I Am Ebony Strike by KS Augustin

Author:KS Augustin [Augustin, KS]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-9875440-7-0
Publisher: Sandal Press
Published: 2015-05-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWELVE

The action didn’t start till late morning, which meant I had time for breakfast. Both Aldanen and I were too highly strung to make more than polite conversation over the table and we ate light. According to stories from past tournaments, we could face anything from an insectoid to a drone to mutated snakes, but that was the old way of doing things. With Dinoh’s latest scheme, we could face several baby grozshtan that he’d serendipitously labelled as some of his “fighters”. After all, the one who puts up the money, and governs the planet, gets to make up the rules, right? Somewhere above us—I briefly glanced upwards—someone, or something, was waiting for us.

“I went over my side of the quarters this morning,” he said. “No weapons.”

I had done the same the day before. I nodded. “No use ending the bout too quickly. People are paying money to see us, you know.”

He grinned but didn’t say anything.

We put our empty plates into the servitor, sat, watched some ‘casts, fidgeted, and were almost at the point when we were about to kick the walls down, when two small doorways at either end of the room opened.

Aldanen looked at me. “Two doors. We separate?”

“Looks like it.”

He hesitated then flashed me a quick grin. “Well, good luck.”

“Thanks.”

I walked to the doorway near the bed, stepped through and looked up and down the corridor. To the left was a blank wall. To the right, a set of narrow steps led upwards. I had only just entered the corridor when the door behind me slid shut. No other way but up. As I neared the steps, I patted myself down, did a few stretches, and pulled at my clothing. The one-piece outfit was close-fitting but not constricting, and it didn’t overheat my body. Good. I was wearing my old reliable pair of ankle boots and scuffed the toe of one along the floor. It bit in, indicating good grip.

The first flight of stairs ended on a small landing and I had to do a U-turn to continue upwards to the floor above. There was another corridor and, after three metres, a doorway stood in front of me. This was level two—the first floor—of the five-level pyramid. At my approach, the panel slid open. I walked in.

It was a male. And he was Qolari, his arctic white skin gleaming in the bright recessed lighting. His tall mohawk of hair was banded brown and yellow, the mane disappearing into the back of his tunic. He didn’t look like much, a two-and-a-half-metre skinny straw with legs and arms, but the Qolari reputation for fighting was legendary. He easily had reach on me, and if he was an ex-spy for the Qolari government or had access to rumoured black-market surgical chop-shops, he could also be carrying death via his VAPs, or Value-Added Prosthetics.

He stared at me, I saw the flick of his hand, and ducked just as something silver arced above me, most probably a blade on a monofilament line.

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