Chương 37: Chapter 13 Arrival arc

"The rich love throwing a feast almost as much as the poor love complaining about the waste of money." Federation saying Stef ended up winning the tournament. Not overly surprisingly, in Mat's opinion. The woman was on the old side, and had apparently been a soldier before all of this. That experience combined with a minor biomod for general muscle strengthening, countering her age, meant she had the best of both worlds. Nobody whispered Mat's name, and that was the important part.

Ryke did keep glancing at him, though. Strange fellow. He was sure they were making it a whole thing, and Stef had been granted not only a steel token but a night of celebration, whatever that meant. Either way, it didn't really matter to him. Mat was happy to play cards with the ignored, lesser bladeslaves, who were currently robbing him blind.

"Higher full house," Sury crooned, pulling the pot of stones to herself. Mat threw his own cards to the floor, scoffing.

"Bask in my glory." The other three cursed her bloodline, but Mat looked up, having caught a glimpse of movement. Guards were streaming into their holding area, and droids matched with them.

"Break time's over." Sury looked, groaning.

"Really? You'd think they would give us a day off, or something. Fighting every day is bad for my health."

"I don't think they're overly concerned with your health," Mat replied.

"Not that you're wrong. If they keep this up for long, burnout will set in. Fuck knows I'm already starting to feel it." She nodded, still staring at the guards, but a few of the other bladeslaves glanced at him. Mat knew why. They didn't quite live in a jungle, where its only law was strength, but admitting to weakness wasn't exactly common. Fuck that. Reg had the right idea; cooperation was more important than just about anything, and if no one admitted to weakness, it would be stilted cooperation at best.

Allies whom you couldn't risk appearing weak to were no allies at all.

"Time for the next fight," Sury said, rising to her feet. She grinned at him.

"Probably a team battle, this time. I hope, for your sake, that we don't end up on opposite teams."

"Is she flirting with you?" Nova asked, sounding deeply disrupted.

"Tell her to stop. I do not consent." No she's not, Mat replied. Then he paused, considering. Probably not. Doesn't matter either way.

"Ah yes, your deeply rooted issues regarding sex. I've been meaning to bring those up. Mostly to congratulate you on them. Keep a tight grip on those, alright? Best for the both of us." Mat snorted. Issues would be going too far, especially deeply rooted ones, and he was focused on survival, not indulging in base desires. Lust had never been his sin. One of the guards stepped closer, until he was standing roughly in the center of the cells.

"Cell one, four, eight and nine, you will participate in the following exercise. Do not approach the doors of your cell until they are fully opened." Mat was pretty sure they were in cell eight, so he stepped back, followed by the others. Yet, when the door opened and Mat stepped out, one of the droids stepped closer, stopping the rest. Only four of them actually left. Sury looked at him from behind the bars, then scowled.

"Of-fucking-course." Mat shrugged, then followed fifteen others towards the small armory. If the guards were tense before, now their fingers itched towards their weapons. Once again, Mat compared them to the guards of their so-called honoured guests. Those men and women looked perfectly human, appeared perfectly calm, and were wrapped in uniforms that promoted a larger whole. It didn't seem like Obedias to hire substandard guards, but maybe it was cheaper. No, actually, they would undoubtedly be cheaper.

It would just be stupid, and Obedias seemed far from stupid. Or maybe he was counting on the droids to offset the risk. Point being, the bladeslaves were being armed, and the guards didn't like it. Mat picked up another sword, not a moleblade this time. Armor went next, form fitting and seeming made out of some type of hard plastic, and he clipped a phase shield to his belt. All around him his fellow bladeslaves were doing much the same.

"You're with group two," one of the guards grunted. Mat blinked, and the woman pointed at three others on the other side of the room. Mat shrugged, and the woman tensed.

"Get moving." Nova snorted.

"She needs to relax." I wouldn't be, if I were standing two feet from an armed, trained fighter that you're keeping as a slave.

"Globeleashes. You would drop dead before managing to touch her." That was true. In theory. But he looked at her kit, and wondered how much it cost. How much she was worth, and how much he was. She probably won out. Maybe. But globeleashes weren't free either, and he wondered if it would really kill him just for touching her. His squad, when he joined them, only spared him a glance. Another man and two women, one of whom stepped up.

"I was a taclead for eight years before they captured me. Anyone gonna get pissy if I'm in charge?" Taclead?

"Federation SWAT," Nova explained.

"She was a squadleader, assuming that she's telling the truth." Mat shrugged, and no one else seemed to mind either. The woman grunted.

"Good. I'm Buck, and if you do as I tell you, we'll make it out of this fine." More names to memorize. Lovely. Mat shrugged again, and soon enough they were moving back towards the arena, though each group of four was split up to different entrances. A pair of droids led the way, with another pair of guards behind them. When he got a look at the arena, Mat's eyes narrowed. Where before it had been a sand filled colosseum, now a small village had risen in its place.

Cheap-looking buildings were stacked close, filled with flickering neon lights and bar-covered windows. Despite the futuristic feel to it, he recognized it for what it was. A slum. Drones zipped through the space, and though it couldn't have been any bigger than before, it felt massive. One of the guards opened the gate, his tone rough.

"Last team standing wins. Try not to kill anyone, you fucking psychos." Buck tilted her head at the guard, and the man skittered back to the droids. Hah. Guess Mat wasn't the only one who'd noticed. However much Obedias was getting paid for this, Mat wondered if it would be worth the instability. This might be the most the guards had interacted with the bladeslaves, and Mat hadn't seen many of his fellows be impressed. The gate rattled open, and Mat focused.

Buck stalked outside, a larger gun held to her shoulder, and the two others flanked her. Mat brought up the rear, sword in hand. It might not have been a moleblade, but its edge was sharp. It would serve. Yet Mat wasn't a soldier. Neither were the other two, though he'd never asked their names. Only Buck moved with the smooth, steady steps of someone who was used to operating in a city. Someone who knew how to check corners, break sightlines and move with purpose. Fortunately, Buck seemed to realize that.

She led them out into one street then up a steep, oddly echoing staircase, three sides of their team covered. She lowered her tone, though there didn't seem to be drones around.

"Alright. We stay low, move slowly, and stall. This is about survival even more than usual, but don't forget that it's a game. Don't risk your lives to entertain the rich a— our watchers." Mat nodded, because that was exactly what he had been planning to do. It was encouraging how many like minded people he had among the bladeslaves, really. Then again, the stupid kind—or those without violent backgrounds—tended to die. You had to have one or the other, and Mat hadn't been violent. …

or all that smart, to be honest. Maybe he just got lucky. Did having Nova count as luck? Buck twitched, her gun tracking to the side, and Mat snapped back to the present. He supposed that while it looked bigger, the arena was still the same size, and as such, another team had already stumbled over them. Or gotten into their sightlines, at least. Mat lowered himself down, stealthing closer to the bottom while Buck and his other two teammates took aim. After another moment and two more steps, Buck opened fire.

Energy hurled through the air in great rivers, surprisingly silent, and the enemy team twisted towards them. Each had phase shields, so it was hardly a crippling blow. But they did startle, and these were not trained soldiers. So when Mat dashed towards them, four against one, they fell back on old instincts, and turned to fight. That particular decision allowed Buck to focus her fire, and one of the enemies went down, body limp but hale. Mat slid closer, kicking out while blocking a sideways blow.

More shots streamed past him, some of them very close, and he could hear another set of footsteps rushing towards them. The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. It wouldn't matter. Mat lashed out, pushing with the momentum. A woman turned, her face on the edge of panic, and he slammed her against one of the walls, stabbing her in the shoulder. She screamed, but Mat had to twist away, dodging a blade. The fist he never saw coming.

Mat reeled, forced back, and if he was alone, that's where it would have ended. Three against one would see him overwhelmed in moments, because few bladeslaves respected the age-old tradition of hanging back and waiting for their turn. Two hands grabbed him, and Mat jerked forward, thrown to the ground. But their enemies had been focused on him, and so another body hit the ground, limp and unconscious. Mat curled up, but the expected kick never came.

When he opened his eyes, he saw a flash of the last enemy as they vanished behind a corner, and his unnamed teammate holding out a hand. Mat took it, smiling brightly. Buck stalked closer, her eyes narrowed.

"If you were one of mine, fuckboy, I'd boot you back to bootcamp. Do not charge into enemy teams with nothing but a shield and a blade."

"And if I was a soldier, that would have been stupid," Mat agreed. He pointed up, where a drone slowly rotated around them.

"Made for a good show, though." She snarled, hesitated, then nodded once.

"Don't do it again. They could have stomped on your skull, and you'd have been dead before they could drag you to a doctor." Mat flinched. That, uuhmn, that was a distinct possibility that hadn't occurred to him. Reg had warned him about how frequent healing embedded bad habits, but it seems the warnings had been in vain.

"Look alive," Buck snapped. Not to him, this time. The other two bladeslaves paused, turning to her.

"Leave their shit and let's move. Someone will have heard this." He and the others obeyed, because Buck sounded like she knew what she was doing. A common enough occurrence, though Mat surprised himself by how relatively calm he was. He aimed that thought at Nova while they ghosted along the miniature city.

"That's not me," Nova denied.

"Trust me, if I could do more than read your thoughts, I would have turned you into a perfectly hollow vessel already." Mat blinked. Nova continued after a moment.

"That was a joke. But no, I'm doing nothing to give you a sense of calm. Your mind simply adapted to high-stress situations. What did that guard call you again?

'Fucking psychos'?. Yeah, that was it." How kind, though probably untrue. Six months couldn't be long enough to adapt to this kind of life. Right? They moved past a fast food joint facade advertising ' cheap, delicious noodle, only at Ochnam Plaza!' and what Mat guessed was a small cinema, then further still. Buck led them, checking sightlines and corners in a display he tried to memorize. Which was why he never saw the blow coming.

The pipe slammed against his back, and had his attacker aimed for the skull, he would probably be dead right now. He stumbled but didn't fall, lowering his center of gravity on instinct alone, and his own blade slashed back. Or he tried to. His shoulder spasmed, and the blow fell short. Mat caught a glimpse of his attacker. It was, frankly, a mess of a woman. One huge scar ran over her right eye, ugly and poorly healed. Must have been a choice.

Her left hand held the pipe which had struck him, and it had only three fingers. With a start, he realized he knew her. Betty. She had been one of those enthusiastic enjoyers of the bladeslavers being housed together, and his mind clicked back into place. Aggressive, loud and brash, like a bull on steroids. Don't let her take the initiative. Mat jumped at her, kicking low at her shins.

She jerked the limb back, a sneer on her face, but before she could perform the hit he expected to come, Buck hit her in the side of the head. Betty stumbled, and Mat rammed her, intending to slam her against the wall. Instead, they went through the paper-thin divide without slowing down. A rush of adrenaline sharpened his mind, but there was nothing to be done. Betty fell, and he fell with her in a tangle of limbs, down and down. The ground loomed, maybe not even twenty feet away.

It felt like miles, and just before they landed, he twisted without thinking, and landed on top of her. The loud, sickening snap was all he heard for a few long seconds. Mat shook his head, dazed and with ringing ears. He scrambled up then back like a drunk caveman, and when his vision cleared he looked at Betty, then flinched away. Her neck was twisted sideways, having caught the edge of a surprisingly steep curb. Her eyes were the glassy, hollow orbs of the dead.

He could almost feel Nova drawing on the energy, and then he felt bad that that had been his first thought; More experience. Then he felt bad about not really feeling all that bad, and then he felt bad about his only visible reaction being a single blink. Throwing up, screaming, maybe closing his eyes and turning away. A proper reaction to death. But he just stood there, looking at her, trying and failing to feel bad. Then even that faded, and he looked up.

Mat cursed and dashed aside, getting out of the way as one then two of his teammates descended. Buck wasn't among them. Mat snapped his head around to take in his surroundings.

"There. They'll follow, and we ambush." His other two teammates, teammates whose names he didn't know and didn't care about, looked at him like he was crazy. Mat glared at them, already moving himself. The jump wasn't so high, after the fact, so there was no reason their attackers shouldn't try to finish what they started. The corpse of their teammate would only encourage it. Mat slid behind a neon-coated trashcan, which was big enough to hide his entire body.

He heard more than saw the others scattering to the other hiding spot, the one he'd pointed at, and then he had a moment to think. What if he was wrong? Nothing lost, in that case. What if they circled around instead? Then he was fucked, and so was his team. What if they did jump down, but his team failed to finish them off, and they killed him to avenge Betty? What if— A meaty thud echoed through the space, quickly followed by another.

Hopefully, Buck had managed to finish one, but if not, they would probably be standing at the hole, acting as a lookout. Mat resisted the urge to risk a glance, listening to the footsteps. He had taken fifteen, so if he was right, then any moment now… The shadows flickered, and Mat stepped into the path of an older, bearded man. The stranger jerked back, then forcefully brought his weapon back up to aim. Mat had already slid to the side, putting his blade to the man's throat.

Armor protected that particularly weak point, but the stranger had just stepped over the corpse of his teammate. Predictably, he froze. Mat nodded to the floor, and his gun clattered down. Fuck. The others would hear that, and then— a grunt came, and Mat's attention flickered away for just a moment. The stranger slapped his blade aside, locking him into a bearhug. Mat struggled, then let himself go limp, just like how Yon had shown him. They fell, and Mat twisted to ram his elbow into the stranger's face.

Instead, a boot lashed out, and Mat didn't need to do anything at all. His own teammate stuck out a hand, hauling him to his feet. The man grinned wildly, eyes alight with adrenaline.

"We rushed the other fucker. How you'd know they would follow?"

"Because we fled," Mat replied. Which, now that he thought about it, was pretty thin reasoning. A judgement call more than anything. The man, Jason, that was it, grinned wider, and Mat shook his head.

"Buck?"

"Fucked. The drones already took her away, so she'll live, but it's just the three of us, and Cinty broke her hand. Buck took care of one before they got her, though."

"Cintra," the bladeslave corrected, appearing into view. She did indeed cradle one hand close to her body.

"What's the plan?" Mat blinked again. Why ask him? Nova cleared his throat, and even now the AI seemed bloated. Mat could almost feel his indignation, wiping out whatever the AI had been planning to say.

"I am not bloated, you incorrigible swine. Here I was, being tactful and not mentioning you snapped that woman's neck like a straw, and you call me bloated. Some people, honestly."

"We keep moving," Mat said, because the silence had been stretching for too long.

"Cintra, can you shoot?"

"Not well, but I'm right handed." Mat nodded, bending down to rip a pistol from the groaning man at his feet. Already drones were circling closer, both to record and collect the injured. However the clients were watching this, Mat couldn't imagine it was overly exciting. Barely better than watching a recording, honestly. He handed over the weapon, nodding to the woman. As he did, pain radiated from his shoulder, and Mat grimaced. That would be fun.

Without adrenaline, his shoulder would hurt, and grow stiff soon after. Nothing was broken, but fighting would probably go poorly. Mat picked up a pistol for himself, though it was just barely better than nothing. Maybe one day he'd get the opportunity to practice, though with the existence of phase shields, swords were a lot more useful. Make a bow, the enemy invents the shield. Make a gun, the enemy invents bulletproof vests.

Make an energy gun capable of exploding a tank, the enemy makes an energy shield capable of negating it. Around and around it went, until swords once again became necessary. And he liked the sword. Maybe that was just a coping mechanism, a way to feel in control, but all the same, he did. He had killed more than a few people now, one whose body wasn't even cold yet, and he felt better doing that with a sword rather than a gun.

"You have issues," Nova noted.

"I mean, I'd be very surprised if you didn't, considering the circumstances, but you do. I'm also pretty sure you're trying to justify the use of a sword when objectively better weapons are available." Mat ignored him, turning to Jason and Cintra.

"We need to move." He led them into a random direction, and they followed. It was interesting, putting theory into practice. Leadership, as deluded as that word was, usually just meant that one person projected confidence, real or otherwise, and others followed it, because it was in human nature to work together. Now, here, he faked being confident, and both of his remaining teammates believed him. It didn't even take two minutes for him to lead them straight into a trap. The fight was over before it began.

Energy streams beat into them from at least three directions, his phase shield was overwhelmed in moments, and Mat was a hair too slow in making it to cover. They had the decency to aim for his legs, blowing away his right knee and the attached lower leg, and then his head smacked against the floor. Time passed in a blink, hours and hours and hours, gone in nothing but a moment. He woke up in his cell, whole and hale, and his head pounded. Mat sat up, reeling from the abrupt transition.

One moment he'd been walking past a barber shop proudly displaying hair-growth treatment, the next he was here. In the cell next to his own, Jason leaned against the bar, and the man gave a wave.

"That was fun. Let's never get ambushed again, hmmn?" Mat groaned, lowering his head back against the cool, soothing floor. Afterword Patreon (No current advanced chapters for this story) Discord