Getting in to the Red 'Zirja Nights was hardly a challenge for Galen. He had a clear picture of the membership cards and invitations several members had shown to the porter, and he could easily fake one for himself. He went for an invitation, since the porter would probably recognize most members, and would become suspicious of someone that he had never seen before but who still held a membership. He copied the signature from the card of one of the people he had planted with a probe, and the illusion was complete.
He stepped on the absurd red carpet leading to the door and joined the line. It was quite long, but moved along quickly. The Drazi porter was efficient.
"Card or invitation, please," the porter asked Galen, speaking flawless English, unlike many others of his race.
"I was invited," Galen said, offering his illusion of an invitation.
The Drazi took a quick look at it and gave it back, without the slightest sign of hesitation. "Welcome to the Red 'Zirja Nights, Mr. Johnson. The latest match is still going on, I believe. Enjoy your stay."
Galen nodded to the Drazi and stepped in, wondering whether 'the latest match' meant what he expected.
He entered the main hall, which was now full of excited cheering from the tables next to the railing. Galen walked closer and saw that, just like he had guessed, beyond the railing there was a sheer drop of ten feet or so into a circular arena with smooth, metallic walls and floor. Down there, Matthew was just about to land a finishing blow on the young Minbari, who was already lying on the ground, twitching in a pathetic attempt to get up and continue.
"It was too easy, I'm telling you. That guy's had nothing but easy ones ever since he got here. Look at that, he's just a poor little bonehead kid, and as for old Grazzle, well, he had it coming, really, he was pushing his luck, no one can handle it down there for over a week," an unpleasant-looking man was speaking loudly to his table company, mostly humans and a few Centauri.
"You're right, you are. If only some of those old folks were still around - the real old folks, the ones who used to rule before Grazzle's time, like that Tharen! She was always a pleasure to watch. But I guess she knew best, getting out when she was still well and in one piece," a Centauri with a graying crest commented.
"Well, that guy down there, he hasn't got that choice. He's got to keep going, until one day someone will beat him, and then he's gone for good. Until then, I'll be betting on him. See, there goes the little bonehead - that's got to hurt!" the first speaker added, as Matthew ended the fight, crudely and spectacularly.
Now that Galen could get a good look on Matthew, he saw that just like the Minbari, he had a device of some sort covering half his face. It was only too easy to deduce why it was there. Matthew would never beat up innocent people like this, without any reason, not out of his own free will. Whoever was behind this gladiator-circus had installed a mind-control device on him.
A Drazi guard stepped into the arena and took Matthew away, but Galen knew they'd only take him back to that little room. He needed to know more before he could get Matthew out. Judging by their talk, the people in the nearby table had seen a good many of these fights, and at least thought they knew all about them. Galen took up a chair and joined the company.
"I'm sorry, gentlemen, but I'm new here and I couldn't help overhearing you. You must know all there's to know about this?" he asked, waving his hand at the pit.
"Oh, you bet we do! And we bet too, often, and win lots of money," the loud human answered, laughing out at his own pun, joined by the rest of the table.
"And right now you're betting on that man, right?"
"Sure - he's been around only since the start of this round, but he's promising. I think he might last a whole week, or even longer. It's been a while since we've last seen one of his kind last that long," the man said, waving his hand about his face with the mention of "his kind".
"What would that mean? His kind?"
"The recruits, the ones from outside who the owners toss in. They play by the same rule as the ones who go in voluntarily, but they don't gain like the rest, and they can't leave the game, unless they survive a whole year, which has never happened. But you've got to know this stuff, right? If you want to, you can go and join the fight, and if you win, you get fame, glory, money, and you also get to loot the guys you've won. It's just that once you go in, you can only leave when the round's complete - you have to last until midnight. If you don't, well, there's nothing anyone can do about it."
"And the rules would be...?"
The man, and all the table, looked up at Galen as if he were a complete idiot. Galen rose from his chair and spread his hands. "I said I'm new here."
"I wonder how you came to be in here anyway - who'd invite you without telling you anything at all? Anyway, there's only one rule. Kill or get killed. Kill or die. It's as simple as that."
Galen nodded, and backed away from the table, like someone who did not like the speaker's attitude, but would rather leave than respond.
He had learned almost as much as he needed to know, the rest he would find out easily. And he now saw that a change of plan was in order.
A menacing, dark figure approached the Drazi porter, passing all who were standing in line outside the Red 'Zirja Nights. His long, robe-like coat billowed about his feet, and the hood was pulled over his head, obscuring his face. In his hand he carried a dark, magical-looking staff. Still, the Drazi had his rules, and he stuck to them fiercely, no matter who was at the door. Even if it were Droshalla himself, he would still have asked the same question.
"Card or invitation, please."
"I carry neither. I will go in as I please. I wish to join in your little game."
"I'm sorry, sir, but I cannot let you in without the proper authorization."
"There is a well-known saying, 'Do not try the patience of wizards, for they are subtle, and quick to anger'. Do you not recognize a techno-mage, when one stands in front of you? And do you not know that standing between a techno-mage and his destination is a very dangerous and foolish thing to do?"
"Look, sir. It doesn't matter who or what you are. If you will join the line and wait for your turn, then perhaps I can ask the master to see you, and maybe, just maybe, he'll be willing to make the exception. It's not my decision to make, no matter what."
"Ah. I only came here to try my powers on the combatants in the arena, but I can start with you just as well."
Galen raised his hands and the staff in a series of showy gestures, always sure to impress the unknowing, and cast a complex illusion that surrounded the Drazi in a circle of flames. The fire looked very real, and it was hot enough to feel quite uncomfortable, even to set his clothes on fire unless he came to his senses soon enough. Which he did, of course. Galen had had every reason to believe that despite his extremely dense way of sticking to the rules, the Drazi was not stupid.
"All right, all right! I'll let you in - just this once - please, sir..."
With an uninterested wave of his hand, Galen put out the flames. He had nothing more to say to the porter, and nothing more he needed to hear. With his hood still down, he marched in through the red-draped doorway.
During the short time he had spent in the bar in disguise, Galen had located the man who accepted new challengers to the arena. He was a dark-skinned human with very short black hair, dressed in the Drazi way instead of any human style. He sat in the far end of the bar, behind the counter, but he never sold any drinks. Instead, he also took care of the betting, which was going on actively all the time.
There was another fight going on in the arena, between yet another Drazi and a Llort, neither of which carried a mind-control device. Galen had learned before that there would only be one representative of each race in the game at any given time, so if a challenger was of the same race with someone who was already in, they would be set to fight each other as soon as possible. He could guess that this new Drazi had just joined the fight after she had heard of the fall of the previous one, Grazzle, so she had not needed to fight him. But Galen wanted it to be the other way around when it came to him. He wanted to meet Matthew first, so there would be no more need for useless killing, for either of them. He only hoped that he would count as a human, even though he was a techno-mage.
"I believe you were notified of my entrance," Galen declared to the broker. "I have come to test my skills in the arena."
"Oh, I heard about your entrance, all right. I don't know what you did, but you really scared Zesra out of his wits, he's never let anyone in without the 'card or invitation, please'. So, you want to join in, sure, I can fix that. But do you really know what it means? Do you know the rule and the ways?"
Galen dropped down his hood and cast a piercing glance at the broker. "I am a techno-mage. Knowing all that there is to know is our purpose here."
"Yeeeah. And anyway, it's all on this form here, which I'll need you to sign. I'm sure you know all about what the fine print says, too - like the part where you promise that should you die, we're not responsible, since you went down there out of your own free will, and that we'll dispose of the body as we see fit, so there's no sending it anywhere for a fancy burial. And there's also the part where you agree that as long as you're down there, you play by the rule just like everyone else, just like the recruits who've got no choice. You kill or you die, and you only get out at the end of the round, which would be at midnight."
Galen only answered by entering his signature with a flourish.
"I'm sure I also don't need to remind you that no weapons are allowed in the arena itself, so any potentionally harmful personal possessions will be taken away from you and stored in a safe place until you either leave at the end of the round, when you get them back, or die, and they're given to the winner," the broker explained, eyeing Galen's staff.
"I am well aware of this, and most of my weapons are of such nature that they cannot be taken away from me."
Galen's words reflected no hint of the uncertainty he felt. It was continuously present when he followed the lead of a Drazi in a ridiculous red velvet uniform, who was to take him through some more formalities, and then show him to his room. Galen did have one thing he absolutely needed to smuggle in somehow. He didn't think it would be hard to cover with an illusion, or even simple sleight of hand. Still, he had a feeling that there was more to this place than met the eye, and that everything had been almost too easy so far.