Once A Wolf
by Cherysse St. Claire
© 2004
"But the Woman that God gave him, every fibre of her frame Proves her launched for one sole issue, armed and engined for the same;
And to serve that single issue, lest the generations fail, The female of the species must be deadlier than the male."
- Rudyard Kipling
Mikey Blair had to pee. He had been putting it off for the past twenty minutes, not wanting to get out of his snug, warm bunk. It was cold out there in comparison. He really liked summer camp, liked being in the woods of northern Wisconsin, away from his folks and the dull sameness of Elmhurst. But all the activities and running around always made him really thirsty. He drank too much water, and it had to go somewhere. He usually got up at least once in the middle of each night, and it was time now.
He threw the covers off, rolled out onto the cold, hard wooden floor, and padded softly towards the cabin door, to the sound of crickets outside and a lot of snoring inside. Once out the door, He went up the path a ways before turning into the woods. He was supposed to go to the latrine but that was a couple hundred yards away. That was too far; he couldn't hold it that long. Even so, he wanted to make certain he was far enough away from the cabin that his cabin mates wouldn't smell it in the morning. That would have been almost as bad as peeing the bunk.
The angel came for him just as he was finishing his business.
Mikey wasn't particularly religious – never had been – but he knew this apparition was an angel. She had to be an angel; only God made titties like those! She wasn't dressed like an angel, though. The child expected white robes, wings, and halo and there was none of that. This was… scarier. Maybe this vision was an avenging angel. Whatever she was, she did have a really nice smile, dimples and all – except for her eyes. They looked sad, tired, like she had carried the weight of the world on her shoulders for a long, long time.
The angel had magically whisked Mikey out of the woods and into a place he couldn't begin to describe, the kind of place that only a child's imagination can truly do justice. It wasn't Heaven; this was better, like a spaceship in the movies! There he stood, in this magical place, confronting this gorgeous vision of a woman, with his shorts around his ankles and his pee-pee in his hand. The angel was good about it. She bit her lower lip and only smiled a little as the child pulled his shorts up. The beautiful angel with the sad, tired eyes took the Mikey's hand, sat him down, and told him a story. Before returning him to the woods, the angel made him promise: never again!
The First Day
She had been feet-dry on that desert rock only six hours. They had clashed twice already. These had been probes, really. They were feeling each other out, testing for strengths and weaknesses. Reconnaissance. That was nothing new for her; she had practiced the craft for a long, long time.
At six feet, she was no Shrinking Violet. Still, he was bigger, broader. Not Shaq-sized, by any means; but really solid. He was strong, too. Two hours on, her jaw still ached – and that had been a glancing blow. She had seen the sweeping roundhouse right from her peripheral vision and had spun in the opposite direction, away from the punch – almost. The last time she had seen that many stars had been... well, a long time ago. But that had been on another planet.
The Golganthan, as the Praetor had called him, was of porcine evolution, but not like any friendly farmyard Hampshire hog. Forget about Porky Pig, too. This one was more like a surly, three-hundred-pound Arkansas Razorback with tusks to match. Still, he was bipedal, intelligent, and she had learned to stay out of range of those massive arms. His bulk made him slower and his limbs were jointed. That was one point of vulnerability, as her spinning foot sweep had proven. How's your head, Sparky? If you want to be King of this Hill, you're gonna have to work for it.
Who gave a rat's ass about this place? It was just another nameless, faceless battlefield, like all the rest. It was the 'hill' back home she was worried about. The rules of the contest were simple. There were two of you; one from Earth, one from Golgantha. You fought. You won – or you died. The catch was, if you died, so did your planet – the whole planet, and all life on it. Gee, no pressure there…. Oh, by the way; the entire Arcturan Empire was watching you, real-time. Offices and stores closed. They even let the kiddies out of school. Wasn't that special?
The Praetor had shown her the real-time holographic image of the starship, in orbit high above Arcturus Prime. The engineer in her admired its clean, elegant lines. It was a beautiful 'styling statement' – if you ignored fact that it was designed to destroy planets. The ship had its own portal generators; it could be anywhere in the charted Universe in moments. The Praetor assured her the coordinates for Golgantha – and Earth – had already been plotted and locked into the cruiser's mainframe. She had asked the Praetor what they called the ship. He told her "1jb29742GL385W9." She glibly asked if they called it "1jb" for short. That hadn't gone over well.
A contestant started with nothing. As you proved your worth, you gained access to food, medical kits, clothing and other logistical supplies, increasingly complex and lethal weaponry, even teammates. To her, it sounded like one of those wretched kids' video games – or a bad episode of Star Trek. Apparently, the Arcturans ate this stuff up.
The Praetor had conducted a quasi-interview, asking her name, occupation and a little about herself, in order to introduce her to her 'audience'. He had made a big deal about her being unemployed. Yeah, thanks, Buster; it's a real joy for me, too. He then asked about the special significance of her middle name in her culture. What famous person or persons had carried that name? There were a few, she knew, but no one that really stood out. She asked what significance that might have?
The Praetor avowed that in Arcturan culture, those who carried a famous middle name were thought to carry the qualities of that famous person, if not being the actual reincarnation. This was an especially popular tradition within their warrior class. She smiled sadly and shook her head, not really surprised this particular piece of macho bullshit extended beyond her own race. She observed out loud she thought that was the dumbest thing she had ever heard – which was probably not the smartest thing she had ever done. She started The Tournament with nothing but the clothes on her back – and the determination to win, no matter what.
In her initial inspection of the area, she had found a cave, which she now called 'home'. An investigation of the cave itself had turned up a nearly endless maze of rear passages and chambers. One chamber had a running spring. She hesitated to drink from it without the proper testing equipment or even decon tablets. Still, she was thirsty and the Praetor had indicated The Arena would provide at least minimal life support.
She decided to take a chance. She was rewarded with the coldest, slightly sweet water she had tasted in a long time. It was almost like Lake Michigan water - before the ocean-going ships and industrial plants had polluted it. At least, she wouldn't die of thirst. She wondered if her opponent (she thought he was male) had found similar accommodations and imagined he had.
They had each taken their lumps in their two short, frenzied encounters. She had not dwelled on the minor injuries. With the help of her spirit guide, she would heal quickly. The Praetor contacted her, via holographic projection. He had complimented them both on their display of unarmed combat. She hadn't really shown them anything; at this early stage, she didn't want them to know what she was capable of.
They would each be granted two edged weapons; a sword and hand knife. All she had to do was ask and/or describe them, the Praetor had said, and they would appear. She should not bother asking for more lethal weaponry at this stage because it would not be granted.
In addition, the Praetor had intoned, they would each receive one teammate of Arcturan choosing. It was an unusual move at this stage of the game, he related, but they were – how did you humans put it? – 'tweaking' the rules to make it more interesting. Yeah, right. C'mere, Bud; I'll give you a 'tweak' you will NEVER forget! She could just imagine the kind of 'teammate' they were going to saddle her with, but she would worry about that when the time came. As for the weapons, that choice was easy….
Within moments of describing where to find it, her shinobikatana was there: forty-two inches overall, with long, cloth-wrapped handle, wide, square tsubo handguard, and a black saya scabbard that sheathed a straight, single-edged blade. Unlike others of its kind, this blade had been folded two hundred times during forging for additional strength, in the traditional samuraikatana manner.
Sharp? Oh, yeah. Flesh or bone made little difference; it was all in the technique. This was neither a ceremonial prop nor a decoration meant to hang over a fireplace. This was a working weapon whose predecessors had seen thirteen centuries of continuous service in the hands of other ronin. She had worked hard on developing her kobudo skills – but she wasn't going to tell the Praetor that, either.
Instead of a traditional tanto, she chose a more modern knife, one she had grown to trust through her years of service; the double-edged Gerber Mark II. The knife went on her belt. The customized harness on the sword's scabbard allowed her to drape it diagonally across her back and secure it in place, allowing her to draw the sword smoothly over her left shoulder.
She felt the ripple in the fabric of space behind her. It was a portal opening and closing; she knew that from the experience of her own transport to this place. There was no mistaking that tingly, almost crawling sensation. She sensed, rather than saw the presence behind her. She didn't know what it was, but it was alive.
No untrained human eye would have been able to comprehend the speed and grace of her movement. It was as though she had turned herself inside-out. One moment, she had been facing the cave's entrance; the next, she was facing it's inner recesses in the forward stance, back straight, back leg extended, sword held firmly in hand-over-hand grip, extended straight forward, edge parallel to the ground. That edge rested lightly against the side of his neck. Her surprise nearly equaled his. They stood there for several moments, openly gaping at each other.
Finally, he glanced sideways, and slightly down.
"Thank you, but I have already shaven today."
She flushed red and lowered, then spun the blade around to smoothly re-sheathe it over her shoulder. He dabbed at his neck, noting the thin trickle of blood. She fumbled for the cloth at her belt – and an apology. She offered him both.
"Um, sorry. I wasn't expecting company so soon."
"I'm rather glad you weren't. I wouldn't fancy the cauldrons of boiling oil streaming down from the parapets."
Maybe she could convince him she had really bad sunburn; she was certainly red enough at that moment. Damn, this wasn't like her one bit. She was never this nervous around men.
Then again, this wasn't just any man. She had only seen pictures of him before; film or videotape footage from the nightly news. He was even better-looking in person. She knew he was in his early twenties, just finishing college. He had opted for military service, in his family's tradition, but had not yet reported for duty. That explained, in part, how he could be here now. He was tall, like her; slender, yet firm. That blonde hair and those steel blue eyes made him look so much like his late mother….
He had nothing to compare her to. He couldn't remember seeing another woman like her, ever. He could tell the Platinum hair was fairly long, but she wore it tightly pulled back, rolled into a bun and clipped in place with a kind of clamshell-like contrivance that kept it firmly balled up. She was, what? Nineteen? Twenty? Flawless complexion, thin, high-arched eyebrows, huge, wide-set sapphire-blue eyes that pulled up and back at the corners, killer cheekbones over a model-chic indented mid-face, narrow, delicate nose, and wide, over-full lips. Her rare smiles flashed hints of the most gorgeous dimples at the corners of her mouth. There was something about her that was absolutely – magnetic.
He stood almost exactly eye-to-eye with her, but well over half her height was legs – and that body! She reminded him of one of those American exotic dancers - or one of Hajime Sorayama's warrior women. He was more than a bit apprehensive. He was face-to-face with this stunning, sexy-looking woman with sword on her back and knife at her belt. He knew nothing about her - and his security detail was nowhere in sight. Old habits…. Still, he couldn't help but stare in wonder at the vision before him.
She had felt like a deer frozen in oncoming headlights. Gradually, she became aware his focus had shifted. She followed the direction of his gaze to… dammit! Why did men always do that? You would think he had never seen a pair of EE's before in his life! Being human, she sometimes forgot her body had been intentionally designed to elicit exactly that reaction. Her eyes narrowed. He felt the weight of her gaze and averted his. It was his turn to be embarrassed.
"My apology. That was inappropriate of me."
She signed expressively. Her chest heaved.
"It's OK, she avowed. "It's not like it hasn't happened before. Anyway, welcome to my nightmare."
"Erm, thank you," he professed. "I confess I am a little bit flustered by all of this. I was locked away in my room at college, studying for final examinations. Then, suddenly, I was here - wherever 'here' is – confronting a beautiful woman holding a sword to my throat. Usually, that doesn't happen until at least the second date."
She laughed. He did, too.
"So, where is 'here'?" he inquired. "How did I get here – and why?"
"I can't answer the first question," she responded. "As to the second and third…."
She told him what she knew, as the Praetor had explained it to her.
The Tournament had a long, proud tradition on Arcturus Prime. Their Elders had decided on this action as a necessary replacement for generations of endless internecine, then interstellar warfare that had been draining their planet's resources and population. They had stabilized the borders of the Arcturan Empire by naked force. Arcturus Prime itself basked within its planetary force field. With the 'shields' raised, the planet was impervious to all outside attack. Any planet incurring Arcturan displeasure received a visit from "1jb" – and was pulverized. So, the other planets toed the Arcturan line. With major conflict with the other worlds gone, the Arcturans had begun The Tournament to satisfy their collective bloodlust without turning on each other.
Originally, the contestants had been drawn from the war-like Arcturan race itself. They fought to the death, however long it took, and that was that. As time passed, that formula had gotten stale. They needed a new thrill to keep it fresh. Progress, and the introduction of Portal technology, had made that possible. They could instantly transport anything from any point in the Universe to any other point through a precisely-calculated 'wormhole' that could be opened and closed at will. The inclusion of portal generators on their spacegoing vessels – such as '1jb' – rendered "warp drive" and other such concepts obsolete.
Now, the conflict was waged by representatives chosen from savage, emerging races culled from among the many that dotted the Universe. Previous military experience was acceptable – given Arcturan tradition, it was almost de rigueur – but current service was not. The Arcturans considered it more entertaining if the contestants were 'average Joes', not hardened professionals. A raw, undeveloped planet whose environment could provide at least basic life support for both contestants was chosen as the 'arena'.
All things in consideration, he took it rather well.
"Then we and these – Golganthans, you said? – were chosen at random?"
"They were. As I understand it, we – Humankind – were champions once before."
"We've done this before?" When? I've never heard of it."
"According to the Praetor, that was about two millennia ago, Earth time. I got the impression the last time had been a big laugh and they are ready for an encore performance."
"Damn! They really intend to destroy Earth?"
"Only if we lose. I don't intend to do that."
"I should say not! So, these Arcturans just plucked me out of thin air?"
"The polite term would be 'random chance'. The impolite term would be 'blind, idiot luck'. I rather think bad luck on your part."
She still couldn't believe it herself. Of all the men in the world for the Arcturans to pair her with – if it was to be a man at all - they had selected this one. What were the odds?
"Do you have any idea why they picked you?"
She sighed expressively.
"Since the last 'Earther' was male, they thought it might be amusing to see what a female of our species can do. Of course, the stakes will remain the same, win or lose."
"Of course."
"As for why me, as opposed to any other woman on Earth, well, I guess I was just in the right place at the right time."
"That is a curious way of looking at it."
"Perhaps, but I would rather be here, determining my own fate, than sitting at home while someone I don't know has my life in their hands – and I am not even aware of it."
"I see your point." There was a long, pregnant pause in the conversation.
"It's going to be a little awkward," she began. "I mean, your title…."
He shook his head.
"Don't," he reassured her. "I hear that all day, every day. To tell you the truth, I get fed up with it. There is a time and place for it and, apparently, this is neither. Since it appears to be just the two of us here, would you please call me Geoff? My family and friends do."
"I would be honored, although you will have to forgive me from time to time if I call you Geoffrey. I rather like the sound of that."
"Coming from your lips, I rather do, too."
"You flatter me, Sir. Anyway, I'm Giselle."
"Giselle? What an enchanting name! What is the rest of it?"
"Uh, Giselle… René Du Mont."
"Then you are French? Or Québécois? I thought for certain you were American."
"I am."
"Then, this is your… stage name? I mean, you look like an actress."
The corners of her mouth twitched upward.
"You could say that."
"In any event, it is lovely and suits you."
"Thank you, Your Roy… Geoff. I appreciate that."
She had said it so matter-of-factly, as though she hadn't even been aware of the change in her speech. Geoff immediately noted the broad vowels, clipped consonants and sibilant "c". lifted an eyebrow.
"Why did you do that just now?"
"Do what?"
"That. The accent. It was like you turned a switch and suddenly, you sounded… well, British."
She looked puzzled a moment. She shrugged her shoulders a little.
"Oh. I am sorry. It is just that, when I am around people, I tend to pick up their accents and inflections and begin using them. I am not attempting to mock you in any way. I just try to…blend in. I was taught to do that."
"Then, you are an actress."
The tiny smile reappeared.
"I suppose I am."
She had transferred her belt knife to him, until he could acquire a more suitable weapon. Then again, he wasn't trained, as she was. She would have to attend to that as well. It would not be possible to bring him up to her level in so short a time. She had trained five years in Japan with the Togakure Clan – after Mike… well, it was still difficult to think about. She and "Ajax" (his Dad had nicknamed him that) had been as close as two humans could be. He had been her inspiration, had given her everything that was his to give – including his sense of purpose. It had all been about two little words: Never again. Mike had been gone a long time. Now, Geoff was here. If she could instill in him even a small part of what she had learned, they would be doing well.
She went over the background of how they would approach this 'mission'. They sat on the floor of the cave as they talked He sat very near her. She didn't want to say anything, but she wished he would move back a bit. She found the nearness of him… unsettling.
His smell was disturbing as well. No; "smell" was not the right word. His essence was disturbing, and seemed to permeate everything around her. Unbeknownst to the statuesque blonde, he was experiencing the same disquieting feelings about her.
She then ran him through some basic exercises with the sword and knife; proper stances, grip, some basic movements, offensive and defensive. In the case of the hand knife, which would be his weapon for now, she admonished not to hold it blade-forward. A quick opponent could knock it out of his grasp or take it from him. Instead, he should reverse the knife, shielding the blade along the underside of his forearm. Then, he would sweep the blade outward when he was slashing at his opponent.
They set off for a 'sweep' of the area in the late afternoon. The sun had already lost much of its mid-afternoon intensity. She wanted to take him on a nice, easy patrol, just so he could get acclimated to the routine. Perhaps they could even pick up some good intel on their opponent. She worried the Golganthan – who would undoubtedly have his teammate by now – might also do the same. She didn't really want to get Geoff involved in actual combat just yet, but they couldn't hole up in the cave and outlast the bastards, either. As it happened, the Golganthans were the last of their problems.
As the sun dropped further, the sound began. It was a chirping sound, almost like a squeaky wheel. More precisely, it was like a thousand squeaky wheels, ten thousand, all chirping at once. The sound emanated from everywhere, and nowhere. Whatever it was, it was getting louder. They both looked around, trying to spy the source. Geoff climbed a little rise to get a better view of the surrounding terrain. Both swept the area with their eyes. Then the smell hit them. It was sharp, slightly metallic, and acidic. It had already become so strong she could actually taste it.
Geoff was behind her. She turned to face him. She could not believe her eyes. Her companion was sprouting a pair of antennae, one from each shoulder. As she watched in fascination, the antennae rose higher and higher over his head. They waved back and forth animatedly. Yet, he seemed completely oblivious to their presence. He simply gazed down at her, perplexed at the look of astonishment on her face. In horror, Giselle realized they weren't rising from him; they were rising behind him!
She was on him in a flash. In one fluid motion, she planted both feet, grabbed his rugby shirt in her right hand and yanked hard. Geoff sailed over her right shoulder, tumbling head-over-heels down the embankment. Her left hand was a blur. Steel glinted brightly in the late afternoon sun. In six fluid battojutsu strokes, the towering blonde sliced through the antennae, mandibles, and front legs in order. The beast dipped forward and down, blind and crippled but far from helpless. All it had to do was fall on her and the game would be over before it had truly begun. On the seventh stroke, she whirled clockwise to her left, raised the sword over her head and slashed down, left to right. The massive, reddish-brown bulk and severed head collapsed as one - and were still. The corpse gushed dark green blood that brightened as it oxygenated.
Her entire response, from first move to last, had taken five seconds.
She wiped the blade clean with the cloth at her belt, and re-sheathed the sword. Then, she turned to her companion. He sat, sprawled, at the foot of the incline, staring up at her dumbly. He picked himself up, dusted himself off, and returned to her side. He stared down at the mass of … whatever it had been, then back at her in open amazement.
"What is… was it?"
The words came to her then, as though she had just heard them for the first time. This was a different species, but she accurately identified the beast in the same matter-of-fact inflection Edmund Gwynne had used fifty years before.
"Solenopsis invicta, of the order Hymenoptera. A fire ant."
Geoff just stared at her as though she had said: "Howdy Doody".
"No. No, no, no, no, NO! I know ants. I have seen ants. I have NEVER seen an ant eight feet long."
"Ten. We were lucky; this looks to have been a minor worker. The major workers would be bigger still."
Geoff snorted.
"Oh, well, thank the Lord for small favors! I feel so much better now. Do ants always bleed green blood?"
She had been puzzling over that very question since she beheaded the monster.
"No, they don't."
The sound continued, more frenzied than before. Giselle looked up at her companion, then slipped her arm through his.
"Let's go. We won't accomplish anything more here this afternoon and it would be a really bad idea to stick around right now."
"So? What about tomorrow?" he demanded. "What will we do then?"
She was stunned by the sudden appearance of this particular beast, in this place and under these circumstances. A thought occurred to her - more like intuition. More than anything else, it was the green blood that had convinced her. She believed she already had the answer to that one.
"Nothing. They won't be here."
She avoided his gaze – and expression of utter incredulity. He almost missed the single word she uttered sotto voz.
"Cupraglobin."
They returned to the cave and slaked their thirsts. The Praetor appeared to them. It was the first time Geoff had seen the holographic transmission. The young man spent a good three minutes ranting to the Arcturan about the ant, why they hadn't been apprised of the Arena's indigenous threats, his lack of substantial firepower, and how unfair it was for Giselle to have to shoulder the entire burden. Not once did he even imply it was unfair of them to have placed him there, in jeopardy, in the first place. In the end, all of it was for naught. The Praetor completely ignored him, in favor of his female companion.
There was food there, the Arcturan intoned. Additional non-combat supplies would be available on request and more advanced weaponry would be forthcoming as they racked up more points. All of Arcturus had been utterly stunned at the speed and skill with which she had dispatched her first challenge.
"What do you mean?" asked Giselle. "What 'challenge'?"
"Ah, yes, the Challenges…."
To make it more interesting for the audience, the Praetor droned, the contestants would also face additional 'challenges', above and beyond those posed by their primary opponents. These challenges could, and would, pop up at any time and take any form. The jeopardy was exactly the same; if a 'challenge' killed you, your opponent won by default.
He "regretted wasting her time on a task that was so obviously beneath her advanced skillset." They would attempt to find others more worthy of her talents. Although the words, at face value, were high praise indeed, she somehow felt they had been intended as a rebuke.
The 'food' was similar to, and as bland as, the average granola bar. Still, they were plentiful and the pair was famished. As she chewed, Giselle reflected on the events of the day, as well as their somewhat dubious dinner. This was one of those few moments in her life when an MRE would have been a welcome substitute. She would do better for them tomorrow, she vowed. In fact, an MRE might not be a bad idea….
The trembling began later. It was nothing new to her; she had dealt with it for a most of her adult life. In the heat of combat, you cannot afford the luxury of emotions. You shut them off, lock them away, so you can do the job you know you have to do. If you get hit in the meantime, oh well. If one of your team gets killed, tough luck; keep going. Eventually, the job is over, the day is done. You have to face the uncomfortable proposition of unlocking that which you locked away – and dealing with it. Bullets and bombs were one thing; monsters from her childhood, monsters that had taken on physical, flesh-and-blood form were a different story….
He watched her, sitting on the opposite side of the cave, hugging her knees tightly and rocking back and forth. She looked… small; nothing like the strong, confidant woman he had accompanied on patrol – the one who had so nonchalantly carved up the monster ant and saved his life before he even had time to react. Now, she sat alone, forlorn, and shaking like a leaf.
She jumped at his touch. He had sat down next to her, closer than he had been that afternoon, and put his arm around her.
"In all the fuss this afternoon, I completely lost my head – and manners. Thank you for saving my life. What you did with that sword was amazing. I don't know why I am here in the first place, but if I must, I am glad it is with you."
She was confused; wanting him to be there, yet wanting him to get away from her. This was a complication she didn't need right now. He was right there. She could feel his heat – and it felt good. She gazed up into those blue eyes, losing herself in them. At that moment, she was vulnerable. She lowered her gaze, fixing her sight on that beautiful, sensual mouth….
He was tender and she needed that. He caressed her in a gentle, sensual manner that belied his youthful countenance. She had never truly needed a man before, but she needed this one now. She needed his kiss, his touch, his warmth. He was special. Being with him was special, too.
"I shouldn't be doing this," she thought, "but he is SO good. It's just like I thought it would -"
Her eyes flew open as a terrible thought occurred to her. NO! Dear God, they can't be! She pressed her hand to his lips.
"Please, we have to stop right now."
The visibly shaken young woman retreated to the opposite side of the cave. She collapsed in a heap and sobbed uncontrollably. When Geoff approached, attempting to console her, she swatted at him with one hand, warning him with her glare to stay away. He returned to his side in misery. He vowed if he lived to be one thousand, he would never understand women.
The anger burned deep within her. You Bastards! I hope you are enjoying the show!
They were enjoying the show. Initial reaction to the female's stunning dismemberment of the giant insect had been overwhelming. The interplay between her and her companion was shaping up nicely, too, although her sudden refusal of him at the last moment had been a disappointment.
This looked to be much more promising than the last outing with a Human. That event had dragged on for almost two decades; two bumbling nits flailing away at each other ineffectually, day after day, year after year. That had been too funny. Finally, the Human's opponent had died of natural causes. Boredom, if you asked the Praetor. The "winner" had been sent home, a laughingstock in the eyes of the Arcturans.
In a routine follow-up, the Praetor had discovered the man's own people had murdered him upon his return, nailed him to a wooden cross – and they had not even had to endure his drawn-out, lackluster effort. During the contest, there had been no shortage of Arcturan 'volunteers' demanding to put the contestant out of their misery.
The Second Day
When Geoff awoke, she was gone. He didn't exactly panic, but he was concerned. Had he mucked it up with her that badly, that she didn't even want to be around him? What had set her off in the first place? They hadn't really done anything but kiss and cuddle. Why was it affecting him this way, anyway? It wasn't as though he were starved for female attention in his life, but this one….
She was everything the others were not; smart, strong, tough, assertive, self-reliant, intuitive, yet still charming, coquettish, and amazingly, surreally feminine. She was vulnerable, very human, too, as she had displayed so eloquently the night before. If only he could figure out what was going through her head…. He hated to admit she had gotten to him, fast and hard, gotten under his skin. Whatever happened between them from now on, he didn't want her to think badly of him, although he couldn't figure out why she thought badly of him in the first place.
He had no idea where she could have gotten off to and didn't fancy going to look for her by himself. The memory of yesterday was still fresh in his mind. She might have been confident the ants – and he was certain there had been more than one of the monsters – would be gone, but he was not. The thought of running into another – alone - was not high on his "to do" list. Perhaps he should just stay here a bit and see if she comes ba….
He heard the sound. It was faint; he couldn't quite make out what it was. His eyes strayed to the corner. Her sword was there, where she had left it the night before. That seemed damn peculiar. He didn't know her that well yet, but it was his impression she would no more leave without her sword than without her clothes. There was that sound again! He couldn't get a clear read on it, but it seemed to be coming from… one of the passages at the rear of the cave. Then, the thought occurred to him. God, Giselle! She wasn't in trouble, was she? All he could picture was one of those six-legged monsters grabbing her in its mandibles and dragging her back into the far reaches of the cave – while he had slumbered on in blissful ignorance.
He was moving then – fast. He snatched up the sword and made for the rear passage, stopping at intervals to listen and get his bearings. He had expected the cave to get darker the further into it he went. That was not the case. The rock walls were laced with minerals that appeared to have a natural luminescence to them. It was an eerie twilight, but a visible one. Once his eyes adjusted, he made his way quickly.
At last, he was able to make out the nature of the sound; splashing. A couple more quick turns,through otherwise empty chambers, around a corner and – he could not believe his own eyes. There, spread out before him, was… a grotto; a deep, subterranean pool, fed by a waterfall off to one side. The entrance to the grotto was at the top of a flight of stone stairs, seemingly formed by eons of natural erosion. The stairs curved downward to water level – actually, below it, like a swimming pool. The walls of the grotto were heavily infiltrated with the luminous minerals, above and below the waterline. The chamber was an oasis; a little piece of Paradise in the middle of nowhere.
Fittingly, Giselle was there; her lush, womanly body glided gracefully through the water. She approached the bottom of the stairs and began her ascent. Glancing up, she beheld him, standing at the top of the stairs – and just kept stepping. As she rose from the water, it became readily apparent she hadn't a stitch of clothing on. If she was at all embarrassed about revealing herself to him, she gave not the slightest clue. With that lush, curvaceous body, he thought, she had nothing to be embarrassed about. He descended the stairs, meeting her halfway. She noted the sword in his hands, then just looked up at him – and smiled. Dear God, she was beautiful, standing there like that! He thought his heart would burst.
"First," she asserted, "thank you for coming to my rescue. Since I am not in need of it this time, might I take a rain check?"
His mind raced, trying to think of something, anything to say to put the trauma of the previous night behind them. Before he could say anything, she glanced down, towards the far side of the step he was standing on. He looked down, seeing… two plush towels sitting there! He looked at her quizzically. She smiled. His heart skipped a beat at that.
"They are a gift from the Arcturans – along with a few other little goodies I 'requisitioned'," Giselle revealed. "Sorry; no new weapons yet. I don't know about you, but I am grateful to be able to get cleaned up. I found this…"
She swept her hand in an arc, indicating the grotto.
"…early this morning. Isn't it exquisite? It is exactly what I needed to feel better about myself. A shower and a swim, and I feel like a whole new woman, so to speak. However, I really would like to dry off now, so…."
Rather than stand there, looking like a complete idiot, he put down the sword, snatched up a towel, unfurled it, and held it up. She turned appreciatively and allowed him to wrap her in it, patting her dry in the process.
She turned back to face him. She raised her left hand and rested it softly on his cheek.
"I apologize for last night," the woman offered. "I want you to know that whatever you think happened, it was not your fault. I'm not ready to talk about it just yet, but we will talk; I promise you that."
Her hand had moved from his cheek to his chest. He felt her warmth against his own. His heart hammered madly in his chest. His other reaction was the obvious one. She glanced down, smiling mischievously.
"Here. You'll need this," the blonde observed.
He accepted from her the clear plastic bottle with the green and white label.
"Dr. Bronner's 18-in-1 Hemp Almond Pure-Castile… Soap?" he queried.
She smiled, nodded – and pushed. Geoff flew off the staircase, into the pool. He surfaced, shaking his head.
"You really needed a bath, Tiger," Giselle avowed. "First, lose the clothes. Don't be modest; I've already 'shown you mine'. The soap is concentrated; a little goes a long way. Use the ledge under the stairs. Rinse off under the waterfall. Take a swim after, if you wish. I found it really refreshing."
She sat there, on the step, watching him with a bemused smile on her lips. Geoff felt self-conscious and elated at the same time as he shed his dirty, smelly clothing. He couldn't remember a better, more joyful morning in a long, long time.
The grotto was a study in contrasts, just as was the woman who had introduced him to it. The ledge she had alluded to actually ran from the base of the stairs, around the curve of the chamber and behind the waterfall. There was a smaller pool in a recessed area behind the waterfall, surrounded by rock and separate from the main pool. The waterfall and main pool's waters were warm, yet the hidden pool was icy-cold. Perhaps there was a separate source feeding the smaller pool, or none at all; the still waters stood apart from the rest in their cold stone 'refrigerator'. Either way, Geoff was amazed with this natural spa.
He soaped, rinsed off, and swam, relishing the warming waters. All the while, he tried not to make it obvious that he was watching Giselle out of his peripheral vision. He could not get enough of the sight of her. She was making no bones about watching him! Perhaps she wasn't making any bones, but he was. He was embarrassed to step out of the water in that condition, but it wasn't going anywhere and they had to. There was only one thing to do….
He made his way back to the waterfall and stepped into the icy pool. Almost immediately, he spied a glint beneath the surface. It was a metal cylinder, perhaps two feet in length and eight inches in diameter. He looked up in puzzlement. Giselle caught his eye immediately. He read the warning expression on her face. She briefly cast her eyes upward, which he took to be a reference to 'eyes watching from above'. He nodded his understanding, then dove into the main pool and swam to the bottom of the steps.
Giselle awaited him at mid-step, towel in hand, as he had earlier for her. Despite his recent icy plunge, the sight of her standing nude before him awoke his 'friend' yet again. She was decent about it. She kept her eyes on his as he mounted the steps – but she was smiling a notch more than before. She patted him dry, as he had done for her. She spun him around – and they were face-to-face, and very close. His 'friend' was being particularly naughty, poking into places it oughtn't. She didn't object, didn't shy away, nor did she encourage him to go further. She just stood there, looking into his eyes, as if trying to decide exactly what her reaction should be. She settled on one, and voiced it.
"I want to thank you for a lovely first date," she asserted. "I really can't remember when I've had a more enjoyable time."
She smiled alluringly. Then, she picked up her sword, turned and headed up the stairs. He followed, lost for words.
The chamber just before the grotto wasn't as empty as he had first surmised. There were two piles of clothing: standard-issue military camouflage fatigues, desert pattern, with "Sally Mae" utility harness, canteens, soft, floppy-brimmed hats, underwear, sox, and boots. He pulled his head back and looked at her askance. Giselle smiled and shrugged her shoulders.
"I figured if we were going to play 'soldier' we should at least look the part. I guessed at your sizes. It should be pretty close."
Somehow, he felt this woman was not playing 'soldier'. How did the Yanks put it? She was the "real deal". Did their armed forces now have female combat troops serving on the line? And who had taught her to wield a sword that way? Certainly not the American Army, nor any army he knew of. She hadn't said anything about it, nor would he ask her. The Arcturans were watching, and after what she had told him about the parameters they established for their 'contestants', it would be something best left unsaid.
A thought occurred to him then. How much were they watching? Were they only interested in the actual combat, or did they digest everything? He remembered the interlude in the grotto, her silent visual reference to their 'audience'. Were they watching even then? Given the situation, he had no reason to believe otherwise. The Arcturans apparently regarded them as little more than lab rats. If that thought had occurred to Giselle the night before, her reaction, then and now, suddenly made more sense. Once again, he felt slow on the uptake. As for her being "close" on guessing his sizes, he discovered she had been spot-on. She gazed at him approvingly from head to toe.
"I do so adore a man in uniform."
She kissed him lightly on the cheek. He held her there, against him, for a moment. She stiffened briefly, until she realized he wanted nothing more than that. Then, she relaxed and melted against him. He put his lips to her ear, as though he was nuzzling it.
"What is in the cylinder in the grotto?"
She nuzzled his ear in return.
"That, My Dear, is a little piece of the most destructive force known to Humankind."
He simply stared at her in wide-eyed disbelief. Although he knew little of this woman, he was not prepared to doubt even this.
They shared that brief intimacy before having to return to their roles as 'professionals'. In truth, he wanted much more, wanted to ask more. He wisely kept his mouth shut. She had already given every indication she was still interested – and that when she was ready to talk, she would do so. He chose to believe the previous night had not been a mistake; just ill-timed.
The American military-issue MRE ("Meal, Ready to Eat") had been a luxury he had not expected. It was even self-heating! Then again, he hadn't expected any of this – or her. This was like nothing he had ever expected in his life – for stakes he had never expected to face. He hoped he was up to the task. Above all else, he hoped that, if the time came when she needed him, he would not fail her.
After policing their trash, he recovered his belt knife. She had him practice a bit more with his sword and knife movements, concentrating more at that point on fluidity of motion than speed. After a good workout, they donned polarized dark amber goggles to ward off the bright sunlight and set out on their morning patrol.
To Giselle, this was to be a simple reconnaissance mission. They still needed more information about the Golganthans. Where were they? What were they up to? What kind of weapons did they use? What tactics would they employ? How did they think? She didn't expect to learn much, if anything about their Arcturan 'hosts', but she would be receptive to any information she might glean.
They climbed an embankment, Geoff in the lead. He reached down to help her up. She flashed an appreciative smile. They just stood there a moment, him holding her hand. Neither made a move to release the clasp. After a bit, they just turned and resumed walking. Even Geoff knew there was nothing 'professional' about this, but it was an open space and they would be able to see danger well before it presented itself.
"Giselle?"
"Yes?"
"Yesterday, I mean, the ant…."
"We've already been through this."
"No, not that. I froze. I didn't know what to do. I didn't even have time to think about what to do."
"That's the nature of this business, Geoffrey. If you have to think about it, you're dead."
"That worries me. I mean, I'm here and all. If I'm not to muck things up all the time, I'll need to learn how to stay alive at the least. I would like to be a help, not a hindrance. I've had some firearms training, and some martial arts, but nothing for a situation like this. I mean, what would I do if I had to defend myself right now?"
Giselle raised one eyebrow, glanced down at their clasped hands, and smiled bemusedly. Her response was pure jocular American.
"Boy, you must be a real fun date."
He blushed beet red.
"You know what I mean."
Giselle smiled, adding her other hand to encompass his.
"Sorry, couldn't resist. All right, if I were to suddenly get this uncontrollable urge to molest you, I suppose you would just have to… turn around."
"Turn around?"
"Yes. Turn around."
With that, the blonde pivoted on the ball of her foot, turning to the inside of their clasped hands. She trapped his hand firmly within her own, holding his arm close. She twisted outward and down with her arms, using his elbow as a pivot point. Geoff cartwheeled through the air, landing on his upper back with a thump. The wind was knocked from him. He lay there for a moment, looking up. In a moment, he collected air and wits.
"I see."
Giselle giggled and helped him to his feet. He glared at her with mock ferocity.
"You enjoyed that, didn't you?", he growled.
His companion smirked.
"Rather. It isn't often I get a really good-looking guy to fall for me."
He softened his glance.
"I doubt that very much. I can't imagine a man who wouldn't take a tumble for you."
Her smile faded just a bit.
"Not as many as you might believe. There really hasn't been time for it. Besides…"
She placed her hand on his cheek.
"… I'm choosey."
He rather liked the sound of that.
Geoff stumbled upon it as he scouted an outcropping of rock. He had been momentarily struck dumb in terror, then shouted out her name as he drew his knife. Giselle had come on the run, sword at the ready. When they determined it was no longer a threat, they relaxed and examined the carcass.
This one had been a 'major worker'. It spanned some fifteen feet in length. There had been nothing of Giselle's surgical precision in this kill. The beast had been deliberately, systematically hacked to death. It was apparent from the severity of the damage that great strength had been employed. That was consistent with what Giselle already knew about the Golganthans. This information was revealing in what to expect from their adversaries. It also gave them one other important piece of information: Human challenges could just as easily become Golganthan challenges. Conversely, an ordeal intended for the Golganthans….
There was something else about the carcass that troubled her. The kill was old – along the same timeframe as her own. Most of the damage had been to the head and upper thorax, as it should be; that was where the mortal blows had been struck. But there was a section of the gaster that was also incised. This one did not resemble the type of wound inflicted in the heat of combat. More time had been taken, more care.
That didn't make sense. The stinger was back there, and the sting from a fire ant this size was certain to be lethal – even for the Golganthans. If they were attacking the stinger outright, fine - but it hadn't been touched. Why even put yourself in range of being stung? Unless… the gaster wound had been inflicted post-mortem. That made a little more sense, but what would be the purpose of cutting into a dead ant's abdomen? Suddenly, she realized the incision hadn't just been inflicted post-mortem; it was fresh!
The first boulder missed them by inches. The second, larger one, following immediately in the wake of the first, would have crushed them both – had they still been in the same spot. At that moment they were encircling the outcropping in opposite directions, looking for a way up.
Geoff's first view of a Golganthan was, in fact, the business end of a Golganthan fighting dagger. It missed his eyes by a whisker as he raised his head above the ledge. Dipping down to allow the return sweep to pass harmlessly over his head, he gathered all his strength and thrust upward with his arms, pivoting at the hips to vault both legs across the ledge. He caught the female behind the ankles, knocking her legs out from under her. She tumbled backwards and crashed on the rocks, bellowing in pain.
He made his way to his feet. She was not far behind, the blade held before her, waving back and forth. He could hear the repeated clang of metal on metal from beyond the crest and knew Giselle and the male were having at it. Geoff was in a precarious position; poised on the edge with the female before him and a long drop behind. She was not a pro; but then, neither was he. He focused not on the blade, but on her eyes, waiting for her to telegraph her next move.
She thrust twice in rapid succession; first right, then left. He dodged in opposite succession, his superior speed enabling him to evade the blade. She danced to her right, then thrust across. He turned to his right, taking her thrust harmlessly down his left side. Without conscious thought, he clamped his left hand down atop her right wrist, reversed direction, brought his right hand up to clamp the underside of her wrist, then pivoted down and out with his arms, using her arm as a fulcrum.
The effect was spectacular. The Golganthan flew off her legs, spun through the air – and over the ledge. He could hear the recurrent, sickening crunch as she bounced down the side of the rocks, then the dull thud as she hit the ground. Geoff just looked at his two hands, not comprehending what they had just done. A flicker of movement below him caught his eye. To his utter amazement, the Golganthan was hobbling away, in distress, but under her own power. He knew with certainty he would not have survived such a fall.
"Nicely done. Apparently, you are picking up some of my bad habits. I like that in a man. You know, you could have used YOUR knife."
Giselle was before him, re-sheathing her sword in that fluid, effortless flourish he admired. He glanced at his belt. There it was, right where he had put it before they had left the cave.
"In the heat of battle, I didn't even think of it," he moaned. "See what I meant earlier? How stupid of me. The male?"
She smiled.
"Beating a similarly hasty retreat. I nicked him. He'll live."
She stood before him, placing her hand upon his cheek. He was beginning to realize just how much he enjoyed the feel of it there.
"Surviving any combat, particularly hand-to-hand combat, is not 'stupid'," she intoned. What you did displays an amazing degree of courage and coolness under fire. In case it was lost upon you, you didn't just mimic what I showed you; you improvised. You faced a different combat situation and adapted your technique to it. I don't wish to sound condescending, but I am proud of you."
His heart skipped a beat.
"This is the first time I have ever had the Bad Guys on the run," he opined.
Giselle looked down, pursing her lips. She spoke her next words quietly.
"Geoff, the Golganthans are our opponents. We have no quarrel with them; we are simply obliged to fight them. The Arcturans are the 'Bad Guys' for creating this artificial conflict and throwing the four of us into it. Remember that. Let's go. We still have work to do."
They made their way down from the outcropping. The two Golganthans had retreated in different directions. Giselle chose to track the male first and, if necessary, return to the outcropping to track the female. As they made their way around the base of the rock, Geoff couldn't help but notice the smooth, vertical walls without viable handholds on the side that Giselle would have had to scale. The lowest available ledge was some ten or eleven feet up. He couldn't, for the life of him, imagine how she had made her ascent so quickly.
The skirmish had been a blessing in disguise. The male had been cagy enough, doubling back several times and hiding his tracks. The injured female had not. She had made a beeline back to their cave. Giselle and Geoff followed her tracks, noted its location, then withdrew, lest they be caught in an ambush even while planning their own.
They took a circuitous route back to their own cave, lest they repeat the Golganthan female's mistake. Along the way, both were quiet, introspective. Geoff mulled over Giselle's description of their adversarial relationship with the Golganthans. He didn't like his conclusions one bit. She read his thoughts and spoke.
"You can't let it eat at you."
"Excuse me?" he replied.
"What we did to the Golganthans," she continued. "It wasn't personal. If we had been a little slower, we would be the ones hurting right now."
"That doesn't make it right," Geoff interjected.
"It never is," Giselle pointed out. "Studs Terkel once described World War Two as "The Last Good War". That was an unfortunate choice of words. There has never been a 'good war'. Some are worse than others and they all end badly. The only people who believe in a 'good war' have either forgotten it over time or were never there. Ask any soldier who was there – if you can get them to talk about it at all.
"World War Two was the last good cause, one with a clear-cut sense of right and wrong that everyone could believe in and rally behind. Even that was subject to interpretation, depending where you lived. Almost every significant conflict since has been largely based on hype, a manufactured motive; again, some more grievous than others.
"I would love to say this 'tournament' is a new low. It isn't. It isn't even new to us. American Rules Football. Hockey. Rugby. Professional Wrestling. Bullfights. Cockfights. Dogfights. Modern Lacrosse is played with a type of 'ball', but the original was played with a freshly-severed human head. It is all bread and circuses for the masses. Give them a little good old fashioned blood and gore to keep them satisfied."
Giselle stopped, grabbed her companion by the arms and turned him to face her.
"Geoff, this is the new Coliseum and we are the new Gladiators."
She released him, raising her arms and voice to the heavens.
"Ave Caesar! Morituri Te Salutant!"
He took her in his arms. She was close to tears.
"You really hate this, don't you?"
Her eyes glittered; twin sapphire flames.
"I really hate people jerking my chain. I hate being used, manipulated, to further someone else's agenda. I always have…"
She looked down dejectedly.
"…and, pretty much, I always have been."
"Giselle?"
"Yes?"
"Who is Studs Terkel?"
She laughed through her tears.
"Get outta town!"
Geoff's admiration for – no, attraction to – this amazing woman with her oddly compelling combination of clipped British tones and American idioms grew stronger by the minute. He knew he still had so much to learn….