2. Trayem

The girl remained silent as she followed me, dressed in her oversized clothes that had to belong to the owner of the cell we'd just come from.

What was her relationship with Kren? I wondered. Was she a part of what happened before all this rioting kicked off? Or was she innocent in all this?

I was aware, just as the rest of the prison was aware, that Kren had taken a fancy to a particular human female from the Prize Pool. Ever since then, strange things had happened.

Was this human female the girl that had attracted the champions eye? Was she the one he'd found unable to resist?

Looking at her, I could believe it. She was a cute little thing, small, but perfectly formed with pert breasts and wanting eyes.

I had seen what she had beneath those unattractive clothes and it could tame even the most violent souls.

I cleared my throat and moved out of the way of a pair of prisoners that hastened around a corner. I sensed another fight was soon approaching. The sooner we got to my cell and out of the way of danger, the better.

The riot was only getting worse. The gangs gathered, fighting each other at hastily-constructed barricade choke points.

They carried primitive weapons for the most part. Shards of metal, glass, and pieces of plastic. Others had managed to commandeer shock rifles from the fallen prison guards.

I wasn't part of any gang. At least, no gang they were aware of.

The prisoners looked me and the small figure tucked behind me over before moving on. A single wayward glance and the situation would implode.

We needed to get out of the hallways before the approaching battle took place.

We came to a barricade of chairs and tables and beds, crammed together with barely a hole in sight.

"Halt!" a voice shouted from the depths of the barricade. "Who goes there?"

I raised my hands.

"Trayem."

"Trayem?" the voice said, squinting from between a pair of upturned chairs. "I don't know no Trayem."

"My cell's on the other side of your barricade. I need to pass through to reach it."

The figure eyed me closely and looked me over.

"How do we know you're not part of the Nuin?"

"Do I look like a Nuin to you?" I said, extending my arms out to the sides.

"No, I suppose not. Fine. Let him through. But if you try anything, we'll put you down faster than a gnashor on heat."

I had no idea what a gnashor was, even less why it should be put down while it's on heat, but I nodded my head anyway.

One corner of the barricade shifted back and then to one side.

I whispered to the girl.

"Follow me. Quickly."

We passed through the gap, keeping our eyes low. I spied half a dozen pairs of ragged old boots turned to face me but didn't raise my eyes to confront them. They let us pass and I hustled down the hallway and turned another corner.

We reached my cell. The girl made to head inside but I held out an arm to block her from entering.

There was no telling what some of the prisoners might do given half a chance. I wouldn't put it past them to hide inside and attack me the moment I returned.

I withdrew the blade I'd snatched from Fayn earlier and clenched it tight in one fist. I wished I'd taken both his knives but creatures could be funny about their weapons. If I left him with one, he might not come looking for its sister.

I crouched and edged inside, turning my head to peer right, and immediately retreated. The right side of the room was empty but someone could still be hiding on the left.

I waited for an attack to come but it never did. I repeated the movement, this time glancing left. I saw there was no one there.

I stepped inside the room and checked under my bed and the small battered wardrobe in one corner. I nodded to the girl to enter.

The door hissed shut, locking us inside the room alone.

Now what were we supposed to do?

I never had visitors to my room before. I had no idea how to entertain. There was precious little room and nothing in the way of activities to keep us distracted.

Except perhaps the bed…

I shook the thought from my mind. That road was far too complicated. Best to keep things simple.

"Please, take a seat," I said.

The girl sat on the edge of the bed and looked up at me. She had big beautiful eyes the color of the Star Stream nebula. A hue of green and blue flecked with shards of yellow like gold in the bottom of a river sieving pan.

Eyes to drown in.

"Are you hungry?" I said.

She nodded.

I dropped to my knees and pulled out a box from under my bed. I was relieved to find its contents hadn't been stolen. If anyone knew I had plenty of food supplies, it would have been taken for sure. It was one benefit to having no close acquaintances in this place.

The truth was, the most valuable things were in the larger rooms. They were far more powerful and rich than I would ever be.

I picked up a handful of Nuin traditional noodles and offered them to the girl.

"Do you like Nuin noodles?" I said.

The girl shrugged her shoulders. The entire journey here, she hadn't said a single word to me.

"I need to get some water," I said, getting to my feet. "I'll add it to the noodles, and they'll cook themselves. That means I have to go to the bathroom down the hallway. It'll only take a minute."

The girl stiffened and shook her head. Her eyes were wide and her bottom lip turned downward.

"You can come with me if you like," I said.

She shook her head again.

"Okay," I said. "I have other food that doesn't need cooking, though it will be less filling than the noodles."

The girl leaned forward and, keeping her eyes firmly on mine, and snatched a big bar of Glacian chocolate with the tips of her fingers.

She zipped back to her position on the bed and tore the packet open. She bit a corner off and munched on it happily.

"I guess you're a fan of Glacian chocolate, huh?" I said with a smile.

"I've never had it before," she said.

They were the first words she'd said to me since we left the champion's quarters. Her voice was husky and dark, as sultry as the chocolate she was demolishing.

"What's your name?" I said.

"Harper."

"I'm Trayem. Nice to meet you."

I squatted in the corner and sat facing the door. I held Fayn's stolen blade lightly in one hand and coiled my legs under me. If anyone came in, I could be up and at them in an instant. I had other weapons hidden about the room in case I needed them.

Hopefully, it wouldn't come to that. But with a riot, you never knew what might happen.

"Where are you from?" I said.

"Earth," Harper said.

Earth. That was where humans came from. It was becoming more and more likely this Harper was the girl the champion had famously fallen for. The human he had gone to war with Dreth for, the girl he risked everything to claim.

Why did I help her?

I'd been heading back to my room from the fighting pits' holding cells when the power cut out. I was next in line to fight Kren during the Survivor Challenge.

It wasn't a fight I was looking forward to. Being low-ranked, I had been paired with a team of eleven others.

Twelve versus the undefeated champion…

I didn't fancy our chances. At least, not if I wasn't allowed to fight with all my skills.

The locks opened when the power went down and the prisoners joined in the chaos. I thought only of returning to my room and waiting for the guards to reestablish order. And there was no doubt in my mind that eventually they would.

And then I came across the open door of Kren's cell and the disgusting scene taking place inside it.

But why had I chosen to get involved?

I didn't need to. I could have turned in the opposite direction and continued on my way.

Maybe it was seeing her small shape, surrounded by a gang of disreputable thugs or knowing a travesty was about to take place and I knew it would haunt me if I walked on by and let it happen.

The fact we were in the middle of a riot affected my decision greatly. After all, violence was a way of life in a riot. I could easily deny I had any part in the ensuing fight and pretend the beat down had been committed by someone else.

Fayn was right. Who was going to believe a rank five-hundred brawler could beat four top-twenty fighters?

Sometimes being the worst could be an advantage.

"Have you known Kren long?" I asked.

Harper shrugged.

"Everyone knows who he is," she said defensively.

There could be no doubt. It had to be her. Why else would she be in his room?

"Do you know what's happening in this prison?" I said.

"Looks like a riot to me," Harper said, eyes sparkling as she took another bite of chocolate.

"Really? I thought it was just a party."

Harper giggled and kicked her feet.

"You know, you fight very well for someone ranked at five hundred."

"I guess we do what we need to when our backs are to the wall."

"But your back wasn't to the wall. You could have left if you wanted to. You didn't have to stay."

It came back to that same question.

Why had I gotten involved?

"How long do you think this riot will last?" Harper said.

"There's no telling. As long as it takes for the guards to rally. It shouldn't take long. The warden will make sure of that. He's not about to let a section of his prison slip through his fingers."

"I suppose not."

Harper yawned and the action took up her entire face.

"If you're tired, you can sleep," I said.

She shook her head.

"I'll be fine."

But already, her eyes were growing heavy. I knew it wouldn't be long before she passed unconscious.

She wavered side to side for the next ten minutes, refusing to let herself fall asleep. Finally unable to take anymore, she leaned over and lay on the bedspread, what remained of the demolished chocolate still clutched in her hand.

I moved over, pulled the blankets back, and helped her slide into the bed.

"Aren't you going to sleep?" Harper grumbled.

Outside, something exploded and a cheer went up, echoing up and down the hallways.

"I'll keep an eye on the door," I said.

"Then I'll stay awake too."

She made to rise but I pushed her back down. It wasn't difficult and she succumbed easily.

"I wouldn't sleep anyway," I said, "so you might as well get some shuteye."

She drifted off and within minutes, her breathing had slowed and grown heavy and hard.

She'd been through a lot. To think what those animals would have done to her if I hadn't shown up…

It didn't bear thinking about.

I returned to my corner and stared at the door. Every few seconds, I glanced over at Harper. So small, and yet, so strong.

She hadn't panicked when the prisoners took it into their minds to rape her. They were big, powerful creatures, and there was no way she could stop them from taking what they wanted from her.

In this place, size and strength were the most important commodities, alongside speed and agility, of course. It didn't really matter how smart you were, it only mattered how good you were in the pit.

She knew the best, and perhaps only, way to survive the ordeal was to let them do what they wanted with her and try to pick up the pieces afterward.

Harper tossed and turned in her sleep, struggling to remain relaxed. She was probably reliving what happened in the room earlier. The mind liked to process the events of the day and when they were unpleasant, you were forced to live through them over and over again.

I made light shushing noises and ran my fingers through her hair. She calmed, taking some comfort in my touch. She eased and her eyes fluttered open. She saw me crouched beside the bed, less than a yard from her.

She didn't let out a cry or start back. Instead, she leaned forward and gently kissed the palm of my hand. Then she pulled back into the safety of the lumpy blanket.

My eyes turned misty and my breath grew heavy as I gazed upon this beautiful woman in my bed.

Harper's eyes focused on mine as she leaned forward again and kissed my little finger.

Was she throwing down a challenge? Or offering herself up in supplication?

I thought it was a mixture between the two.

She moved to kiss my finger again, only this time, she took it in her mouth and gently tongued the fleshy part of my finger. Her lips wrapped around it as it took one segment after another inside her.

She looked at me again. This time, the challenge was clear.

I felt myself stiffen at how brazen she was.

Someone needs to teach her a lesson…

Footsteps approached the door at a run, then disappeared down the hallway. Somewhere, a shock rifle was fired and a man screamed in agony.

It did nothing to interrupt the tension we shared.

"Why are you doing this?" I said hoarsely.

"You're the victor. You defeated your opponents. That means you're entitled to your Prize. If you want me."

If I wanted her?

It was taking every ounce of my self-restraint to keep myself from leaping into bed with her.

"You don't have to do this," I said, my baser instincts yelling at me to shut up and not pass up this opportunity. "You don't have to do this with me."

"I know I don't," she said, and then looked up at me through her eyelashes. "I want to."

It was all I needed to hear.

I leaned forward and pressed my lips against hers. They were soft—much softer than I expected. I pressed my palm to her cheek and tucked my fingers around her neck. I stroked the soft hair there.

I slipped my tongue along her lips, feeling her, tasting the Glacian chocolate still speckled around her lips. There was a spiciness all of her own that had nothing to do with the confectionary.

She eased her lips open and her tongue joined with mine. She sat up in bed and I leaned forward.

I placed Fayn's blade on the floor beside the bed. I wanted it to be close to hand in case someone came unannounced into the cell.

I climbed inside the blanket and tucked up close beside her warm body.

I raised her baggy T-shirt up until I uncovered her breasts. Her nipples were pert and hard as they had been in the room earlier.

I thought back to the scene when the gang was about to use her. I couldn't help but notice how excited she was. Did she enjoy being passed from one fighter to another? I wondered. But when I saw the look in her eye, I realized my mistake.

It wasn't the gang that turned her on. It was me.

Seeing her spread across the bed like that, like a banquet to a starving man, I could barely pull myself away from staring openly at her… and doing a whole lot more besides.

I lowered my mouth to her nipples and caressed them with my tongue. I nibbled on them sharply, passing them between my teeth.

I felt along the soft smooth velvet skin of her belly to the shorts underneath.

"I never thanked you for saving my life," Harper said.

"I'm not sure I saved your life."

"Maybe I would have survived the ordeal but I'm not sure I would have had much of a life afterward. And I owe that to you."

She slipped under the covers and ran her hands down my body. She kissed every inch over my flat stomach, a lump under the blankets.

She opened my pants and pulled them down my hips.

Then she took me in her mouth. She worked me expertly, her mouth wrapped tightly around the head, and her hand pumping the root and stem.

I lay back and enjoyed it, shutting my eyes to block off the other senses and let her touch be all I could feel.

Then I realized I was missing a trick. I pulled the blanket back, revealing her in all her glory.

She looked up at me with my cock in her mouth. She licked me from root to tip, lubricating me with my own juices. She skimmed the head between her teeth and locked eyes on me. She appeared to be genuinely enjoying herself.

She filled her mouth with pre-cum and spat it back on my cock, massaging it expertly in her fist.

She made noises as if my cock was the most delicious thing she'd ever tasted. Better even than Glacian chocolate.

She pulled her T-shirt up over her head, and shimmied her shorts down over her hips, and kicked them off so they landed on the floor.

Outside, somebody shouted and hustled past the door. Another skirmish broke out.

I scooped up the knife and held it gently in one hand, keeping an eye on the door that could open at any moment.

I let her work her magic, polishing me with her mouth and both her hands.

She straddled my body, naked as the day she was born. She placed me at her opening and was about to lower herself onto me when I said, "No."

She looked up at me, confused. No doubt, she'd never heard that word from the other fighters.

I tapped my lips with a finger.

She smiled, leaned forward, and pressed her lips to mine. As she leaned backward to return to her original position, I grabbed her by the waist and lifted her up.

I placed her sex on my mouth and licked at her slowly, sensuously, prodding and probing.

Harper was taken by surprise but was quick to make the most of the moment. She braced her hands on the headboard and ground herself against my mouth.

My species had grown up in jungles and swamplands and our ancestors gained the majority of their sustenance from local plants we called "buckets" due to the large containers that hung below the flowers. To access it, we evolved exceptionally long tongues.

I slipped my tongue inside her and angled it upward to press against the silky ridges on the roof of her sex.

Harper's eyes bulged and she gasped. She moaned and shut her eyes, feeling every flicker of my tongue back and forth. She grasped her breasts and pinched her nipples hard.

Her hips began to buck and she ran her fingers through my hair and pressed my head further into her.

I felt her grow tighter around my tongue. I rubbed her gently on the outside with my thumb, a gentle strumming that grew stronger, harder, moving in time with the pressure I placed on her from the inside.

She screamed as I worked her from the inside and out. Her hips bucked and she exploded in my mouth.

"Ohhhhhhh!" she moaned.

She slid down my body as if she'd been deboned and lay against me, her head on my chest. She was covered with a thin layer of sweat.

"Show me your tongue," she whispered.

I stuck it out. She was surprised it came out twice the length of hers. I licked her cheek with it.

"Ew!" she said, wiping where I'd "kissed" her. "You're a freak!"

I threw back my head and laughed.

"Guilty as charged."

"Then it's a good thing I'm a freak too, although not quite the same way you are."

Without needing to look down or reach with her hand, she slid me inside her and didn't stop until she took every inch of me.

She leaned back and her hands rested on my chest. She rolled her hips back and forth, developing a sensuous rhythm as if she were performing some kind of dance.

She had her eyes shut and floated away to somewhere else. I didn't want her elsewhere. I wanted her right there with me.

"Open your eyes," I said.

She did. There was that fiery heat in her eyes again. She leaned back and she shut her eyes again.

I reached up and pinched her nipple, startling out of her fantasy. She peered down at me.

"I said, look at me," I said.

She did. And this time, she never took her eyes from mine.

The rolling of her hips gave way to a rise and fall pattern, sometimes shallow, other times deep. Her breath hitched in her throat and her breaths turned to gasps.

She was doing it as much for herself as for me.

When a light sweat beaded on her forehead, I still didn't help her. I let her use me to her heart's content. Only when she shifted position, unable to continue the same vigorous movement, did I pull her to my chest, clutch her close, and jackhammer her mercilessly.

Once again, her eyes were shut.

"Look at me," I said.

She opened her eyes and pressed her lips to mine. We worked together, rocking in a steady rhythm, driving me as deep as possible.

She tightened around me as I drilled into her, grinding hard. She was right there with me, every stroke of the way.

I rolled over and placed Harper on her back. Now I was the one performing the same rolling hip motion she had earlier, stimulating both her clit and g-spot.

Her hands curled around the blankets, gripping so tight she yanked them off the mattress.

As I tore another scream from her throat, I neared my own glorious orgasm. My cock grew harder still as I pumped my hips into her, filling her with my seed.

I collapsed on the bed beside her. We lay facing each other, eyes open, peering at each other wondrously. A smile escaped her lips and she giggled into the mattress.

I wouldn't have expected her to have such a girly chuckle.

I reached over and tucked a long strand of hair behind her ear and gently stroked her cheek. A moment of intimacy in a purely animalistic and physical act.

Except, it wasn't, was it?

Even now, after our first engagement, I could sense there was something special between us, like an unexplored cavern desperate to be searched and reveal its treasures.

I wasn't meant to get involved in anything that would make the situation more complicated than it already was.

I feared I may have done just that.

I startedawake and glanced about the room, taking stock of my situation.

I cursed myself for having fallen asleep. I leaned over the edge of the bed, scooped up Fayn's shard of metal I used as a knife, and immediately turned toward the door.

No one was there. No one had entered and slit my throat.

But they could have done.

And they could have done it to the girl too.

Harper.

She lay beside me in bed, naked, her soft nubile body curled up close to mine. She lay in the curve of my arm, tucked into my chest and shoulder. Her face lay planted on her own hand. She looked so calm, so serene.

I wish I didn't have to wake her up.

Then something else struck me.

I could see her as plain as day. The lights were back on. The real lights, not the emergency pulsing ones from the night before. If the power had been restored, did that mean the riot was over?

I had to check.

I leaned to one side and gently placed Harper on the mattress. She mumbled under her breath but didn't wake up.

I pulled on my pants and didn't bother with the shirt. I approached the door. It hissed open and I peered left and right, along either long hallway.

Signs of the barricade remained at the crossroad juncture. The beds and tables and chairs lay broken and scattered across the space. I didn't notice any bodies among the debris. But there were smears of blood along the walls, and something brown and turgid gathered in a thick pool on the floor. I preferred not to think about what that was.

It was quiet. I doubted the warden would allow the power to be turned back on if he hadn't successfully seized control of the prison once more.

I turned back into my room and scooped up my T-shirt.

"Harper," I said. "You need to wake up."

She muttered under her breath and turned her head to the other side of the bed.

I wish I could have let her sleep more but things were happening, and they could be happening faster than I realized.

I sat on the edge of the bed, leaned over, and gently prodded Harper on the arm.

"Harper? You need to get up."

She groaned as she lifted her head and peered over at me. One eye was shut completely, the other squinted and peered at me through a tiny slit.

With the riot taking place, sleep had been fitful and came only in brief spurts. I doubted our… activities had helped much either.

Harper stretched her arms and wrapped the blanket around herself.

"It's the riot," I said. "I think it's over."

Her eyes snapped open and she peered up at me.

"Really?" she said. "Are you sure?"

"Pretty sure," I said. "The power's back on and the barricade has been demolished. I can't see any prisoners anywhere."

Harper tossed her legs over the side of the bed, bent down, and picked up her clothes. She got dressed, taking her time to ensure she didn't accidentally flash me her skin.

Funny, I thought, considering I'd seen—and kissed—every inch of it last night.

Several times.

With her prowess between the sheets, it was no surprise the champion had claimed her for himself.

He would take only the best and I found it difficult to believe any of the other Prizes could be better than her.

She looked good, she smelled good, she fucked amazingly well. She ticked the boxes of every red-blooded male in the prison.

Including me.

I had bedded the champion's Prize.

I shook my head at my own stupidity. I didn't know what the repercussions would be, only that there were definitely going to be some.

And they were going to be very serious.

"I'll take you back to the Prize Pool," I said.

Already, my stomach churned at the idea of putting her back among the girls for other prisoners to select.

When the champion turned up to claim his property, I wondered if Harper would let slip about what happened between us.

Prison was a surprisingly political landscape. Prisoners constantly exchanged information and favors, trying to get a leg up over the competition.

They could have run for congress.

Prison was also tribal. If you sided with one gang, another would take it as a personal slight. With a single decision, you gained incredible power and leverage, and at the same time, was forced into confrontations with a gang you never had a problem with before.

There was no reason for Harper to choose me over the champion. I had very little to offer. Even less, actually, than she might think.

She slipped on her baggy clothes and cheap shoes. She tied her hair back and peered up at me.

There was an awkward moment. At least, it felt awkward to me. She smiled and immediately averted her gaze, just as I had averted mine.

This was a one-time thing, I told myself. It was never going to happen again. It never should have happened in the first place. We just happened to be in the right—wrong?—place at the right—wrong?—time.

We were spaceships that passed in the night.

"Are you ready?" I said.

She smiled distractedly and nodded.

I turned to approach the door when she reached out and took me by the arm.

"Wait," she said.

I searched her face but couldn't ascertain what the hold-up was.

She bit her bottom lip, gnawing on it like a flaxod with a new chew toy.

"About last night…"

I waved a hand dismissively.

"It's okay. I won't tell anyone."

She looked me over and seemed confused by my response.

"Why would it matter if you told anyone?"

Because you're with the champion.

"I don't want there to be any… problems for you," I said. "Due to your other… clients."

I couldn't meet her eyes when I said it. I didn't like to imagine her with someone else. But in this case, I was the someone else.

"Oh," she said.

I could hear the disappointment plainly in her voice. She nodded and looked a little beaten.

"Well, I had a great time anyway."

"Me too," I admitted.

I turned to lead us out of the cell when she pulled back on my arm again. She went up on her tiptoes and pecked me on the cheek.

"Thanks," she said, "for saving me yesterday."

"I thought you already thanked me for that?" I said with a wink.

She laughed and braced her stomach with both hands as if she might explode with laughter otherwise. It was a bawdy, roguish laugh, and brought a smile to my face.

"Yes," she said, "I suppose I did."

No matter what happened in the future, I knew this would be one of those few moments in life I would recall and look back on often. I stored it away in a dusty corner of my mind.

I'd need it to remind myself it had actually happened and wasn't just a fantasy.

I took a moment to record every last detail of the scene. The way her hair sat on her head, tied back, and still a mess. The baggy clothes she felt so comfortable wearing compared to the sheer fabric dresses they forced the Prizes here to wear. The curve of her cheek when she smiled, favoring one corner of her mouth more than the other.

We turned to head through the door when the public speaker system whined and someone cleared their throat on the other end.

"Attention," a deep voice said. "Your previous supervisor has been removed from his post and replaced. He wants you to know that life in the prison will continue as normal. The riots have come to an end. He wishes to run a series of investigations to discover what caused them to happen.

"Over the next few days, we will be running a series of interrogations with interviewees chosen at random from among the prison population. You will be assigned a time and expected to keep your appointment. Non-compliance will result in severe punishment.

"A reward will be paid for anyone with salient information. The riot leaders will be punished harshly. Anyone who knowingly withholds information will enjoy the same fate. The new supervisor runs a tight ship and we suggest you follow the rules if you do not wish to be thrown overboard. That is all."

Harper and I shared a look.

"What do you think that's all about?" she said.

"Looks like we have a new supervisor."

"Well, he couldn't be much worse than the last one."

Want to bet?

The walkto the Prize Pool was surprisingly uneventful. We strolled side-by-side and might have come to the end of our date and I was now walking her home.

Instead, we were walking through the largely empty but massively demolished hallways of a prison recovering from a riot.

The prisoners had been rounded up and forced to clean up the mess. They scrubbed the walls using old-fashioned elbow grease and were watched over by guards armed with shock rifles.

Every so often, I glanced over at Harper, who glanced back at me. We shared a look and peered away again.

If she was anything like me, she was thinking about last night's activities, and although it might never happen again, it was still something worth thinking about.

"Attention," the deep voice over the speaker system said. "Smiok Gen, prisoner identification number 76453. Please report to the supervisor at nine o'clock this morning. Any activities, including pit fighting, you were meant to take part in, have been suspended. Report to the supervisor at nine a.m."

Every few minutes, a new name was called, and each time, I listened intently, in case one of those names turned out to be mine.

Finally, we reached the Prize Pool. The door was one of many that fed into the area. It couldn't be described as the heart of the compound but it was the heart of all baser instincts. All the females were contained within this single small block. Occurrences like the riot would be far more common if it wasn't for the Prize Pool to calm aggressive attitudes.

Not that everyone got their fair share, of course. But it worked for the most part.

"Well, this is it," I said.

"This is it," Harper confirmed.

"Thanks again for a great night."

"No, thank you. My night was shaping up pretty badly before you turned up."

"I guess we can both agree on that."

We shared a laugh.

"If you ever win a fight, feel free to look me up," Harper said.

"I will."

Will I?

A moment passed but it wasn't uncomfortable. It was now when we were meant to say goodbye and neither of us was much in the mood for that.

I leaned forward and gave her a peck on the cheek. She did the same for me.

Why did this goodbye feel so much harder than any other?

She raised a hand, waved, and disappeared inside the Prize Pool.

Never to be seen by me again.

I felt angry at myself for letting her go. I wasn't even willing to take a chance that things might, somehow, work out between us.

I should have known better. The risks were far too high.

I had to let her go. I had no other choice.

I turned and headed back down the hallway I'd come from.

An armed guard caught sight of me and looked about ready to approach me and force me to join the rest of the forced labor.

I'd be damned if he thought I was going to help clean up a mess I had no part in.

I had a slate of lies I could tell him: "I'm carrying out an errand for another workgroup. I have to return to them now or the guard will get angry."

Or: "I would love to help but my arm's sore from defending myself against the prisoners you were meant to protect me from."

I doubted the latter would go down very well.

I needn't have worried. The overhead speaker system wheezed and the deep voice spoke again.

"Trayem Keyon," he said. "Report to the supervisor's office at nine fifteen a.m. I repeat, Trayem Keyon, report to the supervisor's office. That is all."

I pointed to the overhead speaker system and shrugged my shoulders apologetically.

I headed toward the supervisor's office with a deep twisting sensation in the pit of my stomach.

The supervisor'soffice was adjacent to the Prize Pool. Was this on purpose? So the supervisor could take advantage of the Pool easier than the prisoners? Or was it to remind the prisoners who was king here? He kept his concubines close and only let victors use them when he saw fit.

Or maybe it was only coincidence.

I met the pair of guards at the bottom of the steps that led up to the supervisor's office. Neither spoke at my approach.

"I'm Trayem Keyon," I said. "I'm here to see the new supervisor. I have an appointment."

For the longest time, the guards stood there staring. I was about to repeat what I'd said when the one on the left spoke into his communicator.

"Prisoner identification number 64732 here to see the supervisor," he said.

He nodded at the message he heard on the other end of the line and waved for me to enter.

I climbed the steps behind the guard while the other man remained positioned at the foot of the steps.

They really weren't taking any chances. And why would they when there was a chance the prisoners could easily riot again? I knew if I was in charge of his security detail, I'd do exactly the same thing.

The guard led me up two flights of stairs to a laboratory. Signature streaks of black from wayward shock rifle fire marked the walls and floor. It must have seen some of the riot action too. With the power down, every part of the facility would be laid open. And there had to be more than one prisoner with a grudge against the previous Supervisor.

An engineer worked to fix a ruptured chair back into position. To one side was a cell with padded walls and a single chair in the center. My skin shivered at the thought of the experiments that must have taken place there over the years.

I cast my eyes over the room and wondered how many more of those padded cells there were concealed in here.

The guard paused at the foot of a final flight of stairs and motioned for me to head up it.

I did, and the guard kept pace with me, nipping at my heels. I doubted he would slow or stop if I missed a step. He didn't leave me until I opened the door at the top of the steps and shut it behind me.

The apartment was very chic and well-designed with a long table at the front. It was piled high with papers. I was surprised to find this room had seen signs of fighting too.

Side tables and chairs lay like casualties. One sofa lay forlornly on its side having been smashed in half. At the far end of the room, an arm protruded out from the building forming a circular shuttlecraft launching pad at its end. On it sat an old shuttle that'd seen better days. It was dented and scuffed from adventures it'd endured over the years.

Inside the room stood five figures. Three wore heavy plate armor and looked strong and capable, much like the prison guards but on steroids. And maybe they really were on steroids. Their exposed arms were big and bulging, their eyes focused and alert. The closest one to me approached.

I held up my arms to either side and my feet shoulder width apart. He patted me down and checked me for weapons.

He had a square chin and wavy blond hair. His eyes were smoky and must have sent the girls wild. Once he straightened up, he fixed me with a look and gave me a wink.

He motioned for me to join the other prisoner on the center carpet before an old man.

These were the two other figures in the room. An old man lounged on a sofa before the only other prisoner present. He stood with his hands behind his back. If I had to guess, I would have said it was Smiok Gen who was here to speak with the supervisor about his experiences during the riot. His name had been called before mine on the public speaker system earlier.

My attention was taken by the old man. He was very striking in appearance. He was tall and spindly with curved black horns atop his head and skin the color of blossoming fire. His eyes were tinted yellow and his irises were the elongated curl of a cat's.

He had the appearance of an eighty or ninety-year-old and looked every inch of it. What little hair he had on his head was grey and tinted with white.

A walking stick leaned at a lazy angle on the sofa beside him. On its handle was the skull of a small creature. It might have been fully grown or in an early stage of development.

Smiok looked at me over his shoulder as I joined him at his side. He appeared relieved his time was almost up.

The old man looked up at me with his watery blue eyes.

"Ah," he said. "You must be Trayem Keyon."

"That's correct sir," I said.

"A pleasure to meet you."

He waved a finger between me and Smiok.

"Do you know each other?" he said.

I glanced at the prisoner and he looked at me. We shook our heads.

"No, sir," I said.

"That's interesting," the old man said, "because Smiok says you're an undercover agent working for some sinister group seeking to learn information about the comings and goings in this prison. Are any of his accusations accurate?"

Smiok frowned and peered between the old man and me.

"That's not true," I said.

"Are you sure?" the old man said, running his fingers through his long white beard and wrapping it around his gnarled finger. "He seems quite sure it was you."

"I'm afraid he's wrong," I said. "I'm not an undercover spy. My life isn't that interesting."

"Just for the record, that's not what I said," Smiok said. "I said that I heard some of the prisoners whispering rumors about the riot. I never said it was him—"

The old man waved a hand for him to be silent.

"Yes, yes," he said. "I was testing Trayem. Who knows, we might get lucky."

I smiled and shook my head.

Smiok, taken slightly aback, smiled along. He stopped abruptly when he saw the old man wasn't smiling.

The old man leaned back and then rocked forward, shifting his weight onto his walking stick. He pushed as hard as his frail arms would allow him in his attempt to get to his feet.

Smiok stepped forward to help the old man but one of the other armed guards stepped forward first and motioned for Smiok to stay back.

This armed guard was the only female in the group. Her brow was thick with her constant frown and gave her the appearance of a fearsome fighter. She helped the old man up as he shuffled forward on his walking stick.

"A riot took place at this facility," the supervisor said. "And we're going to get to the bottom of it. We're going to ensure it never happens again. That's why the warden chose me to watch over this facility. I've journeyed far and wide, traversed the galaxy, and explored and tasted many of its exotic fruits. There's never been a facility I couldn't whip into shape, never been a mission I couldn't achieve. I will get to the bottom of this riot, whether you help me or not."

The old man stopped in front of Smiok, the metal tip of his walking stick striking the floor and making a sharp snapping sound. He clutched the tiny skull handle with both hands and leaned forward, using it as the third leg of a tripod to remain upright.

He looked into Smiok's face.

"Getting old is never much fun," he said. "You watch as your strength and vitality seep out of you. You see others grow strong as you become weak. It's nature's greatest betrayal. Be thankful you won't have to live to experience it. It's better to die in your prime, trust me."

"Uh, yes, sir," Smiok said.

He wasn't sure what the old man was driving at but I got the sense he soon would.

"Will you help me to complete my mission?" the old man said.

"Of course," Smiok said. "I've told you everything I know."

"Yes, yes. You told me everything you know but have you given me everything you have?"

It took a moment for the words to sink in. Smiok frowned and shook his head.

"I'm sorry, sir," he said, "I'm not sure I understand—"

The old man's yellow eyes opened, becoming broad and like lamps.

Smiok stared, transfixed by these luminous lamp-like eyes, enthralled. His face turned slack and his arms hung uselessly by his side.

The old man's mouth opened the same way, stretching beyond what should have been physically possible. The darkness in his mouth was deep and all-encompassing. He sucked, breathing in deeply with all the force of a raging black hole.

If I looked closely enough I could make out the flickering shimmer of a thin line as the old man tugged harder. He might have been sucking on a straw. There was even a sharp slurping sound that more closely resembled tearing as if someone were ripping the pages out of the book. Beneath that, a high-pitched scream that wailed into the infinite dark of the old man's throat.

He absorbed what was inside Smiok. His strength, his vitality, some would have described it as his soul.

Deep lines formed in Smiok's face and his arms turned thin and frail, his hair grey, then pure white, and then finally it fell from his head and onto the floor.

Smiok lost the strength in his legs and he crumpled forward. At the same time, the old man dropped his walking stick and remained standing under his—or, rather, Smiok's—newfound strength. He caught Smiok by the lapels and held him upright as he continued to suck that strength from him.

Worst of all, he was powerless to prevent it.

Finally, the old man released his grip and let Smiok fall to the floor. Smiok could barely move. Old age had struck him in a single debilitating blow.

The old man's hair was thicker and lost the pure whiteness it had been before. His skin was a warm and healthier fleshy tone. His eyes were a little brighter but still the same vibrant yellow.

Smiok whined on the floor, attempting to crawl toward the door but lacked the strength.

The old man wiped the saliva at the corners of his mouth from his latest feeding.

"Disgusting aftertaste," he said with a sneer.

He turned to the third and final guard. He was tall, broad, and a very impressive figure. He had a perfectly round skull and a single eye in the center of his forehead.

"Dispose of him," the old man said.

The guard picked up Smiok's shriveled form and carried him easily. Smiok, once so strong and powerful, was now weak and frail. He formed fists with his hands and beat at the guard's face and exposed neck but he probably didn't even feel it.

He headed out to the shuttlecraft launchpad, and without hesitation, dropped the prisoner over the edge. He dusted off his hands and headed back inside.

The old man wrapped his arm around my shoulder and smiled into my face.

"Trayem, my boy," he said, tapping me on the cheek. "Tell me what you've discovered. I've heard some conflicting reports. Tell me why this riot happened and how we're going to ensure it doesn't happen again."

He led me to the sofa. The other three guards stood around us. We knew the old man as Krial but he had a thousand others. The guards were Tus, Rarr, and Annas, my brothers and sisters—in name, if not in blood.

"Yes, Master," I said.