Part Three:

The Enemy

Chapter eleven:

I can't tell if my pod has gravity or not, as I'm pressed back into my seat by the momentum. Not being able to see the stars spin past makes it worse. I haven't eaten breakfast, but my stomach still writhes rebelliously. Sweat beads at the back of my neck, the straps of the safety harness abrade me.

I slow. Then I have impact.

The pod clicks and clanks into place. I taste bile in my mouth as a new gravity encompasses me. I'm upside down, lying on my back on a slight angle. My hair dangles down around my face. My shell of a ship shifts to the left, and slowly moves downward, till it clicks into place again.

"Fifty. Forty-nine. Forty-eight. Forty-seven." The countdown starts, the same crisp digitalized voice as last time. "Forty-four. Forty-three."

My heartbeat pounds in my ears, the blood is rushing to my head. If the pressure change gave anyone a bloody nose, they'd be gagging on their own fluids by the time the countdown ran out. Make my job easier.

"Thirty-nine. Thirty-eight. Thirty-seven."

The stupid things we think about, as we think about life-changing events that are about to happen. I try and remember Osca instead. That's a good use of time. Testing my memory; practicing my role. I'm not sure which is which any more.

"Twenty-five. Twenty-four."

I focus on my breathing next. I take slow, full, even breaths. But it doesn't stop my heart from pounding, pounding like some damned metronome.

"Eighteen. Seventeen. Sixteen."

I clench my fists. I've done this before. I know what's coming. To an extent at least. I decide to go for it, run for it. Hit the stash, into the breach. Get a weapon and a pack of supplies. I always was a contender last year, this time I'm going to act it. I'll get a nice weapon, a nice blade. Even something blunt. Anything that'll do the trick.

"Ten. Nine."

I flex the muscles in my arms against the fabric straps.

"Six. Five. Four. Three. Two. One."

Go.

My straps release, as the hatch in the ceiling of the pod opens. Gravity pulls me out into a darkened metal tunnel, descending downward. I scratch and kick at the walls, but they're slick with some kind of oil and I can't get any purchase.

Then I reach the tunnels end and spill out into open space. Above me is a metal dome of a ceiling, decorated with hundreds of little white lights. I fall into water, and the impact is like a hard slap.

Dazed, I drift under the water. It's clear and lukewarm. I see the curvature of the metal floor beneath me, the room is a dome. More splashing turns the water to foam as more figures plunge into the water around me. The other tributes.

I break the surface, kicking and coughing, battling to keep myself afloat. Yards away, in the middle of the huge metal room, I see a beach. An island of sand, several yards wide. It's decorated in orange and silver, packs and boxes and weapons spread across the sand. The supplies. No one has made it there yet, they're all too disoriented.

I kick for shore, pull my arms through the water. The beach is in the center of the room, beyond it I see holes, passages around the edges of the room, set into the metal. The rest of the arena must lie beyond. But for me a blade comes first.

My next stroke comes up with a handful of sand. I crawl up onto the beach, my uniform clings to me. The golden sand turns brown and sticks to my moist skin. I hoist myself to my feet and make for the nearest backpack.

A young female human (maybe in her twenties) cuts in front of me, making for the same prize. I snatch hold of her uniform and pull her back toward me. I grab a handful of her face and drive my left fist into her side, up under her ribs. I bring a snap kick up into her gut, knocking her on her back.

I throw myself at the backpack again, but someone's there first, one of the tubby accountants. He swings the pack like a club, bashing me in the face and shoulders. I stumble back, pinwheeling my arms to keep myself standing.

I bash my toes against something cold and metal. I snatch it up, a length of black metal. It's a crowbar. Not a second too soon, an Aqualish with a sword runs straight for me. I swing from the shoulder.

The bar bashes him in the face. He goes right down on his back, a spray of liquid squirts from the big round eye I popped, and I bring the bar down again, smashing his skull right open. Sorry Sharon, I'd love to kill you first but I can't even see you.

Instead I see Fenric coming toward me with a long silver spear. "Kara!" He shouts, "Duck!"

When he throws the spear, I'm inclined to follow his instruction. I bend my knees into a crouch as the spear goes over my head, and stabs a portly Bothan in the neck. The tribute falls fast on his dead little face.

"You, me, alliance?" Fenric shouts, as that young human female tribute tackles him around the waist. He yanks free and shoves her back.

"'Kay," I shout, and throw the crowbar.

Fenric catches it out of the air and swings. The female human spins away, her jaw smashed and bloody. Around him more tributes battle, glinting blades come down, spurts of blood go up. There weren't many supplies and weapons to begin with, but most all of them are spoken for, I see half a dozen aliens dive into the water with their prizes, swimming toward the passageways around the room's circumference. One of them is Zanna.

I snatch up the sword from the dead Aqualish, a spin around, the scent of wet fur fills my nostrils. An adult wookie has snatched up the spear from the dead Bothan and is coming at me.

I knock the spear tip away with my sword, and punch the wookie right in the face. He snaps at me, almost biting my hand, and I duck under the arc of the spear shaft. I slash low, slicing open his legs at the knees. He falls with a shrill scream, and I stab him in the neck.

I grab the spear, take a few steps and hurl it like an athlete. It goes right into the gut of a wrinkled old man who had been wading onto the beach. He spits out a mouthful of blood, his hands close around the shaft, and he tumbles back into the water. A crimson cloud spreads through the liquid where he lands.

I see Fenric send a male Togruta reeling with a punch to the face. Fenric brings his crowbar down on the man's shoulders, once, twice, driving him to his knees. Fenric kicks sand up into the Togruta's eyes, and snatches up a discarded knife, burying it in the tribute's neck. It was beautiful.

A young female Geonosian launches herself toward me, practically leaping halfway across the island. I bring up my sword to block hers, and the impact jars my arms. She steps back and swings again, coming up from the left. I block, catching her blade against the cross-guard. His sword is longer and slimmer than mine, and she knows how to use it. She whirls it through the air, and I dance back several steps to avoid its arc.

Our swords lock again, and she presses forward, I twist our swords aside, out of my face. Turns out, I'm stronger than she is. But I don't have a knife. She produces one from somewhere and swings, slashing a narrow cut along my belly. My uniform splits like paper. I kick out, catching her in the leg, and wrench my sword around. The flat of it glances off her head, her exoskeleton is thick.

She throws the knife at my head. I swear I can see it coming straight for my eyes, but at the last instant, both it and I turn aside as it flies past, drawing a thin red line along my cheek. I swing my sword at waist height. I catch the gap between plates of exoskeleton I was aiming for, and the sword sinks deep into her soft interior. The Geonosian collapses and I take up her sword.

Fenric is struggling with a bulky human man with a shaved head, who has caught ahold of the crowbar. They jostle and shove at each other, each trying the wrench the weapon away.

I move to help Fenric, but before I can, a male Twi'lek attacks me. He's built like an athlete, and twirls a metal quarterstaff. I dodge a jab, and am reminded of Arma from last year's Games. I'll kill this boy just as easily.

Our weapons clink against each other, he twirls the staff, attacking me with both ends, I parry and block with my own swords, stabbing and slashing, but he blocks each attack.

Fenric is doing fine without me. He finally lets go of the crowbar, and rams his shoulder into the human's gut, propelling him up off his feet. Fenric grabs a discarded knife from the sand, and opens the man's belly.

The Twi'lek's staff glances off my shoulder. I stab with the sword in my right hand but he parries the blade down and away. The tip of the staff slams down on my right wrist. My shorter sword goes flying from my grip, and plops into the water.

I seize his staff with my injured hand, and stab up under it with my other sword. It goes in easily, up under his ribs, and the Twi'lek collapses.

I see Fenric strangling the female Twi'lek across the island.

A female Nautolan crawls past me, clutching a bloodied wound in her stomach. Her black eyes meet mine. "Please," she whispers, "Please don't-"

I do. I hear the hiss as my sword cuts a long arc through the air down into her neck.

I brace myself for my next attacker. It's fortunate they all attack one at a time. It's a little early in the Games for teamwork. No challenger approaches, so I walk over toward Fenric. He brings his fists down again and again, till he's satisfied the Twi'lek woman won't be getting up again.

Fenric and I survey the island. We stand alone in a crowd of dead bodies. I begin to count, there are about two dozen of them. Half of those kills are mine and Fenric's.

"Damn," I say, "That was quick."

"No more losers," Fenric shrugs, "Everyone knows what they're doing."

"More or less," I glance at silhouette of the old man I speared, floating just below the surface.

"The other tribute from my planet," says Fenric sorrowfully, patting the dead female Nautolan on the head.

"Oh, sorry," I say, wiping her blood from my sword on a body's uniform (each one is about the same as my own). On a similar note, I search the beach for Vaynich. I don't see him though, he most likely made for one of the passageways and is long gone into the arena by now.

We loot the island in silence, grabbing backpacks and going through boxes. I pack food and water bottles, sampling a little from both, as well as medicine and bandages. I treat my cuts and bruises, rubbing a sort of bacta salve along the cut of my stomach. It doesn't heal, not yet, but it stops stinging and keeps the scab clotted.

I decide to carry the sword, and I fill the rest of my pack from the weapons remaining unclaimed: mostly knives, a few throwing stars and discs, a boomerang and a club.

"So…we could stay here," I say, "Wait it out. They'll be back."

"Okay," says Fenric. "For now at least. I could use a breather."

Fenric sits with his legs crossed under him, his back straight, and closes his eyes. His breathing evens.

I pull up a couple of packs and emergency blankets, and lean back against my improvisational pillows. I eat a package of crackers and drink a little more water. I want to conserve resources, but we do have several bottles. I wonder if the water in the synthetic lake around us is drinkable. I don't have need to try it yet.

The little lights in the black dome overhead remind me of stars.

I don't sleep, not exactly, I wouldn't call it that, but I do rest. I rest deeply. Perhaps I doze. In any case, I don't notice that Fenric has halted his meditations till he taps me on the arm.

"What?" I snap.

He shrugs, "Uh…your cut. Is the medicine helping?"

"Yeah, that's actually really considerate…of you." I almost said 'really considerate for someone who just killed half a dozen people'.

He shrugs again. His uniform, very similar to mine, complements his musculature almost as much as his costume in the tribute parade. I figure mine must be equally formfitting. They don't exactly leave much to the imagination, especially when wet.

I shudder to think what Vaynich will look like, should I encounter him.

"You don't talk much, do you?" says Fenric.

"You haven't exactly been talking much either, Mr. inner peace," I say, and he smiles.

"Only because you haven't been talking either," Fenric says.

"So what do you want to talk about?"

"I just asked you about your wound right? Didn't want my ally getting infected before I'm almost the victor or anything."

"Good call there, and I'm fine," I say. We lapse into silence, so I hazard an attempt at conversation, "So how did you win the Force Games?"

"You don't remember?" he sniffs.

"I don't watch many holos,"I say. "You're a pretty good brawler. Was that it?"

"Pretty much," says Fenric. "It was a mountainous desert terrain that year, gravel all over the place. As usual, a couple of the real contenders made an alliance with each other. Only this time it worked out so that there were two such groups. They picked off stragglers, till there were just two gangs of tributes, around twenty of us in all. The ground began to shake; they wanted to force us together. We met on this big plain and charged into battle. I fought pretty well, I guess, and when the dust cleared I was the last one standing. I could go into greater detail if you'd like."

"I'm good," I say, "You wanna hear about my Games?"

"Nah," he says, "I already watched them. I'm a little curious about your family though. I mean, you came out of nowhere, volunteering like that. Only volunteer Tatooine has ever had."

So I tell him a bit, ramble on, though Fenric seems to eat up every word. I tell him about Primith, about my mother, about our life in our tiny apartment and about my new friends, my new world, finding the Jayze. I'm vague of course, but not too vague. Galen screwed me over enough that I don't feel I owe him a damn thing, let the Imperials watching this show track him down and slap him in cuffs.

Fenric tells me a little about his childhood as well. He was the only child of a middle-class Nautolan family. He went to a small school and competed in swimming. His father taught him how to fish. He never really stood out in any way, no great or poor grades, no astonishing accidents or incidents ever happened to him. His reaping was the first thing that ever made him unique.

"So what've you done with your life after the Force Games?" I ask.

"You don't get much choice…" Fenric points out. "You just get put into a job. I work for the Imperial Sports holonet, I do some sports commentary and coach some of the professional huttball teams. I never really played Huttball till after the Force Games, but it's not so different from the Games really. There's just more teamwork and less death…and a ball…"

"Yeah, exactly what it says on the tin?" I propose.

"Not so much," says Fenric, "Hutt's can't play too well."

"Same with the Games," I say, "Imagine a Hutt tribute."

He chuckled at that. He likes me, if my senses are anything to go by. "How about you?" He asks. "Working yet."

"Just in school," I say. "I have no idea what they'd have me doing."

"I did the school thing too," says Fenric. "Doesn't seem like that long ago actually. None of it does."

"I think your first Force Games kind of stay with you," I say.

"And your second?"

"That one just kills all but one of you."

"Bummer," Fenric huffs. "Seriously."

Someone screams an incredibly shrill shriek that echoes through the chamber and ends with an anti-climactic gurgle.

"Sounds like you're not the only one to think so," I say.

"Come on," says Fenric, standing up and grabbing his pack. "We're checking it out."

"Why?" I say. "There are tributes out there. Somebody killed somebody. The end."

"Probably," says Fenric, "and they might have something we can salvage. Honestly, I'm dying to see what the world looks like out there." Fenric takes a running dive into the water, his powerful strokes propelling him quickly toward the passageways beyond the water.

"Very poor choice of words," I say, but I shoulder my pack and follow him, careful not to stab myself with my sword.

Fenric is a far faster swimmer than I, but he waits courteously at the passageway, giving me a hand up out of the water. I'm beginning to think I picked a good ally. As long as I don't allow him to lull me into a false sense of security, playing him up and maybe stabbing him in the back will be easy as can be.

We move into the corridor.

It's a hexagonal tube of black and grey metal, about six feet high. Light comes from little slots at the lower two edges of the hexagon. A piece of metal, like a support, juts out of the wall every five meters or so, providing potential cover. The floor is full of little holes like a grill, and unpleasant to walk on in my bare feet.

Before we go too far we come to a junction, the hall proceeds ahead of us, and two more passageways fork off behind us on either side. We go straight, and before long come to another such junction. This time Fenric chooses the right hall and falls back to let me take the lead.

"This is a maze," he says.

"I wonder if there even is an outdoors," I say, "Perhaps the entire arena is like this."

"Would definitely be a change," Fenric says, "And not one I'll enjoy. This place is creepy."

"No sign of your victim," I say. "Should we turn back?"

"You want to?"

"I didn't say that."

We walk in silence for a moment. "So," says Fenric, "That boy who died at the end last year, the one from you planet."

"What of him?" I ask.

"Must've been terrible, I'm very sorry," he shrugs. He shrugs a lot.

"Yeah." I say.

"I was wondering if you've been able to move on. I mean, not move on, but meet another, well, you know…"

"Are you trying to proposition me?"

"Nothing so forward."

"Well we're both going to die, so we can't exactly go out for caff once this is over."

"When you put it that way…" Fenric trails off.

Maybe that was a little abrupt, so I try to pad him up a little, make him feel more secure. "It was traumatic of course. I do miss Perrin," I lie, "but he did give me the chance to live, to survive. I don't think he'd want me to squander that. He gave me the opportunity for continued happiness, and I don't owe him any less than to strive toward it."

"So then does that mean you're seeing someone?" Fenric asks.

"Well," I say, "There is this girl…"

All I hear in response is a sound like an intense hum, the kind I can feel right in my teeth. I spin around find that a shimmering wall has appeared right in the middle of the corridor, directly between Fenric and me. I reach out to tap it with the tip of my sword. It rebounds away with a zap that makes my arm go numb for a few seconds.

"What the hell," says Fenric, his voice is muffled as if it came from a far distance away. We both beat at the metal walls, scrutinize the force field, to no effect other that giving ourselves mild shocks.

"I wonder if this is what set that tribute screaming," I say, jolting my arm for the third time as I try and wedge my sword around through the light slot.

Fenric begins cursing again and I can see why. Thick black mist billows up from the floor. It extends down the hall on Fenric's side of the force field, but none is to be found on my side. I count myself fortunate on this account, because before long Fenric begins to choke. He coughs and splutters and pleads with me to get him out, rubbing at his eyes all they while. Their rims get red and puffy.

I look on silently as he collapses. I watch his writhe and beat at the force field, only hurting himself more in the process. Finally I turn and walk away, just after he stops struggling.

I set a steady pace, holding my sword ready. A splatter of what looks like blood across a nearby wall reminds me that every new step brings a potential hazard. That trap had come out of nowhere, and I was ready to guess that there were more just like it.

I debate returning to the beach, if I could even find it. For all I know I'd find the water turned to acid, or filled with carnivorous fish.

I flinch as a new force field hums to life right behind my heels. I stare at it and begin to count. If I squint I can barely see the shimmer of the energy. It had taken less than thirty seconds for the mist to come last time.

I count past thirty. A drop of sweat runs down my nose. Followed by another and another.

Damn.

I start to run. My heart beats in my ears as I sprint, twisting and turning and whipping around corners. I'm drenched in sweat now.

Every step burns my feet. Literally. I hiss and curse and spit in pain with every step. I bang against the wall, and arm comes away with a bright red burn. They hall is heating, it's going to cook me alive.

I keep running till I can't feel my feet, till my vision goes all funny and all I taste is salt. Finally it all becomes too much and I fall, sprawling forward, my hands go up instinctively to catch myself.

The moment seems to halt, framed for an instant, stopped in a second. I see my fingers and hands above the floor, splayed in anticipation but never touching. Frozen. Never mind the heat.

And I slip into darkness.