Omega Games (13 page)

“Come with me.” It extended a paw toward the outer corridor.

The interior of Omega Dome proved to be as austere as Mercy House was luxurious. I noted a shield-shaped medallion in the center of all of the wall panels, and the distinctive emblem inside the three-cornered symbol of protection. A Terran letter “D” formed from the image of a half-waned moon with a sword running diagonally through it.

“The ‘D’ stands for Drefan?” I asked the cat.

It hesitated a moment too long before it answered me. “Yes.”

Clear viewer panels began to appear, and I looked through one to see two groups of males attacking each other in the middle of a jungle. The ferocity of the battle startled me. “There are people fighting in there.”

“Some of them are colonists,” the Chakacat said. “Most are simulated combatants. The quality and variety of Omega Dome bloodsport simulations are renowned throughout the quadrant. Our programs are still as close as you can get to authentic combat without entering a slaver arena or joining the military. ”

“I have been in authentic combat,” I told it. “I did not find it entertaining.” As we walked on, I passed five more panels before I asked, “How many of these simulation chambers do you have here?”

“Three hundred and fifty singles, seventy-two doubles, and twenty-eight multiples, and a grand central arena for large team play. This is central control. ” The Chakacat stopped in front of a room without a

“Do you people do anything on this planet that is not watched by another?” I grumbled as I walked in. “I take it you don’t think highly of spectators,” a man said as he came out from behind one of the consoles. He did not rise out of his seat but tapped the controls on one arm and made it glide across the floor toward me.

This Terran male’s upper torso bulged with heavy muscles, but he couldn’t leave his chair. Space yawned where his lower limbs should have been. Other parts of him were missing as well.

“See anything you like?” he asked. “I can see that you have one arm and no legs,” I said, annoyed by his self-effacing taunt. “Why are you in that chair? Were you not properly fitted with prosthetics?”

“I forgot how direct healers can be.” He sounded more amused than offended. “As it happens, I do have

prosthetics, but they are uncomfortable, and I prefer the chair. It’s faster.” “Artificial limbs are not only for your personal benefit,” I pointed out. “They improve your appearance and how others perceive you. How uncomfortable are they? Perhaps they were not fitted correctly.”

“Oh, they fit. Only too well.” He rested a hand on his thigh, which ended where a knee should have been.

“The discomfort is, shall we say, more spiritual.” I had dealt with amputees on Akkabarr, and after an engineering accident on the
Sunlace
during our jaunt to Joren. Loss of mobility and body function often inflicted more pain than the actual injuries. Sympathy, however, rarely helped alleviate the victim’s suffering.

“I see,” I said briskly. “So you wallow in that chair and your self-pity, and insure that everyone around

you does the same. Not how I would wish to live, but you must do as you will.” “We any of us rarely do as we will, Doctor.” He offered his hand in Terran fashion. “James Drefan, Games Master. You have many names, according to the bounty particulars, but I believe that you are called Cherijo.”

“Yes.” I turned to Keel. “Where is Reever?” The Chakacat was standing between me and the only exit, like a guard. “He will join us shortly.” “While we wait, Doctor, would you be so kind as to remove your weapons and put them there?” Drefan

gestured to a nearby table. I was not eager to give up my blades. “Why do you want them?” “No one is permitted to carry real weapons inside the dome for safety reasons.” He smiled a little. “There

are, shall we say, too many temptations to use them.”

“I am feeling one right now.” I reached under my tunic and removed my blade harness, dropping it onto the table. Drefan eyed it. “We did scan you for weapons before you entered the dome, Doctor.” Reluctantly I bent down and removed the sheaths strapped to my calves, and added them to the others.

“I thank you, no.” I sensed I was being analyzed, measured, or otherwise toyed with, and my patience stretched thin. “Where is my husband?”

Drefan consulted one of the monitors. “At the moment, it appears that he’s crawling through one of the simulator power conduits.”

“What? Why?”

“Your husband is determined to escape my custody. ” He turned the screen so that I could see the image of Reever inching his way through an alarmingly narrow passage. A panel opened, and he was pulled out. “Ah, there. Keel has arrived with some drones to retrieve him.”

I watched the screen as the feed switched to another area, where my husband was fighting a domestic drone. The Chakacat stood by and held a weapon trained on Reever.

“What have you done to him?”

“Nothing, except refuse to allow him to leave the dome,” Drefan assured me. “This would be his third attempt to escape since my salvage drones brought him in. Apparently he’s not interested in accepting our hospitality.”

I gasped as two more drones joined the fight. “Tell him to stop.”

“I’ve tried, several times. He won’t listen to me, and I’m running out of drones.” Drefan looked at me full-face for the first time, revealing a smooth socket where his right eye should have been. “Perhapsyou’d care to save my equipment and relay a few words of reassurance to him.”

I leaned over the console and enabled the audio. “Duncan, I am here with Drefan. Stop fighting them. Let the feline bring you to me.”

Reever shoved the one drone that he hadn’t yet disabled out of his way, and came to the vid screen. “How did you get here?”

“I grew tired of waiting for you to come for me.” I touched the screen with my fingertips. “I am all right, Duncan. Go with the cat. It will bring you to me.”

He nodded and turned to the Chakacat. “Take me to her now.”

Drefan reached over and shut off the vid. “You’re very devoted to each other, I take it.”

“Take it however you like.” I watched my husband and the feline retreat out of sight. “It’s a mistake to come between us.”

“Admirable.” Drefan moved his chair around me to access another screen. “But on Trellus, that sort of bond could be rather dangerous.”

“To anyone who threatens us, yes.” I faced him. “Why did that Tingalean attack me? Is it sick? Has it gone mad? Is that why Davidov has quarantined the colony?”

“I wish I had the answers you desire, Doctor, but I am as mystified by these events as you.” He input some data on the console, his one hand moving back and forth along the keys with considerable speed.

“What is your connection with Davidov?” “None. I met him only yesterday.” “And your husband?” He looked up as the Chakacat and Reever came in. “Reever, how kind of you to

join us.”

I saw the blood on my husband’s tunic and in his hair a moment before I embraced him. “What did they do to you?” “Nothing yet.” He looked over my head at the crippled Terran. “Why is she here? What do you want

from us?”

“Your wife owes me nothing. Her debt belongs to Mercy, and I believe they’ve amicably settled the terms of repayment.” Drefan studied us for a moment. “She can pay your debt to me, if she is willing.” Reever’s mouth flattened. “You will not use her in your games.” “I confess, I am intrigued by the idea of forcing a surgeon to do battle, especially one who cannot be

killed,” Drefan said, “but no, I do not want her for the games. I merely ask that she perform the same

services that she promised to Mercy. Full medical examinations for every member of my staff.” His request surprised me as much as Mercy’s had. There had to be more to this than the fact that Trellus had no physician on colony. They were worried about something specific, a serious health issue, and they wanted me to find it or confirm it.

“If the colonists are suffering from some sort of illness,” I said, “I will be glad to treat them. But I have to

know what is happening here.” “There is no plague for you to cure this time, Doctor,” Drefan said. “Only the most common of injuries and sickness. Before Davidov came, we would send them off colony for treatment. Now we do what we can for each other, but I would feel better having a professional check out my people.”

Reever looked at me and shook his head slightly. “My wife will examine your staff,” he said to Drefan. “That will satisfy my debt to you?” “For the salvage, yes,” the games master said. “You will soon need protection from Posbret and some of

the other colonists, which I can also offer.” “We can deal with them ourselves,” I told him before Reever replied. “If that is your wish. There’s only one more thing.” The crippled Terran changed the image on the viewer

to that of the surface, where
Moonfire
had crashed. “If you intend to leave Trellus, you will need viable transportation. That appears to be a problem.”

“If you want the ship for salvage,” Reever said, “take it.” “On the contrary. I have sent my engineers out to examine the damage to your scout, and they tell me that we have the parts and resources required to fix it.” Drefan gestured toward a screen that showed the
Renko
in orbit. “We might even be able to distract Davidov long enough to allow you to launch and escape before he notices.”

He had given it some thought, I noted. “You expect us to take you along?”

I knew we couldn’t leave Trellus unless the Jorenians sent a rescue party, or
Moonfire
could be repaired. At the same time, I didn’t trust Drefan and his eagerness to help us. He didn’t know us, and he wasn’t being truthful with us.

“Why haven’t you repaired your own ships?” Reever asked.

“After the last attempt to escape the colony, Davidov destroyed them all,” Drefan said. “You can see the wreckage on the south side of the colony complex, where our main transport facility used to be. Be grateful that your ship is still viable.”

“You have specific data on these repairs that I can review?” Reever asked, and the other man nodded. “Assuming what you say is true, and your plan can be carried out, what is your price?”

“I want you,” Drefan said to my husband, “to fight in my games.”

Reever paled.

“No.” I knew how much Duncan had suffered during the years he spent as a slave. His Hsktskt owner had forced him to fight in the arenas, where he had no choice but to kill or be killed. “My husband cannot fight.”

“He had no difficulty routing my drones,” Drefan told me. “But if he doesn’t care for bloodsport, I will make it a single match—one with an opponent worthy of his skills.”

“I will accept,” Reever said quietly, before I could repeat a refusal, “under two conditions. I will not fight to the death.”

“Agreed,” Drefan said. “And the other?”

Reever gripped my hand tightly. “I want to first see this worthy opponent fight.”

The games master turned to Keel. “Have Tya brought to the melee room.”

We followed Drefan’s glidechair out of the control room and down to what he called the hover view.

“Our customers became bored with the old stationary observation decks,” he told Reever as we stepped into a large, round, flat-bottomed area furnished with seats. “This allows them to change positions above the simulation, to get the best vantage point. Important when you’re running large programs, and the fighting can become confusing from the ground level.”

“Your assistant told me that the people I saw fighting were colonists and simulations,” I said. “But they all looked real.”

“Our simulators are not based on League or Jorenian technology,” Drefan said. “We trade with a supplier who has collected some interesting artifacts from distant worlds. I’ll wager that what we use here is not like anything you’ve seen.”

The hover view launched down a short tunnel into a spacious, empty simulation grid. We floated silently above it, and then Drefan brought the craft down to what he called the optimum observation level.

“The grids are modified versions of League standard holoprojectors,” Drefan said as he worked on the console in front of him. “Each simulation is stocked with an appropriate quantity of holographite, which is