only hoped he had managed to give enough.
