Chapter Two: Tom
One of the benefits of being a T'shav was that everybody assumed that you were waiting for the tiniest excuse to disembowel them. Thus, they tended to bend over backward trying to please you.
Tom enjoyed the way that the other customers at the power station simply melted out of his way as he strode towards the pay counter. It was a good thing, too, because he had no patience for long waits today. He was two days behind on his mission due to a micro asteroid splitting through his shields. Damn thing had torn a hole through his reserve power tank.
"Two helixes of power for Bond," he ordered, using the fake name he always employed when he was out on secret missions.
The Dibat standing at the power bar, yellow-skinned with warts all over his ugly face, nodded and tapped a few commands into the holographic bar. These days most civilized locations also had food, drink, and entertainment available when repowering a ship, but this little place had a few holographic ads to look at and nothing else. But, then, what else could be expected from the backend of the galaxy like Rozait?
"It'll just be five beats of the drum," the Dibat squeaked.
Tom sent the alien an annoyed glance. "And what is that in standard time?"
"Three hours."
Tom grunted. Slower than what he was used to. The hadron particles were probably not as pure, either, but what could he do about it? Beating the Dibat wasn't going to do any good except, perhaps, give him some brief sense of satisfaction. He stepped aside, letting the other customers approach the bar. Idly, he glanced over the ads as he headed outside.
The image of a blue-skinned woman that suddenly flashed over the wall made him freeze. On first glance, she appeared to be Aphrosian, but she was far too curvy to be of that species. He admired her build for a moment. She wore a USC uniform, but even the layers of bulk couldn't hide the fact she was all curves and muscle. Her shoulders were almost as broad as his own.
When Tom made his way to her face, his heart skipped a beat. It would have been embarrassing, except that everything besides that face had melted away. Her eyes were determined and angry, her full, kissable mouth set, her chin raised defiantly. He wanted to throw her onto a table, tear off her clothes, and explore her body until he found the spots that made her arch her back to him. He wanted to seat himself inside her, to find where he belonged–where he had always belonged, where he would forever belong. With her. His Starmate. He always knew he would find her, and now he had.
Tom's heart pounded shallowly as he managed to look at what the advertisement said about this beautiful, proud woman that housed the other half of his soul. A growl rose up in his chest as he read that she would be the Goddess for the Fifth Cycle Festival. The Goddess, to be fought over, and then used for whatever purpose the winner had planned for her.
Never.
Turning on his heel, Tom pushed his way through the customers, too impatient to wait for them to step out of his way this time. He slammed his hands down on the bar, making the Dibat jump, and glowered down at the little alien. His blood pumped, and he knew the red of his skin would look even redder. Good. The T'shav were often associated with demonic figures in other cultures, and that was certainly something he would use to his advantage here.
"How do I get in on the Festival Fight?"
The Dibat's jaw dropped. Tom didn't care what was going through the tiny creature's mind. When no answers were forthcoming, he leaned forward, growling as he narrowed his eyes. Still nothing, so he grasped the handle of the broadsword strapped to his back.
"You'll have to register! In the square. The Festival is about to start—"
Tom ignored the rest of the Dibat's squeals. He dashed from the power station, his heart pounding with both fear and excitement. He had found her. At long last, he had found his Starmate. He had been looking for her ever since he was a young boy. His parents had told him how souls were born in the stars but sometimes were separated into two parts when born into mortal bodies.
Now all he had to do was kill a bunch of men to get her. And if he lost? The thought made him smirk. I'm the son of a T'shav warlord who trained me to be a warrior. The only question is whether I sprain myself laughing as I cleave their heads from their shoulders.
He reached the square quickly. Dozens of men, from lean-figured Loeas to hulking, green-skin Faners, were streaming into an area that had been marked off by small silver disks. So it was to be a caged fight. Good. It would make disposing of his competition easier. He quickly paid the two helix quarks that were required to participate and strode in, the last of the competitors.
The men who caught sight of him inched away and Tom had to resist the urge to pity them. The battle was already half over, and they would be dead soon.
The loud, reverberating noise of a gong brought all their attention to a stout Trioeil standing on a platform overlooking the makeshift arena. Tom's breath caught in his throat. She was standing beside the Trioeil, golden chains around her wrists and ankles. The picture had done her no justice. They had edited out the subtle scar that marred her lower lip, making it dimple in half, as well as the scar above her left eye and the one showing just above her collarbone. She was all the more beautiful for these marks, showing that she had faced and survived at least one violent encounter.
A warrior, like him.
The Trioeil beside her raised its arms. "For the Goddess!"
"The Goddess!" the gathered men replied.
The blue-skinned woman's face twisted and she spat at the square. "If you're so concerned about the Goddess, who apparently I am, you'll all go home and rethink your life choices!" she shouted.
Tom laughed aloud, the only one to do so. Yes, she was his Starmate indeed!
"Fight for your Goddess and be brave," the Trioeil shouted. "Now! Fight! Fight!"
Tom rolled his eyes and stepped back as an energy cage sprang to life around them. At once, all the other men lunged, using knives and bare fists to tear at each other. There were even a few that had brought in swords. The quarters were too tight to wield them properly, though, so Tom left his sheathed. Instead, he drew the daggers bound to his thighs and watched.
Three of his competitors tried to rush him at once. With one easy motion, he sliced through their throats and threw the leftmost man into his brawling companions. Tom stepped over them, leaving them gasping on the ground as blood poured from their throats. He cut down two more that had been coming to join them and a sixth that turned and tried to run.
"Coward."
He prowled around the edges of the cage, picking off the weak ones so they couldn't come back and stab him in the back when he was dealing with the more powerful opponents. A man on the other side of the cage caught his eye. His skin was devil-red, footsteps agile, eyes keen and darting. Another T'shav. This one was older, more powerfully built.
The older T'shav nodded briefly as acknowledgment before turning his attention back to the other fighting males. Tom withdrew from the battle, now only taking care of individuals that came at him first. He would need his strength against that big brute.
Bodies littered the ground, the dirt becoming a stinking pit of red mud. It splattered on the trousers that Tom wore. He wrinkled his nose, wishing he had chosen to wear more traditional garb. But he hadn't known he was going to end up soaked in blood, had he? Two Faners came at him. He ducked a wild swing, stabbing into one of their kidneys while kicking out the knees of the others and jabbing his free dagger through the spine. Both dropped and Tom moved onto the next opponent.
Soon, it was only the two T'shav left. They faced each other, neither of them moving. Tom drew his broadsword, planting his feet firmly on a rare patch of solid ground. His chest heaved and his heart hammered, adrenaline flooding his system in higher concentrations.
"Surrender, boy," the older T'shav said, his stance relaxed, though he was panting from the effort of his previous battles. "I have been watching you fight. It would be a shame to destroy your talent when you are so young."
"Then you surrender," Tom replied swiftly. "The woman that these men chose as their Goddess is my Starmate, and I would put an entire planet in its grave before I surrendered her."
The old T'shav backed up a step. He glanced up at the woman on the platform. Tom spared a glance that way as well. The Trioeil was rubbing his hands eagerly, but his mate was still standing, looking disgusted. Did she feel the same draw to him that he felt for her? Her fists shook. When their eyes met, he saw nothing but anger. Well, given the situation, that was understandable.
Tom turned his attention back to his opponent, who smiled wryly. "I was unfortunate enough to meet my Starmate the day she died. I really shouldn't… The Ruizers Corporation hired me to claim her. They'll continue to be after her, boy. Stay vigilant."
Ruziers. It was the corporation that had hired him to track down the ship he was after. Tom swallowed but nodded his thanks at the older T'shav. The man returned the nod and tossed down his weapons. "The spirits have spoken to me," he shouted. "This boy is the God, and it is my duty to serve him."
The crowd gasped, but the older T'shav ignored them. He turned his back on Tom and strode away. The energy cage died, leaving the younger T’shay alone. He turned to his Starmate and smiled, climbing over the piles of bodies to take her hand and lead her away from this place.
To his surprise, she turned to the Trioeil. She punched the alien in the head hard, then grabbed the primitive keys off his belt. She unlocked herself and jumped from the wooden platform. Slipping in the bloody mud, she snatched up a sword and faced him, pointing the weapon at his chest.
"He might be the God," she shouted. "But, as the Goddess, I reject him. I will fight for myself!"
Loud chatter filled his surroundings, but Tom ignored it all. He stared at his Starmate, gripping the weapon as she stared him down, and he thought his heart might burst.
She was perfect.