Chương 11: Arrival arc

"What is better than the real thing? What is better than watching an event with your own eyes? Not mere light manipulated on a screen. Not mere sounds recorded and replayed. Reality. Smelling the air, feeling the excitement, drinking in their fear. All that and more can be arranged for you by the Duras Entertainment Network. Your desire is our pleasure to arrange." A Duras Entertainment Network advertising pitch. Mat woke up on his sixth month anniversary to a stranger sharing his bunkbed.

He wasn't sure what set him off on that. There were no real assigned sleeping beds, and in fact Tobi was wont to sleep wherever he damn well pleased, but over the months he got to know his cellmates. Reg slept lightly, and Pabol like a rock. Tobi sometimes woke up after only hours, wandering around or exercising. A form of insomnia, or so the man said. But he knew Tobi and Reg were still asleep, and whomever was in the bunk above his own, it wasn't Pabol.

Mat rose as quietly as he could, which was not very quiet at all. He was hardly an expert on stealth. Regardless, the stranger did not wake, so Mat moved over to Reg, who woke even before Mat put a hand on his shoulder. There was a moment of confusion, and then the man's eyes flickered to the bunk. Realization bloomed, and then his eyes grew tired. Tired and sad. Pabol had a fight late yesterday, Mat knew that. He himself had gone to bed early, but it wasn't like the man had been fighting a deathmatch.

Those could be months apart, if not longer. So if Pabol wasn't dead, why had someone else been placed in their cell? Reg rose, rubbing his face and letting out a sigh, tone quiet.

"Do you remember waking up here, Mat? Confused, sick, tired and more? I won't ask you to forget Pabol, but don't take it out on this new soul." That didn't make any sense. How would Pabol even have died? Reg seemed to read the question on his face, but before he could speak, Tobi had woken, attempting to peek over the edge. Instead, the man fell off his bunk. Mat caught him on instinct, dumping him when Tobi was no longer in danger of cracking his skull open on the table.

Tobi was on his feet in a flash, tone bright.

"What are we talking about?" The stranger awoke, and Mat froze. Not because he didn't know what to do, but because he wanted to do two things at once, and indecision slowed him. He was either going to drag this random man out of his bed and demand answers the stranger wouldn't have, or he was going to turn to the wider domus, sure that the Judge had simply assigned the man to a different cell. Reg brushed past him, and Tobi's smile froze. Mat took a breath, realizing both of his options were terrible.

Not only would Reg stop him from accosting their new cellmate, but it would be a dickish thing to do.

"How?" Mat demanded, turning to the only other person there. Tobi's smile drained, and he sighed. Mat glared at him." What?"

"Accidents happen, even to skilled fighters. Maybe he took a bad fall, or his opponent wanted blood. I don't know, but there's only one reason they would have snuck a new bladeslave in here during the night. Pabol is dead." Dead. Just like that. No fight, no goodbye, no glorious purpose fulfilled. He went to do something he had done a hundred, a thousand times before, and now he was dead. It would be a lie to say that he and Pabol were the greatest of friends.

It would also be a lie to say this was the first friend he lost, since he knew three dozen people here by name. But Pabol was… Pabol. Mat shook his head, walking out of the cell while Reg started answering confused, frightened questions. The man must have been in storage for a while, because he didn't sound too sick. Nothing like how Mat himself had been. It was the rapid freezing, unfreezing, then freezing again that fucked with the body. God only knew how long Obedias had this one tucked away.

Mat could sympathize with being pulled out of time. So he ate breakfast in Darion's cell, annoying the others but nothing more. Not like the slop they ate there was any different than his own. But Darion did shoot him a look, which while not exactly concerned, the man was still sympathetic.

"What happened?"

"Pabol died. We've got a new guy in the cell." Darion sighed.

"Ah. First transfer. You lasted a pretty long time, actually. Some people don't go a month without their cellmates changing, and you lasted six. Toncon knows I could use a bit of fresh blood."

"Fuck off, Darion," Kelvin grumbled, turning his gaze to Mat.

"And you, fuck off yourself. I don't care about your feelings, so go eat on your own bed." Mat glanced at the man, snorting.

"Keep a civil tongue, Kelvin, or I'll tear it out."

"Alright, alright," Darion started, raising a placating hand. Kelvin had already risen from his seat, but not only was fighting forbidden, Mat didn't have a particularly high opinion of the man's skill.

"Kelvin, that was rude. Mat, don't threaten to rip out people's tongues during breakfast." Darion rose himself, tugging Mat with him outside. He followed for a lack of anything better to do, and Kelvin went back to his breakfast. Nova spoke up a moment later.

"I liked Pabol. He was real, you know? He did as he saw was right, and fuck anyone who was in his way. I think I'll miss him." Yeah.

"Don't go picking fights, brother," Darion warned. Brother. At least it was better than being called Matmat.

"I'll smooth things over with Kelvin, but let's not get you picked up by the droids, hmmn?" Mat didn't reply, turning away. He let that sinking, tightening feeling of grief-fueled rage rise up and swallow him, as was only proper. Goodbye, Pabol. Bea stepped through the door, resisting the urge to roll her shoulder. Yet another bomb had been implanted in her spine. The sixth, though maybe others would be removed. The globeleash, perhaps. It must cost Obedias a small fortune to keep her so shackled.

He was afraid of her. Bea almost smiled, savoring the small thrill of satisfaction. Chained, bound, and utterly under his control, and still he was afraid. Unable to be killed for the money she made him, he was stuck. When the opposite door opened, she was surprised to find Mat stepping through. They liked pitting her against him, over these past few months. She far surpassed him in skill, but he always got back up, no matter how much of that black blood she spilled. An underdog story, perhaps.

She didn't really care. But something was off about him. At five foot eleven, boring brown eyes and short hair to match, he wasn't much to look at. In shape where once he was chubby, perhaps, but those were functional muscles, trained for work, not show. That she approved of. Yet where he usually looked at the world with mildly apathetic, curious eyes, now he looked almost glassy. His shoulders, usually set at ease, now drew together, almost making him hunch.

She almost asked him what was wrong, then squashed the impulse. It didn't matter, and despite possessing an admirable drive and an unusual pain tolerance, he would die sooner or later. Everyone did. Everyone except her.

"Begin," the Judge commanded. It really was the only thing she bothered to listen to anymore. They never put her in a deathmatch, and the details hardly mattered.

"Three, two, one…" Mat attacked, but it was pathetic, and she didn't use that word lightly. She stepped past his blow and put her blade against his throat, and he didn't even bother looking surprised anymore. Instead he dropped his weapon and shrugged. Once more the urge came to say something, but it petered out before it could take hold of her. The Judge spoke and Mat turned, and that was the end. For a second there, she almost thought to have seen something. A herald of blood, maybe.

Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more. Hah. As if. The moment of humor came and went, short lived as always. She'd heard rumors of a live show, and she didn't doubt he would be involved. He always seemed to be, these days. Maybe that would pull him out of his funk, or whatever was wrong with him. Either way, she was done here. Bea turned and moved back to her domus, ignoring the six tense guards waiting just outside the small arena.

Tobi watched Mat watch the screen, one face in a crowd of four hundred. They lined the walkways, the floor, the sparring rings, everywhere. Reg and the new guy were next to him, pressed close by necessity. Dave, that was it. Dave wasn't going to last very long. Not very long at all. Even Reg admitted that, when the man had given up after an hour of proper training. It hadn't even been Yon that trained him, but Gerald. Gerald was leagues more gentle. He shook his head, focusing on the screen.

It showed a list of sixteen names, blanking out everything else. Neither himself, Reg nor Dave were on it, but Mat was. Number eight; Matthias 'Mat' Brook. A live performance in an actual, real arena. And while not a deathmatch, there would be chaos, very few safeguards, and no punishment for killing. Tobi knew how those things went. And advanced technology. Apparently whomever had splurged on this wanted a proper fight. A fight with phase shields and moleblades and all the toys of war.

Toys that Tobi hadn't seen since he'd been back home, and luxury had come at the price of freedom. Ironic. He was more free here, a literal slave, than he was in his father's house.

"I can guess what most of that means," Mat said, pointing. Tobi hadn't expected fear, exactly, but even he was surprised by how unsurprised Mat was.

"Can I still fight how I've trained?" Reg nodded slowly, eyes troubled. He had picked up on the same thing Tobi had, then. Mat was favored, which was about as far from good as you could get.

"You should be able to. They don't want you falling on your face in front of the clients, pardon the implication. A phase shield stops any attack exceeding certain speeds, while moleblades can cut through just about anything, including said phase shields. This— I'll speak to Yon. You'll need training." Training wasn't going to do fuck all if Obedias had taken in interest in Mat, and Reg knew it. And worse, Tobi could see why the big man was interested. Too many things didn't add up. Mat had a biomod for balance.

That wasn't so strange. Tobi himself had enjoyed one for most of his life, before. Yet it was so well integrated that Mat must have had it since he was a child, or otherwise be an investment worth the kind of money no one would let rot on a bladeslave ship. If Mat had been cast out, they would have taken the biomod back. So if Mat had the thing since he was a child, why had he needed to get used to it? Why did he lack so much knowledge if he came from an obviously wealthy background?

The oddities kept stacking up, and sometimes Tobi could swear Mat was talking with someone who wasn't there. He would have declared the man insane if Mat wasn't so damn stable. It had been a mere curiosity, before. They slept next to the man, after all. Best to keep an eye on him, and he was a decent enough fellow in the first place. Then, not too long ago, his stamina had gotten better. If Tobi hadn't been paying attention, or if Yon wasn't feeding Reg information, they probably would have missed it.

Tobi wouldn't be surprised if Obedias had missed it. Oddities upon oddities, and now Mat was forced to fight in a once in a lifetime event, just like his four versus four deathmatch. Something was going on, and Tobi was going to keep an eye on it, and so would Reg. Maybe Darion could be brought into the loop, though the man had a rather simple understanding of loyalty. For now, they would help their friend prepare for the event. That, Tobi would have done for any of his cellies.

The previous few days had been something of a blur. Mat had been given ample warning, thankfully, and droids had come into the domus to explain the technology, but he hadn't been allowed to practice. Not with the phase shields, not with the moleblades, not with any of it. Apparently Obedias was worried that they would seize the technology and stage a violent uprising, or something. He had almost settled down before Pabol had died. Accepted his life here, as so many others had already done.

Oh, he doubted many would hesitate to risk their lives for freedom, but they stopped looking. They stopped expecting, which made them docile. Exactly as Obedias wanted, no doubt. But unlike all the other bladeslaves, who needed to rely on steel tokens for enhancements and were wholly at the mercy of Obedias afterwards, Mat didn't. And with every level, Nova grew more skilled at crafting perks, not to mention that the AI had access to more and more energy.

The only problem, if it could even be called that, was the lack of death matches. He was pretty close to level three now, but it had taken months. Months and months. From the vague hints Nova had risked, it would be level five before any serious resistance could be risked. The how was left vague, but Nova seemed to have a plan. Mat would trust in that, mostly because he trusted Nova, but also because he had little choice. Without him, Mat was as stuck as everybody.

Now, three days after first seeing his name on that screen, Mat was approaching the door again. This time, fifteen others were with him, mostly strangers. Devron he knew somewhat well, and Ryke he sometimes sparred with. Vistum he knew by his reputation as a brutal fighter. He still missed Pabol, but he was ready. Focused. When the door opened, Mat saw that the other doors were open too.

Those were usually closed, acting as an airlock, but he supposed the group could hardly fit into the armory, let alone the waiting room. Neither, as the group moved forward, did they appear to need either. The hallway beyond was filled with guards. Eight droids, looming over even the tallest of them, and another ten men and women. It was a varied crowd, from thick-skulled brutes to agile looking blade wielders, but Mat didn't really pay attention to them. In the back of the group, Mat watched the other bladeslaves.

Some of them looked eager. Those he deemed fools. Others looked fearful, which made them cowards or green. That left perhaps half who he couldn't read, which included the three he knew by name. While he very much doubted this event was going to provide an escape attempt, he would keep his eyes open, and mentally tagged those who might join him. Down the twisting, featureless hallway they went, eventually joining up with another group. More men, but seven turns after that came a larger group of women.

Four sets of sixteen, which lent credit to the theory that there were four domuses. Sixteen hundred slaves, with gods knows how many more kept on ice. Bigger than his middle school by a fair margin, and that had been a factory more than school. Mat never saw more of the ship. Their hallway led them towards a hangar, and they were loaded into a bulky, freshly painted transport, which Mat could only call a bus.

It had no windows, no seats, so instead they were lined up on the floor, with little more than overhead bars to hang onto. The guards loaded up after them, a row of droids separating bladeslave from their fellow man. Mat had to admit that was wise, because some of his more eager colleagues were giving the guards very predatory looks. Mat doubted any of them stood much of a chance against a properly kitted guard, but he wouldn't take that chance either.

There was something uniquely dangerous about a man without a future. And slower, weaker and less durable they might be, Mat doubted those guards fought for their lives week after week, month after month. With a gentle thump, they rose, and from there nothing happened. No vibration to signal movement, no rush of air to indicate speed. For all he knew, they were still hovering in that hanger. The ride was short, all things considered.

With another gentle thump, the ship set down, and Mat turned to look behind him at the ramp. It lowered slowly, and for the first time in a long time, Mat saw real sunlight. He wasn't sure why that touched him so.

"Biology," Nova supplied.

"You're hardwired to enjoy it, and the same goes with plants. I'm ruining the moment, aren't I?" Beyond the sunlight, grassy hills spread in all directions, like an endless ocean of green. Trees sprouted here and there, and he wasn't the only one struck by the sight. A man two rows down even cried, which no one mocked him for. Mat breathed fresh air, and felt like crying himself.

"Move!" one of the guards barked. The droids stepped forward in perfect sync, and Mat joined the sea of bladeslaves leaving the ship.

"Turn right." Right they turned, and another sight came into view. It was a structure of strange-looking brick, like someone had poured cement then chiseled the facade. It stood larger than the domus Mat called home, and even from here, he could see people. Hell, he could see into the arena itself. A troupe of men and women were dancing there, much to the delight of the crowd. Far from cramped seats, the spectators sat on small islands of stone, reclined upon luxurious seats and attended by a host of servants.

More guards lined the outer perimeter, but these were uniformed, and sported little in the way of visible techplants. After a moment, Mat decided to enjoy the sun on his face, craning his head up to catch a glimpse of the Challenger. If the ship was in low orbit, Mat couldn't see it. It was a beautiful day, and the walk took half an hour, probably to avoid disrupting the clients.

Not for a moment did the guards relax, and the droids, often helpful and kind, now marched like steel sentries, their metal eyes scanning them endlessly. Escape seemed less likely by the minute, but that was alright. Mat marched towards the colosseum with sixty three other bladeslaves, and when he caught the eyes of one of the wardens, he shot the woman a smile. She turned, disgusted, and Mat laughed.

The wind blew a flurry of leaves over them, the sun kissed his skin, and he kept laughing, soon joined by a handful of others. Then more, and more, until the entire group was cackling like drunk students. However this turned out, Mat decided this moment alone would make it worth it. That, or he was losing his mind. Then again, sanity wasn't overly helpful, not for a bladeslave. Afterword Patreon (No current advanced chapters for this story) Discord