Starfall (Starflight #2)(76)
Kane stepped inside for a closer look at the weights. If the Redshirts expected him to bulk up, maybe they’d increase his daily inhaler allowance. He would love that.
A toilet flushed in the washroom, and a beefy, middle-aged Redshirt strode into view. The man’s legs were thick with muscle, forcing him into an awkward waddle that reminded Kane of the geese on Eturia. They were territorial birds, meaner than they looked, especially if you wandered too close to their hatchlings. That was how his friendship with Cassia had begun, when he’d rescued her from a rampaging goose by throwing his cookie to the bird. He would never forget the look she’d given him afterward, like he’d saved her from a burning building instead of a dull beak.
Kane felt a tug at his stomach. He shut down the memory and took another breath from his inhaler. One hiss later and the tugging was gone.
The noise caused the Redshirt to glance at him.
“I’m Jude,” Kane said. “They told me to come here and meet my supervisor.”
“That’d be me. Just call me boss.” The man had an earthquake voice, low and rumbly. He pointed to a standing metal cabinet. “Sheets are in there. Pick a bunk.”
Kane did as he was told, choosing an upper cot the farthest from the washroom. While making his bed, he thought of a question. “Hey, boss. Can I ask you something?”
The Redshirt grunted. “Shoot.”
“I know I’m always supposed to say yes, but what if two guests want contradictory things? What if one person asks for lunch on the beach, but on my way to get it, someone else stops me and tells me to haul luggage?” The question might sound ridiculous, but he couldn’t afford to make a mistake and lose his allowance. “Which guest do I listen to?”
For the first time, his boss grinned. “Don’t worry about that, kid. You’ll be working in the pit. Running errands isn’t your job.”
The pit? “What’s that?”
“Live-action games and combat. It’s part of the casino. Guests lay odds on their favorite fighter, and you do your best to win. It’s that simple.”
Kane glanced at the weight rack. Now he understood the reason for the strength-training circuit. The men in this dorm were fighters. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. He was good with his fists, but not skilled enough to use them for a living. Then he remembered something Necktie Fleece had said on board the ship…something about fighting an opponent until the man was dead.
An icy finger traced his spine.
“Like gladiator games?” he asked.
“Yeah,” his boss said, nodding. “Exactly like that.”
The back door swung open, and a man in white walked inside, so tall he had to duck his head to avoid hitting it on the top frame. Clearly, he was a fighter, too. He hooked a left and disappeared inside the washroom, but not before Kane caught a glimpse of his battleship arms.
He wouldn’t last five minutes against that guy.
“Look here, kid,” his boss said. He must’ve seen the fear on Kane’s face, because he reached in his pocket and produced a gold inhaler. “Do you know what this is?”
“The refill we earn at the end of the week?”
The Redshirt laughed. “Hell no. Better than that. Way better. Forget that garbage you breathed on the ship. This will make you feel so good you’ll forget your own name.”
Kane’s heart raced with instant longing.
“This is a special kind of reward. Only two types of workers can have it—the lovers and the fighters.” He gave the tube a light shake. “The best part is you won’t have to wait a week to get your hands on it.”
Kane licked his lips, too hypnotized to speak.
“The pit fighters are the real stars here,” his boss said. “While the other schmucks haul luggage and fetch drinks, saving up for a weekly fix of diluted crap, you’ll be breathing this golden air every time you compete.”
A pang of need tore a jagged gash through Kane’s insides. He sucked on his inhaler, pumping it again and again to stave off the craving, but it wasn’t enough. He had to have what was inside that gold tube.
“Fight hard, and this’ll be yours,” the man promised. “Every single day of your life.”
That was all Kane needed to hear.
He jerked his chin toward the weight rack. “When can I start?”
Cassia’s second homecoming was no better than the first. While she couldn’t deny the accommodations were more luxurious—a private cruiser with Gage Spaulding as her escort—comfort wasn’t everything. At least when the Daeva had dragged her home in chains, it’d been with the knowledge that Kane was safe. That peace of mind had given her the freedom to focus on her own needs.
Which wasn’t the case right now.
She sat in the pilothouse, fidgeting in her seat, as she waited for Eturia to come into sight. During her last conversation with Jordan, she’d learned someone had cut the power to the entire prison block on the night of Marius’s escape, so in addition to her murderous husband, every rebel her men had ever captured was now free to resume plotting against her. Then there was the issue of keeping her people safe, something she could only do by urging them to stay indoors.
But despite the mounting crises, her eyes kept wandering back to the transmission switch. Renny hadn’t called today. Maybe she should radio the Banshee again to see if he and the crew had made any progress in tracking Kane.