“Salados tend to easily gain weight. I did it a favor.”
“You know what I mean.”
I ignored him. Vendors in the aisles raised their voices to hawk their sweets, meat pies, and flavored waters. They offered beers from a dozen worlds—at stiff prices that tourists gladly paid. Anticipation and excitement of the coming contest filled the air. Even I bought into it. Besides, we’d managed to snag two seats on the shady side of the stadium, little more than halfway up the tiers of stone bench-seats, so we had a beautiful view and out of the heat of the direct sun. The primary star the world called Roma circled was white, tinged with a little yellow, which made everything stand out in stark detail.
A mature male Hoot, which is a reptile or something resembling one, strutted on the combat field wearing full battle armor. The Hoot had been pitted against what appeared to be a smallish human woman about half its mass in the opening competition.
Being a slight, young, human woman myself, I decided to help her win by pushing helpful empathic data for winning the combat into her mind, which is like providing inside information to businessmen. I chewed another bite of burrito and promised myself to stop using my ability before someone detected my actions. If they did, it would be worse than ending on a work crew—I’d be dead.
However, in the joyous spirit of the moment and the coming gladiatorial contests, the woman on the floor of the arena reminded me of me. Her tiny frame moved with quick, birdlike actions. The double-edged broadsword she carried reflected the white sunlight of Roma, a backwater world that patterned itself after ancient Rome on Earth a few thousand years ago.
The contrast of the Colosseum, which looked like a modern version of the original in Rome in its heyday, and the roar of the starships lifting off a dozen kilometers away at the lone spaceport on the planet prevented some people from suspending reality enough to buy into the believability of the games. Only they were not games, not in the modern sense of the word. They were often every bit as savage and bloody as the historical contests they emulated.
“Which one do you like, Kathy?” Brill asked.
His breathless manner revealed his enthusiasm despite his attempt to hide it. Turning to him, I again noticed that he was no longer a snot-nosed kid, nor little, like when we’d first met. The young man known on the streets as Brill towered over me, despite our ages being relatively the same.
At one time a few years ago, I’d towered a few centimeters over Brill. But he was a male human—at least we believed him to be. That accounted for part of the difference in sizes, but Brill had shot up the last couple of years until he stood a half-head taller than most men, and he was filling out nicely across his chest and shoulders. Quite nicely.
He’d called me “Kathy” earlier to piss me off, his way of getting even for some perceived slight. Recently, I’d told him repeatedly to shorten my name from Kathy to Kath, and now to Kat, like a lithe, pink, slinky creature I’d seen accompanying a wealthy matron near the space docks where the pleasure ships landed. Determined not to let him rile me, I resisted his barb and said evenly, “Only a fool would bet against that Hoot. It has muscles on muscles and probably twenty years of intense warrior training.”
“It looks like everyone agrees with you. Have you checked the odds?”
The program on my wrist-comp tracked the odds. They had been in the Hoot’s favor all morning, three-to-two, or five-to-three most of the time. Now they had suddenly shot up to nearly seven-to-four as spectators got a good look at the two of them together and started to place their bets. It was a warmup match for today’s games, and a referee would call it. Non-lethal. The insane odds increased again in the span of a few breaths. The question was, who would wager hard-earned credits on that tiny woman who was barely able to swing the massive broadsword?
I settled down on the stone seat and adjusted my butt to better fit the hard flat slab as I watched her struggle and considered the situation intellectually instead of emotionally.
The games-masters should have never pitted such a small fighter against a warrior-class Hoot, yet they had. That was a fact. Lopsided bouts were losers for the stadium, the owners, and the basic concept of the games. Why?
Hoots were a reptilian species known for lumbering, powerful battles against each other, some of which lasted for tenths of a day. They were fierce, indefatigable, and single-minded in combat.
Warning tingles woke my brain in the same way as if I noticed three Coliseum Police descending on my location. They were not, but the tingles were similar.
In a perfect scenario, half the people bet either side to win. That means half of them will win the same amount they bet, which doubled their money, minus the ten percent the owners of the Coliseum kept for arranging the betting. Half lose it all, plus the ten percent fee. Guaranteed profits of twenty percent for the corporation, if done correctly.
In short, it cost eleven credits to bet ten, win or lose.
I elbowed Brill gently, “The odds are crazy. Something isn’t right. By the way, my name is Kat, as I’ve told you that a dozen times today.”
Brill peered at his wrist-comp and ignored the mention of my new name. “The odds are still increasing. Ticking up.”
One thought kept returning like a little yapping dog that wouldn’t quit. The games-masters always did their homework. Thus, despite the heavy odds, the spry little woman stood an equal chance of winning against
