Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Nina

T hree fucking days! I leave the other gladiators to their sulking and march up the spiral stairs, wanting to explore this new part of the Arena and hating how little I still know about how the space station works.

I step onto the first balcony platform and immediately catch sight of an elevator shaft set into the far wall and enclosed by transparent doors. When I press my cheek to the glass and look down, I see what I presume is the roof of the elevator several floors below. There aren't any buttons on the wall to open the doors, so I can't access the elevator. It must be for the Hov only.

Of course they don't use the stairs; the stairs are for plebs like me.

Aside from the elevator, there are two doors along each of the four walls. I peek into the rooms that have their door open. They're all bedrooms, with hammocks strung up, one on top of the other, two hammocks high, four hammocks per room.

A few women are sleeping or resting. They've all got their faces turned toward the door, and when I pass, most of them open their eyes to watch me. Even in their sleep, they suspect an attack. I try creeping so I don't wake them, but that just makes them more suspicious, and in the end I march up the stairs to the second story, banging my hand on the railing to announce my arrival.

Finding an empty room, I duck inside for a closer look.

Each hammock's got its own green blanket with the Hov emblem woven into the fabric. I don't find any personal possessions. Nobody has extra clothes stashed in their hammock. There are no books or papers of any kind. There aren't even any water cups. I certainly don't find any hidden weapons—no handmade shivs or socks filled with … Actually, I guess they wouldn't have anything to stuff their socks with. They probably don't even have socks. I don't.

That's when I see a pipe sticking out of the back wall, close to the ceiling. It's got to be a shower, and sure enough, when I wave my hand underneath it, cold water spurts out. It hits the floor, splashing over my bare feet and disappearing down the drain.

It's too good an opportunity to miss, and I strip off, trying hard not to think about how many cameras are likely filming me right now.

Teeth chattering, I scrub every inch of my skin and scalp, my hands tangling in my knotted hair—and I swallow gulps of water too. I'm blissful, even if the cold is making me shiver uncontrollably, and I don't have any soap.

When I'm as clean as I'm likely to get, I work on washing my clothes, scrubbing the fabric against my knuckles like I'm a washboard. I don't care that my clothes were cleaned when I was unconscious. They feel dirtier, not knowing who touched them, than they felt when covered in Venn's blood.

Venn. Missing him kind of feels like nasty period cramps; I'm constantly sore and achy, and there are bouts of intense pain that make me want to curl up into a ball on the floor and cry.

I really miss him.

I really miss them both.

The water shuts off, even though I haven't yet washed my panties, and no amount of hand waving gets it started again. I dress in my wet clothes, stuff my panties in my pocket and collapse onto a hammock right as the tears hit.

Three fucking days and still no way to escape.

Screaming wakes me, and I groggily step onto the landing just as two Hov guards drag another gladiator through the main door, two floors down from me. I don't know how much time has passed. It's impossible to tell, and my insides lurk with the thought that I might have slept through an entire day, and I wouldn't even know.

Three days.

Two days?

Fucking hell.

When the Hov release her, she crumbles onto the ground, her legs not strong enough to hold her up. Immediately I'm hurrying down the stairs.

She must hear my footsteps because she twists her neck to look up at me, and I realize she's the gladiator with the four arms, the one who fights with four daggers and who would've attacked me if it hadn't have been for Reke and Venn protecting me the day the Hov released all the gladiators into the Arena at the same time. I didn't immediately recognize her because she's never looked so vulnerable before. There's a deep gouge in her chest, where a chunk of her muscle has been ripped out. Whoever did that to her cut straight through her chainmail jumpsuit.

When the two guards glance at me too, fear stops me in my tracks. I'm like an animal caught in headlights, and they laugh, their rounded stomachs quivering. Then they walk back to the door, arrogant in their confidence that it will not remain closed for them. Sure enough, when they get near, the door slides seamlessly open, and they exit.

They didn't say a password. I would've heard it, even up here, since every small sound echoes. So maybe it's like a garage door, and they have a remote control. Although they weren't holding anything. Was it attached to their belts?

Fuck if I know.

Shaking, I continue my descent, but before I can reach the bottom step, the four-armed gladiator pushes herself to her feet. She wavers, close to collapsing again, but she's also scowling.

"I can help?—"

"Fek off!" She balls all four of her hands into fists, preparing to punch me. Shadows cling to the scars that cut through both her cheeks, and there's a clammy sheen to her skin that tells me she's not well.

"Fine. Fine." I raise my hands in a gesture of surrender. I've met patients like her before; if I force my help on her, I'll only make the situation worse for the both of us.

Slipping and sliding, I cross to the closed door, thinking now's as good a time as any to study it. Of course, up close, it's just like every other door I've seen in this place—so tightly sealed that nothing happens when I force my weight into sliding it open. And there isn't a keyhole—or any other obvious sign of how the Hov control it.

There is, of course, a camera, looking like half a marble embedded in the wall right above the door. And it won't be the only one. The thought has me imagining guards watching me on the CCTV, laughing, knowing I'm thoroughly trapped. My grandma's taps against the door, making a hollow ting that echoes around the upper stories.

I turn my ring around my thumb, watching the light catch the scratched gold. It was a gift for my 21st, the sort of family heirloom that should have gone to my mom before me, but of course she died, and I was the only one left.

It's always been a little too big for me, and I'd always meant to get it resized. Now, I guess, I've missed my chance. Just like I've missed my chance for so many important things, like saying goodbye to Grandma before?—

I scrub at my sore eyes, hardly able to bear the direction of my thoughts.

I promised I'd be there to care for her. I promised I'd stay with her until the end. It was the whole reason I'd taken a job at the retirement home where she lived. While the dementia might have forced her to forget me, I remember everything about her so clearly. And now I've been torn away from her, and I can't see how I'm ever going to fulfill my promise to look after her.

I sink forward, resting my too-hot forehead against the cold door.

And then there's the promise I made to Vennkor—that we'd escape together. And the promise I'd made to myself—that I'd steal Reke away from all this. He was born on this God-forsaken space station. He's never seen real sunshine or grass or trees or the millions of other amazing things that exist in the universe, away from the Hov.

"The door is not telepathic."

"What?" I straighten, looking around. The gladiator with four arms has managed to drag herself to the closest bench and is glowering at me, as if she's imagining how she'd best like to kill me. Although I highly doubt she'd be able to rustle up the energy for murder. The dark circles surrounding her eyes are bruises, not merely marks of exhaustion, and the tight lines at the corners of her mouth are proof of how much pain she's in. Whatever she survived in the Arena, she's lucky to be alive, and whatever patch job the Hov did to heal her clearly wasn't enough.

"The door is not telepathic," she repeats, like I'm stupid. "You cannot open it that way."

"How does it open?"

When she doesn't answer, I risk sitting on the bench opposite, glad there's a table between us.

Up close, I realize what I'd initially taken to be a chainmail armor jumpsuit is actually her skin. She's covered in smooth, circular scales, each about an inch in diameter. The outer edges are highlighted in a charcoal color darker than the main surface, which is probably why they kind of looked like chains from a distance.

Only her face, hands and inner arms are free of the scales, all of which are heavily scarred, as if her opponents have tactically tried to target her least protected areas.

I wish I could read the name printed on her wristband. Instead I'm forced to ask.

"Fek off." When she speaks, she flashes me glimpses of her rows of sharp teeth. And I mean rows, like a shark. Their pointed tips remind me of Reke's teeth, except that he doesn't have nearly so many, and I momentarily wonder if the Hov used a bit of her species' DNA when designing Reke.

"That's not a name," I tell her stubbornly. "Unless you really want me to call you that."

Silence.

"Come onnn," I drag out the last word, making sure my voice is as annoyingly whiny as possible. This is how I got Venn to start speaking to me, back when we first met. Maybe it will work this time too. "Of everyone here, I'd have picked you, Fek Off, as being the most likely to want to escape. Surely you've thought about it. Fek Off."

She slams all four of her hands onto the tabletop, and the thump is magnified by the echo that bounces off the ten stories above us. "My name is Ney."

"Alright. Ney."

She reminds me a bit of Venn—so angry at the world, yet so determined not to lose herself among all the fucked-up mess of the Hov.

Then again, Venn never tried to kill me.

"What time is it?"

No answer.

"Do you know how long I was out of it for?"

Nothing.

"Do you know where the men's dorm is?"

Silence.

Well, Ney's silent. The main group of gladiators gathered around the TVs aren't silent. Some are pointing to the lists; others are jeering and catcalling. When the two women from earlier catch me watching them, spikes erupt from their arms, making it clear neither has forgiven me for not ratting on Reke yesterday.

I hurriedly look away. "Do you know where we are in relation to the stadium? Is it up there?" I point at the high ceiling.

Still no answer from Ney.

"Do you know anything?" Frustration has me dropping my head into my hands.

"Yes." She crosses two of her four arms and winces as the movement pulls at the half-healed wound on her chest.

"What do you know then?"

"I know I hate you."

"So mature." I slump lower, right as one of the women in the other group slaps another woman on the back. "What are they doing?"

"Betting on the fights." Ney lays down on the bench, forcing me to stand and lean right over the table to keep her in sight.

"What for?" Seems kind of pointless when we've got nothing of value.

"Food. Blankets. The best bunks." Ney covers her face with two hands. "Just for something to do."

"Have you ever been propositioned by a patron?"

"No." She straightens so fast I jump. The backs of my knees hit the bench behind me, but it doesn't move; it must be nailed down.

"Calm your farm. It was just a question." I wince, rubbing my legs and sitting. "Why do you hate me so much? I've never done anything to hurt you."

"Because."

"Because." I roll my eyes, mimicking her voice. "That's a coward's answer."

"Because you have never once reacted how you were supposed to. You did not cower away from Reke. You did not leave Vennkor alone. You were not even silent when everyone demanded you stop talking. You acted as though you differ from the rest of us, and then that is how everyone started treating you."

That's the most words I've heard her speak, but she isn't finished. "I was thrown into the Arena the day after my … abduction. I was not given special treatment. I was not given time to adapt to everything that had changed. Nothing like that has happened to you. The only time you were ever sent up was when you were not even forced to fight. You were a prize to be won." She turns her face away from me.

Shock keeps me still for a moment. Her answer wasn't so different from what the Ambassador told me—that I'm not like other girls.

"You're wrong." I clench my fists. "I've just had no fucking idea what's been happening most of the time, so I haven't known how to react."

She scoffs, staring down at the table.

"Listen up," I demand, using my stern nurse's voice. "I come from a planet where we barely know how to land someone on the moon. We don't even have any definitive proof aliens exist. You know, I think you're angry at me because I'm still refusing to believe that being a Hov slave is all that my life is going to be from now on."

"We all die in the Arena. Refusing to believe the inevitable is foolish."

"If we're all just going to die, then why do you keep fighting?" I gesture to her new and poorly healed wound.

"Because."

"Oh, we're back to that, are we?" I cross my arms. The gesture isn't half so impressive as when Ney crosses hers, considering I've only got the two.

I'm further from escaping now than I've ever been, and for a second it's like I can hear the dripping toilet again, only this time it really is a ticking clock—a clock that's ticking down the minutes until I'm thrown into the Arena.

I'm under no delusions as to what will happen then. I'll be killed. Dead. Kaput. Finito. And I'll have well and truly missed any chance I might've had of stealing away Venn and Reke.

Fuck it! I stare right into the lens of the closest camera, and in my most official voice, I say: "Tell the Guild Ambassador I want to speak to him again. Actually," I correct, thinking fast, "tell him I want to make a bet."