Chapter 8

Aramis knelt above the pool, which was already filled with the strange mixture that Malastare Medical Corp had concocted in an effort to cure Uraala of her affliction. He watched as she floated on her back in the silvery liquid. According to Hilgal, who was on call at all hours, if he hadn't got her to the clinic so quickly Uraala might have slipped into a coma.

"This treatment isn't working," Aramis whispered as the Mon Calamari doctor stepped in front of him.

"We're almost ready to try something new. A new delivery method, direct injection of a concentrated formula," Hilgal said quietly.

"I can hear you both," Uraala said loudly. Once they had gotten her in the pool she had begun to revive immediately.

"I'm going to head to the instrumentation room," Hilgal said. "Don't touch the solution," she said, warning Aramis once again.

"I don't want to do this anymore," Uraala sighed once Hilgal left. "I'm tired."

"It sounds like they're going to try something new soon. Maybe it will be easier," Aramis said. "Maybe it will work better."

"I've been told that before," she sighed. "This treatment I'm doing now...it wasn't exactly their first idea. In fact, I don't think this is legal for sentient medicine."

"I don't want you to give up," Aramis said, scratching the top of his head nervously.

"Why?"

"I just met you. I'd like to keep you around for awhile."

"Ah, I see," she said. She turned over and swam over to the rim. "You want me to keep fighting to stay alive...for you. How very selfish of you."

"Well," Aramis said with a smile. "If it works…"

Uraala stared at him for a moment before finally smiling herself. "Damnit, you're too cute."

"Cute?" Aramis asked.

"Yes, cute," she smirked. "Alright. If I'm going to put up with all this just so you can have me, I need to know who I'm fighting for."

"What do you mean?"

"Your secrets. I need to know where you came from and why you're on the run. What are you hiding on your ship that had you so freaked out when we went to the spaceport."

"Uraala…"

"If you want me, this is the deal."

There was a long pause. "Alright...I'll tell you everything. Not here though."

"There aren't any listening devices here," Uraala said. "Believe me, Malastare Medical wants as little of my treatment on record as possible."

"That may be. But we should have this conversation somewhere we know for sure is safe."

"Fine," Uraala agreed, rolling her eyes. "Your story better be worth all the subterfuge."

"I promise you that it is."

oOoOo

The intense lights of the arena beat down upon Aramis, illuminating his dark blue skin and making his white uniform seem to glow. The lights made it impossible to see the people in the stands, but he could hear them. Over twenty-thousand strong, the chatter intermixed into a low rumble as the noise washed over him. But it wasn't a high intensity noise. This was the round robin stage, when every combatant would face five others and determine their place in tournament bracket. This was day two of the round, and it would continue into next week. He was an unknown fighter, and so was his opponent.

The Zygerrian fighter stood a dozen meters in front of him. The humanoid's appearance was feline in nature, with large ears and a fur covered face. This one's fur was gray, with pink and orange splotches running down his neck. The referee approached and stepped onto the mat between them.

"This is the first bout on record for the both of you," the referee, a native Gran, said. "So I'd like to go over the ground rules. The round robin stage is hand to hand combat only. Weapons are only for the finals. There is a ten minute time limit, if time expires with no winner the judges will decide. The goal is to disable your opponent, either through a knockout or submission. Although fatalities can occur, and both of you have signed waivers, attacks designed to kill are against the rules. It will be up to the judge's discretion if an infraction occurs. Finally, leaving the mat for any reason will cause that combatant to lose the match. Understood?"

"Yes," Aramis answered. The Zygerrian merely nodded.

"Any further questions?" the referee asked. Aramis noticed the claws extending from the Zygerrians fingers, an evolutionary trait passed on from their feline ancestors.

"Do body parts, claws for example, count as weapons?" Aramis asked.

"They do not," the referee shook his head. His three eyes followed Aramis' gaze and spotted the Zygerrians extended claws. "I would remind you about the rule discouraging attacks meant to kill. A severe infraction will land you a permanent ban from the tournament."

"I understand," the Zygerrian said, smiling sinisterly. He slowly withdrew his claws, making a show of it for Aramis' sake.

"Very well, go to your marks. The buzzer will signal the beginning of the match."

Aramis turned and found the mark the referee referred to, a small black line sewn into the mat. He turned and bowed to his opponent. The Zygerrian did not return the bow.

The buzzer sounded from above, an infernally high pitched tone that seemed to go on much too long. But, every time it went off, the crowd was momentarily silent, giving the beginning of each bout an element of drama. Aramis knew it played well on the Holonet.

Instead of immediately running towards him as the Gran fighter did in the ceremonial opening bout, the Zygerrian slowly prowled around Aramis, as if tracing a circle around his prey. Each of his steps were soft, measured, and graceful. For his part Aramis remained still, his breathing steady but calm. He turned his body as the Zygerrian circled and kept one hand upwards, his fist unclenched. The other hand he kept at his hip. He looked as much as if he were slow dancing with an invisible partners as he was in a martial stance.

His opponent looked unnerved by his calm, his attempts at intimidation showing no outward effect. The Zygerrian continued circling, making his second trip around the orbit that Aramis stood at the center of. Halfway around the second trip, just as Aramis readjusted his body to keep his opponent in front of him, the Zygerrian pounced.

It happened in the blink of an eye. Rather than taking another step forward the Zygerrian spun backwards and raked his long arm downwards towards Aramis' face. His cat-like reflexes were too quick for Aramis to get out of harm's way. Claws raked across his shoulder, sendings hot needles of pain into his body.

Aramis counter punched with the hand he had kept down, striking the Zygerrian in the ribs. His opponent aimed a right hook, claws extended, attempting to rake his face, but he ducked under the attack. This time he punched with his right, landing a hard jab against the Zygerrian's jaw.

Aramis pressed his attack, keeping his face inches from the Zygerrian's, thus eliminating the advantage of the feline humanoid's long limbs. He hit him on the other side of the torso as the Zygerrian covered his face with his forearms. The Zygerrian struck out with his knee, striking Aramis in the side and forcing him back.

Claws went flying for his face, but Aramis took another step back. He could feel the air move as those razor sharp talons went flying millimeters past his nose. There was an opening in the Zygerrian's stance as his last swipe missed, but Aramis was unable to take advantage of it. The Zygerrian's superior reach prevented any counter attack. If Aramis tried to duck in he knew he would have those claws raking across his back.

Aramis continued to step backwards until he was out of reach. He stopped and went back into his starting position. His breathing relaxed. He kept one hand open, facing his opponent, the other at his side.

"I don't have to do anything further," the Zygerrian said. He began to resume his predatory circling. "Time will expire and the judges will claim me as the winner."

"What makes you say that?" Aramis asked.

"I've drawn blood," the zygerrian said, nodding towards the blood dripping from Aramis' shoulder.

"And your face is swelling up," he responded. "How do your ribs feel, by the way? It looks like it hurts when you breathe. Are you so sure the judges will be in your favor?"

The Zygerrian hissed angrily and then lunged forward. It was the same attack he had used to open the match, a clawed swipe towards his face. This time Aramis was ready.

As soon as the Zygerrian jumped in forward Aramis slapped upwards with his forward hand, catching his opponent in the forearm. The claws missed their marking, slicing only through the air. Aramis jabbed, catching him in square in the face. The Zygerrian fell back but counter swiped. Aramis ducked under it and landed two punches to his opponent's ribs, one to each side.

The Zygerrian tried to bring his claws down upon the top of his head but Aramis caught his wrist and pulled him inwards. His knee plunged into the Zygerrian's stomach, and when the humanoid crumbled over he brought his elbow into his back.

The Zygerrian rolled onto the matt, trying to force air into his lungs and stop the paralyzing pain coursing through his spine. He crawled away, kicking outwards uselessly as Aramis followed him casually.

"The match is over, submit," Aramis demanded.

"I'll...never...give up," the Zygerrian gasped. "The match isn't over."

"No, it's over," Aramis said, shaking his head. He stopped following his opponent. "You've crawled off of the mat.

The Zygerrian looked about him in astonishment, and then frowned. He hadn't left the mat at all. By the time he turned back towards Aramis the blue man was atop him. Aramis planted his knee over one of the Zygerrian's arms, held the other down with his free hand, and then placed his forearm over his throat.

"It's over," Aramis repeated. "Submit." The Zygerrian struggled for only a moment, hopelessly trying to free his limbs.

"I submit," the Zygerrian whispered, his voice barely audible. A buzzer went off overhead, diverting Aramis attention. So the tournament organizers could hear them, even if they whispered. That was good to know. He released the Zygerrian as the referee ran out onto the mat. He stepped back quickly, preventing any retaliation.

"The winner," the referee announced, his voice booming across the arena's speakers. Aramis glanced around, still unable to see the crowd through the bright lights shining down on him. Almost all twenty thousand of them were cheering.

The Gran approached the Zygerrian, intending to help him to his feet so that he might present both combatants to the crowd. He jumped back when a handful of claws swiped out at him.

"I will not forget this insult," the Zygerrian spat.

"There are four round robin bouts left," Aramis said, shrugging. "Win all of them and you can get your revenge in the elimination stage."

"You can count on it," came the answer. Aramis wasn't looking forward to that, but he hoped the Zygerrian would try to win his vengeance during the tournament, and not in some narrow corridor.

oOoOo

Aramis winced as a medic applied a disinfectant to the cuts on his shoulder. The top half of his white uniform was lowered, revealing his muscular torso. The left half of his uniform was stained with blood. Each of the Zygerrian's claws had cut four parallel incisions into his skin. The wounds weren't deep, however. He was just glad that none of those attacks aimed at his face had landed. The rules might outlaw fatalities, but they said nothing about blindings or mutilation.

He felt the air pressure in the room shift as the locker room doors opened, a rush of cold air causing his body to shudder. The faint scent of bacta accompanied the cold air.

"Are you allowed in here?" Aramis asked.

"Didn't I already tell you that there is no locked door that won't open for an Aven on Malastare?" Uraala responded.

"You did," Aramis said, wincing once again as the medic applied another disinfectant swab.

"He got you good," Uraala said. "Despite everything you told me about your background, I still thought there was a decent chance that I would be visiting a corpse after this first match."

"I didn't exaggerate about any of it," Aramis said. Uraala sat on the bench in front of him and nodded towards the medic. The Gran caught her drift and exited the locker room. Uraala took up the first aid kit instead.

"I know," Uraala said quietly. Aramis was distinctly aware that her face was inches from his as she finished cleaning his wound. "But showing is a lot different from telling." She threw the disinfectant swab into a nearby trash bin and retrieved a bacta patch from the first aid kit. She placed the patch over his cuts, frowned, and then retrieved three more. Together all three of them covered the area required.

"So...when you force your way into areas you're not allowed do you flash an i.d card or does everyone recognize you?" Aramis asked.

"A lot of the establishments that someone that someone of my...social class...frequents, they know everyone in my family by face. At most other places, dropping my name is sufficient. When that doesn't work, you use bribes or threats. And when you want to be clever you register as a coach and they just let you into the locker rooms."

"You're registered as my coach?" he asked, smiling in amusement.

"That's right," she said, smiling back. A buzzer sounded. They both glanced up at the sound. Holographic video screens were stationed around the locker room, providing a broadcast of the tournament. Lehal Jak's first bout in the round robin stage had begun. He was facing a Gamorrean who seemed rather large, even by his own species' standards.

"That's your target," Uraala whispered.

"Yeah," Aramis said, nodding slightly.

"You really think he is a Jedi?"

"I don't know," Aramis whispered. "If so, not one that I recognize. But he definitely has the Force."

"How can you tell?"

"The way he moves," Aramis answered as he watched the bout. The Gamorrean was aiming some rather clumsy punches, which Jak was easily able to dodge. The force of his counter punches, however, seemed to be getting absorbed in the boar-like humanoid's blubber. "This fight isn't a great example, but his reflexes are too quick. In the ceremonial opening, and the matches from last year that I've watched, he often reacts to his opponent before the attack is actually coming in. You have to slow down the footage to see this but…"

"Maybe he is just really good at predicting his opponent? Like how you predicted what the Zygerrian would do when he started circling you the second time."

"If you know, instinctively, where the next punch is going to come from, you don't have to predict anything."

"But he's lost matches."

"Intentionally. He doesn't want his record to look too good. If it did people that know what to look for might notice where his abilities are going to coming from."

"Okay, makes sense," Uraala agreed. "But if he's been around for awhile, that means he didn't start travelling the galaxy at the same time you did," she said, meeting his eyes carefully. Despite the seriousness of their conversation he smiled. He very much liked her eyes.

"That's true. He might have left before the Clone Wars even started."

"So. Assuming you and him both make the finals, how are you going to beat him? How do you beat someone who knows what you're going to do before you do it."

"I don't need to beat him," Aramis said simply. He checked his bandages, straining his neck to get a glimpse of his shoulder. On the holoscreens Jak had changed up his strategy. Instead of trying to penetrate the Gamorrean's thick blubber he went for the knee, aiming a hard kick as he ducked under another clumsy, but powerful, left hook. From the expression of pain on Jak's face as his foot connected the Gamorrean's bones were as thick as his blubber. "I just need to fight him."