An Ace Up The Sleeve

[ysabara]

There is nothing deep or meaningful here... Just read and hopefully enjoy

AN ACE UP THE SLEEVE

“Phwaark.”
Something screeched in Veren’s ear catapulting him from sleep to wakefulness and sending him crashing from the bed onto the floor. On his arse. Since that was one part of him that he hadn’t had surgically reinforced the collision of bare backside with rock hard Calibrian marble hurt.
“Drax it!” he swore. He gave the bed a nasty stare.
“Phwaark.” Princess Zezana’s latest pet hung its head over the bed, staring at him with its bright, beady black eyes. This season, anyone who was anyone had to have a pet chicken and being a Princess, Zezana had to have the biggest, brightest, loudest chicken in the city.
The chicken was eyeing Veren’s lap with a most unbirdlike interest. It fluffed its multihued rainbow of genetically engineered feathers and shuffled a little closer to the edge of the bed.
“Phwaark?” it said hopefully. Veren drew his legs up and scowled at it. It subsided in a sulky mass of offended feathers. Veren got to his feet. The bed was empty, apart from the vorlunt damned chicken. It was unusual for Zezana to be up so early. Usually it was Veren being hustled from the room before any of the human staff were stirring. The Andro’s didn’t count. They would never talk about what went on in the royal apartments.
He glanced around the room. The curtains that hung over the door that led out to the balcony were stirring fitfully. Zezana must be out there. Veren’s stomach clenched so hard that he doubled over. He’d almost forgotten what today was. He knew what Zezana must be looking at. The curtains flew open and she re-entered the room. Veren could smell her excitement; a dark, feral heat that made his head ache.
“Veren, come. You must see this. It’s unbelievable.” She held out her hand. Veren dragged himself towards her. She grabbed his arm and pulled him onto the balcony.
“Look! Look.”
Veren glanced up at the morning sky. It was still early so there were very few Flutters or Air sleds about. A slow moving cargo shuttle chuffed past, leaving a scarlet trail that hovered above the roofs and spires of the city before dissipating. Drawing a deep breath he followed the direction of Zezana’s pointing finger and forced himself to look at the Coliseum. The dome that covered the huge arena pulsed softly in the rising sunlight. Veren felt the air leave his lungs in a dizzying rush. In 250 years the dome of the Coliseum had never been the colour it was now. Purple. Tonight Veren and his fellow gladiators would fight to the death.

********************

Zezana turned to him again, her eyes with their micron thin slivers of implanted sapphires, gleaming.
“Death games,” she cried gleefully. “There hasn’t been a Death game in living memory. Tonight Veren, you get to take part in history.”
“Lucky me,” said Veren.
“Phwaark,” said the chicken. It had jumped off the bed and now stood there eying his bare arse. Zezana eyed his bare arse too and with decidedly less interest than the vorlunt bird.
“It’s time for you to get dressed and leave,” she said.
Drax help us if the hired help get an eyeful of the hired sex, Veren thought bitterly. Then, hating himself for asking he said. “Will you be worried about me tonight?”
“Oh darling, I shall be terrified even though I know there’s almost no one who can stand against you.”
“Almost no one. Gee thanks.”
She gave him a reassuring pat on the arm.
“I’ll be thinking of you all day. And tonight – you will be my champion. Now gather up your things. We both have a busy day ahead of us.” With a last airy wave of her hand she left the bedroom.
Veren trudged over to the bed and began to pick up his clothes. Then, overcome by a fit of violent shivering he sank to the floor. Death games. The usual ending to a Gladiatorial contest was first blood so why had the dome decreed that tonight’s games would end in death? He cradled his head in his hands, running his fingers over the shaved stubble of his hair. He knew he was good – one of the best fighters the Coliseum had ever seen. And Zezana was right, there was almost no one who could take him. Except…Maybe…
“Phwaark.” With a delighted squawk the chicken settled itself in Veren’s lap. It was warm and soft. It felt kind of nice as it fluffed its feathers. Almost….erotic?
“Drax it!” Veren flung the chicken off his lap and sprang to his feet, dragging on his trousers. Being turned on by a vorlunt damned chicken. Could this day get any worse?

********************

Of course it could. Veren sat in the antechamber of the Coliseum with the other Gladiators that were rostered on that night. Usually the atmosphere was one of good fellowship with everyone cracking jokes and at their ease. Tonight the tension was so thick you could breathe it. Veren closed his eyes to avoid the meaningful stares he was receiving from men that he normally thought of as his friends. They were waiting for the Sergeant at arms to arrive so the process of deciding who would fight tonight could take place.
Veren cracked open one eyelid and viewed the potential opposition. They were all big and mean – okay, so was he. No problem there. They were all packing the very latest in internal body armour, plasta skin, reinforced telenium bone shields. Again, no problem although Veren had skimped a bit on the quality of his internal body armour – it was only second grade and it didn’t cover his back. He figured he wouldn’t be showing that part of him to an opponent. His bone shields only covered every second rib but an opponent would have to be draxing good to slip a knife between the gaps that were left. There was no one here whom Veren couldn’t beat with one hand tied behind his back. Except…Maybe…
He opened his eyes fully and looked up into the face of the biggest, meanest, stranged out fangbitch the Coliseum had ever known.
“Hello Veren,” said Hyperion. “How the drax are you?”
“Just fine,” Veren grunted and closed his eyes again, trying not to remember that the last three times they had fought, Hyperion had beaten him. He consoled himself with the thought that the chances of drawing Hyperion as his opponent were slim. Nothing to worry about. Plus, Veren had an ace up his sleeve – the reason why he had scrimped on internal armour and bone shields.
The Sergeant at arms had arrived, carrying an ornate golden box in his arms.
“Line up over here boys.”
Veren rose to his feet. As they arrived at the head of the line, each gladiator reached into the box and withdrew a heavy metal cuff, studded with a clear, colourless jewel. Veren drew his cuff over his wrist then touched his lips to the jewel. Drax it, he groaned silently as his jewel changed colour and began to blink. He scanned the other men in the room, all of whom were displaying signs of overwhelming relief as their cuffs stayed dormant. All except – oh drax, drax, drax. Hyperion held up his cuff on which an identical jewel was flashing in time to Veren’s own.
“Snap,” said Hyperion.

*******************

The Coliseum was packed to the roof tonight – two hundred thousand citizens all eager to see the first death game in 250 years. Veren and Hyperion stood side by side in the centre of the arena, facing the royal box where Caesar and his daughter sat. Caesar stood to address the crowd. Veren could see the implanted voice enhancer he wore at his throat.
“Citizens,” he said in a voice so deep, so rich that it seemed to coat the listeners like a layer of velvet. “Tonight you are witness to an event the like of which we have never seen before. A game to the death and as fate would have it the two chosen combatants are the finest gladiators the city has even seen. In honour of this momentous event, a boon granted by my daughter, the Princess Zezana will be bestowed upon the winner. Gladiators, step forward”
Veren and Hyperion approached the royal box. Zezana was staring at Hyperion, the chicken stared at Veren. Zezana wet her lips.
“Speak now, Gladiators and ask of the Princess a boon.”
Hyperion bowed low. “I ask for nothing from the Princess save to carry her favour with me into battle. When I have won this contest, then I shall ask for something much more…personal.”
Zezana was practically panting, the stranged out fangbitch. She wasn’t giving Veren a second look.
If I win,” Drax it.” I mean, when I win this contest the only boon I ask of the Princess Zezana is…” Veren hesitated. Zezana looked at him impatiently. “I want that chicken,” said Veren.
“Phwaark,” said the chicken. It, at least seemed pleased.
Hyperion and Veren stepped back and bowing low, crossed their arms over their chests.
“Morituri te salutant,” they said in a language from another time and another world.

********************

So this is what death looked like, Veren thought as he stared up into Hyperion’s ice blue eyes. He had done his best but in the end Hyperion’s superior strength and Veren’s poorer quality internal armour had won out. At least, Veren had managed to rip a few holes in Hyperion’s expensive impervaskin hide. Now, Hyperion knelt beside him with his berydium reinforced dagger lying across Veren’s throat, waiting for the signal from the royal box. Zezana rose to her feet and extended her arm, turning her wrist so that her thumb pointed down. The crowd roared.
“Too bad, chook boy,” Hyperion sneered. “Looks like all your time in the sheets didn’t do you any favours with her royalness.” He leant closer. “I’m going to put her on her back and keep her there. Not that she’ll ever want to get upright again after she’s had a taste of me. Then I’m going to take that vorlunt chicken and wring its draxing neck.”
Veren held out his right arm in a pleading gesture. He whispered something.
“What’s that chicken man? I didn’t quite catch that pathetic plea for mercy.”
Veren whispered again. Hyperion leant closer. Veren wrapped his fingers around Hyperion’s massive neck. Hyperion sneered again.
“What are you going to do? Tickle me to death?”
Veren played his ace. Seven inches of reinforced telenium steel sprung from his forearm, punching up through Hyperion’s chin and exiting through his right eye. He was dead five seconds before he realised it. Veren would always cherish the look of surprise in Hyperion’s remaining eye as he wrenched the blade free and Hyperion toppled over. He wiped the blade on Hyperion’s chest before respringing it in his wrist cavity. The thousands of racari he had spent on the perfectly concealed weapon had been well spent.
He stood, acknowledging the plaudits of the crowd then once more approached the royal box.
“You dirty cheat,” hissed Zezana.
“There’s only one rule in the arena, Highness,” said Veren. “And that is win, no matter what it takes. Now, if you don’t mind I want my chicken.”
“Phwaark.” The chicken jumped down into his arms. Veren carried it from the arena, past the congratulations of his fellow gladiators and into the hypo baths. After he had washed the blood off and dried himself he slumped down against a wall, too exhausted to stand.
“Phwaark.” The chicken came and climbed into his lap. It rustled and fluttered, the feathers tickling his bare skin. Veren went to push it off before he embarrassed himself. This was wrong. It was dirty. It was perverted. It was…heaven.

*****************

One year later, in a galaxy far, far away…..

“It is him, I tell you.”

“No it’s not. I’ve seen the holograms. He had short hair. This one looks like a Cheruvian cherub with all those blonde curls.”

“Well, he’s obviously grown his hair.”

“It’s not him.”

“It is”

“It can’t be him. Doesn’t he always carry a ….?”

“Phwaark.”

“Chicken with him?”

“See, I told you it is him.”

********************

[Nik]

Oh, that was wicked...

[timelord4]

hahah

Phwaark! Nice one Ysabara. Had me in tears.

A.

[svalbard]

I second, Timelord, wonderfully good.