"The shark does not love. It feels no empathy. It trusts nothing.

It lives in perfect harmony with its environment because it has no aspirations or desires.

And no pity.

A shark feels no sorrow, no remorse, hopes for nothing, dreams of nothing,

has no illusions about itself or anything beyond itself."

― Rick Yancey, The Last Star

PLANET DESH'MANNISH

VISCONJATI POTENCY

SHE STOOD IN THE CENTER OF THE ROOM with an indifference found only in ice and the vacuum of space.

At her feet the 'hardman' gasped once and shuddered, his blood jetting in frantic spurts that left strange patterns on the flooring. A sharp snap of her wrist cleared the blade of blood and she reset her feet. Her eyes snapped to the aghast faces staring at the twitching dead.

"As you see," she heard a smooth voice intone, "I know quality." A short chuckle devoid of humour. "Exquisite, isn't she?"

"Indeed," a gruff voice answered, "would you sell her then?"

"Sell such an asset, Grädian? Who could afford such skill? How could I get a fair price after only one demonstration - and that against a fool?"

Her fiery eyes flicked to Jakkthal.

"I see your intent," Grädian chuckled. "You mean to drop her into my pits? Take on our best?" A sharp bark of a laugh. "How many failures will your fighters bring you, eh?"

"The past is a closed road, my friends. We must always move forward. Give me one then, one of your strongest." He cocked his head. "Surely you have one among your bodyguard?"

A harsh laugh, the flick of a finger.

"I hesitate to humiliate you on your own home ground… yet if you insist…"

From the shadows stepped a new opponent, a Hophis Lrandling - a Nhekdris gladiator three times her size that caused the room to go instantly silent. Three-armed, heavily naturally armored, a head covered in eyes giving the creature a full range of vision with a blind spot only directly beneath it and nature there very generous with the armor indeed. It carried a blade as long as she was tall, a hammer that out-weighed her and a razor-toothed saw.

She did not move nor even blink.

Without a sound the Lrandling charged, much quicker than its immense bulk should have allowed and a gasp or two at its speed escaped some of the onlookers - yet to her it was if the creature moved a frame at a time, a mere set of still images that flickered slowly toward her. There an open seam, there a spot of food, one of its eyes going grey from a cataract, a scar made by a near-miss pulse round.

My name is…

Jakkthal Mhal called her 'Shindal', which she was informed could mean 'razor' or 'slice' in his tongue and she found either descriptor rather childish, if reasonably apt. The title would do until she could remember her name.

Her blade flicked behind the knee on the Lrandling's pillar-like leg as she let it pass and severed the muscles there, dropping it and by the time it fell with a skid she was already behind on its back.

My name is…

…there was a gap in her awareness, her sense of self, that she did not like and could not abide, yet around the gap adamantine walls had been erected.

She severed the Lrandling's spine with a precise stab just under its large back eye and it thudded to the ground without a grunt.

My name is…

Jakkthal had called her 'possession', 'slave', a manufactured being of his own making, his 'property'. That did not sound correct though as yet she could not contest it. Mhal himself was thick, tall, a large head with a wide sharp-toothed mouth, one eye missing in some ancient quarrel, a species called H'rhola, with a faintly Sebaceanoid morphology reputed with the ability to see laterally in time, though she did not know what advantage that would give one.

A quick spear of her blade into the Lrandling's top eye finished the creature off as it completed its skid across the slicked floor. She stepped off with a consummate grace as the room took the extra moments required to realize what she'd done.

My name is…

'Insurance and assurance,' Jakkthal had called the inducer implanted on her spine. All of his property had them. It could paralyze. It could kill. Absolute loyalty earned its removal.

In the back of her mind new thoughts were forming slowly. They carried a sense of identity with them, she thought, though she couldn't be sure. Her current state was a natural one for her to be in, an instinct said, she was… healing.

Very strange indeed. Healing, she wondered, from what?

Another glance to Jakkthal. Had he done it, whatever it had been that had stripped her of her memory?

What would she do when and if it came back?

"Have you nothing better?" Jakkthal asked, most smugly assured. He could see several paths Grädian might make, though nothing was ever perfectly clear, given the capriciousness of sentient minds, though experience could allow him to make very accurate guesses.

"Astonishing," Grädian huffed, his eyes wide at the easy dispatch of his best. "Sell her to me. I will give you 2 million ardeks."

"I think she's worth much more than that," Jakkthal corrected with a edged laugh, "I think she's a champion already and should be sold as such."

He could see Grädian's mind churning, his fingers twitching. Several possibilities manifested then. Grädian knew how profitable this one could be, his greed almost overwhelming him. Eventually, it ebbed and he saw reason.

"A …partnership then? An even split on her survival in the pits." A suspicious look. "You have her suitably yoked, of course."

"Of course."

"Or…" Grädian added slyly, "I will offer you ten million ardeks now and another five if she wins her first five bouts decisively."

Mhal saw him eye the lithe form of his new gladiator and lick his lips. He'd almost been tempted by her firm and perfectly-proportioned form himself when he first acquired her, but wanted full control over this one first. He had discovered he rather liked the Sebaceanoid body type though this one was a touchy as a live wire, having killed three of his bodyguards. Arm's reach had been all that had been necessary.

It might be worth it, though Grädian would just turn her into his whore for a weeken and ruin her for the pits.

"Thirty million initially - and five for every bout she wins until she's defeated."

He saw Grädian's face darken. She would bring in twenty times that, more if he added sexual exhibitions for his more wealthy and discerning clients, but he had always been a grasping bastard and any money from him would have to be forcibly pried from his grasp.

"I'm sure we can discuss an equitable contract."

"I'm sure we can."

Mhal dismissed her and she stepped out into the great hall and tread silently down corridors where the other occupants hastened to get out of her way and whispers followed after her, whispers of fear and loathing and… warnings.

Warnings?

IN HER SPARE QUARTERS, though what she had was rich - Jakkthal had left her alone, even as he'd ogled her enough when she'd been striped of her old clothes and dressed in his livery.

He'd given her skills much respect, yet he felt safer with the inducer - she stood immobile at the portal and watched the planet rotate below.

My name is… she was dangerous, yes, but warnings? The warnings were always for Jakkthal, which she found curious. 'If she ever… if he ever… if it ever…' they ran.

Shindal knew there was something there and it was only a matter of time.

She was nothing if not patient and she would wait.

She would listen and she would pay attention.

When she knew…

…if this were a ruse, or some deception, some ill use of her…

…she would begin to kill.

And keep killing.