The Tyrant’s expression hardened, then softened into a cold smile. “You remind me of myself, years ago. Before I understood how the universe truly works.” He settled back onto his throne once more. “Which brings me to why you’re here, dressed as a guest rather than a prisoner.”

  He gestured, and Captain Jern stepped forward from a side entrance. She stopped and stood—the perfect picture of a soulless uniform, face carefully blank. I knew she was riddled with stress and turmoil, but I had to imagine it. She really did know how to play the part.

  “Captain Jern, here, has suggested that your skills could be of use to us,” the Tyrant said. “Despite your... regrettable activities on my planet.”

  Jern didn’t meet my eyes. “The prisoner has demonstrated tactical abilities that exceed those of our current security forces,” she said formally. “With proper motivation, he could help suppress the very rebellion he inspired.”

  I looked between them, understanding the script I was supposed to follow. Jern was playing her role, offering me up as a potential convert to earn herself favor and further the Tyrant’s cause. The question was whether the Tyrant would believe such an obvious pile of crap.

  “An interesting proposition,” he said. “What do you think, Mr. Tanner? Would you like to join the winning side?”

  “What exactly would that entail?” I asked, playing for time.

  The Tyrant smiled, apparently pleased by my willingness to engage. After all, he’d built his mini-empire by threatening people then subverting them with offers of power for obedience. It was a join-or-die strategy that seemed to be working for him.

  But I was of a different breed.

  “Your knowledge of XCU operations would be invaluable in the struggle to come,” the man said, leaning forward with sudden eagerness. “More immediately, your reputation among the rebels could be weaponized. Imagine their despair when their hero denounces their cause and calls for surrender!”

  “And in return?”

  “A position of authority. Comfort. Safety.” He spread his hands. “The same bargain Captain Jern has accepted.”

  I glanced at her again, seeing a telling wince at his words. There was history here, painful history.

  “Just for fun, what happens if I refuse?”

  The Tyrant’s smile didn’t waver. “Then you die, of course,” he said. “But not quickly—it’s got to be a valuable death. First, you’ll entertain us in my arena. Then, when you’re broken and begging like your friend Dominic, I’ll send whatever scraps are left of you back through the rift as another message to Earth.”

  I weighed my options. The collar around my neck limited my physical capabilities, but not my mind. I needed more time, more information about the ship, their rift technology, and any potential weaknesses.

  “I’ve never been good at losing,” I said carefully. “I don’t love Earth—or XCU…”

  “Is that a yes, Mr. Tanner?” the Tyrant asked with exaggerated interest.

  I forced a smile. “Let’s say… I’m willing to let you try and convince me. I’ll need to see your operation to understand what I’m signing up for.”

  The Tyrant laughed. “Clever. You want a tour of my systems, my security, perhaps even my fledgling rift technology…?”

  “I only want to make an informed decision,” I replied. “According to my last performance review, that’s something I need to work at. I’m too impulsive by nature.”

  He snorted and studied me, those cold gray eyes calculating. “You know, I believe your defection from Earth is genuine, Tanner. Most of your kind break quickly. You may even become eager to please.” He turned to Jern. “What do you think, Captain? Is he sincere?”

  Jern’s expression revealed nothing. “He’s a survivor, Tyrant. He’ll make the rational choice.”

  Just like I thought, this lunatic required the use of Tyrant as if it were a title of pride.

  The Tyrant nodded slowly. “Perhaps. But first, a demonstration of consequences seems appropriate.” He touched a control on the arm of his throne. The collar around my neck suddenly hummed to life, the green stone glowing brighter.

  Pain exploded through my body. It started at my throat and radiated outward, a firestorm of agony that dropped me to my knees. Every nerve felt like it was being seared with a hot iron. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but endure it.

  “The suppression torc you wear—a shock collar if you will—has an antique design, from before neural suppressors became standard,” the Tyrant explained. “I find the classics have a certain visceral quality that newer technologies lack.”

  Just as suddenly, the agony stopped. I found myself on all fours, gasping for air, snot dripping from my face onto the polished floor.

  “That was the lowest setting,” the Tyrant said pleasantly. “Consider it a sample of what disobedience earns.”

  Spitting and wiping my face, I raised my head, meeting his gaze. “Is this... how you convinced Jern?”

  The captain stiffened. The Tyrant’s smile widened.

  “Oh, Captain Jern required more... personal persuasion. Didn’t you, Captain?”

  Her face remained expressionless. “The Tyrant can be very convincing.”

  I pushed myself back to my feet. If I was going to die, it wouldn’t be on my knees.

  “So those are my options? Serve or suffer?”

  “Essentially,” the Tyrant agreed. “Though there are degrees of both. Loyal service brings rewards. Resistance brings pain and eventual death.”

  I looked around the room at the blank-faced attendants, the robot guards, the displays showing the colony in chaos. My gaze settled on the Tyrant, this thin, pale man who controlled everything and everyone through fear and pain.

  Something snapped inside me.

  I had another option in mind.

  Before anyone could react, I lunged forward, covering the distance to the throne in three quick strides. The robot guards started to move, but they were too slow. My hands reached for the Tyrant’s throat.

  I never made it. The collar activated with devastating effectiveness. Pain beyond anything I’d ever experienced tore through my body. My muscles spasmed, my nervous system overloading with input it couldn’t process. I crashed to the floor, my body convulsing uncontrollably.

  Through the haze of agony, I heard the Tyrant laughing.

  “Predictable,” he said, seemingly from far away. “Utterly predictable. But points for courage, Mr. Tanner!”

  The pain receded gradually, leaving me trembling and weak. Two robots hauled me upright, holding me in place before the throne.

  “I do hope that impulse is out of your system now,” the Tyrant said. “It would be a shame to damage you further before your debut in the arena.”

  I could barely process his words, my body still adjusting to the aftershocks of the collar’s activation.

  “The arena?” I managed to rasp.

  “Yes, my little entertainment center. The participants find it quite motivating. It’s where you’ll demonstrate your combat prowess against increasingly difficult opponents.” His cold eyes gleamed. “And after it all, if the great rebel hero can’t defeat my champions, what hope do the little followers have?”

  Jern stepped forward. “Sir, with respect, his skills would be better utilized in security operations than wasted in the arena.”

  The Tyrant waved a dismissive hand. “In time, perhaps—if he survives and tests. But first, he must learn the most fundamental lesson of my colony.” He leaned forward, eyes locked on mine. “Only I lead. Everyone serves at my pleasure. Everyone can be broken.”

  He gestured to the robot guards. “Take him to the holding cells. Let him rest before tomorrow’s entertainment.”

  As they dragged me away, my legs didn’t seem to work properly.

  The Tyrant called after me. “One last thing, Mr. Tanner. Tomorrow’s combat will be broadcast to the colony surface. I will allow your rebel friends see what becomes of those who defy me.”

  The Tyrant’s laughter echoed as the throne room doors closed behind us. Robots guided me through the corridors back toward the elevator while a pair of Jern’s enforcers grabbed my arms. My mind was clearing, but my body still felt weak, disconnected.

  Two robots led the way, and the enforcers hauled me after with my feet dragging. Two more robots brought up the rear. Once all the robots were far enough out of earshot, Jern fell into step beside us, her face rigidly controlled.

  “So stupid,” she hissed. “What were you thinking?”

  “That he needed to believe I was exactly what he expected,” I replied quietly. “A predictable XCU agent.”

  She glanced at me sharply. “You did that on purpose?”

  “Not the part where I got electrocuted,” I admitted. “That hurt more than I figured it would.”

  “You’re insane.”

  “Probably.” I tested my legs, finding some strength returning. “But now he thinks he knows exactly what I am. A straightforward threat he can predict and control.”

  Jern’s expression shifted slightly, understanding dawning. “While you look for weaknesses in his systems?”

  “Assuming I survive the arena.”

  “The first rounds are rarely lethal. He likes to draw out the entertainment.”

  “That’s comforting.”

  “You’ll break in the end, Tanner. I’d hoped you’d take the easier route.”

  I shrugged. “That’s not in my nature.”

  We reached the elevator, and although I was walking on my own, the robots grabbed me and shoved me to the floor inside. Jern remained in the corridor studying me until the doors closed.

  Since I wasn’t trying to impress anyone at the moment, I sat on my ass against the elevator wall, finally allowing myself to feel the full extent of my injuries. I’d had worse—on a few occasions.

  The Tyrant knew exactly who I was. He had killed Dom. He had some level of rift technology that was capable of sending objects—and scraps of people—back to Earth. Now, he had me trapped in a collar that could incapacitate me with a thought.

  This wasn’t my best day.

  But I’d gained valuable intelligence. The layout of the command deck. The number and positioning of guards. I had confirmed the Tyrant was bordering on maniacally arrogant.

  The elevator doors opened onto the prison level, and the robots escorted me back to my cell. Maja watched from across the corridor as they deactivated the barrier and pushed me inside.

  When the robots had departed, she moved to the front of her cell.

  “You met him,” she said. It wasn’t a question.

  I nodded, sinking onto the bed platform. “He’s exactly as advertised.”

  “And now… you’re headed for the arena.”

  “So it seems.”

  Her eyes gave me pity, but something else too—respect, maybe. “Some advice? Let him have the first blood. That’s always his goal—he gets off on it. Let him think he’s breaking you, bit by bit. Save your strength for when it matters.”

  “You’ve fought in the arena?”

  She laughed. “No—but he broadcasts the events live to keep everyone in line. His trials for women are… different.”

  She looked down, but I looked at her with new appreciation. She’d survived this long for a reason.

  “First blood… Okay, I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you.”

  She retreated to the back of her cell, curling up on her bed platform. “Don’t thank me yet. Tomorrow, you’ll wish you’d never met any of us.”

  I closed my eyes, regulated my breathing, calmed my mind. It was time to take a rest. The collar hummed softly against my throat.

  Chapter 26

  I awoke to darkness and the sound of metal scraping against metal. Disoriented, I reached for a weapon that wasn’t there. My cell was gone, replaced by a larger space that smelled of oil and sweat. The floor beneath me was cold steel plate, worn smooth by years of use.

  “He’s awake,” someone whispered nearby.

  My eyes adjusted to the dim lighting. I was in an enormous cargo bay, at least fifty meters across. The high ceiling was crisscrossed with maintenance catwalks and loading cranes. The space had been converted into some sort of arena, with barriers creating a fighting pit in the center. Seating platforms had been erected along one wall, currently empty but clearly designed for spectators.

  Around me, other prisoners huddled in small groups. There were about twenty of us, all wearing the same gray jumpsuits. Some were young and fit, others middle-aged or elderly. Everyone had an identical distinguishing feature—they all wore shock collars like mine.

  A man with a black eye approached, offering a hand. “First time in the arena?”

  I took his hand, pulling myself to my feet. “It’s that obvious, huh?”

  “I can tell because you still have hope in your eyes,” he said with a grim smile. “I’m Soren. Used to be a hydroponics engineer before I suggested we share more food with the surface dwellers.”

  I introduced myself, studying our surroundings more carefully. Along one wall stood a rack of weapons—primitive but effective. Wooden staffs, metal pipes, lengths of chain. Nothing that could be used as a projectile, I noticed.

  “What exactly happens here?” I asked, though I had a sickening suspicion.

  Soren gestured toward the weapon rack. “We fight. Sometimes each other, sometimes the Tyrant’s enforcers or robots. Winners get better food, maybe an extra blanket. Losers get...” He trailed off.

  “Medical attention?” I suggested optimistically.

  He gave me a pitying look. “Sure—maybe, if they’re worth the trouble. The rest get recycled.”

  Before I could ask what ‘recycled’ meant, a buzzer sounded throughout the bay. Overhead lights blazed to life, illuminating the arena in harsh white light. The prisoners immediately formed a line, faces drawn and resigned.

  “Best do as they say,” Soren muttered. “The collars have a thirty-foot range for the controllers, and they can crank them up if they need to make a point.”

  I joined the line, cataloging everything. Two exits, both sealed with heavy security doors. Ventilation shafts near the ceiling, too small for an adult. Cameras in each corner, covering every angle. No blind spots.

  The main doors slid open, and a procession entered. First came four of the advanced robot guards, their humanlike movements more disturbing in the bright light. Behind them walked several humans in fine clothing—the Tyrant’s court, come to enjoy the spectacle. They took their seats in the viewing area, servants immediately attending with drinks and small plates of food.

  Finally, the Tyrant himself entered, flanked by more guards. He wore a different suit today, midnight blue instead of black, with a silver pin on the lapel. He moved to a separate viewing box—elevated above the others and decorated with heavy draperies and overstuffed cushioning that was ridiculously out of place in a cargo bay—and took his seat with the casual confidence of someone who’d never known fear.

  “Welcome to the arena,” he said through speakers that echoed around the bay. “Today’s entertainment promises to be special. We have a new contestant—Dane Tanner, the infamous rebel leader and XCU agent.”

  Quiet chatter ran through both the prisoners and spectators. I felt eyes on me from all directions.

  “Mr. Tanner will demonstrate his much-vaunted combat skills against a series of opponents,” the Tyrant continued. “Those of you watching from the colony surface—yes, we’re broadcasting this—pay close attention. This is the fate of those who oppose Colonial progress.”

  A screen on the far wall flickered to life, showing scenes from colony settlements. They were broadcasting this to Jarl, using me to demoralize the rebellion.

  The Tyrant adopted a more intimate tone. “Now, Mr. Tanner, please step forward.”

  I didn’t move immediately—that was a mistake. The collar around my neck activated, sending a jolt of pain that drove me to one knee. It wasn’t as intense as before, just a warning.

  “I said, step forward,” the Tyrant repeated.

  I forced myself up and walked to the center of the arena. The fighting pit itself was a circular area about ten meters across, surrounded by barriers of varying heights.

  “Better,” the Tyrant said. “Now, select your weapon.”

  I looked at the rack of crude weapons. “What if I don’t want to participate in your sick game?”

  The Tyrant’s smile was visible even from a distance. “Then you’ll watch as I execute each of these prisoners, one by one, starting with the children.”

  For the first time, I noticed two young figures among the prisoners—teenagers, no more than fourteen or fifteen. My stomach turned.

  “There are no innocents here,” the Tyrant continued. “Each has defied my rule in some way. I consider this to be their chance at redemption.”

  “Redemption through murder? You’re insane.”

  “I’m efficient,” he corrected. “Resources are limited on Jarl. Those who contribute survive. Those who don’t...” He made a dismissive gesture.

  I glanced at the other prisoners. Their faces showed fear, resignation, but also resolve. They’d been through this before. Some would fight to survive, regardless of the cost.

  “Fine,” I said. “But I choose the terms. No fights to the death between prisoners.”

  The Tyrant laughed. “You misunderstand your position, Mr. Tanner. You don’t make the rules. You are here to entertain us, or people will die.” He pressed a button on the arm of his chair.

  One of the older prisoners collapsed, his shock collar glowing bright red. His body convulsed violently, then went still. Permanently.

  “That was Harald,” the Tyrant said conversationally. “A former educator who taught colonial history with an unfortunate bias against centralized authority. He was going to die anyway—too old for useful labor. But I can keep going with more valuable specimens if you insist on negotiating?”

  Rage boiled inside me, but I forced it down. Getting myself killed wouldn’t help anyone.

  “I’ll fight,” I said, the words tasting like ash.