He watched as Dasquian’s men carried the unconscious man from the ring. They were not especially gentle and, more than once, the defeated fighter’s head bumped into an obstacle. Coran pretended not to notice a doctor lift one of Shassir’s eyelids and then exchange a few words with one of the men. He silently wondered if this would be the last time he saw Shassir alive and tried to feel some regret. As always, when Coran knew that he should feel something, he primarily felt only one thing: the absence of a feeling. He had found an expression for this that seemed fitting to him – he called it a phantom emotion. He had gotten the idea from the imagined pain some people had after a body part had been amputated.
Only rarely did he ask himself if the absence of deeper feelings was part of the inheritance from his unknown parents. Coran had grown up with guardians. He hadn’t seen them for such a long time now, and the memory of their faces had faded into well-meaning, but pale, shadows. It was almost as if he didn’t consider his life as anything worth remembering, prior to his admittance into the Starfighter Academy. Sure, he knew the milestones of his life: Dropped off at a convent as an infant, handed over for adoption, a career as an average student, and lastly, the accidental discovery of his impressive abilities by Master Commander Phillips. The man, who would later become his mentor, had discovered from the guardians that Coran’s future lay with the Elite Soldiers.
When he entered the academy, Coran had started a new life. Here, it didn’t matter that his skin was light blue and covered in tiny scales. You could only see them if you looked closely. From afar, Coran could definitely pass as a human, especially if the observer couldn’t see his face. One look at his foreign features, however, and anyone would know that he was not human. At least not a pure human. On top of that, Coran could perceive the emotions of other creatures, but could not understand them. He had learned to imitate the expressions and gestures of others, and to use them at the appropriate times. If someone told a joke, he would give his brain the order to laugh, even if he didn’t understand the reason for the merriment. His mouth would turn up in the direction of his cheekbones, and his eyes would squint. It looked like a real “smile” but most humans seemed to feel that something wasn’t right. They looked at him, thought about it for a second, and then beat a hasty retreat.
He never saw most of them again.
This had changed when he’d first stepped into the hallowed halls of the Starfighter Academy. He and Daniel had become friends immediately and their friendship had survived everything. Even after Daniel decided to pursue a career as a stuffy and dry public official, and Coran had preferred to stay on active duty, their friendship had remained intact. His current mission had reunited them.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that Harold had grabbed Chloe Walker and was leading her away from the jeering crowd. Her head was hanging low and her hands were clenched into fists, but she held her shoulders straight. This woman was a bundle of contradictions and she was difficult to read. Her expressions and gestures sent him almost exclusively contradictory signals, like now. She was the only employee whose assignment in Dasquian’s empire he had been unable to figure out. Chloe Walker confused him and, for reasons he couldn’t understand, put him in a state of high alert.
Not knowing what her exact job was felt like an itch in a spot he couldn’t reach to scratch. His line of work demanded careful planning and the elimination of all uncertainties. She didn’t appear to hold a key position in Dasquian’s empire of murder, drugs and illegal fights, but he wasn’t one hundred percent sure, either. Maybe she could even be a potential ally. Coran was almost sure that Shor Dasquian held something over her, thus ensuring her cooperation. In his presence, Chloe tried painfully hard to keep her face empty of all expression. The only things that gave her away were the looks she gave the slimy guy when she thought nobody was looking.
Now, she was being led away. He couldn’t call it anything else. What had she done to earn Dasquian’s ill will? His triumph had put her into a state that he could only describe as panic. It was hard for him to assess Chloe, but if you took all facts into consideration and logically discounted everything that was impossible, then there was only one possible solution. The fight was supposed to have ended differently and Chloe would be held responsible for his winning instead of Shassir.
What could this young woman, who was almost still a girl, have done to make that happen? She hadn’t talked to him and hadn’t offered him anything in exchange for delivering a fake fight. Obviously, Dasquian had bet, via front men, on his defeat, and had lost a lot of money. Coran turned around once in a full circle with his arms raised, just as the audience expected, and then exited the confines of the ring with one, elegant leap. As he had expected, the crowd made room for him, and before they had time to recover from their shock, he had already reached the exit and pushed past the two security men. They let him pass without stopping him. Instead of turning left towards the dressing room, he turned in the opposite direction. He caught a glimpse of Chloe and Harold just as they turned down the tunnel, so he snuck after them.
Strange things were happening in the Starfighter Club, and he was going to find out how Chloe Walker was involved.
****