The Other Side

by Shayne

Part III: Deluge

1

"Here ya go. Think that'll do 'er?"

Newly honed steel flashed through the air in a silver blur. Ronin ran a thumb along the edge of his katana, smiling a little when a few drops of blood formed immediately.

"That's perfect Ratty. Always is, though. Thanks."

Clapping the man's shoulder in thanks, Ronin left the armorer's workshop, leaving him grinning at praise from one of the Arena's top warriors.

Heading straight for his assigned training room, Ronin tried to figure out who would be there this time of day. He'd missed his time slot this morning due to the nick his blade had taken last night. He grimaced. Hitting bone was hard on your sword. Even the force-field didn't completely protect it.

Luckily, the room was nearly empty, which was fine with him. A bunch of the guys who shared his slot couldn't resist challenging him, and he'd end up fighting some idiot's ego when all he wanted was a peaceful couple of hours with Sgt. Percy, the arms-master. A better work-out couldn't be found in this place.

The man himself was coming towards him now, a huge grin splitting the scarred face. Percy was an institution here. Some said he'd started out as a Gladiator and Ronin could easily believe it. The big, fiery-headed mongrel's right over-hand strike was like getting hit by ten tons of falling metal.

"Ho, there, boyo, ya missed our date this morning. I was beginning to think you didn't care anymore. And how's your pretty?" Percy gestured with his long-sword to Ronin's katana. "Ratty kiss it all better?"

He bared his teeth in a fierce grin at the man's good-natured mockery.

"My blade's just fine. Ready to chop that piece of scrap you've got into shards."

Percy roared with laughter.

"Then let's go, boyo. I ain't gettin' any younger over here."

Stepping lightly onto the training floor, Ronin unsheathed his sword, activating it as he did so. Then, surprise being nine-tenths of any advantage, he immediately attacked.

---

How he'd survived his first melee, he still wasn't sure. Blood, guts and terror, it had been everything Raoul had told him and more. He'd been sure he'd freeze up... but he hadn't. Those automatic responses his Sensei had called forth and honed had forced his muscles to do what they had to. He'd killed six men that night. At the end, only he and one other had been left of twenty and he'd stood there, covered in gore, and listened to the roar of the crowd.

The other man had raised his arms in victory, showing off for the masses of people in the stands, but he'd just knelt to clean his blade on one corpse's leathers then waited, silent and impassive, for the Guard to arrive. That night, Ronin was born, emerging from a crucible of his own making and rising like a fiery phoenix over the pyre of Guy's death.

Ronin was graceful and deadly. He never spoke and he moved only to attack. The blood-maddened spectators loved him. He fought in five melees before the Arena's investors decided to capitalize on his popularity, sending him up against single opponents in the best-loved event of the ring: the duel.

It was worse than melee. There, you didn't think; you only acted. But a duel was different. These were men you saw daily, occasionally trained with. Standing there, knowing that of two, only one would walk out of the fight-ring...

To live you must make yourself a killer... then do it without thought or question.

I've done as you taught me, Sensei, he thought bleakly. I'm still breathing.

Running his fingers over his protective suit, Ronin checked for weak points and gashes. The only good thing about being a duelist was the full-body, ultra-light skin-armor not issued to melee fighters. It wasn't made to withstand a killing blow from a force-sword (that would defeat the Arena's purpose) but it deflected most everything else. After almost three months in this place, he had any number of scars, but few wounds that had needed more than Seal-It.

He draped the suit over the single chair his quarters afforded and stretched out on his narrow bed. For a duelist, the accommodations were better, but still sparse. One thing he did have more than enough of was clothing. Raoul had sent his things.

They'd come the night of that first melee, and he'd stood in his tiny cell, freshly clean of blood and other death fluids, looking at the jeans, t-shirts and gis piled neatly on the miniscule cot. Stumbling to the bed, he'd wrapped himself in the scent of Raoul and home and cried until his entire body ached with it.

Folding one arm behind his head, he grabbed a cig with his free hand and lit up, then lay back, staring at the white metal ceiling above him.

He didn't let himself think consciously about the Blondie very often. But he couldn't control his dreams and one way or another, his Sensei showed up in his brain on a daily basis. Sometimes in nightmares where they were forced to kill each other. More often in fantasies so erotic that he woke panting, come all over his thighs.

Every time he stepped onto the hard-packed dirt floor of the Arena, he glanced up at the level reserved for the Elite. Occasionally a blonde head would stand out amidst the other colors, but it was never Raoul. And he supposed he should be grateful for that. He didn't want his Sensei to see blood defile the blade he'd given Ronin. Sometimes he felt that neither he nor the katana would ever be clean again.

"Hey. Hey Guy."

The low-voiced words hissed into the room's com, dragging him from his introspection, and he turned his head to see a fellow Gladiator standing just outside his sealed door. The ports here were made of heavy-duty plas so the guards could look into any closed room.

For the most part, Gladiators were allowed freedom of movement within their separate compounds. After all, if a fighter stepped outside the Arena's bounds, the chip they all had implanted at the top of their spinal columns would fry his brain and nervous system in less than five seconds. Try to remove it, same outcome. And if they killed each other... that was just one more criminal off the files.

Ronin kept his port sealed at all times. The Duelist's Compound was a slippery pit of constantly shifting loyalties and alliances. The man sitting across from you in mess that morning might well take your head off after dinner that night. It didn't make for a secure atmosphere and Ronin had kept to himself from the beginning, instinct warning him not to get involved.

The only semi-exception to the rule was standing outside his door right now.

Greg had been a kid in Ronin's old Ceres neighborhood. A bully and a braggart, the boy had disgusted him then. But from what he could see, the guy had had the BS knocked out of him in the toughest game in town.

He was a damn good fighter, quick and agile. Ronin sparred him enough that he knew the rhythms of the man's attacks and defenses. He just hoped he never had to fight Greg. He didn't want to kill a man he'd grown up alongside.

Pushing up from the bed, he walked over to open the port, leaning against the doorway and lighting another cigarette.

"That's not who I am anymore."

Greg, now known by the dubious appellation of 'Berserker', or 'Buzz' for short, looked quickly around, then back at Ronin.

"Yeah, sorry. I just—I wanted to let you know what's goin' on. You know the Champion?"

"What about him?"

The Champion of the Arena was a position held by the strongest warrior there. The one with the most kills. To assume the mantle, you had to waste the guy wearing it. Ronin knew that eventually he'd come up against the man. He'd hoped it would be later rather than sooner.

"He's pissed 'cause you brought in as many credits last month as he did. He's gunnin' for you, man. Merc said he's gonna challenge you tonight in front of everyone."

Yep. Gonna be sooner.

"Just stay clear of the mess-hall."

Ronin shrugged, sucking in a lungful of nicotine-laced smoke.

"Doesn't matter. He wants me enough, he'll find me." He smiled wryly at Berserker. "Thanks for the warning, though. 'Preciate it."

"Sure, man." The tall Gladiator looked down at his feet, sticking his hands in his pockets. "You're alright, Ronin. I always thought so. Look, I don't want to fight you. Not just because I know you'd kill me, either. It's shitty, you bein' in here."

Ronin hid his surprise, letting the smoke stream from his mouth in thin spirals.

"I did something pretty shitty to get here, Buzz. None of us in this place are clean. But again, thanks."

The other man nodded and turned to go, walking off down the long dormitory hall. Resealing his port, Ronin leaned back against it.

Hell. Just hell.

2

Sitting across from Raoul in Tantalus' low-lit dining room, Iason studied his friend with growing concern. Not to put too fine a point on it, the man looked like death.

The hollows of those high cheekbones were nothing short of gaunt, and fever-bright blue-green eyes stared out from bruised circles. Naturally pale Blondie skin had taken on an ashen hue and against it, Raoul's golden hair seemed strangely bright.

"Raoul... are you feeling alright? You've lost weight and your eyes..."

Those eyes snapped open, fixing him with a forbidding glare.

"I'm fine. There's no need to coddle me anymore, Iason. I'm fully grown."

Sinking into their booth's leather cushioning, Iason sipped his wine and frowned at the other Blondie.

"When have I ever said I didn't think you were? Am I not allowed to show worry for my closest friend? As I recall, you've done it yourself. To the point of tediousness."

Raoul let out a pent-up breath.

"I know, Iason. I'm sorry for snapping at you. I'm feeling—slightly out of sorts."

"Have you seen Hassar?"

"No. I—it's nothing like that. My sleep patterns have been disturbed for a number of weeks. That's probably why I look like hell."

Iason caught the glimpse of humor in his friend's eyes and smiled in relief.

"Well, I wasn't going to say it, but since you already did... Raoul, you look terrible."

"It's nice to have you around to tell me these things, Iason. Otherwise, I might not even notice."

Tossing back the rest of his cognac, Raoul stood, straightening his formally-cut, forest green evening jacket.

"And now I must ask you to excuse me, old friend. I believe I will try to get some much-needed rest."

Iason reached out to grasp his friend's hand, looking up into those haunted eyes.

"If you need to talk..."

Raoul gave a short bark of humorless laughter.

"No, Iason. I don't think this is something you and I are able to discuss. Good night."

Iason watched him go, white-gold brows plunging into a pronounced Vee. Raoul passed Riki at the room's entrance and the men stopped to exchange greetings before the Blondie disappeared through the arch.

His mongrel strolled casually over to the table and sat down opposite him. Tonight Riki was dressed in the simple, almost Elite style Katze favored, his color choices black and cream. Against his tanned skin, it was striking.

"Raoul looks like shit."

The comment dragged him from the sheer pleasure he experienced when looking at his Pet, reminding him of his earlier concerns.

"He does, doesn't he? He won't tell me what's wrong, either." Iason sighed. "Lords of heaven, that man is stubborn. He always has been."

A little smile played over Riki's mouth as he watched the Blondie.

"You can't take care of everyone all the time, Iason. I know you don't believe it, but there are people out there capable of coping with life on their own."

Iason's frown deepened.

"Am I being... overly demanding?

Riki laughed softly.

"I don't think you know how to be anything else, Blondie."

Scooting around the booth's curve, the mongrel slid up next to Iason, pressing against his lover. One long-fingered hand stroked the platinum Elite's furrowed brow. Relaxing into Riki's touch, Iason put an arm around his Pet.

"Raoul's a big boy, Iason. He can take care of himself."

Iason glanced into sparkling black eyes.

"That's what he said."

"Well, there you go. Straight from the racer's mouth. Now let's eat and get to whatever thing you've got going tonight. I want your exclusive attention sometime this evening, Blondie."

Riki nipped lightly at Iason's ear. The Blondie looked down at his Pet, the ice of his blue eyes melting, becoming the deep azure of a fire's heart.

"Riki, you have it."

---

He always told himself that he wasn't going to look; that it was time to stop allowing such a small part of his life to consume him. But every First, Fourth and Eighth-day, the days after the dueling events were held, he went straight to his terminal to find out who'd survived the Arena's blood-bath the night before.

Every time his eyes found the name 'Ronin' amongst the others, he felt the tension that hummed through his body disperse. It would be gone for a day, giving him a slight period of relief. Then once more it would mount until he felt that the city's main power supply was flowing directly through his veins.

Tonight was no exception.

Raoul sat in his darkened study, the light from the terminal screen his only illumination. This was the reason he'd left Iason at Tantalus, not his lack of rest. He already knew that he wouldn't sleep until twenty-seven-hundred at the least. And then the dreams would make him wish he'd never closed his eyes.

Over the past three months, he'd learned more about the Arena than he'd ever wanted to. He knew that Guy now possessed a neural implant that would destroy his brain if he ever left the Gladiator Compound without its removal. He knew that a melee began with twenty men and ended when only two still lived. He knew that criminals from planets all over the universe were sent to die in them.

He knew that Guy had survived five of them. And that his former student was now one of the most popular duelists to emerge for some time.

The minute he'd seen that name, he'd known who it was. The boy saw himself as a masterless samurai, fated to fight with no purpose and little honor until he died in battle. Raoul's jaw clenched at the thought.

How much more honor did that idiotic mongrel think he needed? He'd marched deliberately towards that fate, though Raoul had tried to send him away. The Blondie knew Guy had done it for two reasons: Riki... and Raoul's own self.

Letting his head fall back against his chair, the golden Elite watched the terminal's odd light dance over the walls, one of them still stained with the wine-colored blotches of his lost temper. Those stains marked the first time he'd ever done something like that, and he'd left them as a reminder.

Only Guy had the ability to provoke such a reaction. Even Iason at his most unreasonable hadn't made him so furious he couldn't think straight.

When his eyes began to throb along with the ache in his temples, Raoul finally rose.

"Terminal code F-thirty-two; five-zero-one."

The computer hummed at a slightly higher resonance and its light blinked out. His steps weary, the Blondie walked slowly down the hall. He hesitated before the port to Guy's room before touching the pad beside it. The door slid open and he just stood there, looking in.

It was just as they'd left it three months ago: the bedclothes askew, a pile of data pads and Guy's PCP on the table... one of his gis draped over a chair. The Arena had allowed him to send the mongrel's clothes, but no electronic equipment. Why, he couldn't fathom. Anything Guy might attempt would do him no good with that chip in him.

Crossing to the table, he touched the PCP's 'on' pad. It flickered to life, Musashi's ancient writings appearing on-screen. Raoul's mouth quirked. It had surprised him greatly at first that Guy wanted to read, but that faded quickly. The mongrel did more with his brain than half the Elites Raoul knew.

Turning off the PCP, he wandered over to the bed and sat down on the side, thinking about the last time he'd seen Guy there. It had been that morning three months ago when he'd woken wrapped around the younger man. He hadn't wanted to move.

Standing abruptly, he striped his clothes off, flinging them wherever, and sank into the bed, burying his face in the pillows and pulling the covers up. A hint of Guy's scent still lingered and it soothed the Blondie, relaxing his restless mind.

The odd notion that perhaps the violent dreams wouldn't find him here whispered through his thoughts as he drifted closer to oblivion. Fanciful, but he'd had any number of odd notions of late. This was just one more.

3

The mess-hall went quiet when he walked in. Ignoring the unblinking stares fixed on him, Ronin strolled over to the auto-cook and programmed his choices in. Not much to work with, but at least the fowl-and-rice dish looked non-toxic.

He went directly to the side table where he could see anyone coming or going. No one else ever sat there. They all knew better. His back comfortably against the wall, he ate, keeping one eye on the door. He knew it wouldn't take long.

It didn't.

When the Champion sat down opposite him, he didn't look up, just continued eating.

"You're a problem for me," the man across from him said without preamble. "If I don't Challenge you soon, I'll loose face. You know what that means here."

For the first time, Ronin got a good look at the other Gladiator. He had no idea what the man's name had been; he was just the Champion. Neither tall nor short, he possessed a tough, rangy body and light brown hair. Even before he'd taken a few slashes across his face, he hadn't been handsome. He was completely nondescript.

Except for his eyes. A bright, piercing blue, they looked out at the world with the feral intensity of a predator. Ronin wondered for an instant what the man had done to get here. Then decided he didn't want to know.

Pushing his plate away, he leaned back in his seat, pulling his cigarettes out. When he stuck one in his mouth, the Champion leaned over and lit it for him.

"Thanks."

Ronin let the smoke slide slowly through his lips, watching as it wreathed the other man's features.

"Yeah, I get your problem. If you don't take me down, the rest of them," he jerked his chin at the fighters sitting around other tables, "will think you're afraid to try. Bunch of 'em'll try to take you."

"Yes." The Champion met his eyes straight on. "If I thought it would work, I'd have had you killed already."

A muscle in Ronin's jaw flexed.

"We both know you've already tried," he replied evenly, silvery eyes detached. "Those guys in the showers weren't looking for a good time."

The other Gladiator's body went rigid.

Ronin always carried a knife. Sgt. Percy turned a blind eye where his protégée was concerned, and what the other Guards didn't know wouldn't hurt them. When two Gladiators had jumped the mongrel in the communal baths, he'd cut one man's throat and gutted the other, leaving the mess for the Guards to clean up.

"So how do you want to do this?" he asked. He wanted this conversation done with; preferably yesterday.

"I already put in a formal challenge for Tenth-day."

"Fine by me."

The Champion's eyes narrowed.

"They say a Blondie trained you with naked steel."

Silver eyes went diamond hard.

"My past is my own business."

The Gladiator studied him, shrewd blue gaze weighing and judging.

"I'd like to go up against you with nothing but my sword. No force, just the blades."

Ronin's face was stone, no expression giving away his thoughts.

"Sure," he said finally. "Why not? Let's kill each other the old-fashioned way."

"Reinforced leathers?"

"What else?"

Ronin pushed to his feet, grinding his smoking butt into the remains of his meal.

"You'll have to excuse me," he said politely, "but I have an appointment with FS-Room 5. I'll be there a couple of hours. Just in case anyone wants to try his luck."

The Champion looked up at him, a sardonic half-smile on his marked face.

"I'm gonna hate killin' you, Ronin. Waste of a damn good Gladiator."

"You never know," Ronin replied. "You might not have to."

Walking past tables full of gawking fighters, he left them to it. They'd be talking about this conversation for a long time; even after one or both of them were dead.

---

"Ah, shit."

Riki looked up from his terminal screen to see Katze frowning mightily at his own.

"What's up?"

The red-head glanced over at him, eyes like live coals, and took a deep drag of his current cig. At last count, he'd gone through six since Riki arrived two hours ago.

"I forgot that this year's Auction was moved up to Tenth-day this week."

"You forgot something?" Riki craned his neck to look out the window, exaggerated concern on his face. "I can't believe it. It's still there."

"What?" Katze asked irritably, falling neatly into Riki's trap.

"The sky. I figured if you ever screwed up, it'd fall in and we'd all be crushed. Guess you're not holding it up, after all."

"Rrrrrrrr..."

"Don't get snarky with me, Boss. If you do, I won't tell you that I'll go to the Auction while you stay in your nice, comfortable hole and avoid aaaall the nasty Elites and those pretty, twittering morons they like to show off."

Hope lit Katze's delicate features.

"You will?"

"Yeah. Iason'll be there to back me up, too. It's always nice dealing with someone when there's a Blondie scowling at them over your shoulder. They're so eager to get away, they'll agree to almost anything."

Katze slumped in his chair, helpless with laughter.

"You... the picture I just got... Iason..." he sputtered incoherently.

"Yeah, I know. Too bad you're not coming along, or you could see it in person," Riki grinned.

Katze shuddered.

"No thank you. You'll just have to tell me about it afterwards."

"You really hate pets, don't you?" Riki said in a thoughtful voice.

The red-head sobered quickly.

"It's not that I hate them, per se... I dislike the whole institution. And the fact that they deliberately design those creatures with lower mentalities... it's wrong."

The black mongrel studied the man who did a brisk business in the illegal sale of said creatures. Katze was an enigma, no two ways about it.

"And yet, you still like me..." Riki said.

The other mongrel slanted him a look.

"Sometimes. You, at least, have half a brain. Besides-," Katze stopped, an odd expression on his face.

"Besides?" Riki prompted.

"I suppose I've never really thought of you as a pet. I knew you before Iason and you're too... too..."

Riki watched Midas' Boss struggle with a new concept.

"I think," Katze said slowly, "that you've always been too much your own person to be dominated by Iason's will. Even after the Academy, you were still resisting. I liked you the better for it."

"Uh..."

It wasn't the first time his ability with a quick come-back had failed him, but it sure felt like it. As Riki stared at Katze in dumb astonishment, the red-head smiled.

"Don't tell me I've finally managed to shut that mouth of yours up. I didn't think it could be done."

"Um. Thanks, I guess. I like you too," Riki mumbled to the floor.

"Good gods. We sound like a couple of boys confessing their crushes on each other," Katze groaned, and a surprised giggle escaped the other mongrel.

Once he started, he couldn't stop and Katze rose, planted long, thin hands on slim hips, and eyed him with extreme disapproval.

"Oh, knock it off. I take it all back."

"T-too l-late," Riki said, in between hiccups of laughter. "I already know you've got the hots for me."

"Oh, for..." Katze threw up his hands and walked towards the port. "I'm hungry and I want to read something that's not a data report. You finish up for a change."

The door hissed shut behind him... then opened again immediately. The red-headed mongrel leaned in to fix a gimlet eye on Riki, a new cigarette already dangling from his mouth.

"And you better mean what you said about the Auction. I may commit mass-murder if I have to go, and you'll be the first on my list."

"I'm going, I'm go-ing. Jeeze," Riki whined, "go eat. You're so pissy, your blood sugar's probably past the point of no return."

Katze took the cig out of his mouth, stuck his tongue out at the dark mongrel then vanished, leaving Riki shaking his head as he went to shut down the office. Truly, he mused, there was a first time for everything.

---

At eighteen hundred on the dot, Iason watched Mattias Vere walk into the Midas restaurant he'd chosen for their meeting. He'd assumed the other Blondie wouldn't want to come to Eos, and he'd been right. The relief in Vere's voice had been slight, but detectable when he agreed to the suggestion.

The man was certainly prompt, Iason thought as the Captain slid into booth to sit facing him. Must be the Army training. Blondies in general tended to show up when they felt like it.

The servitor arrived to take the Captain's drink order then departed on silent feet, leaving the two Elites eyeing each other warily.

"Did you have something specific you needed, Mink, or is this just a courtesy follow-up?" Vere finally asked, breaking the silence.

"Neither, really." Iason toyed with his brandy. "I wished to know the current status of your situation at the Citadel. Riki says you've been having some difficulties?"

"You might say that," Vere said, his tone dry. "You might also say that due to a certain deal I made, I'm having to oversee the restructuring myself. Damn, what a mess!"

"You are in charge of the official inquiry, I take it. I've learned that where the military is concerned, there is always one of those."

"I have to go through nearly thirty men before I find one suitable for promotion," the Captain said glumly. "If I didn't know better, I'd think Marston was sending me every idiot in the League just to annoy me.

And in the meantime, my Team is getting bored. Want to know what happens when my Team gets restless, Mink? Last time, the drains for block 470's BOQ were overflowing for three days! The men are not built for inactivity and their creative leanings leave something to be desired."

Iason did his best not to laugh at the thwarted expression on Vere's face. He really did. It didn't work.

"Go ahead and laugh, Mink. I'm willing to bet your mongrel can cause all kinds of problems when he feels like it."

"Certainly," he replied, as soon as he could breathe. "But I don't believe Riki's ever found clogged plumbing amusing."

The servitor returned just then, setting a tumbler of single-malt in front of Vere and the Blondie reached for it, taking a long drink. Holding the glass up to the light, he examined the rich amber liquid critically.

"They don't do brew and shots in places like this. Shame."

A white-blonde brow rose. Vere grinned.

"That surprises you? I'm here to tell you, Mink; you get in from a mission, the only things on your mind are a scalding shower, a hot meal, and a cold brew with a tequila chaser."

"I can't say I've ever had the experience," Iason replied gravely. "So I'll have to take your word for it. The army has had an interesting impact on you, Vere."

"I live and work with a group of soldiers who are mostly mongrels. For my Team to perform effectively, we have to trust each other." Vere's gaze was clear and unflinching. "And I do. What the army teaches you, Mink, is that mongrel or not... Blondie or not... at some level we're all the same."

"I don't know that I agree with you, but I do see your point. I hear you have a female mongrel on your Team."

White teeth flashed in Vere's tanned face. Odd, Iason thought. He'd never seen a Blondie with anything but pale skin.

"If you mean Ming, then yes... I suppose you could call her that. Right before she ripped your balls off and shoved them down your throat. My SIC answers to LT and Sir. Anything else and you're risking dismemberment."

"How... extraordinary."

"That's one way to put it."

They sipped their drinks in companionable silence until the servitor came by to get their dinner orders.

"How is your boy?" Iason asked when the Furniture had gone.

"Tir?" Vere's eyes lit to aquamarine luminescence. "He's doing well. Working on his book almost non-stop. Half the time I'm asleep before he comes to bed and some mornings, he's still going at it when I leave."

Iason studied the other Blondie speculatively. From the Captain's phrasing, it almost sounded like they slept together. Hmmn. Come to think of it, Riki did mention something about helping his friend get Vere's attention.

"It sounds like he's recovered well. The scars are completely gone?"

"Yes."

Now that was an exceedingly terrifying look. Iason wondered if he could manage it. It would do wonders for his business dealings, especially with competitors who might be thinking of having him killed. Vere looked like he wanted to rip someone's face off.

The Captain shook himself, coming out of whatever hell he'd been occupying.

"I'm sorry," he said haltingly. "I—try not to think too closely about it. It tends to make me... unreasonable."

"I think it tends to infuriate you. Understandable, but unnecessary. Those men have been sentenced to CR-3."

"A prison planet."

"Yes. For rapists and murderers. They should feel quite at home."

Vere looked down at the near empty glass sitting by his hand.

"My thanks," he said in a low voice.

"Not at all," Iason replied, his tone light. "One of these days you'll return the favor. Now why don't you give me some nice boring details on your 'official inquiry' so I can go visit the Tower tomorrow and tell Jupiter that everything is under control. She's a bit... annoyed by the whole thing."

Vere stared at him.

"So that's what this is about," he said slowly. "You're running interference for me. Why? I owe you, not the other way around."

Iason met Vere's gaze with his best 'Stare of Utter Ennui', as Riki referred to it.

"My dear Captain, let's not be melodramatic, shall we? Jupiter requires certain information, and I live to see that she gets it."

Mattias Vere's expression became as bland as Iason's, his understanding complete.

"Well, I suppose we shouldn't disappoint her, then."

The two rebellious Blondies smiled slightly at each other as their appetizers were placed in front of them. In perfect accord, they turned their attention to the food and thwarting their nosy 'mother'.

4

Arranged in pretty poses over most of Mistraal Park's Convention Center, pets of all colors and breeding preened from their platforms. Piped-in music—Beethoven's Fifth, if he wasn't mistaken—poured out into echoing spaces.

Peoples of numerous galaxies had come to peruse the wares of Tanagura's Auction. No matter that most of their governments considered it to be little better than slave-trade, many worlds within the three Federations poured an obscene amount of credits into this flesh-market.

Raoul looked around him, his disgust a gut-level reaction. Not that you'd be able to tell from his face. Blondies didn't display themselves for the rif-raf.

And why are you here, Raoul? Because Iason said it would be good for you.

"'You're in front of your terminal too much, Raoul'," he muttered under his breath. "'Why don't you come to the Auction with us? You haven't looked at a pet in years?'"

Repeating Iason's reasoning just added fuel to the spark of his recently flammable temper. He'd only come to be quit of Iason's nagging.

He smiled a little. The other Blondie had been right: it was a good word. And he was experiencing the reality, just lately. He'd come to this ridiculous show to shut his best friend up.

Glancing up at the nearest pet, he watched as the creature registered his scrutiny.

A seductive, fawning smile formed on the boy's flawless features. Vapid nothing looked at him from pale green eyes. What was that phrase Guy had used? Oh, yes... this sucked. Sometimes mongrel vocabulary had more versatility.

Raoul now understood intimately what Iason had first seen in his pet from the slums: fire, intelligence... and a distinct lack of servility. Really, why had he ever thought it an even mildly desirable trait?

"Raoul!"

Closing his eyes, he prayed to the gods for patience. Speaking of fiery, impudent, too-smart-for-their-own-good mongrels... Now he remembered why meekness was a petly virtue.

Here came Riki, striding through the crowd, clothed completely in black leather. Iason followed with sedate grace, resplendent in deep, silver-trimmed crimson and cream. The resulting contrast was certainly eye-catching.

The mongrel stopped in front of Raoul, that annoying grin curving sensual lips.

"Hey." Riki tilted his head backward to look up at Iason. "I owe you fifty... or the other. He came."

While the other Blondie smirked smugly at his pet, Raoul fumed in silence; then decided that suffering quietly offered no satisfaction. Why should he be the only one in a bad mood?

"Iason. I came here at your behest. I did not expect to be the object of ill-bred speculation." He sneered at the black mongrel. "Or a wager."

Riki looked from one Blondie to the other.

"Hmm." He scratched one temple in puzzlement. "I don't think he likes me, Iason. Was I naughty?"

A hot look was slanted up at the platinum Blondie. Raoul resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

"Very naughty, Pet. I'll have to do something about it later."

Alright. This had gone far enough.

"We are in public. Would you please control yourselves?!"

Riki laughed and Iason seemed to grow even taller, offended dignity radiating from him in almost visible waves. Oh, hells. Put the two of them together and there was no avoiding something like this. They were completely beyond redemption!

"I'm leaving. I've had enough for one afternoon and neither of you are helping."

"Um, Raoul?"

He turned on Riki with glacial fury.

"What?!"

"'M s-sorry." One final quiver of laughter left the mongrel's lips. "Didn't mean to yank your chain."

The familiar phrasing eased something in Raoul; both Guy and Riki spoke with the same Ceres cadence. He attempted a short smile.

"It's fine. I'm not in the best of moods today. If you both will excuse me?"

The mongrel nodded and Iason inclined his head, one hand cupping the back of his Pet's neck.

"If you feel you need to go, Raoul, I won't keep you. I'll see you First-day?"

"Of course."

Raoul watched the mass of humanity swallow the couple. Strange pair, stranger relationship... but ever since Riki's rebirth, it seemed to be working. Iason looked as contented as a sleek, well-fed felis. And Riki... well, the mongrel was even more irrepressibly obnoxious than he'd been before the explosion. But then, Iason had let him get away with murder for years. Why should now be any different?

Turning away from the Center's primary hall, Raoul made his way towards the main entrance. He stopped at the front console and waited while a staff-member sent a Furniture to fetch his cloak.

"Hello, Raoul," a husky tenor murmured in his ear and he looked around, surprised.

"Kei! What on Amoi are you doing here?"

The Furniture reappeared with his cloak and Kei took it, spreading it over Raoul's shoulders and thoroughly aggravating the Blondie. Raoul's face took on its habitual forbidding cast, but Kei just smiled at him.

"You never change. It used to terrify me when you looked like that."

"I certainly didn't mean for it to." Liar. He'd developed the expression specifically for that purpose. "What brings you to Tanagura?"

"Why this, of course." Kei waved a hand at the pet-lined walls. "All four of my boys are getting old enough to be sold. Besides, I'm ready for something new." Long lashes dropped, veiling tilted emerald eyes. "Don't you ever want something different, Raoul? Don't you sometimes wish for new experiences?"

Raoul was silent, held immobile by those come-hither eyes and the memory of a conversation over three months old. Guy had thought Kei wanted something from Raoul. He gave the mongrel full points for ascertaining in a couple of days what he hadn't managed to in nine years: Kei Maruto desired him.

He turned his head, breaking away from Kei's unsettling gaze.

"I haven't thought about it one way or the other. My life is satisfactory as it is."

"Ah." Kei glanced around. "And where is your mongrel student? Did he desert you for the slums?"

"Of course not. I don't consider this a proper atmosphere for him," Raoul said, looking down his straight, Blondie nose at the Silver Elite and wondering what the hell he was doing, lying brazenly to one of his own.

"Hmm." The sound was skeptical; Kei watching Raoul with sardonic amusement. "You're most likely right. A refined atmosphere is wasted on his kind."

The other man studied him carefully as he spoke, but Raoul kept his face impassive, years of training coming to his aid. That didn't mean, however, that he didn't have the sudden, incredible urge to punch his former colleague.

"-Arena. That would probably be more comfortable for him."

"What did you say?" Raoul's senses snapped back into focus, and he realized he'd missed Kei's latest sally. The other Elite gave him a slightly surprised look.

"I asked if you and your student would care to accompany myself and a few others to the Arena this evening. Your boy would feel right at home there, I'm sure."

Acid burned his gut and a bitter wash of bile coated the back of his throat. He made himself answer.

"Thank you, but no, Kei. Neither of us cares for such entertainment."

"That's a shame. There's a fighter there I'm quite interested in. He actually wields a katana. Calls himself Ronin. I'm curious to see if he's any good. He fights the Champion tonight. A Challenge."

The words flew through Raoul's head like an angry swarm of stingers, bouncing off the walls of his skull until the buzz in his ears became deafening. He could see Kei's mouth move, but no sound reached him.

Amongst the store of facts he'd gleaned about that death-trap was the Champion's position. The current one had owned the title for three years, an unbelievable amount of time for such a place. Guy would be fighting a man with the instinct to kill so ingrained in him that he did it with pleasure.

Abruptly his ears cleared and his eyes focused on Kei.

"It's tonight?" he asked, cutting the other Elite off mid-sentence.

"Yes. And it's rumored the blades will be cold."

"No force?"

"No. And no skin-armor either, just the reinforced-leather style."

Raoul was silent for a minute, his turquoise gaze turned inward.

"I'll come," he finally said. "You have aroused my curiosity, Kei."

"I don't believe you'll regret it." The Silver Elite smiled. "Walk with me? I'd like to introduce you to my companions. They'll be joining us tonight, even if your mongrel won't."

Oh, but he will, Raoul thought as they walked back towards the Center's main display room. He will.

5

Collapsed into the soft cushioning of Iason's car, Riki sprawled the length of the seat in relaxation. Across from him, Iason watched silently, smiling inwardly at his Pet's carelessly splayed limbs. The boy had had a busy day. So many Elites to annoy, so little time.

As exasperating and uncontrollable as his mongrel could be, Riki's antics rarely failed to amuse the Blondie. That little scene today with Raoul, for instance. He'd enjoyed it immensely. It was a good thing he cared not at all for the opinion of the Elite community, he thought idly. By now the majority of them must be positive of his insanity.

"Damn, I'm tired," Riki groaned from under one arm. "Next time I even think about offering Katze a favor, tie me up and gag me before I can do it."

"Did you offer?" Iason inquired with interest.

"Yeah. Why else would we be at that screwed-up fun-house today? Not 'cause I enjoy looking at pets."

Propping himself up on one elbow, the mongrel leaned his head against his hand and looked at the platinum Elite.

"We did good, Blondie. I made enough new contacts that we won't be starving any time soon. Did some new business with old ones, too."

"That truly relieves my mind, Pet. It astonishes me how many off-worlders are willing to discuss illegitimate dealings at respectable events," Iason said distractedly, watching Riki stretch against the yielding surface he lay on. Muscle flowed easily under golden skin, rippling beneath the black fabric of Riki's tank.

"Huh. You call that respectable? If I didn't know up close and personal what you think disreputable is, I'd be worried."

"I'll try harder not to arouse your concern, Riki. I, however, was not the one baiting my counterpart from Tragaeron."

"Hey, I didn't say a damn thing to the man!"

Sliding across to the opposite seat, Iason sat down on the edge, pulled off his gloves, and let his hands wander over the man displayed against luxurious cream leather; the mongrel more beautiful than any pet at today's Auction.

"You don't have to," Iason murmured. "You just slouch there all in black with that sullen look on your face... any Blondie would take instant offense. Except, of course... me."

Riki arched into his touch, humming with appreciation as the Blondie's hand slid down his tight stomach to rest against his straining fly. Careful fingers pulled the seal slowly open.

Leaning over his mongrel, Iason let their mouths touch as his finger-tips grazed Riki's erect cock, circled the silver ring below.

"It was a lovely gift, Pet," he purred into Riki's mouth. "Why don't we see how well it works?"

The ring around his middle finger warmed, its silvery substance becoming almost fluid with activation. He watched as his command sent an impulse directly to the matching metal around his Pet's sex, tightening it slightly.

A visible shock shivered through Riki's body, the black eyes going wide and unseeing, the full mouth parting on a gasp. The erection beneath his fingers jerked, pre-come beginning to seep from its open slit.

Iason massaged the slick substance back into Riki's skin, wrenching a moan from the quivering mongrel. Leaning down, he slowly licked the flared head, paying close attention to the ridge running along the underside of his Pet's cock.

"Ia—son. If you keep—fuck—doing that... gonna come."

"Then come."

His hand cupped the mongrel's sac, nails scraping lightly over the ridges that preceded ejaculation. The pulses from the silver device cupping Riki's testicles were making his lover shudder with almost painful pleasure.

Watching, waiting, Iason didn't move until Riki's fingers dug into his forearm.

"Please!"

He bent, swallowing Riki's cock all the way to the root, his throat tightening around the sensitive crown. The mongrel breath seemed to stop, his body tightening and straining as salt-sweet semen flooded Iason's mouth.

He gave Riki's cock one last lick and let it slide from his mouth, moving upward to kiss still-rippling stomach muscles. The ring on his finger cooled, solidifying once again.

Long lashes fluttered, lifted, and he looked into sated midnight eyes. A smile of feline satisfaction curved the beautiful mouth.

"I guess I can tell Katze that it works just fine."

"Indeed."

Riki sat up a little so that Iason could lean back against the seat, then lay down again, his head in the Blondie's lap.

"Iason?"

"Hmmn?"

Letting his fingers toy with Riki's unruly mane of hair, Iason closed his eyes and thought explicitly about what he was going to do to and with his Pet when they got home.

"You think I pushed Raoul too hard earlier? He seemed... I dunno... weird. If he wasn't a Blondie, I'd say he was strung-out on Pheros or somethin' like it. I mean, he jumped all over me like a freaked-out felis."

The platinum Elite's lids lifted and he looked down into baffled dark eyes.

"As I said a few nights ago, he won't tell me. I hope it's not work-related. Bio-lab mistakes are more than costly... they are dangerous."

Riki shuddered.

"Don't tell me anything else. I don't wanna even think about that shit. That stuff freaks me out." He paused a minute. "Does it ever bug you?"

"To what do you refer, Pet? Lab error or Raoul?"

"No. I mean, I wasn't talking about that. I—I just wondered if the way Jupiter made you ever bothers you. You were built—in a lab! For a specific purpose, too. They just put all the pieces they wanted together and bam! Instant Iason Mink."

"It's a great deal more complicated than that," Iason said, smiling at his mongrel. "And truthfully... I've never given it much thought. I accept what I am—and the privileges and responsibilities that come with it."

One finger traced over Riki's lower lip.

"You were the first and only thing to distract me from that path."

A line appeared between Riki's high-arched brows.

"Yeah. I remember. You know, sometimes I think this all started 'cause you were so bored that even a mouthy mongrel looked good."

"Yes... and no." Icy blue slid leisurely over Riki's sleek body. "You have always looked better than good." He leaned down. "You look perfect," he breathed into Riki's ear, watching as his Pet shivered.

The air car glided to a halt and the mongrel sat up, fastening his skewed leathers.

"We don't have to go out this evening, do we?" he asked as he slid from the car. "I've almost got level ten beat on Merc's Quest and I wanna do it while I've still got the feel for it."

"You will have plenty of time to rot your mind later, Pet." Iason let his hand rest on Riki's shoulder as they walked through the high-ceilinged lobby of Eos' most exclusive tower.

Once the lift door closed behind them, the Blondie backed his mongrel against the wall, one white-gloved hand holding both of Riki's captive above the dark head.

"As for now, I believe there is the small matter of a bet to be settled? You offered me fifty... or 'the other', as I recall. Just what, I wonder, might that be?"

"Well, you know," Riki's breath was coming faster, "I ain't got much to give you. But I pay my debts, Blondie."

Iason could see the smile lurking in Riki's eyes as he spoke those achingly familiar words.

"Oh, I know that already, mongrel." He sighed. "I suppose, since it's you, I'll have to take whatever I can get."

The lift halted, its doors gliding soundlessly apart and Iason punched in the penthouse code. As soon as the second port slid open, Riki was through it, stripping off his leathers as he went. By the time Iason had keyed the privacy sequence, Riki the Dark was standing in the middle of the great room, wearing nothing but a provocative grin.

"Well?" He spread his legs, standing with hands-on-hips, head cocked to one side. "You gonna do it or what?" The Blondie's mouth parted slightly, and the mongrel's grin got wider. "You'll take what you can get, Blondie? So... come and get me."

---

Fifty-six... fifty-seven... fifty-eight...

Ronin counted pull-ups, hauling himself mindlessly upward over and over, trying to drown out the voices in his head.

Raoul's was most prominent, of course, his tone disapproving. Nothing new there. And Riki... when Ronin realized he was having an argument with someone who wasn't even present, he'd come in here to sweat the craziness out of his system.

Sixty-four... sixty-five... sixty-six...

He could hear the whine and clash of blades in the training rooms and he concentrated on that sound and his count.

He was almost certain he'd die tonight. Not because he was fighting the Champion. Not because he wasn't good enough to take the man. He thought he might be. Raoul had taught him not to underestimate his enemy, but also not to undermine his own skill with doubt.

Be capable in your own mind, the Blondie had said, then back it up with the hours you spend in the dojo. What you see will be reflected in their eyes.

But if he killed the Champion, he would have to take the man's place. It was a position he didn't want.

Seventy-eight... seventy-nine... eighty...

He was just so tired. The small portion of Guy that remained huddled within Ronin's body, curled in on himself like a hurt child, wept ceaselessly in silence. He felt like he'd taken a death blow his body didn't recognize, and was slowly bleeding out while he went through the motions of living.

He would die because that was how things should be. His debt to Riki... and yes, to Mink, would be paid in full. It would be excruciatingly painful. Naked steel didn't kill as quickly as an activated blade. But afterwards, perhaps there would be peace. He hoped so.

Ninety-three... ninety-four... ninety-five...

"Time to knock off, boyo. You want to use yourself up before you get to the ring? You're smarter than that."

One-hundred.

Letting himself drop to the ground, he retrieved the towel hanging across a nearby beam and wiped the sweat out of his eyes.

"You goin' all broody on me, Sarge?" he jeered from under the towel. "'Cause you sound like my momma."

"Sure and the poor woman likely died of shame just havin' you for a kid."

Ronin threw the towel over his shoulder and glanced over to where Sgt. Percy leaned against the open port.

"You need me for somethin'? 'Cause I really want a shower, and my number's not up 'til twenty-four-hundred."

The sergeant's look was inscrutable, but Ronin saw one lid twitch slightly.

"Berserker's dead," Percy said shortly.

Ronin stared at the man for a moment then nodded jerkily. He hadn't known the other mongrel was fighting tonight.

"Hawke?"

"Aye."

Reaching for his cigarettes, the mongrel walked to one of the benches lining the gym's walls and sat. The first lungful of smoke hit his system quickly, the nicotine stopping the shakes.

"How?" he asked, not looking up.

"Blow to the head. Crushed his helm, split his skull. No coming back from that."

He stayed silent for a while, smoking and staring at the ground—then spoke in a calm, closed-off voice.

"Hawke had it in for him. Buzz knew it. Couldn't avoid that fight forever."

"Aye."

Eventually Ronin rose, pitching his now-cold butt into the waste receptacle. Stopping in front of Percy, he looked up.

"Thanks for telling me. I'm gonna get that shower, now."

He'd thought the last of his youth had vanished the day he cut his best friend's balls off. He discovered now that it hadn't. It lay shattered alongside a man he hadn't even liked that much.

Ronin walked towards the showers, slowly shutting himself off from emotion or sensation; reaching for that place inside that was sharp and cold—the part of him that saw the clear necessity of death. It was time.

6

Raoul slid from his car to stand before the glittering edifice that was the Arena. Crystalline light shone from its high, round walls, giving it the illusion of purity. False colors, he thought and nodded for his driver to leave.

The Elite Tier possessed its own entrance and Raoul walked through it, ignoring the Guards who bowed deeply as he passed.

"Mr. Jervaux?"

He turned at the softly lisping voice to find a Furniture clad in silver-trimmed green livery standing off to one side. Green and silver: Kei's personal palette. How very like him to clothe his property in his own coloration.

"I beg your pardon for disturbing you, Sir, but Master Kei sent me to find you. If you'll follow...?"

Gesturing curtly for the boy to precede him, Raoul trailed the youth up a wide staircase carpeted in vermillion and gold and constructed in the grand, old-Earth fashion. It split off in two directions at the top and the boy in front of him went to the right, following a curving hall with closed ports at even intervals.

Stopping at one of the doors, the boy gestured to it, inclining his head to Raoul.

"It's this one, Sir."

Raoul examined the ornate port. He had the strangest feeling that once he stepped through it, nothing would ever be the same again. He did it anyway.

It was a private balcony, long and wide, and Kei's party was gathered in the far corner. He'd met them all earlier; three other Silvers, a Blue and two Reds. To Raoul's mild astonishment, one of them, the Blue, was a woman.

"Gynecological specialist," Kei had explained. "It's due to some Berangoran middle-class idiocy. Their females dislike being touched or examined by any man they're not Paired with. Ridiculous, really.

But they are citizens and necessary breeding-stock. Jupiter was willing to make the concession in the name of diplomacy."

Instead of joining the others, Raoul walked to the edge of the sloping tier and looked out over the heart of the Arena. The lower levels were packed. Up here in this Elite aerie, the noise of the crowds below dimmed, but still rose upwards to him on a wave of excited sound.

Even this tier seemed fairly full. As his gaze followed the line of private balconies, he noted that most of them were occupied. This Challenge had attracted the attention of Ceres, Midas and Tanagura. Not to mention other Amoian cities, if Kei and his group were any indication. On top of all that, the Auction would be running for another five days. There were probably many off-worlders within the wide, circular tiers.

He'd come here once before—with Iason, if he recalled it with any accuracy. No older than twenty, four years of sword study behind him, he'd been curious to see what 'real' fighting was. Gods, he'd been young. And, to some extent, naive. He laughed quietly to himself.

A year in Tanagura, much of it spent in Iason's company, had eradicated any illusions he'd possessed. This was one of the most decadent, depraved cities in a hundred galaxies. A tantalizing metallic mirage, it promised much but gave nothing, taking your soul in the process.

"You are very quiet. Why did you not come over?"

He looked up to see Kei standing next to him, a pale green evening-coat over white formal-wear making him ethereally beautiful. Emerald eyes glittered in the Arena's white light.

"I wanted to see if I'd remembered it correctly," Raoul replied, turning his gaze to the fight-ring below.

Blood-soaked earth was being removed and replaced; the hard dirt floor repacked. Two other duels had been fought here this evening and some repair was necessary to make the ground even and remove the slippery fluids that sullied it.

"And did you?"

Kei's voice dragged his attention back to the other Elite.

"Did I what?"

"You really are distracted tonight, Raoul. The Arena. Is it as you recalled?"

Raoul eyes swept the amphitheatre once more.

"I think so."

Down below, the lights surrounding the fight-ring flared to life. Slowly, the masses of people in the stands grew quiet, waiting.

"Do you wish to stay here, or shall we sit?"

Forcing himself to impassivity, Raoul turned to Kei, his face utterly blank.

"By all means," he said tranquilly, "let's be seated."

The other Elite already occupied their chairs, murmuring quietly to one another.

"Gladiator one-four-one: Ronin."

The electronically magnified voice invaded all the senses, echoing through the Arena's enormous structure. Below, a figure emerged to stand at the edge of the fight-ring, still cloaked by shifting shadows, and the muted roar of voices arose from the lower levels.

"Gladiator six-three-zero: The Champion."

This man stepped directly into the brilliant white light, practically glowing as he stood there and this time the shouts of approval were nearly deafening.

"Enthusiastic, aren't they?" Kei remarked in a scornfully amused tone.

Raoul didn't reply; his eyes fixed solely on the Champion of the Arena. He was small and wiry, clothed in brown leathers and a tightly fitted helmet that protected his skull, nose and jaw. The long-sword he carried seemed almost as tall as the man himself, but he handled it with the ease of years. It was a brutal looking weapon, double-edged and slightly serrated on one of those edges.

Then Guy left his shadows, moving to meet his adversary and Raoul's concentration vanished. The mongrel's leathers were black, his helm much the same as the Champion's. He'd either cut his hair or tucked his braid into his head-gear, since it was not in evidence. Raoul thought it was probably the latter. Ancient warriors had grown their hair out to pad their helms.

He moved with the same athletic grace Raoul recalled and something else besides; something new and disturbing. The Guy Raoul remembered had been intense but open, his movements broadcasting thought and emotion clearly.

The man who stood opposite the Champion on the hard earth was empty... and lethal. Guy expected, the Blondie suddenly realized, to kill his opponent—and die within the course of accomplishing his aim.

---

As he walked out to join the Champion in the ring, Ronin did his habitual scan of the upper tier. It was automatic, something he didn't even think about anymore. His eyes moved restlessly over the boxes, not really looking, then stopped... went back.

The glare was extreme looking up like this, but he'd thought... He glanced upwards again, the edge of his helm shielding his eyes somewhat.

Long, waving blonde hair didn't quite conceal a profile that he'd know anywhere, under any circumstances. He made himself look away, turning inwardly back to his two-fold purpose.

Why tonight, Sensei, he silently asked Raoul. Why did you have to come tonight?

Clenching his jaw, he focused on the man across from him, waiting for the words from the Arena's Voice to begin the duel.

7

"The conditions of Challenge have been met. Gladiators, you may engage."

Down below, the two men raised their swords in brief salute. Raoul wasn't sure who moved first, but the bright clash of steel rang clear in the air, metal scraping metal as the combatants strove for dominance then separated to circle warily.

This, at least, was exactly as he remembered.

This was no test of skill, no display of martial prowess. These were two men who understood that their survival depended upon their ability to rend one another to pieces.

The serrated edge of the Champion's blade ripped through the leather on Guy's arm, exposing the metal reinforcement beneath. Guy's katana slashed across the Champion's hip, catching both metal and unprotected skin.

First blood.

From somewhere back in the recesses of Raoul's ancestral memory, the phrase emerged. It certainly meant something to the men in the lower levels, many of whom shouted and jeered, urging their favorite on.

Neither man flinched at the blows and their swords met again. And again. Circle and attack. Evade and defend. It went on like that until Raoul thought he would go mad.

Deflecting a strike that would have severed his arm, Guy spun, disengaging then coming back in on the offensive. He twisted his wrists slightly at the last minute, his blow landing where the Champion didn't expect it; carving a deep swathe through the other man's left side.

The Champion was retaliating even as it happened, his heavy weapon swinging up to deflect, pushing the katana away from him with brute force and catching Guy's cheek with the point on the way.

They broke apart, panting, both of them streaming blood.

The dark stain on the Champion's leathers grew slowly with every breath the man took and the jagged tear that went from Guy's right eye to his chin poured a deep red tide down his body and onto the ground.

"That was well done on both their parts, don't you think?"

Kei's dispassionate voice dragged Raoul's focus away from Guy's wound to the balcony on which he sat.

"What, Kei? I'm sorry, I didn't hear."

"Oh, never mind. There they go again. Such stamina for a couple of mongrels."

"Are they?" Raoul's tone was bored, his inflections barely indicating inquiry.

"These two are. At least that's what I've read."

---

Ronin blinked swiftly, trying to clear his eyes of the blood and stinging sweat that ran into them. From his detached plane, he could feel the throb in his cheek, but refused to acknowledge it. He'd taken worse.

The Champion came at him again, and he felt the blow of that heavy blade all the way to his feet. The memory of Raoul taking him down to ground him flashed through his mind in an instant—was gone. His muscles responded without thought and he returned the strike, going for the other man's sword arm, this time.

The katana connected, cutting into the metal wrist-guard and the unprotected flesh above it. He knew he'd landed more than just a glancing blow, but the Champion threw him off once more and they dropped back from each other again.

Their leathers were shredded by now, any place unprotected by metal bleeding freely. They both moved less quickly, their response time hampered by injury. And it didn't matter.

Ronin engaged this time, his aim the Champion's vulnerable throat, his blade immediately deflected. They hacked at each other, too bloody and feral for any finesse, both driven to end it.

And then it happened. They both swung, all their power behind the blows; the katana slashed down, its glinting arc meeting the serrated edge of the Champion's sword. It shattered.

The Champion reacted immediately, driving his blade upwards towards Ronin's chest.

Ronin didn't even try to evade. He pushed straight into it.

---

He felt the death of his blade throughout his entire body. He knew what was coming, knew what he would do. When he moved into the Champion's thrust, though, it changed the point of impact so that the long-sword drove into his shoulder.

The agony of rending flesh and shattering bone nearly severed his hold on consciousness, but he kept going, the strength of his forward momentum combined with the power behind the Champion's thrust pushing the blade into his shoulder nearly to the hilt.

By that time he'd brought the broken katana in his hand up... and driven its jagged point deep into the Champion's throat, jerking down viciously as it went in and tearing the other Gladiator open. Blood fountained from the man's ripped jugular to paint them both in ruby gore and the Champion's hands left the sword embedded in Ronin's shoulder to claw at his throat, trying to pull the shattered blade out. They both dropped to the ground in different directions: the Champion lying face up, drowning in his own blood; Ronin on his side, pain starting to pull its red haze down over his mind.

He watched his opponent jerk spasmodically, life pumping from him through the gaping wound in his throat. The man had seen it coming... but not fast enough.

A spear of unexpected agony ripped through his sternum, joining with the constant torment of his mangled shoulder, and he looked down at himself to see that at some point the Champion had managed to open a long, deep gash in the muscle of his stomach. No guts showing, though, so it couldn't be that bad.

I'm going to have one helluva scar from that one.

He wasn't dead. Raoul's conditioning had proved too strong and he didn't have the strength to pull the blade out of his shoulder and fall on it.

Slumped there, he listened to the insanely howling crowds, to the sexless Voice of the Arena echoing around its pristine walls and waited for the clean-up crew.

Then they were there and he was being lifted, the motion shooting pain through every inch of his battered body. He had time to hope that Raoul had left long ago before he was laid on a table and someone began the process of removing the blade from his shoulder.

After that, nothing existed but crimson waves of gut-wrenching torture and the coppery taste of his own blood.

---

Raoul sat calmly in his chair and listened to the soft, cultured voices of the Elite around him as they discussed the duel. Just as he'd watched Guy impale himself on a Gladiator's blade with nothing but idle interest on his face.

There was nothing he could do. He could not get up and go find the mongrel; could not demand that someone tell him what was happening to Guy. Such actions would be noticed and it was imperative that he appear unaffected by the night's events.

Behind bland turquoise eyes, his mind worked quickly and methodically, examining the problem from all angles, forming and discarding possible solutions. He needed more information.

Such as just where Guy was right now.

It was not typical for more than one of the combatants to be so comprehensively damaged. But then, activated force-blades tended to result in quicker, cleaner kills. Generally, there was a distinct winner... and a dead looser. The Compound had it's own low-grade regrowth chamber in addition to a physician on call to suture any gashes bad enough to need it, so there was no need for a larger med-center on location.

A wound like the one in Guy's shoulder, though, would need careful reconstruction before they took him for regrowth, if he was ever to move that arm again. And if those in power decided to waste that many credits on a mere Gladiator.

They would, Raoul thought bitterly. Right now the mongrel was worth his weight in pure gold to the Arena's investors. However, to assure his survival and ability to fight, they would need to remove him from the Arena's premises and take him to a fully equipped surgery. Perhaps the place was affiliated with a near-by infirmary. It would make sense, and would allow them the correct facilities for a prisoner's convalescence.

He could find out. Easily. After that...

Raoul didn't have underworld connections and he wasn't conversant with the correct procedures for removing a man from a hostile environment. In Tanagura and its surrounds, he knew of only two men who possessed devious enough minds and the proper knowledge and resources to accomplish such a thing.

For obvious reasons, Iason was out of the question. Katze... was a possibility.

Rising languidly from his seat, Raoul walked to where Kei stood conversing with the Blue Elite. The woman gave Raoul a faint smile and, inclining her head respectfully, moved gracefully away to join the rest of the small party.

"You are leaving, Raoul? We're going to Paradise tonight. Why don't you join us?"

Kei smiled beautifully at him and Raoul flinched inwardly. Paradise was a very exclusive Parthea pet salon and right now it was the place to see and be seen for the Elite; besides being yet another forum for showing each other and everyone else how important and rich they were by displaying their exquisitely-formed Pets.

"You know I don't keep Pets anymore, Kei. And I find the thought of watching someone else's lap-dogs promenade unspeakably tedious."

The look on Kei's face was nearly a pout.

"I come here so rarely, though. Surely you might put forth the effort to entertain a friend?"

"Kei, it's after twenty-six-hundred. Unlike you, I don't stay out until thirty-hundred hours then get up at oh-four-hundred and repeat the process. It's simply too much effort and I'd rather read or train, anyway."

The Silver Elite stepped back with a small laugh.

"Same Raoul. You put the rest of us to shame with your monastic lifestyle."

"Hardly. Good night, Kei. Pleasant journey back to Berangora."

He turned to go, but a slim, strong hand stopped him.

"A moment Raoul. What did you think of the duel? I found it fascinating to watch. It must have been like that thousands of years ago in Earth's Rome, don't you think?"

Kei's eyes glinted oddly at him, their expression almost predatory. Raising one golden brow, Raoul looked askance at the other Elite.

"Perhaps. But I don't think I'll be coming here again for some time. The sight of so much blood really doesn't appeal."

"Well, that Ronin is a magnificent specimen... but unredeemably feral. It's a wonder they haven't had him put down."

Raoul's mind stilled as he vividly recalled himself saying almost those exact words to Iason, half a year ago.

Kei Maruto saw something move within the blue-green eyes he watched so carefully. Then the almost imperceptible expression vanished, leaving not a ripple in its wake. Raoul's gaze was as emotionless as usual.

"He lives because he is valuable," the Blondie replied. "When he loses his abilities or popularity, I have no doubt that he will be 'put down'. Now I really must leave, Kei. My thanks for an interesting evening."

This time, he let Raoul go and the port slid shut in the golden Elite's wake. Walking to the balcony's edge, Kei looked out over the blood-soaked earth.

That Gladiator meant something to the Blondie and he was almost positive he knew what it was.

"Number one-forty-one. Who were you, I wonder?"

8

As soon as Riki stepped from his office at Katze's main headquarters in Midas, the sound of raised voices reached his ears.

He hadn't heard his boss that angry since Katze'd come for him two-and-a-half years ago during Guy's rather all-encompassing brain-fart. The fact that Katze was yelling, however, wasn't so astonishing as to turn Riki immobile. It took Guy's name, shouted in Raoul Jervaux's well-bred accents, to do that.

What the hell?!

Over the last two months, he'd been cautiously searching for Guy, using his seedier information network in Ceres and a few contacts that came in occasionally from the Old City. So far he'd gotten a big, fat zip. Until a minute ago.

Silently, he moved to stand just beyond the closed port to Katze's office and waited, listening.

"—told you. I can't do it, Raoul. And I don't understand why you would want me to anyway!"

"You don't need to understand. If I don't get him out of there now, he will die. He wants to."

"Do you expect me to feel sorry for that?! Gods, Raoul, the man killed Iason and Riki!"

"Do you think he doesn't live with that every day? He will for the rest of his life! When he first came to me, he was ready to cut his own throat and have done with it!"

Riki stared blankly at the wall in front of him. When in all nine hells had Raoul met Guy?! And now Guy was going to die? How? Why?

Too many questions and not enough answers. Well, he thought grimly, he was about to get some. Or a certain red-head would find himself hanging by his non-existent balls.

Stepping forward, he waited for the port to open then faced two men whose expressions were equally startled. And equally guilty. Leaning one shoulder against the doorway, he crossed his arms and looked from Raoul to Katze and back again.

He'd be willing to bet that any worthwhile information would come from the golden Elite. Katze was too much Iason's man to give up secrets his Blondie wanted kept.

"So gentlemen," he drawled, "is this a private fight, or can I play too?"

Stepping the rest of the way into the room, he let the door slide shut behind him then turned to fix Katze with his Stare of Death.

"I think you'd better tell me where Guy is and what Iason's done to him. If you don't, I'll just take this to my Blondie. He won't want to tell me, but he will. And then you will be in a shit-load of trouble.

Or you can tell me yourself and avoid a whole world of pain."

"He's in the Arena," Raoul said shortly.

Riki looked over at Iason's best friend. Now there was a puzzle. Why would Raoul want Guy alive?

"Gladiator?"

At Raoul's curt nod, Riki slumped. Fury and resignation warred in his brain, pulling him in different directions. It was always like this when it came to Iason, Guy and their mutual hatred.

Riki loved them both, in completely different ways. Guy was, or had been, his closest friend and confidant. Iason was just simply his. The possessive need he had for his Blondie consumed him and defined his life.

All he wanted was for them to stop going after each other and give him some peace. Shit, last time they'd gotten into it, he'd ended up dead. He glanced over at Raoul and found the Elite's gaze fixed on him.

"What happened?" he asked.

"He fought the Champion two nights ago. Killed the man, but nearly died himself. The Arena's infirmary is separate from the amphitheater and its main compounds, so they would have had to remove the inhibitor-chip from him to even take him there. Hospital security is lower and there won't be a better chance than this to get him out."

Riki put two and two together.

"Guy's Ronin?" he asked, astonishment coloring his voice.

"You've heard?"

"Couldn't miss it. He's been all over the news vids for the past three months." Riki shook his head in disbelief. "Where'd he learn to swing a force-sword? Not something he could do when I knew him."

"I taught him," Raoul said, his voice a complete void.

Riki opened his mouth... and closed it. Not much he could say to that.

"Well, you wanna go tonight? Shouldn't be many people in sick-bay with everyone at the fights."

"Will you two just listen to yourselves? This is suicide and for what?! Are you going to die again to save the man who cost you your life, Riki?!"

Raoul and Riki turned on Katze with identical glares.

"I've got a not-so-funny feeling it's your fault he's even in there, and right now I wouldn't remind me of that if I were you," Riki spat. "Why couldn't you just leave well enough alone? We're alive, aren't we?"

Katze sank down on the edge of his desk and buried his face in his hands, mumbling something about insanity being contagious. Riki walked over and tapped him on the shoulder. Golden eyes peered at him from behind crimson bangs.

"We're going, Katze, and guess what? You are too. You owe me."

"Iason will find out, Riki. He always does."

"You bet he's gonna find out. 'Cause I'm gonna tell him. I'm gonna ream him a new one as soon as Guy's safe. Don't worry, Katze-dear, I'll keep your name out of it."

A low whimper issued from the red-head. Riki turned back to Raoul.

"Look, I've got an idea, but it's gonna take some doing and I've got to get in touch with a guy I can trust. I may be a while, so in the meantime, I need you to find two plain black uniforms and hair-dye. Get basic brown for you, light blue for Katze, and... oh, dark reddish-brown for me. I don't wanna stand out.

Make sure the uniforms are different sizes, too. You and I are gonna be wearin' 'em and we sure as hell don't have the same build."

He headed out the door, digging in his jacket pocket for his com as he did.

"Oh yeah." Riki stuck his head back in the room. "You're gonna have to cut your hair, Raoul, otherwise they're gonna know you're an Elite for sure. 'Bout shoulder length, probably. Just long enough to pull back in a tail. That gonna be okay?"

Raoul silently drew a long knife from somewhere Riki didn't see, wrapped the length of his hair twice around his palm and sliced cleanly through the silken coil. As the black mongrel watched open-mouthed, the Blondie dropped about a meter of hair on the ground. Turquoise eyes held his.

"Is that short enough?"

"Uh... yeah. Great. I'll be back."

Riki ducked back out of the room, his mind whirling. He didn't know Raoul very well, but that Blondie was just a little over the edge. He wondered how much of it was Guy-induced. And how much influence the golden Elite wielded over his friend.

Shuddering at the thought, he punched a code into his com that he'd never thought he'd use.

"Luke? Hey, man, it's Riki."

---

Luke's condo in Midas wasn't luxe, but it was nothing to sneer at, either. After the break-up of Bison, Riki's old pack-mate had achieved something none of them would have ever expected of him: success.

He'd done some work for a well-situated Midas boss who took a liking to him and set him up as a dealer in the semi-legitimate drug market. When Riki really thought about it, he wasn't surprised. Luke was a likable guy; mostly mellow, easy-going, the one who stopped the fights before they even got started. Obviously, he'd found a niche where those characteristics came in handy.

"Damn, Riki. You look pretty good for a dead guy. Thought I was gonna have a heart attack when I heard your voice," Luke said in his lazy voice.

He was sprawled across a white leather lounge, a hashish cigarette dangling from languid fingers. His shades were more oval than round these days and he wore stylish black silk, but his hair was as long and dark as ever and he still oozed laid-back charm.

Riki walked to the floor-to-ceiling window that ran the length of the great room and looked out over Midas, hands in pockets.

"Cool place. Got a nice view."

"Not as nice as yours, from what I hear. Don't get much better than Eos for that kinda thing. I sure as hell wouldn't mind watching all those pretty Elites all day."

"Luke, you're such a slut."

The mongrel on the couch threw his head back and shouted with laughter.

"And you're even blunter than usual. So what's up? You didn't just drop in to shoot the shit with me, dude. Whattaya need?"

The shrewdness Luke's happy-go-lucky façade hid looked out at him from behind dark glasses. Riki grinned ruefully.

"You got me."

"I know, man. I'm not pissed. Look, Riki, anything you need, you let me know. If I can, I'll get it."

Riki sat down across from his old friend and leaned over, resting his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped together.

"Guy's a Gladiator, Luke. He's Ronin."

Luke whipped his glasses off, revealing shocked green eyes.

"You are shitting me."

"No. I'm going in with two other guys tonight to get him out. I need you to create a diversion."

Luke stared past Riki's shoulder, an abstracted look on his face.

"Yeah. Yeah, I can do that." He threw a side-long glance at Riki. "I'll com Sid. He and Norris do back-up work for me sometimes. Sid's doin' pretty well with the bike repair stuff and Norris... well, he still hustles dumb kids at cards and eight-ball when he's got nothin' better to do.

But you want a scramble, they can definitely get you one."

"They? You mean they're... together?"

Luke grinned.

"Sid decided he was sick of tryin' to be straight and finally let Norris catch him. They're in an apartment in Ceres, but it's not that bad compared to some. And I ain't gonna let 'em starve or get bored. Bison's split, but they're still fam, y'know?"

A lump formed in Riki's throat and he reached forward to grip Luke's hand.

"I know. I'm sorry it took me so long to come by."

"Shit happens. And you've been laid up." Luke looked at him over the tops of his shades. "Just make sure it doesn't happen again. Drop in when it's not life or death, you dig?"

"I dig," Riki said with a laugh.

"What time you need it to go down?"

"Say... about ten minutes after the end of the fights. When everyone's leaving? Lot more cover that way."

Luke chewed on that for a minute.

"Yeah, that'd work. Hold on a sec."

Luke pulled his com out and hit a key.

"Sid? Yeah, man, it's me. Hey, Riki needs a favor, you guys up for it? Yeah? Cool. We'll meet you at the Blue Room in ten, 'kay? Excellent."

Luke shut the com and grinned at Riki.

"We're good to go, babe."

Riki followed Luke from the condo, marveling at the other man's maturity. Two years ago, he would have sworn that his friends would die young. He'd have been wrong.

"So how'd Guy end up in that hell-hole? And where the fuck did he learn how to use blade like that? I'm here to tell you, Ronin's one scary mother-fucker. Took a guy's head off with one strike last week and made it look easy."

"A Blondie trained him," Riki stated in a flat voice.

"Ah, Christ. Not another one. No offense, Riki, but your Blondie is one too many for me. I'd just as soon poke a rabid werecat with a foot-long pole than mess with one of them."

Riki grinned at his friend.

"You're not the first to feel that way, man. And here I was gonna invite you to Winter Solstice."

When Luke blanched, he laughed.

"Kidding."

"You better be," the other mongrel muttered as they stopped in front of a club with a neon sign that proclaimed it to be the Blue Room.

"C'mon, Rik. Let's go see the guys."

Luke threw an arm over Riki's shoulder and they pushed through the double doors together. Damn, Riki thought, euphoria spreading though him, he really should do this more often. And, as Luke had suggested, when they didn't have to save the world. Or Guy.

9

"Oh, yes. That's him, officer. He ran away almost a year ago, now. How he managed to get his ring off, I've no idea. Naughty Titus."

Raoul and Riki stood just outside the Arena infirmary's security office, black-uniformed, equipped with dark shades, and listened while Katze snowed the officer in charge but good.

"Weeeelll, Mr. Effrejiim, I can't just release him. I mean, they really don't allow this kind of-,"

"He is my pet. I have the profile and certificates and as you can see, they're in order. His punishment is mine to decide, not the government's. That, my dear Sir, is the law."

There was silence. Raoul's mouth twitched, just listening to the effete, snotty tone Katze had adopted for this charade. When Iason's former Furniture had emerged from his rooms earlier, Raoul hadn't even recognized him, which was the point, he supposed.

The hair and eyebrows, once flame-bright, were now sky-blue and Katze's eyes had transformed from gold to silver. Drapes of cobalt silk fluttered around the man's slim body and the scar on his left cheek had disappeared under cleverly applied cosmetics.

"Ooohhh, dahling, you look mahvelous," Riki had crooned at his appearance and for an instant, Raoul had seen murder in the formerly red-headed mongrel's eyes.

Riki was right, though. Katze was beautiful. It surprised him, since he'd never looked at the man as anything other than Iason's employee. For the first time, he wondered why Katze hadn't had the scar removed.

"Surely you can let me see him, officer," Katze was saying in that breathless voice. "I've been so worried..."

Riki cast a look at Raoul, eyes rolling and mouth pinched together. Raoul shook his head sharply, trying to shut the mongrel up before they both lost their composure. Then he felt a rumble start beneath his feet and thought, ah...

Riki's old gang had come through. The building around them shook as the explosions started, and close by he could hear shouts and pounding feet heading away from them.

"Time to go," he said, just as Katze came through the door, ripping off shimmery silks to expose the jeans and long-sleeve he wore beneath. Glaring at Raoul and Riki, Midas' Boss pointed a finger at each of them in turn.

"If I hear any, and I do mean any, hint of my name connected to this—this fool's errand, I will personally hunt down and kill both of you. Understood?"

The tall, thin man stalked away, very much on his dignity, and Raoul listened to Riki nearly strangle on his laughter. Katze must be really pissed if he'd lost his reserve enough to threaten a Blondie.

Raoul glanced into the office as they went by, seeing the security guard slumped in his chair, an enormous goose-egg pushing up through the hair on the back of his skull. Yes. Reeeaaaallly pissed.

And he'd been around mongrels too much, of late. Slang was beginning to corrupt his sentence structure.

"You got the number?" Riki asked Katze as they jogged down the long white hospital corridors.

"Yeah. Should be right... here."

Katze skidded to a halt in front of a coded port.

"Hey! What are you doing in here? This area's restricted."

Riki's fist shot out and clipped the white-uniformed infirmary staff-member on the jaw, knocking him out cold.

"Let's grab Guy and get outta here before the rest of this place comes down on top of us," he growled.

Raoul punched in his override and waited impatiently for the port to open. Then he was through it and beside Guy's bed. He stood there, unable to move as he looked down at the mongrel.

White gauze concealed the stab wound in Guy's shoulder and that awful gash he'd taken across the abdomen. The slice on his cheek was closed, only a faint scar remaining. Obviously, the Arena's owners liked the crowds and credits Guy brought in enough for a few sessions in a ninety-plus regrowth chamber.

"C'mon, Raoul. We gotta move and you're gonna have to carry him."

Riki was disconnecting IVs and catheters from the unconscious Guy in a competent manner.

Dark lashes fluttered against golden skin tinged grey in a way Raoul didn't like at all. Silvery eyes blinked, trying to focus.

"S-Sensei?"

Guy's voice sounded raspy and unused, as if it had been a decade since he'd spoken, and Raoul bent over him, smoothing the rich brown hair away from the mongrel's forehead. He slid his hand around the back of Guy's neck, checking to make sure the neural implant was gone. His fingers slid across a freshly-sealed wound and he breathed a silent sigh of relief. Guy's nape lacked the raised area that would indicate the chip was still there.

"I'm here, Guy. I'm going to pick you up. Can you put your arm around my neck?"

"Th-think... so."

Sliding his arms beneath Guy's back and legs, Raoul lifted him as gently as he could. One taut-muscled arm clung to the Blondie's neck; a hand gripped the jacket of Raoul's uniform.

Katze stuck his head in the door, his las-gun out and ready.

"They're coming."

"And we're going," Riki snarled. "Raoul!"

Katze took the lead with Raoul and Guy right behind and Riki bringing up the rear, watching their backs, a las-gun in each hand. They moved as fast as they dared, following the route Katze had mapped out before they left his offices.

Riki could hear the sounds of pursuit getting louder and closer and stepped up his pace. When two Arena guards rounded a corner behind them, he fired without hesitation. Blood sprayed the corridor and one of the guards screamed as he took a laser bolt to the gut.

"Shit," the mongrel groaned. "They heard that for sure."

He ran swiftly after Raoul and Katze, catching up to them at the fire escape.

"Hey, Katze, we got three minutes, tops, before they're all over our asses!" he yelled down the stairs as he took them two at a time. "If Luke's not out there, we're screwed!"

They burst from the side exit into an extremely convincing imitation of hell. All over the Arena district, buildings were on fire. Everywhere, people were yelling, screaming and stampeding like a bunch of maddened herd-beasts.

"Keee-rist! Helluva show, huh, boss?"

Norris was jogging towards them from the mouth of an alley and Riki ran to meet him, Raoul and Katze right behind him.

"Can't do anything by halves, can you, No?" Riki shouted, trying to be heard above the pandemonium around them.

"What would be the point?" Norris yelled back.

Laser fire exploded in sudden bursts and Riki looked back to see a bunch of guards coming at them from the infirmary building.

"Uh-oh. Let's book," Norris said, and they all ran for it.

---

He swam up from unconsciousness on a wave of nausea, his stomach heaving. Hands tilted his head over a basin, supporting him as he vomited bitter bile in wrenching spasms. Finally, his stomach stopped protesting its existence and he fell back against a soft surface, panting. Those same hands brushed a cool cloth over his face and neck, washing away the cold sweat of illness, and when a glass touched his lips, he drank thirstily.

Opening his eyes cautiously, Ronin looked up into bright turquoise.

"Sensei?"

"Hey. You look better."

Another face moved into his line of vision and for an instant, he thought he was dreaming. Riki was smiling at him, black eyes gleaming, reddish hair falling around his face. Wait a minute... red hair??

Riki noticed the direction of his gaze and reached up to pull a spiky strand out for inspection.

"Like it? My new fashion statement."

Overwhelming relief shuddered through him. He'd known Riki was alive on a mental level, but seeing his friend standing in front of him, whole and healthy, made the knowledge reality.

"Riki."

He stretched a hand out and the other mongrel came forward to take it.

"You had us worried, man. Thought you were gonna kick off after we went to all that trouble to save your sorry ass."

Startled by yet another familiar voice, Ronin pushed himself up on one elbow and looked around. Raoul sat in a chair beside his bed. Riki stood next to the Elite, arms crossed, and at intervals around the room, the rest of Bison lounged in varied poses.

Everyone on the planet he truly cared for was in this room, right now.

Blinking back tears, he let his gaze roam over each face, finally coming to rest on Raoul's. Like Riki, the Blondie had changed his hair color for some reason. And... cut it off!

"Raoul. Your hair?"

The Blondie shrugged.

"I was bored with it."

Riki snorted.

"Yeah, right. I made him do it, Guy, so don't blame him."

"But... why?"

"Didn't want them to be able to identify us. Shoulda seen Katze. He's gonna kill me for dyeing his hair blue."

"Katze helped you? Riki, he hates me!"

"Blackmail, man. Works every time."

The rest of the gang was snickering.

"Yeah, Guy. I tell you, all this was worth it just to see Midas' head Boss dressed up like some girly Blue Elite. It was great," Luke said. "Too bad you missed it."

Ronin sank back down on the bed, dazed. All of a sudden everything was too much to deal with. He just wanted to sleep.

"All right, all of you out. You may come see him tomorrow, but for now he needs to rest."

Raoul's tone brooked no refusal, and the guys trooped out, grumbling. Riki lingered for a moment, squeezing Ronin's shoulder and telling him silently with those dark eyes that everything was okay between them. Then he was gone and Ronin looked up at the Blondie sitting quietly beside him.

"You should have left me there, Sensei. It wouldn't have been long before I took a hit I couldn't come back from. Now you've ruined your own life because of me." He turned his head on the pillow, closing his eyes to shut out that brilliant blue-green gaze. "I'm sick of hurting the people I care about, Raoul. I—it's like I'm poison."

Strong, gentle fingers turned his chin around and he reluctantly opened his eyes again.

"I couldn't, Guy. I'm too selfish. I did this for myself."

Ronin's gaze shot up to Raoul's in shock. Reaching out, the Blondie trailed sword-calloused fingers over the mongrel's face, tracing the lines of nose, cheek... and lips. Ronin swallowed hard, his body's response to the light touch immediate and wholly sexual.

"I need you too much to let you die, you aggravating mongrel," Raoul said in his calm voice, then bent to brush his mouth against Ronin's.

He made a despairing noise in the back of his throat, even his arms came up to pull the Blondie closer. Why couldn't he develop a little self-control? It seemed that where Raoul was concerned, he had none.

The golden Elite's mouth touched his once, twice and then Raoul was pulling slowly away, dropping kisses along Ronin's jaw, one hand stroking through the mongrel's tangled hair.

"You need to sleep. Well talk when you're feeling better."

"Where are we?" He mumbled sleepily, nuzzling into Raoul's touch.

"Midas. One of Katze's safe houses. We won't be able to stay here long, though; just until you heal a little more."

"'M fine," he slurred, falling fathoms deep into sleep with the sound of Raoul's laughter echoing through his dreams.

---

Katze stood under a torrent of blistering-hot water, washing blue dye from his hair and the night's exertions from his skin. He'd come straight to his Midas office and it's fully equipped shower from the place where he'd left Raoul and Bison, determined to cleanse himself of the whole affair.

Leaning back against the tile wall, he closed his eyes and let the water pummel his tight muscles. Iason was never going to forgive him for this.

Riki's ire aside, Katze wasn't even sure why he'd done it. Maybe because he couldn't hold a grudge the way Iason did. Guy had paid for his crimes and if Riki and Raoul wanted him in one piece, it was their business. Except that it was also Iason's.

He groaned. Fuck, what a mess. And he was in it up to his soon-to-be-wrung neck.

"Water off."

Stepping from the drenched stall, he dried himself briskly, pulling on fresh jeans and a sweater and glancing in the mirror. At least the blue was gone. He'd made sure the dye was an easily removed one.

As he stepped through the door, he noticed that the lights were off. Odd. He'd turned them on earlier. He started to voice the command when hands gripped him from behind and a sickly-sweet-smelling cloth was pressed over his mouth and nose.

The world around him blurred and he felt himself falling... into nothing.

10

Midas was burning. Iason stood at the wide window of his great room and watched the flames. It was taking longer than they'd expected to put the fires out, perhaps because the heat generated by the original explosions had been so intense that metal was now melting and the inferno was growing. Of all nights for Amoi's incessant autumn rains to hold off!

Surprisingly, no one had been killed yet. The charges had been set in empty or abandoned warehouses and the explosions themselves had been showy, but of little danger to Arena-goers. Evacuation had gone as smoothly as possible, considering that around fifteen-thousand panicky humans had run amok in the warehouse district. The real problem was that the damned flames kept spreading.

He'd just come from a meeting with Midas' Mayor and the Chief of Police. Nobody seemed to know what had happened. Iason had a very strong suspicion that he did, but he wasn't about to share his theories.

So now he waited. Neither Riki nor Katze were answering their coms and that was an indication in itself that his assumptions were correct. He sipped from a glass of excellent Zin, resisting the urge to crush the thing between his fingers. When he got his hands on those two mongrels...

"Enjoying the fireworks, Iason?"

Turning, he saw Riki slouched against the opposite wall, arms crossed, watching him from an expressionless face.

"Contemplating them, Pet. And wondering when you were going to show up and tell me what the hell is going on!"

He was across the room in a couple of swift strides, hauling Riki up by his tank, when he suddenly noticed that his Pet's hair had undergone a radical change. Lifting a strand between white-gloved fingers, he looked down into defiant midnight eyes.

"I assume there was a reason for this?"

"Yeah. I didn't want to get made. And it's not so bad. Raoul had to cut his off. At least this'll wash out."

Iason's grip loosened out of sheer surprise.

"Raoul did what?"

Riki made a snipping motion with two fingers.

"Gone. He chopped it off and I cleaned it up for him. Looks pretty good, if I do say so, myself."

Iason's eyes narrowed.

"What were you and Raoul doing tonight, Riki? And why is the Arena district lit up like a New Year's rocket?"

Riki yanked himself out of Iason's grip.

"We've all got questions don't we, Blondie? I mean, I wanna know how you could do that to Guy. Were you ever gonna tell me, Iason? Didn't you have the balls to say that you threw my best friend into the Arena to be butchered?!"

"No, I wouldn't have told you," Iason said stonily. "There was no reason for you to know."

"Godsdammit, Iason, I didn't ask you to help me get him out of Dana Bahn just so you could turn around and kill him!"

"Well, what would you have had me do, Riki?! I couldn't leave him out there, never knowing whether he'd try to take you again! Or kill you! Or... whatever else he could invent within that black hole that passes for his mind.

I could have made him a whore or sold him to T-9 as a pleasure slave. I could have had him mind-wiped or sent to a prison planet for sex-offenders! Would you have preferred one of those options?!"

Riki turned away, shoulders tight with anger.

"No. But I couldn't leave him there, and neither could Raoul." Riki looked back at the Blondie. "How about that, Iason? Your best friend's got it bad for my ex."

The color drained from Iason's face as he stared at his Pet.

"Raoul... and Guy?"

"Hey, shocked the hell out of me, too! Raoul's the reason I found out. He came to Katze for help."

"Gods. If I'd known... I never would have..."

"Never would have what? I know you had him train Guy. He told me that himself. Let me guess... they were together for a while?"

"Yes."

Iason quietly reeled. Fastidious Raoul and that—that piece of Ceres refuse? But it must be true if Raoul defied every law of Tanagura to set the creature free.

"I'm outta here."

His eyes snapped open and he stared at Riki, despair clutching at his throat. Please, he asked of whatever gods might be listening. Please don't let this cost me my mongrel.

He could keep Riki here by force; he was a Blondie. But that elusive, quicksilver soul he'd always longed to possess, and now did, would be gone from him forever. Revenge was a bitter pill indeed when swallowed with such a loss.

"Don't look at me like that, Iason. I'm seriously pissed at you and right now I need to be moving, but I'll be back after I get this shit taken care of. I'm not leaving you, you idiot."

Riki walked to the doorway stood there for a moment, hands shoved deep in his pockets in his classic pose. Iason was pulled instantly back in time to their first meeting; the defiance of that stance and the way Riki had demanded Iason follow him.

"I'll be at Katze's place in Midas tonight. I want to spend some time with Guy before we get him out of town. And so-help-me, Blondie... you do anything to fuck this up and I will be coming after you. Count on it."

Iason leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. That way he wouldn't have to watch Riki go.

---

Punching the entry code for Katze's Midas rooms, Riki stumbled inside and sat down abruptly in the middle of the floor. His throat closed up, his face contorting with the effort not to cry.

This was harder than he'd thought. For the first time in... a good chunk of months, he'd be sleeping away from his Blondie. He wasn't happy about it at all. Damn Iason, anyway! The man had to learn that he couldn't go around manipulating everyone's lives to suit his own ends.

Resting his arms on his bent knees, he dropped his head forward. Fuck, he was dead. After he'd left the condo, he'd walked for what felt like hours before coming here, but his mind was still restless. And on top of everything else, he really needed a shower.

Pushing to his feet, he headed with single-minded purpose for the bathroom, grabbing a handful of fresh clothes on the way. Katze let him keep some stuff here for emergencies and he figured this qualified.

Fifteen minutes later, he walked back into the great room, clean, black-haired once more, and stared in surprise at the stranger occupying one of Katze's chairs. And the very large stunner the man had pointed at him.

Oh shit, here we go again, he had time to think before the guy fired, and Riki's personal lights went out.

The Other Side – part 2 << >> The Other Side – part 4

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