Sabra: The bout

Bodyguard of Lies is a serialized science-fiction novel updating once a week for free on Tuesdays

Bodyguard of Lies

Episode 1

The Bout

Sabra kept her eyes focused on Lipinski’s. He feinted with his right foot. She moved in closer to him and saw, too late, the knife in his left hand — a small blade, easy to hide from the vids around the arena but still long enough to hurt her. She pulled back, off balance, and he caught her in the ribs.

The sting told her his aim with the blade had been true. He gave her a mocking grin. Sabra narrowed her eyes, grabbed his arm in both of hers, and dislocated the elbow. If she’d wanted a knife fight, she would have signed up for one.

Lip gasped in pain, and she wrenched him forward, side-stepping to let him fall past her. Sabra slammed her locked fists into the small of Lipinski’s back. He reeled across the ring, tripping over his own feet.

Sabra watched her opponent sag against the steel cords bounding the arena. He wouldn’t get back up this time. Another day, another win. She turned her back on him and raised her hands to the tumultuous roar of the crowd.

Keeping one hand up to wave, she strode to the edge of the arena and vaulted over the ropes. She managed to hide the wince when her side pulled at the exertion. Someone else would take care of Lip.

The pair for the next bout waited at the entrance doors, and Sabra nodded to Tiger and Grunt. Simple names, but history had shown that fans liked it that way. Grunt grabbed Sabra’s arm as she passed him. “You didn’t have to sideline him.”

She glanced down at his hand, then back to his face. “He should’ve known better than to pull a knife during an unarmed bout. He won’t be fighting again.”

“You didn’t have to do that, though.” He still hadn’t released her.

She flicked the back of his hand. “I like a good clean fight. He’s going to play dirty, he’s going to be dealt dirty. You got a problem, take it up with me next match.”

Grunt shoved her toward the wall. “I might do that, fem. Just because you the champ right now don’t mean it’s going to stay that way.”

The warning buzzer sounded, and Sabra cocked her head. “That’s your cue. Go break a leg.” She walked down the hallway and muttered, “Preferably your own.”

Grunt had the silly notion that they were all in this together. Last week, Lip had done the same thing in the match against Grunt, and Grunt let him get away with it. There was no way the cuts had healed even with simskin; Tiger was going to tear him apart today.

Sabra didn’t look at the cameras lining the hallway down to the locker room, just kept walking as though everything was normal. She needed to get cleaned up, away from the vids and anyone else who might see the knife wound Lip had given her. She didn’t think it was serious — he’d cut muscle between her ribs, but not too deep. A little skin sealant should take care of it for now. She’d hit it with simskin boosted with cytokines and the like after she got home.

The locker room buzzed with the chatter of other glads — gladiators — getting ready to compete, comparing notes, talking strategy. Steam filled the air, along with a sickly yellow haze of adrenaline boosters. Sabra breathed deeply. A little more adrenaline would keep the pain at bay just a bit longer.

Her locker was on the far side of the room. Conversations broke off as she passed, and an occasional friend slapped her butt with a “way to go!” She grinned and mouthed conventional replies. Everyone had seen the match, of course.

Her eyes flicked to the giant screen in the middle of the room. Tiger had her hands around Grunt’s middle. Her fingers probed the edges of his costume, and Sabra knew Tiger was after the cuts Lip had left behind. Grunt was going to hurt after this bout.

No one else was near her spot; a simulation of privacy granted to the winner. She presented her eye to the locker for a scan. It opened a moment later to expose her street clothes. Sabra flopped onto the bench in front of the locker and yanked at her tank top.

“Flynn wants to see you in his office as soon as you get cleaned up.” Charly stood at the end of the bench. She nodded at Sabra’s side. “You should probably get that looked at.”

Sabra shrugged. “What’s the old phrase? It’s just a flesh wound?”

Charly rolled her eyes. “Whatever. Don’t keep him waiting, okay?”

Sabra threw her tank against the wall of her locker. “I don’t have to be told how it works, Charly. I’ll be up when I get there. Not like I got anywhere else to be right now.”

Sabra kicked her boots after her top. Should’ve thrown them first — their sound was muffled by the fabric. She stood to finish skinning down. Charly would’ve faded after she delivered her message. She always did.

Not this time, though. When Sabra swung toward the showers, Charly still stood in the same spot. Sabra glowered at her. “I know the way.”

“You ain’t going to pass out ‘fore you get there, are you?” Charly poked at Sabra’s side. Her fingernail caught the edge of the cut.

Sabra could take more pain than that. She dropped closer to Charly’s dialect. “It ain’t that bad, Char. Rinse it off, some seal over it, going to be fine.”

“I’ll wait. Flynn wouldn’t take it too well otherwise.”

Sabra stalked to the showers without another word. Charly didn’t follow her.

~~

If you’ve enjoyed this installment, feel free to tip me (buy me a cup of tea or a nice piece of chocolate!) via PayPal (you don’t have to have a PayPal account to use the button). Stay tuned for next week’s episode! And if you want to make sure you don’t miss any episodes, subscribe to my blog with the link in the sidebar.

Originally published at Erin M. Hartshorn. You can comment here or there.

Serial: Bodyguard of Lies, episode 1, The Bout

Bodyguard of Lies is a serialized science-fiction novel updating once a week for free on Tuesdays.

Bodyguard of Lies
Episode 1
The Bout

Sabra kept her eyes focused on Lipinski’s. He feinted with his right foot. She moved in closer to him and saw, too late, the knife in his left hand — a small blade, easy to hide from the vids around the arena but still long enough to hurt her. She pulled back, off balance, and he caught her in the ribs.

The sting told her his aim with the blade had been true. He gave her a mocking grin. Sabra narrowed her eyes, grabbed his arm in both of hers, and dislocated the elbow. If she’d wanted a knife fight, she would have signed up for one.

Lip gasped in pain, and she wrenched him forward, side-stepping to let him fall past her. Sabra slammed her locked fists into the small of Lipinski’s back. He reeled across the ring, tripping over his own feet.

Sabra watched her opponent sag against the steel cords bounding the arena. He wouldn’t get back up this time. Another day, another win. She turned her back on him and raised her hands to the tumultuous roar of the crowd.

Keeping one hand up to wave, she strode to the edge of the arena and vaulted over the ropes. She managed to hide the wince when her side pulled at the exertion. Someone else would take care of Lip.

The pair for the next bout waited at the entrance doors, and Sabra nodded to Tiger and Grunt. Simple names, but history had shown that fans liked it that way. Grunt grabbed Sabra’s arm as she passed him. “You didn’t have to sideline him.”

She glanced down at his hand, then back to his face. “He should’ve known better than to pull a knife during an unarmed bout. He won’t be fighting again.”

“You didn’t have to do that, though.” He still hadn’t released her.

She flicked the back of his hand. “I like a good clean fight. He’s going to play dirty, he’s going to be dealt dirty. You got a problem, take it up with me next match.”

Grunt shoved her toward the wall. “I might do that, fem. Just because you the champ right now don’t mean it’s going to stay that way.”

The warning buzzer sounded, and Sabra cocked her head. “That’s your cue. Go break a leg.” She walked down the hallway and muttered, “Preferably your own.”

Grunt had the silly notion that they were all in this together. Last week, Lip had done the same thing in the match against Grunt, and Grunt let him get away with it. There was no way the cuts had healed even with simskin; Tiger was going to tear him apart today.

Sabra didn’t look at the cameras lining the hallway down to the locker room, just kept walking as though everything was normal. She needed to get cleaned up, away from the vids and anyone else who might see the knife wound Lip had given her. She didn’t think it was serious — he’d cut muscle between her ribs, but not too deep. A little skin sealant should take care of it for now. She’d hit it with simskin boosted with cytokines and the like after she got home.

The locker room buzzed with the chatter of other glads — gladiators — getting ready to compete, comparing notes, talking strategy. Steam filled the air, along with a sickly yellow haze of adrenaline boosters. Sabra breathed deeply. A little more adrenaline would keep the pain at bay just a bit longer.

Her locker was on the far side of the room. Conversations broke off as she passed, and an occasional friend slapped her butt with a “way to go!” She grinned and mouthed conventional replies. Everyone had seen the match, of course.

Her eyes flicked to the giant screen in the middle of the room. Tiger had her hands around Grunt’s middle. Her fingers probed the edges of his costume, and Sabra knew Tiger was after the cuts Lip had left behind. Grunt was going to hurt after this bout.

No one else was near her spot; a simulation of privacy granted to the winner. She presented her eye to the locker for a scan. It opened a moment later to expose her street clothes. Sabra flopped onto the bench in front of the locker and yanked at her tank top.

“Flynn wants to see you in his office as soon as you get cleaned up.” Charly stood at the end of the bench. She nodded at Sabra’s side. “You should probably get that looked at.”

Sabra shrugged. “What’s the old phrase? It’s just a flesh wound?”

Charly rolled her eyes. “Whatever. Don’t keep him waiting, okay?”

Sabra threw her tank against the wall of her locker. “I don’t have to be told how it works, Charly. I’ll be up when I get there. Not like I got anywhere else to be right now.”

Sabra kicked her boots after her top. Should’ve thrown them first — their sound was muffled by the fabric. She stood to finish skinning down. Charly would’ve faded after she delivered her message. She always did.

Not this time, though. When Sabra swung toward the showers, Charly still stood in the same spot. Sabra glowered at her. “I know the way.”

“You ain’t going to pass out ‘fore you get there, are you?” Charly poked at Sabra’s side. Her fingernail caught the edge of the cut.

Sabra could take more pain than that. She dropped closer to Charly’s dialect. “It ain’t that bad, Char. Rinse it off, some seal over it, going to be fine.”

“I’ll wait. Flynn wouldn’t take it too well otherwise.”

Sabra stalked to the showers without another word. Charly didn’t follow her.

~~

If you’ve enjoyed this installment, feel free to tip me (buy me a cup of tea or a nice piece of chocolate!) via PayPal (you don’t have to have a PayPal account to use the button). Stay tuned for next week’s episode! And if you want to make sure you don’t miss any episodes, subscribe to my blog with the link in the sidebar.

Originally published at Erin M. Hartshorn. You can comment here or there.

Serial: Bodyguard of Lies, episode 1, The Bout

Bodyguard of Lies is a serialized science-fiction novel updating once a week on Tuesdays.

Bodyguard of Lies
Episode 1
The Bout

Sabra kept her eyes focused on Lipinski’s. He feinted with his right foot. She moved in closer to him and saw, too late, the knife in his left hand — a small blade, easy to hide from the vids around the arena but still long enough to hurt her. She pulled back, off balance, and he caught her in the ribs.

The sting told her his aim with the blade had been true. He gave her a mocking grin. Sabra narrowed her eyes, grabbed his arm in both of hers, and dislocated the elbow. If she’d wanted a knife fight, she would have signed up for one.

Lip gasped in pain, and she wrenched him forward, side-stepping to let him fall past her. Sabra slammed her locked fists into the small of Lipinski’s back. He reeled across the ring, tripping over his own feet.

Sabra watched her opponent sag against the steel cords bounding the arena. He wouldn’t get back up this time. Another day, another win. She turned her back on him and raised her hands to the tumultuous roar of the crowd.

Keeping one hand up to wave, she strode to the edge of the arena and vaulted over the ropes. She managed to hide the wince when her side pulled at the exertion. Someone else would take care of Lip.

The pair for the next bout waited at the entrance doors, and Sabra nodded to Tiger and Grunt. Simple names, but history had shown that fans liked it that way. Grunt grabbed Sabra’s arm as she passed him. “You didn’t have to sideline him.”

She glanced down at his hand, then back to his face. “He should’ve known better than to pull a knife during an unarmed bout. He won’t be fighting again.”

“You didn’t have to do that, though.” He still hadn’t released her.

She flicked the back of his hand. “I like a good clean fight. He’s going to play dirty, he’s going to be dealt dirty. You got a problem, take it up with me next match.”

Grunt shoved her toward the wall. “I might do that, fem. Just because you the champ right now don’t mean it’s going to stay that way.”

The warning buzzer sounded, and Sabra cocked her head. “That’s your cue. Go break a leg.” She walked down the hallway and muttered, “Preferably your own.”

Grunt had the silly notion that they were all in this together. Last week, Lip had done the same thing in the match against Grunt, and Grunt let him get away with it. There was no way the cuts had healed even with simskin; Tiger was going to tear him apart today.

Sabra didn’t look at the cameras lining the hallway down to the locker room, just kept walking as though everything was normal. She needed to get cleaned up, away from the vids and anyone else who might see the knife wound Lip had given her. She didn’t think it was serious — he’d cut muscle between her ribs, but not too deep. A little skin sealant should take care of it for now. She’d hit it with simskin boosted with cytokines and the like after she got home.

The locker room buzzed with the chatter of other glads — gladiators — getting ready to compete, comparing notes, talking strategy. Steam filled the air, along with a sickly yellow haze of adrenaline boosters. Sabra breathed deeply. A little more adrenaline would keep the pain at bay just a bit longer.

Her locker was on the far side of the room. Conversations broke off as she passed, and an occasional friend slapped her butt with a “way to go!” She grinned and mouthed conventional replies. Everyone had seen the match, of course.

Her eyes flicked to the giant screen in the middle of the room. Tiger had her hands around Grunt’s middle. Her fingers probed the edges of his costume, and Sabra knew Tiger was after the cuts Lip had left behind. Grunt was going to hurt after this bout.

No one else was near her spot; a simulation of privacy granted to the winner. She presented her eye to the locker for a scan. It opened a moment later to expose her street clothes. Sabra flopped onto the bench in front of the locker and yanked at her tank top.

“Flynn wants to see you in his office as soon as you get cleaned up.” Charly stood at the end of the bench. She nodded at Sabra’s side. “You should probably get that looked at.”

Sabra shrugged. “What’s the old phrase? It’s just a flesh wound?”

Charly rolled her eyes. “Whatever. Don’t keep him waiting, okay?”

Sabra threw her tank against the wall of her locker. “I don’t have to be told how it works, Charly. I’ll be up when I get there. Not like I got anywhere else to be right now.”

Sabra kicked her boots after her top. Should’ve thrown them first — their sound was muffled by the fabric. She stood to finish skinning down. Charly would’ve faded after she delivered her message. She always did.

Not this time, though. When Sabra swung toward the showers, Charly still stood in the same spot. Sabra glowered at her. “I know the way.”

“You ain’t going to pass out ‘fore you get there, are you?” Charly poked at Sabra’s side. Her fingernail caught the edge of the cut.

Sabra could take more pain than that. She dropped closer to Charly’s dialect. “It ain’t that bad, Char. Rinse it off, some seal over it, going to be fine.”

“I’ll wait. Flynn wouldn’t take it too well otherwise.”

Sabra stalked to the showers without another word. Charly didn’t follow her.

~~

If you’ve enjoyed this installment, feel free to tip me (buy me a cup of tea or a nice piece of chocolate!) via PayPal (you don’t have to have a PayPal account to use the button). Stay tuned for next week’s episode! And if you want to make sure you don’t miss any episodes, subscribe to my blog with the link in the sidebar.

Originally published at Erin M. Hartshorn. You can comment here or there.

Serial: Bodyguard of Lies, episode 1, The Bout

Bodyguard of Lies is a serialized science-fiction novel updating once a week on Tuesdays.

Bodyguard of Lies
Episode 1
The Bout

Sabra kept her eyes focused on Lipinski’s. He feinted with his right foot. She moved in closer to him and saw, too late, the knife in his left hand — a small blade, easy to hide from the vids around the arena but still long enough to hurt her. She pulled back, off balance, and he caught her in the ribs.

The sting told her his aim with the blade had been true. He gave her a mocking grin. Sabra narrowed her eyes, grabbed his arm in both of hers, and dislocated the elbow. If she’d wanted a knife fight, she would have signed up for one.

Lip gasped in pain, and she wrenched him forward, side-stepping to let him fall past her. Sabra slammed her locked fists into the small of Lipinski’s back. He reeled across the ring, tripping over his own feet.

Sabra watched her opponent sag against the steel cords bounding the arena. He wouldn’t get back up this time. Another day, another win. She turned her back on him and raised her hands to the tumultuous roar of the crowd.

Keeping one hand up to wave, she strode to the edge of the arena and vaulted over the ropes. She managed to hide the wince when her side pulled at the exertion. Someone else would take care of Lip.

The pair for the next bout waited at the entrance doors, and Sabra nodded to Tiger and Grunt. Simple names, but history had shown that fans liked it that way. Grunt grabbed Sabra’s arm as she passed him. “You didn’t have to sideline him.”

She glanced down at his hand, then back to his face. “He should’ve known better than to pull a knife during an unarmed bout. He won’t be fighting again.”

“You didn’t have to do that, though.” He still hadn’t released her.

She flicked the back of his hand. “I like a good clean fight. He’s going to play dirty, he’s going to be dealt dirty. You got a problem, take it up with me next match.”

Grunt shoved her toward the wall. “I might do that, fem. Just because you the champ right now don’t mean it’s going to stay that way.”

The warning buzzer sounded, and Sabra cocked her head. “That’s your cue. Go break a leg.” She walked down the hallway and muttered, “Preferably your own.”

Grunt had the silly notion that they were all in this together. Last week, Lip had done the same thing in the match against Grunt, and Grunt let him get away with it. There was no way the cuts had healed even with simskin; Tiger was going to tear him apart today.

Sabra didn’t look at the cameras lining the hallway down to the locker room, just kept walking as though everything was normal. She needed to get cleaned up, away from the vids and anyone else who might see the knife wound Lip had given her. She didn’t think it was serious — he’d cut muscle between her ribs, but not too deep. A little skin sealant should take care of it for now. She’d hit it with simskin boosted with cytokines and the like after she got home.

The locker room buzzed with the chatter of other glads — gladiators — getting ready to compete, comparing notes, talking strategy. Steam filled the air, along with a sickly yellow haze of adrenaline boosters. Sabra breathed deeply. A little more adrenaline would keep the pain at bay just a bit longer.

Her locker was on the far side of the room. Conversations broke off as she passed, and an occasional friend slapped her butt with a “way to go!” She grinned and mouthed conventional replies. Everyone had seen the match, of course.

Her eyes flicked to the giant screen in the middle of the room. Tiger had her hands around Grunt’s middle. Her fingers probed the edges of his costume, and Sabra knew Tiger was after the cuts Lip had left behind. Grunt was going to hurt after this bout.

No one else was near her spot; a simulation of privacy granted to the winner. She presented her eye to the locker for a scan. It opened a moment later to expose her street clothes. Sabra flopped onto the bench in front of the locker and yanked at her tank top.

“Flynn wants to see you in his office as soon as you get cleaned up.” Charly stood at the end of the bench. She nodded at Sabra’s side. “You should probably get that looked at.”

Sabra shrugged. “What’s the old phrase? It’s just a flesh wound?”

Charly rolled her eyes. “Whatever. Don’t keep him waiting, okay?”

Sabra threw her tank against the wall of her locker. “I don’t have to be told how it works, Charly. I’ll be up when I get there. Not like I got anywhere else to be right now.”

Sabra kicked her boots after her top. Should’ve thrown them first — their sound was muffled by the fabric. She stood to finish skinning down. Charly would’ve faded after she delivered her message. She always did.

Not this time, though. When Sabra swung toward the showers, Charly still stood in the same spot. Sabra glowered at her. “I know the way.”

“You ain’t going to pass out ‘fore you get there, are you?” Charly poked at Sabra’s side. Her fingernail caught the edge of the cut.

Sabra could take more pain than that. She dropped closer to Charly’s dialect. “It ain’t that bad, Char. Rinse it off, some seal over it, going to be fine.”

“I’ll wait. Flynn wouldn’t take it too well otherwise.”

Sabra stalked to the showers without another word. Charly didn’t follow her.

~~

Click here to continue reading with Episode 2, The Deal

~~

If you’ve enjoyed this installment, feel free to tip me (buy me a cup of tea or a nice piece of chocolate!) via PayPal (you don’t have to have a PayPal account to use the button). Stay tuned for next week’s episode! And if you want to make sure you don’t miss any episodes, subscribe to my blog with the link in the sidebar.

Originally published at Erin M. Hartshorn. You can comment here or there.