Jack looked away from the Bronze Guy's haunted eyes, staring out into the Arena as he tried to assimilate what he had perceived. The more Jack interacted with the Bronze Guy, the more he recognized all the subtle, familiar signs of a combat-hardened professional soldier. What went on in this place that could bring a man like that so completely to his knees?
There was no point in speculating. He'd find out exactly what he faced soon enough.
Jack's attention snapped to his right at the sound of a bell-like tone. It was coming from the little device the Bronze Guy had used to control the properties of the window/wall that looked out on the Arena. The Bronze Guy picked the device up from the arm of his chair and held it against the side of his face as if it were a cell phone.
"Yes, Eli?" he said.
Jack could just hear the sound of a woman's voice coming from the device, but couldn't make out what she was saying.
"Yes, Eli. I'll get them ready."
As the Bronze Guy brought the device away from his ear, Jack said, "His master's voice." The words just popped out. He couldn't help it. But when the Bronze Guy gave him another weary, broken look, Jack regretted them. Who knew how long this man had been a prisoner here, or what he'd been through?
Jack knew what it felt like to be a prisoner at the mercy of ruthless jailers, with no escape in sight. No guarantee there was any light at the end of the tunnel. He knew because he'd spent four months in an Iraqi prison, under the boot heels of Saddam Hussein's sadistic goons. That was one of the episodes in his life that he kept buried deep in his special mental cellar – the place inside him where he shoved all the really bad crap.
Jack kept his mental cellar tightly sealed off from the rest of his mind. In his mind' eye, the cellar door looked like one of those ridiculously thick steel doors they put on bank vaults, that closed with a wheel. Only it closed downwards, like a trap door. Whenever there was something Jack couldn't afford to think about, or feel about, he imagined dropping it down into that dark, deep cellar at the bottom of his mind. And then he imagined closing the cellar door. The door would fall shut with an enormously heavy, air-tight boom, and then he'd spin the wheel to lock it, and that was that. The crap was as good as gone. Well – just about.
Jack had never told anyone about the mental cellar with the big, bad-ass door, least of all any of the shrinks the Air Force occasionally forced him to talk to. In Jack's opinion, all shrinks were quacks. They might claim to have a handle on the mysteries of the human mind, but what did they really know? He was pretty sure the shrinks would tell him his mental cellar was a bad idea, but, time and again, it had enabled him to stay focused on the real threat, instead of getting all distracted by stuff that was already done and gone. It had kept him alive more times than he could count. More importantly, it had helped him stay sharp enough to shield the people under his command. The only thing he'd never been able to lock away in the cellar was Charlie's death, but that was different. That wasn't war stuff.
The Bronze Guy hit a control on the little device, and their portal into the sights and sounds of the Arena turned back into a blank, white wall. He stood up and faced Jack and the Warrior Guy.
"Listen up!" he barked – and Jack recognized the authoritative tone of an officer. "You two are about to receive a privilege you don't deserve." Was it Jack's imagination, or was there a double meaning in those words? Maybe this man wasn't quite completely beaten down. "Like I told you before, there's an important visitor here tonight. And she's decided she'd like to inspect the new arrivals. It's not often we get two new male dogs for the kennel in one day. So, you're about to meet the women who own you." The Bronze Guy gave them both a cold, sad stare. "They own your bodies completely. Those Collars you're wearing give them total control. Your bodies are your prisons now, and these women hold all the keys. All they have to do is think it, and you'll feel it in your miserable flesh – paralysis, agony, lust, death. And there's no way to fight it. The Collars won't let you fight – not unless the women allow it, and they'll allow it only for their entertainment. You're completely helpless."
"I am no dog!" growled the Warrior Guy. "And I will not take orders from a woman."
The Bronze Guy stepped forward and leaned down, getting in the other man's face. Jack expected him to start shouting like a boot-camp sergeant, but he didn't. Instead he just locked eyes with the Warrior Guy and stared. There was a silence, and Jack saw a reaction go through the Warrior Guy's body – an alarmed stillness. He pressed back into his chair a little, and Jack knew he must have seen the same thing in the Bronze Guy's eyes that Jack had seen.
The Bronze Guy stepped back again and scanned both their faces with a penetrating, tragic gaze. "You're about to meet the women who own you," he said again, this time more softly, "There are two women who run this place: Elal and Umala. They're the ones who have the power to make your lives a living hell. And tonight, they'll be accompanied by their boss – one of the higher-ups in the Syndicate. So take my advice: behave yourselves. Don't make a fuss. Don't try to fight the Collar, or make insulting remarks, or any of that kind of crap. Don't speak unless spoken to. Be extremely respectful."
The Warrior Guy scowled at the Bronze Guy. Jack gave him a completely blank expression.
"Oh, yeah," said the Bronze Guy, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "I almost forgot. You're both too tough to need any advice. Isn't that right?" He shrugged. "Fine. If you want to make things even harder for yourselves than they already will be, go right ahead. Ignore what I'm telling you. It's no skin off my nose."
He gave them both another intense, haunted stare. "But if either of you have any sense at all, you'll listen. Don't make the same mistakes I did. Don't waste your strength, right from the start, on useless gestures of defiance. Save what strength you have for the long haul. Maybe that way, you'll manage to hang on to some small piece of your soul. Unlike me."
The Warrior Guy shifted uncomfortably, but he didn't say anything more. He could probably tell, just as Jack could, that the Bronze Guy was sincerely trying to look out for them. Jack's estimation of the man kept going up. He might be beaten down, but, despite his words, he hadn't completely lost his soul. He still cared.
There was a sound somewhere behind them. Jack peered around the side of his chair in time to see three women enter the room through a door in the back wall. He followed them with his eyes as they walked around the row of chairs, toward the front of the room.
One of the women was in her twenties; the second was in her thirties; and the third was at least seventy. Jack was guessing the older woman was the Big Boss Lady. From what the Bronze Guy had said, she was the Ashoran equivalent of a Mafia don, but she didn't look like a crime boss. She looked like somebody's petite, lady-like grandmother. Then again, Mafia dons usually looked like somebody's harmless, decrepit grandfather.
As the women reached the front of the room, Jack leaned back casually and studied them. The two younger women flanking the Big Boss Lady were the most mismatched pair you could imagine. Both of them were tall, towering over the petite crime boss, but other than that they were physical opposites.
The youngest woman was skinny as a rail. Like most Ashoran women, she went topless, but there wasn't much to see. She was almost as flat as a man. Her complexion was coffee-and-cream, but her hair was dirty blond, and her eyes were hazel. Her eyes were the only good feature in her long, horsy face.
The other woman was as fat as the first was skinny. She had a pasty, white complexion, dark brown hair, and a pear-shaped face with thick lips and piggy little black eyes. Her clothes were ridiculously tight. Her belt pinched into her rolls of fat, but failed to give her a waist. Her topless bodice formed a sort of shelf under her huge, heavy, white breasts, but failed to hold them up. They still bulged over and hung down. Jack found her seriously disgusting – and it was more than just her physical ugliness. There was something about her that set off all his alarm bells.
When the three women stopped in front of him and the Warrior Guy, the Bronze Guy got down on his knees and elbows and crawled over to Skinny. He kissed both her feet. Then he backed up – still on knees and elbows – and pressed his forehead to the ground. And just stayed that way. Jack showed no reaction, but his stomach churned at the sight of this abject groveling.
Concentrate what you can learn, he thought. Since the Bronze Guy had kissed Skinny's feet, Jack was guessing she was Elal. So Fatso had to be Umala. And hadn't the Stumpy Blond mentioned that name? Hadn't she said something about how Umala loved to bring male dogs to heel?
Jack noticed Umala watching him with a slight smile on her thick lips, and an unhealthy gleam in her little black eyes. Jack met her eyes, refusing to be stared down. He gave her obese body a casual once-over. Then he turned to the elderly crime boss and said, "Isn't it sad how some people really can't handle their donuts?"
He saw the crime boss raise her eyebrows, and then the pain hit. For an interminable period, the world was blanked out by the white-hot agony of the Collar. When the pain finally receded, Jack found himself panting and trembling. He couldn't be sure, but he thought that was the longest bout of Punishment he'd yet experienced.
It occurred to Jack that maybe the Bronze Guy had given good advice. Maybe it really would be smarter not to waste his strength on "useless gestures of defiance." Oh, well. Nobody had ever accused him of being smart. Jack gave Skinny and the Big Boss Lady a conspiratorial look and said, "Touchy, isn't she?"
He saw amusement in Skinny's eyes before the pain hit again. But the pain was abruptly cut off when the Big Boss Lady made an impatient gesture and said, "Enough, Umala. What does it matter what he says?"
Fatso frowned and said, "It pains me to see this miserable male show such disrespect before you, Honored One. But, as I warned you, these males are brand new. They came straight through our pipeline from the Bureau of Liberation, so they're fresh from their patriarchal worlds. They haven't yet been taught their manners."
"I'm aware of their status, Umala," said the crime boss. She spoke softly, but there was something very hard in her voice. "And I find it disturbing that we received two males through the pipeline in one day. Esestia is getting careless."
"It isn't that Esestia recommended two males for termination in one day, Honored One. She recommended that one first," and Umala wobbled her chins toward Jack, "but he appeared to have escaped termination. So Esestia recommended that one," and she indicated the Warrior Guy, "the next day."
"Still," put in Skinny, "I agree with your concern, Honored One. Two terminations from the same evaluator, so close together? Esestia is getting careless."
"I will caution her if you feel I should, Honored One," said Fatso. "But I don't think we could ask for a better arrangement than the one we have with Esestia. All the money we pay her to send males our way comes right back to us, because she spends it all on the Games. She's an addict."
Skinny snorted. "Oh, I definitely think we could ask for a better arrangement, considering how quickly Esestia uses up males in all those Combats to the Death she's so fond of."
"Nonsense!" snapped Fatso, glaring at Skinny. "Esestia supplies many more males than she uses up. And we rake in all those Death Premiums from her." Fatso smiled smugly. "She's one of the reasons our profit margin is so high on the Games. More than twice as high as on the Wrestling Matches," she added, with a sneer in Skinny's direction.
Skinny glared at her. "But at what risk? If the secret of the Games ever got out, it would cause a huge public outcry. All the politicians would fall over each other demonstrating how tough they are on crime, and our entire operation would suffer." Skinny shifted her gaze to the Big Boss Lady, and her face suddenly lit up with child-like enthusiasm. "The Wrestling Matches don't present that sort of risk, Honored One! And to raise our profit margin, all we have to do is put in more seats! Right now, we have to turn customers away because there isn't enough room!"
"And that's exactly what the problem is!" growled Fatso. "The Wrestling Matches have become too popular. Too many people know about them! That's were the risk lies!"
"Enough!" snapped the Big Boss Lady. She gave each of the younger women a flat stare, her eyes as hard and opaque as obsidian. "The Games will continue," she said. "As for putting in more seats – I'll take it under advisement." Skinny's face fell, while Fatso's habitual nasty little smile got wider.
Jack watched this interaction with interest. It was clear that Fatso and Skinny were rivals, and hated each other's guts. Jack wondered how he might make use of that.
The elderly crime boss's gaze went back to Jack and the Warrior Guy. "Have them stand up," she said. "I want to look them over."
"You heard her, you worthless dogs!" barked Fatso. "Stand up and display yourselves!"
Jack decided to go along with the command. "Don't mind if I do," he said, standing up and stretching ostentatiously. "Not that it isn't a nice chair, but with my back the way it is…."
"Turn around!" snapped Umala. "Slowly." Her lips curled with disdain. "Show us your entire body, such as it is."
Jack looked askance at her bloated form and raised his eyebrows. Though he didn't actually say Who are you to talk, it was as clear as words.
Umala's expression curdled. "On second thought," she hissed, "don't turn around yet. We haven't had a proper look at your most important asset."
And with those words, Jack felt pressure begin to build in his groin. Crap, he thought, that's just not right. The first time this had happened, when the Stumpy Blond had been "testing the Collar," it had surprised and confused him. Now, he understood at once that Umala was using the Collar to manipulate his body. He started fighting the alien impulse, desperately trying to get his body to stop doing that.
To no avail. His body's most intimate reactions were being controlled by another's will, and there was nothing he could do about it. Even though it didn't hurt, Jack found that very hard to bear. It reminded him of … something. Something that normally lay deeply buried…
Hathor's lab. The horrifying sensation of a Goa'uld parasite burrowing into his body, the even more horrifying sensation of an Goa'uld mind touching his. The nightmare of becoming a prisoner within his own body…
Jack closed his eyes for a moment and pushed that memory back down, way down to the bottom of his mental cellar. Damn, he thought. I'm beginning to understand what the Bronze Guy was talking about.
The tension in his groin continued to build. Soon, he found himself fully aroused. The artificially induced sexual excitement in his body clashed sickeningly with the anger and disgust in his soul. Jack clenched his fists. It was just so damn wrong! And theway Umala was watching him – the moist pleasure in her eyes, the satisfied smirk on her lips. Jack experienced a spike of red rage that nearly escaped his control.
Clenching his fists tighter, he fought down his anger. He had already revealed too much to this woman. She might be human, but Jack's gut told him she was as much of a sadistic monster as any Goa'uld. He couldn't stop her from hurting him physically – not yet – but he could try to deny her the emotional pain she craved. That was the only form of resistance available to him at the moment.
So, with practiced discipline, Jack took all his powerful, churning emotions and dropped them through the trap door in the bottom of his consciousness. He felt them fall away into the deep basement in his psyche, and then felt the heavy, impregnable door fall closed. He only kept a little of the anger with him, knowing it would help him focus.
Jack gave Umala an expressionless stare and said, in a conversational tone, "You know, where I come from, there are women who don't need to run electrodes into a man's brain to get this kind of reaction." He had the satisfaction of seeing Umala's eyes narrow in anger and disappointment.
Skinny snickered and gave him a sly, admiring smile. There was something about her demeanor that was just really… off. She was acting like a teenage girl flirting with a boy at a party, instead of a slave-owner tormenting a slave. This woman was not playing with a full deck.
Meanwhile, the Big Boss Lady was examining him as if he were a bug on a slide. Oh, yeah, though Jack. Having you for a grandmother would be loads of fun.
The Warrior Guy had – surprisingly – risen quietly to his feet when asked, and had been watching silently up till now. Though Elal and Umala were tall women, he stood head and shoulders above them, his body an imposing pillar of muscle.
Jack saw those muscles suddenly tense, and knew the Warrior Guy was going to lunge at Umala – but instead, he fell to the floor like a puppet whose strings had been cut. He lay unmoving, his body obviously paralyzed, but the way his eyes were rolling indicated he was being Punished.
Oy, thought Jack. It's that damn anti-aggression programming in the Collars. But, as he'd already discovered back when he'd been trying to get out of Sam's locked bedroom, the programming wasn't perfect. I'm going to need to explore the imperfections, he thought – though he knew it wouldn't be fun. He would undoubtedly get knocked on his ass a few times. Probably more than a few.
Umala chuckled at the fallen Warrior – but suddenly turned serious when she saw the crime boss's annoyed expression. "Bronze Stallion!" she snapped, looking toward the Bronze Guy. He was still huddled motionless on the floor, but Jack saw him flinch at the sound of Umala's voice. "Get over here and see that this stupid dog obeys the Honored One's commands."
"Wait a minute!" protested Skinny. "My Bronzy is not yours to command!"
"Enough bickering," snapped the Big Boss Lady. "You," she said, impatiently gesturing toward the Bronze Guy, "do as Umala said."
The Bronze Guy got up and came over to stand next to the prone Warrior. His eyes flicked over to Skinny, and then down again.
"Honored One," said Umala, "may I respectfully suggest that the male be allowed to feel the Collar for a little longer? If we release him now, he'll just waste our time again. I know his type."
Jack's arousal had quickly faded as soon as Umala's attention shifted. He looked down at the poor Warrior Guy, who had provided the distraction. The man's eyes were rolled back in his head now, showing little but the whites. Jack tried to catch the Bronze Guy's eyes, wondering if there was anything they could do for the Warrior, but the Bronze Guy avoided his gaze.
The crime boss shrugged. "Very well, Umala. You're the expert on breaking in wild males." Umala smiled at this acknowledgement – the first smile Jack had seen from her that wasn't tinged with malice.
Then Skinny harrumphed, earning a scowl from Umala and a displeased stare from the Big Boss Lady. "Forgive me, Honored One," she said. "As far as the Games go, you're entirely correct, of course. Umala's brand of training is just fine. But training a male to be a success in the Wrestling Matches requires a lighter touch. Just look at how much money Sweet Ass is making for us! That's because the crowd responds to his enthusiasm. If Umala had had him even one day longer, she would have ruined him!"
Umala scowled harder, but the Big Boss Lady said, "You were right to alert me to Sweet Ass's case, Eli. It's true he really didn't need breaking. However, we don't get many like him. Most of these males have to be taught how to obey."
"Of course they do, Honored One. But they can be taught to obey without being turned into lifeless lumps. If we had more males with Sweet Ass's crowd appeal, we could raise our prices even more! And that way we wouldn't need to put in more seats!" She gestured toward Jack. "Take this male, for example. I have a feeling he could become a real winner in the Wrestling Matches. He could draw in lots of faithful fans for us, just like Sweet Ass does!"
"Him?" said Umala, her tone disdainful. "He's old. And not nearly as good looking as Sweet Ass."
"I'm relieved you feel that way," said Jack.
Umala's beady little eyes flashed with anger, and Jack braced for Punishment. One of these days, he really was going to have to learn not to insult people who had the power to hurt him. But then Umala glanced at the Big Boss Lady, and must have realized that zapping Jack again would annoy the crime boss. Her white face flushed pink, and her big, ugly lips curled in angry frustration.
Skinny laughed. "You see?" she said to the crime boss. "It's not just his physical looks – though those aren't bad." Elal examined Jack critically, her brow furrowed. "He's got a certain something. An interesting sort of edge. That's what could make him a success in the Arena!"
Skinny wants to make me a star? thought Jack. That had possibilities. From what the Bronze Guy had said, the women who watched the Wrestling Matches would be upset to learn that men were getting seriously hurt here. Couldn't he communicate with them? Ask them for help? The Syndicate's got to have measures in place to prevent that, he thought. Otherwise, it would already have happened. Still – there had to be a way. And the bigger the audience, the better. So if Skinny wanted to make him a star, maybe he should go along with that.
Except for one thing – if he became a star, wouldn't that mean he'd have to "win" and get "rewarded?"
"Our trouble is," Skinny went on, "that we have only one contestant that the audience really likes. If some of the women were actually rooting for the challenger, we could get a competition going!"
Skinny turned to the Big Boss Lady, her voice bubbling with enthusiasm. "We could set up some fights that the audience would be dying to see, and charge extra! This male would make an excellent challenger, Honored One. He has a certain charm – but at the same time, he has that wild male sort of menace about him. He'd be a great counter-weight to Sweet Ass!" Then her brow furrowed with concern. "But not if you let Umala break him in, Honored One, because she'll take away his edge. When she's done with him, he'll be bland and uninteresting!"
"What are you suggesting, Elal?" sneered Umala. "Don't tell me you think you could break him."
Elal glared at Umala. "Of course I could!" She sent a pleading look toward the Big Boss Lady. "Please, Honored One, let me show you! I'm sick of watching Umala ruin my Wrestlers. I don't need her to break in my males for me!"
Umala chuckled, and shook her head in a patronizing manner. "Elal could never handle this male, Honored One. He's a hard case – I can tell." She looked at Jack, her eyes glittering. "But I learned long ago that males are like birili nuts. The harder the shell, the sweeter the meat inside. Next time you visit, Honored One, I'll have this one all cracked open and ready for you to sample – should you care to."
"No!" cried Elal. "Mima, don't let her! She'll ruin him!" Elal was sounding more and more like a frustrated child.
"Nonsense," snapped Umala. "I'll teach him to obey. What's all this stupid talk about preserving the male's 'edge?' What for? The Wrestling Matches are just a cover for the Games, anyway."
"No, Umala," said the Big Boss Lady. "That's what they were when you ran them. A money-losing cover. But Eli has turned them into a significant source of revenue." Skinny's face lit up, while Fatso glowered.
Jack looked between Fatso and Skinny, thinking that having two women fight over him should have been a lot more fun than this. "I'll take Curtain Number Three," he said.
The women ignored him. Skinny and Fatso glared at each other, while the Big Boss Lady studied Jack with that ice-cold, calculating stare of hers.
"Umala," she finally said, "you can have him for the first night. After that, Eli gets him."
"No!" whined Elal. "Mima, please! I don't want her getting her dirty paws on my male!" She now sounded exactly like a ticked-off six-year-old.
"Control yourself, Eli!" snapped the Big Boss Lady. "Remember who you are!"
Skinny pouted, but shut up. And Jack wondered at the familiar tone with which she had addressed the Big Boss Lady. Though they didn't look alike, maybe they were related.
"With respect, Honored One," said Umala, "one night won't be enough to break him. I need more time."
"I'm sure you'll make the most of the time I'm giving you, Umala."
"But, Honored One…"
"I have spoken," said the crime boss, cutting her off. "But if the male proves unmanageable, I'll give him back to you, Umala. Naturally."
As she said this, the Big Boss Lady gave Jack a flat stare. Jack returned the stare. He understood exactly what she was doing. She was going to give him a taste of the Big Bad, so that they could use the threat of more to keep him in line. So that he would be grateful for Skinny's "lighter touch." The situation sucked. But, then again, it could easily get worse.
"Now," said the crime boss, looking toward the fallen Warrior, "I want to finish examining the other one."
Umala must have released the Warrior from the Paralysis and Punishment commands, because his limp body suddenly shuddered. He let out a gasping, desperate moan. Then he just lay there and trembled, his eyes unfocused.
"Get him up," snapped Umala to the Bronze Guy.
The Bronze Guy reached down and began to pull and coax the Warrior Guy to this feet. The Warrior allowed himself to be helped up, looking dazed.
"Well," said the Big Boss Lady, "he looks strong. And, according to his records, he has the proper fighting skills for the Games."
"Yes," said Umala. "we should be able to get some good use out of him. Once I've finished breaking him in, of course." She grinned at the Warrior. "You're beginning to understand who your master is, aren't you, dog?"
At her loud, sneering voice, the Warrior lost some of his dazed look. His eyes focused on Umala, and his body tensed with anger. And then – he spit in Umala's face! A big glob of spit hit her right in the eye! Umala looked utterly shocked.
Immediately, the Warrior collapsed again. Jack didn't think Umala had done that. It was the Collar's anti-aggression programming – but it hadn't kicked in until after the Warrior had already spit in Umala's face. Interesting.
Skinny started laughing, and Umala unfroze. She wiped at her eye, her face flushing red and twisting with rage. "You miserable piece of rotten male meat!" she screamed. "I'll make you wish you'd never been born!"
Jack saw the Bronze Guy seem to shrink in on himself. He looked down listlessly at the Warrior, his whole posture speaking of despair. It was clear the Bronze Guy thought the Warrior was a goner.
The Big Boss Lady watched Umala's rage dispassionately. "I'm sure you'll straighten him out, Umala," she said. "And I'm equally certain you'll do it without damaging him unduly, because I know you understand that these illegal males represent a considerable investment."
Umala's enraged gaze went to the Big Boss Lady, and for a moment Jack thought she was going to talk back to her. But then Umala swallowed her anger and said, "Of course, Honored One."
"I'm finished with these males now," said the crime boss, "but I'll accompany you as you put them away. I want to inspect the Big Room as well. Then we can all go to dinner."
Umala gave the crime boss a quick, unhappy glance.
"Yes, Umala," said the crime boss. "I know you're impatient to begin working on these males. But there'll be time enough after dinner." She turned to Elal and smiled. "As for me, I'm looking forward to some entertainment after dinner. I want you to have Sweet Ass ready to Serve me in the Rainbow Room. Along with that male with the blond hair and violet paint. And the dark-skinned one with silver paint."
Yeech, thought Jack.
Elal grinned. "Of course, Honored One. What interesting choices! I'll have to try that combination myself sometime." She said this with girlish enthusiasm, as if she were talking about trying on new clothes. What a whack-job, thought Jack. And this woman is going to be my "owner?"
Elal looked toward Jack and the Warrior. "Well," she said, "let's get these males put away so we can get some dinner. They need to start getting used to their new home."
Jack took in Skinny's weird cheerfulness, the Big Boss Lady's icy calculation, and Fatso's sadistic malice. Right, he thought. My new home. Peachy. Fatso was currently focused on the Warrior Guy, but it was too much to hope she would forget what the Big Boss Lady had said about Jack's "first night."
It hasn't happened yet, Jack told himself. Maybe he could still find a way to avoid Fatso's charms. Though he had a feeling he was going to sample Skinny's charms whether he liked it or not. He'd just have to endure until he found a way to escape.
It couldn't be worse than the Iraqi prison. Could it?
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