Chapter 3: Tacitus

Tacitus watched tentatively as Myelin poked and prodded inside his ankle. He had to watch. Though the pain was rough and excruciating, the pain was always worse if he looked away. He certainly had overactive imagination in a strange sort of way.

When he developed this weird habit? Probably in his youth when his biggest fear were large needles. His mother, a soft-hearted woman, at least by Turian standards, taking him by the hand and assuring him that he would be alright. "You shouldn't be scared of a little needle." she'd say. He missed those moments, not because he was going to die in this hell hole, or worse in this cage with a Salarian trying to help him. No, even if he was off this dust bowl of a planet, fighting battles and winning glory alongside his brothers would he be spared this longing for his mother.

"You fought well Tacitus." Said Myelin seemingly energetic though that's how all Salarians sounded. Tacitus passive grin strained at the comment though he was indifferent. Myelin was often very critical, must have been quite a show. "Only one serious injury this time. No weapon either. Impressive."

"Almost died like a coward." A booming voice said surprising Tacitus. Quash Maljax was impressively quiet for being a Krogan as he lumbered into the makeshift operating room. Always critical though he does have a reputation to uphold. "Dumb luck." He spat out. Grumbling trailed after before a grin appeared on the sharp, scale covered face. "That's my boy." Maljax said as if Tacitus wasn't his gladiator slave but actually his beloved son. Someone should take a picture.

"At least with this leg injury I will be out of the pit for little while longer." Tacitus said. "Less likely to get killed that way."

"And not earning any credits." Growled Maljax.

"To be fair, you almost got killed outside the pit." chimed Myelin not looking up from stapling his leg wound together. Tacitus grimaced for instance at the reminder burying it quickly before Maljax picked up on it, who only laughed, low in tone and painfully slow. That memory was not something to be relived.

"But that's behind us now isn't it Tacitus." Maljax said slapping Tacitus hard on the back causing him the jump. Tacitus grunted while remaining wordless. "Now. We see eye to eye. You earn me credits and I…" Maljax stopped as if for dramatic effect, but he did not continue. Myelin stopped and looked toward the giant, stumbling idiot. Tacitus remained facing forward. Eyes never leaving his leg. Krogan's were bad at communicating with words though this wasn't a communication issue. Even Tacitus couldn't think of anything Maljax gave him in their relationship. "get the credits you earn." He finally finished. Chuckling in the slow painful way he does.

"I think I am all finished with your leg, Tacitus." Myelin said as he moved to Tacitus' side to help him to his feet. "You are still numb from the sedative. I have more if you require it. You will be in some pain and much discomfort until the bones heal and the flesh returns. One month."

"I provide those." Maljax said though Tacitus wasn't worried he was going to take them away. "Be ready for the fresh blood." Maljax said as he began to exit to cramped operating room before beginning to chuckle. "Wouldn't want you to miss out on the fun."

Tacitus and Myelin followed though at a slower pace. They exited the shack into the main hall of the slave quarters. It was a grand room, spacious and tall. The walls were smooth, clean cut concrete in their prime though now chunks had fallen and been collected in large piles leaving behind numerous gashes and hairline cracks. The ceiling was mostly intact. Rebar was exposed in some areas but they were sparse. It fared better than the walls though they were likely to collapse and kill them all, if only Tacitus was so fortunate. The air was thin and crisp and the lighting was largely poor in quality, as mostly dim red-tented, pollution light guide them as they walked to Tacitus' spot in the main hall. Tacitus sat on a terrace slightly raised from middle ground between the training circle and the chow tables. He could see the whole room without being exposed. A cautionary that only use to matter.

"You use to be more, chatty." Myelin said as he sat Tacitus in his spot behind the circle table. "Always calm, level headed, but not stoic."

"I hadn't noticed."

"Use to buttheads with Maljax. Suspecting out of spite." Myelin continued.

"I am just tired, and as you said, numb." Tacitus shrugged.

"I remember you use to confuse Maljax with witty words and dry satirical humor." Tacitus smiled. Maljax use to get so worked up. He remembered one time he was "complimenting" Maljax on his red armor. One the first times he feigned any kind of compliance. Maljax, so proud of his brilliant, polished, blood red armor, couldn't help but stay and brag with Tacitus whose dark blue armor paled in comparison, and Tacitus let him know that he stood out among the Blood Pack, until he implied that Maljax has never been in a real battle with no scratches on that shiny red armor. Next day Maljax came back from patrol injured from charging into a rival clans hideout alone. Worst of all he survived. "You lost your touch."

"Luckily you haven't lost yours, my friend." Tacitus grinned raising his leg to rest in the dusty seat across from him. "Thank you for patching me up."

"Would be better if you didn't get hurt." Myelin replied with a bit of callousness.

"I agree." He struggled to maneuver his leg into a position that offered the most comfort. He settled for mild discomfort and no pain.

"Consider training more. Reflexes dulling."

"I don't agree but I appreciate your concern." They stared out over toward the training circle. It was uncharacteristically full of would be gladiators.

"I suspect your fight scared the fresh combatants." Myelin commented as they looked out over the field of fighters. Many of them where young, scrawny Humans, though there were also Batarians and Salarians among them. They spared, uncoordinated due to inexperience and winded against one another or with the training dummies. One of Maljax's men paced between the many groups occasionally growling and snapping at the fighters, often injecting and taking the place of one of the slaves to fight the other and rarely offering constructive combat advice.

"Perhaps you should consider training with him." Myelin said pointing to a large Batarian sparing against three humans at once.

"Can't. Doctor said to lay off the foot for a month." Tacitus smirked.

"You will be healed in two weeks." Myelin replied unfazed and even mannered.

"He might not last that long anyways." Tacitus said gesturing to other veterans standing just outside the training area pointing and talking just as they had been, though they lacked honorable reputations. Still he managed three men rather well. Even if they are untrained. "Many of them will be gone before the week us up."

"Always this way after a new shipment."

"Yeah. You can smell the fear and false hope in the air."

"Always thought that was sweat and varren shit." Myelin joked though there was some truth to his statement. A rare occasion never the less. Tacitus' grins strained. He pitied them, the new fighters. How many of them scared, hopeless, fearing the fights to come. They were the lucky ones. They would live, at least a fair number of them, to see two maybe three fights before dying quietly beneath the thunderous cheers of the crowd. Some of them would live to see maybe ten fights, but how many veterans can say they have seen that many? That is almost six months of fighting for dear life.

Then there was the hopeful. The combat trained ex mercs and soldiers were among this group. They were the unlucky ones. They would survive three fights, but die torturous deaths before six especially those confident in their abilities. Hot shots are often eat by varren painstakingly slow. Everyone likes to test the new blood, though they often get a weapon when fighting those beasts. The truly marvelous idiots try to test the Krogan and search for a way out. Their fate is worse than death.

"Excuse me." A quiet voice said from behind Myelin pulling their gaze away from the training grounds. Three Humans and a Salarian stood trying to look tough or rugged, something rough, but Tacitus wasn't sure. "May we sit down?" The short blonde Human said. Tacitus didn't given any sanctioning grins or grunts but Myelin nodded pointing to the numerous empty chairs around the table. They all sat making passing eye contact with Tacitus but no sounds until the Salarian spoke.

"That was a good fight, Tacitus. Anyone else would have died."

"What do you want?" Tacitus responded.

"You've been here longer than anyone." The blonde man continued. "24 fights in the pit. Not many people are capable like you."

"No one has military training like him and he doesn't leave the arena without his fair share of injuries." Myelin cut in.

"We want your help… Escaping." The tall dark human said.

"No." Tacitus responded. The blonde man began to start but Tacitus cut him off. "You boys better get comfortable with however many fights you got left because no one escapes." The dark human began to protest, but Tacitus wouldn't let him speak. "You boys have only been here a month. I saw your fights. You might last another month." Pausing only to breath he then glanced at the shockingly mild mannered Salarian. "You might last two if you lose the humans. But you will all die tomorrow if you try to escape. I will last another month. Given a free pass you see, but if I die it will be next month not any sooner."

The men in front were silent, past shocked. They accepted Tacitus' answer though they didn't like it. Without a word, they got up from their seats and walked down toward the training grounds headed toward the Batarian sparing now four men at once.

"They don't know any better." Myelin defended. He was surprisingly compassionate today or at least sympathetic.

"You're right. They don't." Tacitus watched them approach the Batarian. His sparing partners were taking a break, tending their injuries he presumed. Tacitus chuckled a little. They are sparing with him now. "Before they do anything stupid lets educate my future sparring partner."

Tacitus moved to stand but sharp pain enflamed his leg. Wincing from the pain, he decided sitting was better. "Perhaps later."