1 Fenolla
“Bodyslam him! Get him in a clinch and fucking choke him. Stop messing about and finish it!”
I eyeball the man shouting in front of me and place his pint of beer down on the bar. I also have to shout over the uproar of the crowd so that the punter can hear me. “Three-pounds-seventy-five please mate!”
He turns to face me with bleary eyes, his hands still cupped around his mouth from shouting, then he stumbles about digging deep into his pocket. He hands me a screwed up banknote without so much as a thank you. I place the note into the till and scrape his change together, but when I turn to hand it over he’s already making his way back towards the fight, crab style, his pint of beer sploshing over the sides of his glass onto the already sticky floor. I throw his change into my tips glass. Fuck him! I now have an unhealthy two-pounds-twenty-five in tips. Yippee!
I lean on the bar and watch the fight, my brow furrowed in concentration as I study the moves and techniques of the fighters - always an attentive student because pulling pints is where I’m able to do most of my learning.
I grimace as Jake; my uncle’s top cage fighter takes an elbow strike to his sternum and then tries unsuccessfully to get his opponent into a clinch.
Cupping my hands around my mouth I shout hard to throw my voice over the deluge of noise, “No, you shouldn’t have done that Jake, where’s your guard? He’s going for a roundhouse kick now!”
Too late. I watch helplessly as Jake gets kicked in the ribs. He buckles over before being taken down into a guillotine move by our rival club’s top fighter. He taps out and the crowd erupts in a mixture of celebration and commiseration depending on which fighter they were backing.
A surge of happy faces hit the bar; they had obviously backed the rival club’s fighter and it’s mainly unknown faces that came in on a coach load from our rival club. Takings from the bar will be high tonight, which is all well and good, but our club’s fight loss will no doubt have a detrimental effect on the bar takings all into the next week. Next week there will barely be a soul in here.
“Oi, over ‘ere darlin’. Shame those hands of yours don’t move as fast as your tits.” A group of men starts laughing at the punter’s comment.
My stomach lurches. I hate working behind the bar – especially in this skimpy outfit. I’ve been here thirteen months now and am still no closer to working the job that I came here to do – clubs fight trainer. It’s the only job I want and the job my uncle lured me back here to do. Instead, I have to humiliate myself as a ring girl and barmaid in nearly absent clothing.
I zone out from the crude jibes and sexist jabber as I think about the shit deal I’ve been dealt by my so-called uncle. He’s not even a blood relative. As far as I know, I don’t have any living relatives left. My parents died in a motorway pile-up when I was six years old. I should have been with them. They were on their way back from viewing a new boxing training centre to branch out on their own. Instead, I was curled up in bed with the chickenpox with my carer being my dad’s soon to be ex-partner, my so-called uncle.
As my Godparent the responsibility of raising me had been passed to him. It was good of him to take me on, especially as he and my father were dissolving their partnership at the time of his death. My so-called uncle tried his best, three square meals a day, a roof over my head, teaching me how to box…but, the love of a family, the love I’d known from my parents had never been there. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciated it. I was fed and watered, and trained to be a boxer – the few things he knew he could give me, but I always got the feeling he only tolerated me being around, his true love was fighting and his love for running his own fight club.
I left him and the club when I was sixteen. I ran away with the first man who’d shown a bit of interest in me - an up and coming boxer from my uncle’s club. But the relationship didn’t even make twelve months and then both of us had gone back with our tails between our legs.
My uncle had welcomed my ex back like a long lost son with open arms, but I hadn’t quite received the same treatment. All he did with me was blame me for losing my ex precious training time. Needless to say, I didn’t stick around for very long before I was off again, drifting from fight club to fight club, taking on the shitty jobs that no-one else seemed to want.
But I kept myself fit even continued with my boxing. It’s the only thing that linked me to my parents, but every couple of years I’d always end up being lured back to my uncle’s club.
Now I was back again and the place was seriously going downhill. In a bid to draw in larger crowds, he’d turned from boxing to cagefighting but it still wasn’t enough. He needed a gimmick and I’d come up with a fantastic idea just under a year ago. But of course, because it was me who’d thought of it instead of one of his precious fighters, he was dragging his feet implementing it. The frustration was brimming in me and I could already feel the pull to be anywhere else but here, caught up in my uncle’s shower of shit. If he didn’t try something new soon, this place would be going into liquidation.
A male voice to my left cuts over the noise. “Come on people, the fight might be over but the bar’s still open!”
I glance towards my uncle at the end of the bar. He’d actually come to help me – will wonders never cease?
“Hurry up Nola, pull your finger out, we’re losing money here!”
I bristle and bite my tongue – for now.
As soon as the rush dies down my uncle disappears and leaves me alone to tidy up, collect the glasses and load the glasswasher. Even the younger fighters who weren’t fighting this evening and were here to supposedly help out have disappeared. I know where they all are. They were in the dressing room, commiserating with Jake.
Come the end of the night I can barely lift my feet off the floor, they are weighed down with invisible deep-sea diving boots. I grab my coat and bag and head into the dressing room.
They are all there, sitting on benches looking up to my uncle. One of Jake’s eyes is now an ugly shade of blue and completely closed over.
I hover in the doorway listening to my uncle’s after-show spiel, legendary for being longer than a whole night of fights. As usual, he is gesticulating wildly, his eyes bulging.
“So if you don’t start stringing it out a bit, the fight’s over before it’s begun. There’s nothing to keep them here! We can’t sell any more ale… Now, has anyone got any new ideas of how to keep our heads out of the water?”
Jake and the other fighters groan a reply and shake their heads.
I clear my throat from the doorway. “Uncle Fred, why don’t we try my idea – we could start it next week? You know the one I told you about just after Easter last year?”
My uncle swings his head in my direction and narrows his eyes. “Nola, how can I put this…How the fuck can a bunch of useless women fighters draw in a crowd? All they’re good for is flashing arse and tit as ring girls by showing the pissed up punters which round it is on the placards!” he shakes his head. “While you’re here Nola I might as well talk about the trainer position…” I straighten, a surge of excitement tingling up my spine – finally! “Nola, you’ve only ever done boxing training, how on earth are you meant to manage and train cage-fighters.” He walks over to Jake and places a hand on his shoulder, “Jake here will be filling the position of the head trainer as from Monday.”
Jake smiles smugly and the others snicker at my public dissing and my uncle’s outdated sexist remark. I colour up. I want the floor to swallow me up, but not before I punch the smug look from off every single one of their faces.
My face screws up, I must look like a bulldog chewing a wasp but I don’t give a shit. “I’ve bloody had it with you, Fred! You’ve never wanted me. All I’ve ever been to you is one huge inconvenience. Well, not anymore! I quit - and after tonight - you won’t have to see me anymore… I won’t trouble you ever again!”
I turn on my heels and race out of there before the tears that are building threaten to spill.
***
It’s the early hours of the morning as I head home on my own. Luckily the streets so far have been deserted. I curse at my stupidity for storming out and not waiting for my taxi. I can handle myself in a one on one fight, but if a gang were to get hold of me I’d have no chance, especially if they were carrying weapons.
I spot a group of people lurking at the end of the street and my senses go on high alert. I can either brave it and walk past them or take my chances by cutting through the local park. The park gates are coming up fast and I spot a gap just wide enough for me to squeeze through. At the last moment, I decide to take my chances with the park. What’s the worst that could happen - I encounter a homeless man?
Fifty yards past the entrance into the park, the lights end – typical. I take out my phone to turn on the flashlight. I sigh outwardly after spotting that I only have five percent battery left. But I turn it on anyway, not feeling brave enough to let my eyes adjust to the dimness and walk in the dark.
Screeching sounds identical to a baby crying explode from the darkness and I literally jump out of my skin and drop my phone. It lands with a nasty clatter on the concrete path screen down.
“Shit!” I crouch and reach for it; the light is belly up and it blinds me so I turn it over to check the screen for cracks. “Stupid bloody foxes!” To my relief it’s fine.
When I straighten I freeze. I see three silhouettes about thirty feet away on the path in front of me. An icy chill snakes its way up my spine. There is something about them that doesn’t sit well with me. They appear shorter than me but almost twice the size in breadth. There’s no way that they are children.
My phone is still pointing downwards to the path and my insides are in turmoil as to whether to raise it in their direction or not. But before I can decide, a beam of light from their direction blinds me…and then there is total blackness.
***
I scream and it reverberates back to me. The only other sound is my erratic heartbeat amplified in my ears, drowning everything else out. I try to extend my arms out in front but I can’t they’re restrained by my sides – and so are my legs. My eyes roam wildly trying to see something …anything.
“Help me! Somebody please!” I begin to hyperventilate and then I think I pass out.
Xander
My ship pulls alongside the Taraquet’s ship just outside the atmosphere of planet Desra ready to connect. I stand alone and look through the bridge’s window at Desra suspended in the blackness. It’s an ugly planet, mainly covered in baron deserts and treacherous mountains with only a splash of colour dotting the surface to break up the monotony. This is where we have lived since I was a young child, just my uncle and me - but it’s a place I refuse to call home. I gaze past the planet’s surface off into the vastness of the Perinqual galaxy and think of home. I wonder if much has changed since we departed over a twenty-five cycs ago.
Bufflor, my right-hand man comes onto the bridge. “Xander we are attached. The Taraquets are waiting for you to board.”
I grimace, “Uh, I want to hurry up and get this meeting over with. They make my skin crawl and meeting up with them once every few cycs is still too often for my liking.”
Two Taraquets await my arrival. One of them is the captain and I smell them before I even set afoot on their ship. It’s putrid; a mixture of stale piss and rotting meat. Though only half my size, their evilness makes up for their lack of height. Red eyes cut into me.
“We have eight prisoners, six for you to choose from.”
I narrow my eyes, “Like I keep telling you Qier, it’s not me choosing them, it’s whether they choose to come with me. Even though they are prisoners, it’s their decision if they want to continue to Prismn and see their sentence through or whether they choose to try and win their freedom back by coming with me…” His eyes burn a hole in me after my reply. “Let’s take a look at them then.”
Qier leads the way to his bridge and barks a command at a seated Taraquet. He presses a few buttons and the huge bridge window becomes a monitor. I can see four cells, one is slightly out of range but I can see clearly into the other three.
I look at the cell to the far right and see two females of the same species. They are Kirimiris, very rare. Their beautiful orange skin is a camouflage of brown and beige markings typical of the foliage on their planet. It’s a way of blending into their surroundings to protect themselves from the flying mammals that are the only danger to them there. They sit still and silent side by side, their heads occasionally twitching as they listen to whatever noises are going on in there.
The next cell along contains an Oranas and a Lipzie. The Lipzie walks from one side of the cage to the other repeatedly, her tongue flicks out tasting the air, she looks agitated. The Oranas female sits cross-legged on the floor, eyes closed in meditation.
The third cell has Taraquets inside. I glance in shock in Qier’s direction with my eyebrows raised questioningly. He shakes his head not wanting to divulge any information.
“Can you move the camera so that I can see into the last cell?”
Qier barks some more orders and the camera slowly trains onto the last cell. There is a blur of bodies. I see three Taraquets and two females. One is a Huwandi and the other female is an unknown species. I watch mesmerised as the unknown species punches the two of the Taraquets before lunging forward and ripping the third off the Huwandi. The two Taraquets grab the unknown female and tackle her face down onto the floor, where they have a hard time trying to subdue her. The Huwandi female scrambles to her feet and grabs the third Taraquet by the shoulders, before crashing her head down onto his.
Qier shouts at the Taraquets around him and they scramble out of the bridge in the direction of the cells. My eyes go from them back to the screen and watch one of the Taraquets inside the cell withdraw a tranquiliser gun from inside his jacket and shoot something into the unknown female’s neck, just as the Huwandi lunges for him. His comrade loses his grip on the now unconscious female and just catches hold of one of the Huwandi’s arms giving the other Taraquet a chance to shoot a shot of the subduing substance into her arm. She crumples to the floor just as Qier and his men enter the room.
I drag my eyes from the screen and run to meet them. By the time I arrive, the cell is locked and the three Taraquets are no longer in there. They barge past me, watched by Qier’s blood-red glare.
“What was that all about?”
Qier ignores my question and turns to the cells. “Are you buying any of them, I’ll give you five mids to decide, then I’m continuing on to Prismn.”
I stare bewildered at the unconscious females in the cell. I now have no way of asking them which option they want to choose, whether they want to continue to Prismn to carry out their sentence, or come with me and fight for their freedom.
I walk to the next cage. The Taraquets eye me with disdain, and I mirror their look. I’ve never come across imprisoned Taraquet females before.
I step back so all of the occupants in the cells can see me. I do not worry about the language barrier. All planets under the arm of the Federation implant translators into their babies soon after birth and all the females come from planets under their jurisdiction.
“My name is Xander. I am a Cagodian fighting dome owner from the planet Desra. Now is your chance to try and earn your freedom back. I will give you that chance by buying your sentence from this Taraquet associate who works for the Federation and Prismn. You will work for me and pay off your debt by fighting for your freedom. One fight every few doons until you have won four fights in succession. After that, you can either go back home to your planet or stay on Desra. If you decide to stay on Desra, you will be treated like a queen; the residents of the planet hold the utmost regard for female fighters. Or, you can go on to Prismn and carry out your sentence. The choice is yours.”
The Kirimiris look to each other and stand simultaneously, walking to the cell door in unison.
The Lipzie stops pacing and nods.
The Oranas stands, walks to the cell door and opens her eyes. “Yes, I come with you.”
The Taraquets scorch me with their eyes and then turn their backs on me.
Qier looks from the cells to me. “Four females. Ten-million credos.”
I stare at the unconscious females on the cell floor. They put up a good fight against the Taraquets. I decide there and then I must have them – even without their consent.
“I want those two as well!”
Qier shakes his head.
“Don’t fucking shake your head at me you little runt.”
His eyes pulsate an angry crimson. “No. They are not for sale.”
I cross my arms, “I wonder what Admiral Kerchee will say about that?”
His vulgar little eyes widen at my threat. Admiral Kerchee could snatch his licence off him permanently if he knows he has disregarded protocol and Qier knows we are friends.
He hisses through his spikey yellow teeth. “Fifteen million credos.”
I smile and raise my wrist in acceptance of his offer. I tap the amount into my wrist clasp and extend it towards him. He glowers at me for a moment and then thrusts his wrist to mine. My clasp illuminated red and buzzes. Qiers turns green and pings.
He steps back from me. “Take them now!”
As I walk over to the Kirimiri’s cell I pull off two slim neck collars attached to my belt. I carefully pass them through the horizontal cell laser beams. “Put these on your necks!” They clip them on without protest and the collars instantly light up with four blue lights. I look over to Qier and he presses a button on the control panel next to him. The Kirimiris’s cell door beams disappear and they step outside.
I walk to the next cell and hand out collars to the other females. They follow suit and as soon as the collars are clicked on the four blue lights appear. Their cell door beams also diffuse and they walk out and stand behind me. I walk past the Taraquet females closely followed by the four female prisoners; the Taraquet females still have their backs to me. The last cell beams disappear and I step inside and snap a collar onto the Huwandi’s neck. Lifting her off the floor I look to the prisoners.
“Come and take her from me!”
The Oranas and Lipzie step forward and take the Huwandi from me. I kneel and brush the unknown female’s hair out of place to be able to attach her collar. Her skin’s texture is similar to my own and I almost gasp at its softness. She moans slightly and I can’t help but stare at the pink full lips poking out through the hair from where the sound came from. There is a drop of blood on her neck from the shot and I marvel at the deep red colour.
Qier huffs from the corner of the room and I come back to my senses and clip the collar on. When I lift her, she’s surprisingly light compared to the Huwandi. I sling her over my shoulder and lead the way out of the room without a backward glance at Qier and the females follow in silence.
Back on board my ship, I’m greeted by Bufflor and Tagon. Bufflor is also an Oranas but he is two heads taller than the Oranas female. Both have the same muscular build, short tufty hair and facial markings.
Tagon raises his eyebrows on seeing an Oranas female carrying the majority of the unconscious Huwandi’s weight. As a Huwandi himself, he knows all too well how dense the Huwandi skeleton is. He quickly scans the Huwandi female and I can see he’s impressed by the way he takes her in from her head down to her toes.
I address Bufflor, “Prepare to depart in twenty mids.” Buffler nods.
Marching past my men the females follow me and when we get into the corridor I head to a door close to the bridge. I wave my clasp in front of the sensor and the door whooshes silently open. Inside are a dozen seats with restraints.
I look at the females carrying the Huwandi and tilt my head towards a reclined seat. “Put her in that one!”
I do the same with the unknown female. Her hair still covers her face and I gingerly lock her into position. I want to stay and have a good look at her but there is no time. Bufflor and Tagon will need me on the bridge to help with re-entering Desra’s atmosphere.
I turn to the females, “We will be entering Desra’s atmosphere shortly.” They regard me closely, none of them taking their eyes off me for a second but they do not reply. Before I leave to prepare for the descent, I take one more look over my shoulder at my new cargo; I’m satisfied with my purchases.
My uncle will be pleased but I’m secretly ecstatic. I know with certainty that half of the women will come good and will soon fight their way to freedom, but in doing so will earn my uncle a tidy sum in the process – that will keep him happy. But I’m unsure about the Kirimiris and the unknown species. My uncle won’t like my decision to buy them but sometimes in life, you just have to take a risk – especially if your gut tells you to.
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