Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

Nina

W e race into the cockpit. With her head in all four of her hands, Ney is slumped in a hammock-chair.

"What's happening?" I stop before the control panel. Both the monitor and the screen are black, and the usual flashing flights and illuminated buttons are all off. Even the light overhead is dimmer, throwing the entire room into shadow. Cautiously, I press an unlit button, and when nothing happens, I press a few more. "Ney, what did you do?"

"Nothing!" Furious, she jumps up. Her bare feet slip on the smooth floor, and I catch her elbow, keeping her from falling over. It's a stark reminder that she hasn't been a gladiator for much longer than I have, for all that she used to scare me shitless. "The ship turned off," she says, yanking her elbow from my hold and refusing to acknowledge help. "No matter what I do, it will not recognize my commands."

"Off?" My heart seems to skip a beat. "As in, the air con is off too?" I mightn't be an expert, but even I know there isn't any breathable air in space.

"Life support is still running. We even have power." She indicates a single button banded in a green light I'd missed seeing in my urgency. "But the ship's engines have stopped."

"The Hov turned it off." I look at Venn and Reke. Venn has a hand pressed to the ceiling, covering a camera. Reke is crouched, his tail flicking side to side like he's sweeping the floor.

"Yes," answers Venn. With his bowed head and his horns scraping the ceiling, he looks depressingly uncomfortable.

My head spins. I feel sick.

Ney pushes me out of her way, reaching across the control panel to punch more unresponsive buttons. Then she swipes a finger across the touch screen, trying to get it to recognize her. Nothing happens.

I'd almost consider digging my insides out with a rusty spoon, if I thought doing so would help me stop feeling like this—numb and panicked at the same time, my muscles so stiff with tension I can hardly move.

Venn steps up behind me, close enough I can feel the heat of him sinking into my back. I pick at the Hov emblem sewn to the center of my sweater, marking me as their property. I hate it. I hate them.

"We never escaped, did we?" I bet the Hov had known all along what I'd been planning. When I thought I'd been sneaky, they'd probably been laughing at how obvious I was. "You know, Reke told me that he never pressed any buttons in the elevator," I say, remembering. "But the elevator still stopped at the hangar."

"And this ship did not need a biometric key," says Venn. "The Hov guided us to this exact ship because they knew they could track us and because they knew they could remotely control it."

Ney sinks back into one of the hammock-chairs. She clenches her hands into fists, but she isn't fighting—or even looking for a fight. She isn't doing anything but sitting there, still and silent. It's the most accepting I've ever seen her, as though she's absolutely convinced there isn't anything else we can do.

I think, deep down, we all sort of thought something like this might happen. Covering the cameras was kind of like us covering our eyes, pretending we couldn't see the problem looming inevitably before us. And the Hov chose their timing for maximum impact, right when Reke, Venn and I were most distracted by each other—and most vulnerable.

"We basically did everything they wanted us to do, making them a hell of a lot of money in the process." I imagine Hov guards sitting in a control room watching us on their screens right now. They'd have a great view of the top of our heads. In my imagination, one of them is holding a plastic steering wheel and using it to remotely pilot our ship, as if playing a game of Mario Kart. "Where are they even taking us?"

"We are not going anywhere," Ney says listlessly. "We are drifting."

"Right." Because the engines are off. I bite one of my nails, breaking it ruthlessly to the quick. "Maybe they're sending another ship to collect us. Maybe—" I clamp my mouth shut. Maybe they're just going to leave us to die out here. I don't know which situation would be worse.

Of course, if the Hov were to recapture us, wouldn't that mean they'd default on their winnings, after betting against the patrons that we'd escape? Wasn't that the whole reason for the deep fakes? To make it look like the Hov had tried harder than they had to stop us so they could ensure we'd escape and they'd win all the bets.

Probably if it had just been Ney, Vennkor and I, the Hov wouldn't have given two fucks about us beyond what winnings they'd made. But with Reke here, the Hov are probably wondering if it's worth recapturing him. Maybe they'll put him into cryostasis for safekeeping and not tell the patrons they've got him back. Maybe they'll use his DNA to make a replacement Reke. Or maybe they'll just toss him back into the Arena and refuse to refund the patrons their winnings.

I wouldn't put anything past the Hov.

I lean back, seeking more of Venn's warmth. Reke hasn't spoken since the engines stopped. I can't imagine what thoughts are currently running around his and Venn's heads. They've been captives of the Hov for way longer than me and Ney. Hell, Reke's still never been outside a Hov facility.

I shiver, despite Venn against my back. I hate the silence. It's a disguising reminder we're drifting, directionless. Waiting for … Well, we've no fucking idea. Recapture, maybe. Death, probably. Certainly nothing good is heading our way.

Except, I suppose we wouldn't technically be directionless. Surely without gravity, it would be like our ship is on a super-smooth floor, with no traction to slow it down. "In which direction were we heading, before the Hov cut the engines?"

"This way." Ney gestures sharply toward the front of the ship.

"I know that. By any chance is that way—" and I copy her useless gesture— "toward deep space?"

She frowns. "Every direction is toward deep space, when you travel far enough."

"And then if you travel far enough again, there's probably more civilized space, with more deep space beyond that until the end of time!" I set civilized space in air quotes, because any and all outer space I've encountered has certainly not been civilized—unless civilized means a fucking mad house where gladiators are forced to kill each other and where the Guild, responsible for upholding the law, is run by gambling addicted Ambassadors.

I spare the Parakian Ambassador a hurried thought. He'd helped me, in the end. Even if he'd only done so for his own self-interest. Is he still hoping we'll fail? Is he still hoping I'll agree to go with him?

"What's down there?" I point to a hatch in the floor. It must have been inconspicuous when the cockpit was filled with flashing lights and working screens, because I hadn't noticed it back then. At this moment, it's about the only point of interest that we haven't already poked or prodded.

"The engines?" Ney suggests, sitting up a little straighter.

"Mayhaps we could bypass the Hov's control." Venn removes his hand from the ceiling in favor of kneeling beside Reke to get a closer look at the hatch.

I bend down too.

There's a small indentation along one side that acts as a handle. Strange that it isn't automated, like the rest of the ship, but I guess if the engine is down there, it makes sense that you can access it without needing the ship to be powered.

Reke lifts the hatch, and I peer into the darkness. Whatever's down there senses us because lights flicker on, illuminating … not much of anything. Partly because the lights aren't all that bright but mainly because it's hard to see much with the four of us all leaning over a space about thirty inches squared.

"There's got to be an easier way down," I say, but I'm already climbing into the hole, desperate for something to do. Sitting on the edge, I search around with my bare feet for something I can step onto but find nothing. For all I know, the drop could be five feet or twenty feet.

"I can help." Venn takes hold of my arms and lowers me into the utility hole. He has to lie on the ground and reach down, but eventually I find something to stand on, and he releases me. As soon as he does, my feet slip on the too-smooth floor, and I slip right over. Thankfully, I've gotten pretty good at tipping backwards, so more often than not, I land on my padded ass instead of my face.

I wince as pain jolts up through my spine. Reke lands lightly beside me, catching himself on his feet and hands, reminding me more than ever of a cat with nine lives, all feline grace and beauty. When Venn jumps down, I swear the whole ship lurches with the impact of his landing. I make a valiant attempt to catch him as he too loses his balance on the hell-floor, but he's too heavy for me, and we both slip over. He twists in midair, and I find myself on his chest, my head tucked neatly under his chin.

He doesn't even look winded from my weight landing on him.

Reke takes a crouched step closer, bringing his face in line with mine. "Nina?"

"Reke?"

"Why?"

"Why did I try to catch Venn, or why did I fall over again?"

"Both, I think."

"Because apparently in my imagination I'm much stronger and more agile than in real life."

Venn stands, lifting me with him. The surrounding air is filled with the pervasive silence of the dead engines.

"You spend a lot of time imagining things," Reke points out. "And now you are sad again. I can smell it." He wrinkles his nose.

"It's hard not being sad when we were so close to being free."

"Because you do not want to kill anyone in the Arena?"

I exchange a look with Venn, and I know he understands, even though his expression barely changes. We both had our freedom snatched away from us and are acutely aware of how much autonomy we've had stolen by the Hov.

"You're right," I tell Reke. "I don't want to kill anyone. I've spent a good portion of my life learning how to look after people. That's what makes me happy. And," I add, "there's so much more I still want to do with my life." I want to hug my grandma and hear her speak my name. I want to say a proper goodbye to my friends and colleagues. I want to visit my parents' graves one last time. "I want to spend more time with you two, getting to know everything about you. I want us to have at least one conversation when we're not being recorded. I want to show you the stars, Reke, and trees and grass and beautiful lakes. It seems impossible that you haven't experienced any of the amazing things I used to take for granted. If I ever see another plant again, I think I'll cry from happiness. I just miss … living." It's the only way to explain how I'm feeling, but when I look at Reke, I'm not sure he really gets it. Probably because he doesn't have the experiences with which to relate. "Yes?" I ask Venn.

He nods. "I also want to spend more time with you, and I would also like to show Reke these things."

Reke blinks slowly, looking from one to the other of us. He's got his head tilted to one side, the classic pose of a Reke deep in contemplation.

Maybe I'm being selfish, wanting Reke to discover everything he's been missing out on. Maybe him knowing something of what the universe has to offer beyond the walls of the Arena will only make it harder for when the Hov eventually steal him back.

And I'm quite sure they will steal him back. Venn, Ney and I have served our purpose, and in the eyes of the Hov and their patrons, we're entirely expendable. But Reke is their special creation. They'll not want to part with him, even if they have to think of an excuse to tell their patrons. Maybe they'll say Reke came back of his own free will. They've lied before; they'll lie again, if they think it will make them more money.

Overhead, Ney scoffs, and I look up in time to see her withdraw her head from the utility hole.

Recalled to my duty, I finally look around, searching for evidence of the engines. There are a few lights in the ceiling, but none of them are at full capacity, presumably because the Hov have restricted our access. Instead we're left standing in semi-darkness, with the farthest corners of the ship in shadows.

It's a large space, probably the size of the cockpit, the corridor and all the rooms upstairs combined. There isn't an engine down here, just a lot of storage. Containers are strapped down and secured in place to metal loops in the floor. The entire thing looks disappointingly like how I imagine a storage room might look on an Earth airplane.

Storage room? Surely it's got a more professional name than that? The luggage compartment? The cargo hold? "What would you call this room?"

Venn takes a quick look at the closest of the containers and punches a hole right in the lid. "Cargo bay," he answers, withdrawing his hand from the container, holding something that looks suspiciously like my old college prom dress.

I rub the fabric between two fingers. It doesn't feel like any Earth fabric and the style is different too, with three … no, four arm holes. "It might even fit Ney." Of course, Ney would probably kill me if I asked her to wear something with so many frills. "Where did they get this from?" I peer into the container, sorting through more clothes, most in undistinguishable shapes that were never designed to be worn by a Human.

To me, they look more like costumes than real clothes, kind of like Venn's pants, torn short just below his knees, ripped in several places and a size too small so the seams are stretched over his muscular thighs.

Reke climbs onto the container's edge. The lid, which was decorated by the perfect imprint of Venn's fist, is steadily decomposing. It's like the plastic knows it's not needed anymore and is disappearing.

We fish around for a while. In one container we find weapons, but when I pick up a large knife and test the tip for sharpness, the blade retracts. It's a stage prop.

"Apparently this is the spaceship the Hov use when they go bargain hunting at yard sales for gladiator costumes. There's nothing here but junk." And I bet the costumes are another reason for the Hov leading us to this exact ship—another reminder to Venn, Reke and I of how much everything we've done to escape has all been for the sake of entertainment.

"Yar-d sale?" Reke asks.

"This crate has—" Venn digs around in another container—"more costumes." And he holds up a large sheet, similar in color to the Hov.

"That's not a costume." I frown. "Surely that's a green screen."