After the fall trias tal.., p.1
After the Fall: Tria's Tale, page 1
Tria’s Tale
After the Fall
By G. L. Drummond
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright 2010, G.L. Drummond All Rights Reserved.
Published by Katarr Kanticles Press
Smashwords Edition 2011
This book, or any parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without the permission of the author. The uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the author is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
The Journal of Katria Stevens
I was thirteen the day the world as we knew it ended. The day the aliens invaded.
I suppose I was fortunate, in that both my parents were employed by the government. The public was fed a story about a terroristic threat to explain the presence of armed troops. I met a few of those soldiers as they stood guard outside my school. Since I was at an impressionable age, just entering puberty, I found the leader of those who waited by the outdoor patio handsome. His name was Jack Monroe.
My mother arrived to pick me up, and one look at her face told me it wasn't terrorists. As I waved good-bye to the soldiers, I wondered if they knew what was really happening. The look on Jack's face as he returned the wave made me think they did.
We waited out the initial bombing and rushed exodus. For two days, we stayed in the small, reinforced room that was our basement, listening to the panicked radio reports. After the bombing had quieted, my father decided it was safe enough to leave. My parents had known more than I realized. Our vacations were spent learning survivalist skills, preparation for the very event we faced. So we weren't completely unprepared, when we began creeping through the devastation.
It wasn't enough. Only the scrape of a clawed foot gave warning, and my father died instantly. My mother told me to run as she fired at what looked like an upright crocodile. That was the only shot she got off before it was on her.
I didn't run, but went for the gun my father had lost. The Drackennishan, as I later learned they called themselves, was hissing as it rose from my mother's corpse. It was laughing at me - a human child that dared to face it.
Firing, I backed away, only to trip and fall into a slight depression in some debris, which saved my life when the Drac collapsed on top of me. The last bullet went into its throat, spraying me with its blood. I was trapped under it for what seemed like eternity, the rubble keeping it from crushing me.
Voices roused me from the stupor I’d fallen into. A newly familiar face peered into my tiny shelter - Jack Monroe. He and the four soldiers still with him were jubilant they'd found a survivor. Once they'd freed me, I sat and reloaded the clip while listening to them try and decide where to go. I knew where: the abandoned campground up in the mountains my parents had selected.
Two more things happened that night. I privately swore to fight Dracs for as long as I lived, and Jack Monroe called me his girl.
I learned how to kill Dracs, and I fought. I was Jack's shadow for five years, until I turned eighteen and he finally looked at me, realized that I was no longer a kid. We were lovers for a single, wonderful year, until the bastard betrayed me.
During one of the private times we'd set aside for ourselves, he drugged and turned me over to the Dracs.
They viewed the fact I'd killed so many of their warriors as an insult. Dracs don't believe in the equality of the sexes, and an 'egg bearer' taking the lives of their warriors had infuriated them. Surprisingly, they didn't execute me on the spot.
No, they had another way to make me pay.
Chapter One
Cold.
She was freezing, lying on a hard surface that felt like metal. It took a huge effort to lever herself into sitting position, but Tria finally managed. Gazing blearily around at the bare cell, she wondered where she was. Her mind obligingly supplied the memory of Jack, buried deep within her and pressing a hypo to her neck. Tria felt tears well up at his betrayal, but her voice was harsh as she muttered, "You bastard. You're gonna pay for this."
How, she had no idea as she carefully worked her way into standing position, using the wall as support. She felt extremely weak, but a flare of relief hit when she realized she was dressed in her faded fatigues. At least he had that much decency, she bitterly thought. Who did he turn me over to? The Drackennishan, or humans under their claws? What are my chances at escape?
The door slid open to reveal a Drac and another alien, which looked like a giant, humoniod black panther. Tria tensed, prepared to do the best she could against them. The Drac hissed in enjoyment as he surveyed her. "You are my newest fighter, Katria Stevens. Since you believe yourself more than an egg bearer, you are being transported to Devana to fight in my Blood Pit. This is an opportunity to pay your debt. To remove the stain of dishonor you gave my fellow warriors. You will remain there until you've defeated 117 opponents, or until you, yourself, are defeated."
"Eat shit and die, gator boy," Tria hissed in response, wishing she had her knife. It seemed she wasn’t the only one who’d counted her number of kills. "I don't owe anything. You attacked my world, killed my parents."
"If you refuse to acknowledge the debt, I'll have you slaughtered and prepared for dinner. I'm sure my crew would appreciate the delicacy of human flesh." The Drac blinked its flat, black eyes at her.
Tria shuddered, her eyes going from the Drac's to those of the felinoid towering over him. His were gold, wide and unblinking. One rounded ear flicked as she gazed at him. Tall and muscular, he wore clothing despite the covering of thick, black fur. Pants, boots and an open, long vest.
Just a big kitty cat on two legs, she thought. The hysterical giggle that threatened to explode made her drag her eyes back to the Drac, who asked, "Your decision, Katria Stevens?"
Going down fighting seemed a better way to die than being slaughtered like a cow. Scowling, Tria snapped, "I acknowledge the debt."
"Excellent. This is Mrir and he will be your trainer. Obey him, or I'll devise interesting punishments for your failure." The Drac turned to the big felinoid. "She's your responsibility. I want her ready for the Pit within two months of our return. You're free to treat her however you wish, Mrir."
He said something else, in a different language before lumbering off, hissing quietly. It made the other alien’s ears flatten. Tria glared after the Drac for a moment, hatred burning bright. Transferring the glare to the cat man, she asked, "What are you?"
"I am a Katarr. Are you well enough to walk a short distance?" His voice was low, deep and a little raspy. He hadn't moved from his spot. "There are more comfortable quarters than this cell waiting for you."
"Do you mean more comfortable for you, or for me?" Tria straightened up from the slight crouch she'd assumed at their entrance, putting her back firmly to the wall. The Katarr's head tilted slightly, a slow blink indicating he was thinking. She surmised that English was new to him from that.
"They are your quarters, Katria Stevens," he replied after a few seconds. Tria shrugged, pushing away from the wall. That proved to be a bad idea, her legs immediately giving out. Strong, thickly muscled arms broke her fall without her even hearing the alien move. She snarled a protest as he easily lifted her. "It will be faster. The drug’s effects will continue to fade."
She realized he was quite warm as another bout of shivering hit. Tria felt like an iceberg had taken up residence inside, and tried not to be blatant about soaking up the heat he put off as they exited the cell. The vest he wore meant she was directly against his furred chest, so she could feel that the fur was just as thick and soft as it looked. He was holding her carefully, not squeezing.
I probably look like toy to him, she thought while scanning their surroundings. Taking in the bland corridor and the doors lining it on either side, she frowned, deducing they weren’t near the outer edge of the ship. The felinoid paused in front of one, speaking a single word that made it open. Tria filed the word away for silent practice and future usage.
Inside, he lowered her to the floor. One large, furred hand stayed on her shoulder until he was apparently satisfied she wasn't going to fall on her ass. Tria took a quick look around, searching for a weapon or something she could turn into a one. The alien made a quiet chuffing noise. "The furnishings are fastened securely. You've never been on a ship before?"
"No." Tria felt stupid for not realizing that would be standard procedure. Who would want furniture floating around in free fall? "What now?"
"I will explain the controls for the hygiene closet and the lights, if you wish?" He stepped away, nodding towards a smaller door she'd noticed. "Are you hungry, Katria Stevens?"
The idea of food, surprisingly, made her feel nauseous. "No. Not yet. My name's Tria."
"Just say when you are ready for a meal," he replied, studying her face. He rolled his Rs and there was a faint hiss on each S.
Just the way I'd expect a cat to sound, if cats could talk, Tria thought. Another hysterical wave of the giggles threatened. She grimly fought them off, becoming aware that she still bore the signs of Jack’s last possession of her body. The need to scrub him off was immediate
Mrir obliged, backing out of the tiny room after explaining the controls. Tria stripped hastily, and was soon scrubbing herself raw under a spray of hot water. After her second round of soaping and rinsing, she realized it would take a lot more to wipe away the memory of Jack's hands and body. She could still feel him, still hear his voice whispering ‘I love everything about you, Tri’.
Liar, she silently snarled. Her next thoughts were the wails of a lost child. I trusted you, Jack! Loved you! How the hell could you do this to me?
~
Mrir had a problem. The Katarr acknowledged it while crossing to the lounger to wait for the human to cleanse herself.
Katarr warriors honored their females. They were the reason their species continued, and were to be protected to the last breath. Any Katarr warrior would lay down his life for a female or kittling, whether they were family or a complete stranger.
Any warrior would also rather cut off his own tail than face a female protecting her kittlings. They were the stuff of nightmares when that happened - not that any warrior would ever harm a kittling of any species.
Katarr females were by nature gentle, until their protective instincts were aroused. They were the last line of defense for House and kittlings. It was the males' duty to make sure they never were forced into having to act as such.
Mrir knew that other species' females could also be fighters. Only a few considered their females less than equal, the Dracs being one such. Even so, a female never, ever was placed as a Blood Pit fighter.
Until now.
Most Pit fighters fell into one of two categories: enslaved criminals or slaves bred for the purpose. All of Thislel's fighters were enslaved criminals, except for Mrir.
Katarrs' loyalty to family and species was a deep, intricate thing. That was why, seven years before, Mrir had chosen to enter into a 12 year contract as a Pit fighter. He'd become the Eldest of the House when an accident during a trading voyage had claimed the lives of his parents and eldest brother. He'd not only been left to care and provide for his three younger siblings, but the ship they'd died on had been new. Only a single payment made prior to the accident meant the rest of the loan was also his responsibility to pay.
The jobs available hadn't paid enough to provide for his family and make the huge payments. Mrir had been desperate to find something that would, as well as restore the family's fortune, which had slowly declined over the past century due to bad choices in investments.
Since Katarrs seldom ended up as slaves, there had never been one in the Blood Pits. Their race had a well-earned reputation as fearsome warriors. Unable to defeat them, the Dracs were forced into treating with them.
Devana was the closest planet with a Blood Pit, so Mrir had gone there to meet with the Pit's owner, Thislel. The Drac had been eager to work out a contract in order to have a Katarr warrior in his Blood Pit.
Mrir received a salary as a trainer and maintained order in the Pen. He also received a portion of the gate proceeds each evening he fought, and a portion of the betting proceeds accrued on those days. The first five years of the arrangement had cleared the debt of the ship loan. The past two years had begun rebuilding the family fortune. He had five years left on his contract, and while not happy, he was content. He was providing for his family, and that was all that mattered to him.
Katarrs were a very affectionate race, which was the main source of Mrir's unhappiness. Being away from his siblings and having to hold himself apart from others was painful. Thislel had procured a companion for him during the first year of his contract. A young female Katarr who'd been orphaned away from the home world and taken captive. Mrir wasn’t pleased to discover she was barely out of kittlinghood and completely terrified. He'd spent a single night soothing her and coaxing her story out, and then used a portion of the proceeds he'd earned by that time to purchase her freedom and ticket to Katarr, sending her to his family. The kit, Lirl, had settled in nicely, and Greth was predicting that she and Tresh would choose to become sesslins when they were older.
Since then, Mrir had chosen to remain celibate, rather than accept the companionship of the bed slaves kept in the fighters' Harem. There were other compatible species available, but he was set against the idea of mating with a female that had no choice in the matter.
Now he was in charge of a female that had no choice in being a Pit fighter. A fragile looking female who seemed to have no natural weapons, and would be the smallest fighter in the Pen.
Mrir didn't doubt the human had defeated as many Dracs as he'd been told - she wouldn't be in this situation if she hadn't. There was obviously more to her than met the eye. The Katarr was having difficulty in seeing how she'd been able to do so.
A female being thrown into the Pen would cause problems. Not all the fighters were allowed to visit the Harem regularly. There were two seldom given the privilege because their brutal natures resulted in dead bed slaves.
Mrir knew that Thislel would execute any fighter that killed the human, but he doubted the Drac would set strict punishments for any who forced themselves upon her. Thislel wasn’t the worst example of his species the Katarr had met, however he was still a Drac.
‘Her species is compatible with your own, honored warrior’ Thislel had said before leaving the cell.
She looked young, but the Katarr thought that was due to her small, furless appearance. The scent of a male of her own kind had been heavy on her, so he was relatively certain she was of age for mating. Whether she was or not didn't mean she should be forced to do so.
How do I solve this problem? he wondered, tail twitching in agitation. It never occurred to Mrir not try to find a solution. That wasn’t the Katarr way.
Chapter Two
Tria felt steadier by the time she began drying off. The time for whining was over. Now it was time to gather information in order to survive. At least as long as possible, she amended.
Stepping out of the tiny bathroom, she found the cat man sitting down. His eyes were immediately on her, no surprise. "What's your name again?"
"Mrir." It was a purr of sound, and Tria silently practiced it while carefully studying him. He was big. Most Dracs stood about 5'10 and he'd loomed over the one at the cell. The loose clothing he wore didn't disguise the fact his powerful build, the broad shoulders and chest, thick arms and legs. His rounded ears were at the top of his head, his nose was flatter than a human's and lips were thin, the top one slightly bifurcated. His tail twitched, claiming her attention. It was long and thick, looked heavy. Is it prehensile? she wondered. Better consider it a weapon until I know better.
"It said you were my trainer, Mrir. What kind of training?"
"I will train you to fight the species you will face in the Pit, Tria, and teach you the rules," he replied.
Her instinctive response was to protest she damn well knew how to fight, but she swallowed it. She wouldn’t know the first thing about taking him down. "Start with the rules."
"Very well. There is no word for 'mercy' in Dracken. Each match is a fight to the death. Winners must leave the sand on their own, no matter how injured they are. No one may offer physical aid until you've re-entered the holding area. Doing so results in immediate execution of both."
"Nice," Tria muttered.
"Not at all," he said with a blink.
"Sarcasm, Mrir. I was being sarcastic." Tria sighed as he blinked again. "Never mind. What else?"
"You will live in the Pen, when not fighting, training, or in the Healers' section." His tail lashed, slapping the floor.
Not happy? Tria guessed before asking, "In the women's section?"
"There are no other female Pit fighters. This is a problem," he replied, his lips drawing back slightly to show the tips of fangs.
"Give me a knife and I'll solve it," she suggested, watching him warily.
"Weapons aren't allowed in the Pen, or I would," was his answer. "They won't attempt to harm you when I'm present, but my duties . . .”
"Wonderful," Tria interrupted. "I'm going to have to kill for the Dracs, and constantly watch my back to keep from being raped by aliens?" She laughed, shaking her head. "My life expectancy just dropped to zero. I have to have some downtime."
