She walked with her hands open and relaxed at her sides. Though her expression was determined and focused, she didn’t seem angry that I hadn’t found her earlier, nor shocked that I’d found her at all. Rigorous military training, it seemed, had prepared her for life as a slave. I only hoped it would prepare her for a life of freedom again, because she’d be free in short order.
Reaver maintained eye contact with me as she stepped from the shadows. She was a bit thinner, maybe, and was dressed in a tan, canvas karate gi, of sorts. Her feet were covered by well-crafted boots that narrowed to a point and were tipped with riveted steel. They looked like they had protected the slaver’s investment more than once.
The gladiators of old were often treated well by their slave owners, like mankind later treated racehorses. They received the best medical attention, training, and equipment, but that didn’t make the practice of forcing slaves to fight to the death any better. They still weren’t free. They weren’t able to stop fighting if they chose. They’d be beaten, tortured, allowed to starve or dehydrate, and worse. Often, their only chance of escape was in battle, with death being its own reward.
I opened my mouth and struggled to find words.
“You made it,” Reaver said, her voice coming out hoarse. “I knew you would. There’d been rumors of some badass running around the countryside whoopin’ everything that came against it. I knew if it was a Marine, it was you. And by the amount of damage you’ve done, I couldn't imagine it being anything but a Marine.”
“Oorah,” I said with a laugh.
She stopped when she was close enough that I could feel the heat of her body against my chest. Surprisingly, she smelled of flowers—jasmine, maybe—or something like it. Maybe she’d been given some perfume or shampoo as a reward for winning in the arena?
Reaver poked me in the center of my chest with her finger. “Where the fuck have you been?” she asked. “You think it’s okay to just run around blowing things up, slaying dragons, killing Enforcers, and such? Ever thought about looking for us?”
“How’d you know about that?” I asked. Word must have gotten around to the arena constants, which meant that King Demetrios knew about me, too. I was about to ask her more about it when something she said echoed in my mind. “Us?” I asked. “There are more crew members here?”
“Yes,” she confirmed, poking the same spot, “us. There’s at least one more, or there was. Might be dead now for all I know.”
I could tell from the way she pouted that she was at least a little upset I hadn’t come earlier. She’d probably heard about my exploits and wondered why the fuck it was taking me so long to get to Brazud.
“Reaver,” I said, “the second I knew for certain that there were survivors on this planet, I headed for the biggest city center, here. And I found you.”
A shadow alerted me to movement above our heads. A guard was on top of the pen and had apparently heard enough to make him curious. He leaned forward and peered inside, a halberd in his right hand and another of those rod-guns in a holster on his left. He didn’t look concerned, only curious, as if he might get the special treat of watching a fight that nobody else would witness.
I thought it probable that all of the guards were similarly equipped and armored. It was just as likely that those on the city’s wall and around the arena were packing heat even more dangerous than rod-guns. The strongest weapons would likely be located at the walls, but either I’d been too unobservant—which I doubted—or the city’s defenses were well-concealed.
“We’re not on a mission anymore, Jacob,” she whispered. “Our starship is gone. Our crew is gone. As far as I know, we’re the last earthlings that exist anywhere.”
“Except on Earth and Mars,” I said. I didn’t like her referring to Martians as “earthlings” but I wasn’t about to correct her. I didn’t know where the humans had come from on this planet, but almost identical lifeforms evolving on another planet was statistically improbable, not impossible.
“You so sure?” she asked as she cocked her head to one side and squinted.
I shrugged. “I’m not sure about anything, except that I’m glad to see you.”
She pressed her lips together in a tight line as her eyes inspected mine, then my nose, and, finally, my mouth. I wasn’t sure if she was getting ready to kiss me or if she’d picked a target for her next punch. If she wanted to hit me, I’d let her get it out of her system. Maybe then I’d get to see whether she was the “superpowered human” Yaltu had talked about.
Then Reaver moved, fast as lightning, barely giving me time to brace myself. But she didn’t punch me. Her arms wrapped around my waist and hugged me. She buried her face under my chin. She didn’t cry. She only breathed deeply and held on tight as if I might drift away or fade from existence.
I returned the gesture and wrapped my arms around her, being as gentle as I could in case there were injuries concealed under her clothes. Although ancient slavers on Earth traditionally took care of their gladiators, this wasn’t Earth, and it wasn’t thousands of years in the past.
My fingers brushed her back, carefully tracing the landscape of her spine, her strong muscles, and her shoulder blades. She didn’t flinch or shy away from them and seemed to lean in to
