Talkar sighed and lounged against the cave wall. He was bored!
This was not an easy thing to do in the halls of the Pitt. Hidden in these caves were all those that fought to preserve the ideal of Survival. Their ideal anyway. Survival was god to all Shaytonians, but here the strength of the individual counted for more than the combined lives that sheltered the City.
Here they literally fought to Survive, a mad scramble to come out on top. He gave a feral grin; not that fighting was not enjoyable. The only way to prove yourself worthy of Survival in the Pitt was to force your way up the ranks. Lower levels only fought to Keemarn, not that being unconscious wasn't a danger in itself. The barriers didn't always keep out the wildlife, and an unconscious being was food. Not to mention waking up without weapons. A being without weapons, might as well stop breathing now and save time.
Many were careful to stage challenges away from the doors for just that reason. Talkar made it a point to be as close to the doors as possible. It added an edge to the fight when you knew that if you allowed yourself to sink into the blackness, you might never come out. And that made sure he won, even without revealing his differences.
Soon he would be amongst those levels that required him to kill to proceed. His fangs ached for action. Forcing himself to look relaxed, he looked once more around the cave. Now was not the time, but soon. For now, he must stay in the middle levels, quietly marking time. Always marking time until he could reveal himself.
Glancing across at a sheet of polished bronze he used as a mirror, he wandered over to primp. The City dwellers had proper glass mirrors. Pitt mirrors were metal, one of the compromises they made. The Pitt did not waste energy on the huge stabilisers that ringed the City. They preferred to have the larger space. And the occasional quake.
Only one being in the Pitt had bothered to try anything more breakable than polished copper or bronze. The King was rumoured to have a sheet of silver backed crystal as his mirror. The same type of crystal as the Mother herself. It would have been a feat worthy of the King to find a piece of crystal that big to use. One day, Talkar would have one too. It was another thing in the long list of goals to achieve. For now, a metal mirror would do.
Talkar studied himself. Tall, lithe and muscled like all of his people who chose humanoid form. There was nothing to set him apart. All those differences were hidden inside.
Pale skin, long, dark hair tied back with a strip of leather, he wore his kilt, secured with his weapon belt. He stood back and admired himself. He had reached the level where he could now wear a colored border around his cloth, and it had made a difference to the looks the women had been giving him. And to their reactions when he returned the look.
He would visit the City. The City traded comfort and security for limitations on their freedoms that chaffed, but it was safe. It gave you time to think. He reached for a cloak and settled it over his shoulders. He gave a nod and flung the edges back.
Grabbing a chicken leg from the table, he left the side room in the caves that marked his little claim, flicking small pieces of chicken as he headed out into the Pit proper. Forcing a grin onto his face, he settled into his normal look of casual watchfulness. "Bored!' he let out a yawn as he sidestepped a trap triggered by the flicked chicken pieces. Someone was always leaving traps just on the off-chance. You never know when you can take out a competitor. He had done it himself from time to time. He stretched, discretely checking the top of the doorway before going through. 'Time to call on mummy dearest I think', he thought to himself.
The prospect of seeing his loving mother was not one he normally relished, but she was on duty in the portal rooms today. And that meant that a little 'loving son' duty might provide a chance of resuming his adventures off-world.
So far his adventures were rather like the pleasures of home, fighting and wenching, but on foreign soil, it always seemed more exciting somehow. New colours, smells and sounds, as well as new faces.
New faces! One thing Talkar hated about Shayton was seeing the same old faces every day. Everyone knew everyone else, in every meaning of the word.
He grinned. One thing you could not say about the Shaytonian people was that they were shy. They all lived to follow beauty and pleasure and made no apologies for the fact. The delight they found in a swirl of cape or thrust of sword was real and unabashed. Seen as theatrical nonsense elsewhere, here it was a tool to be used whenever possible. Hypocrites they were not! If it felt good and got you closer to your goal, use anything, everything and everyone, and expect to be used in return.
Finally his piece of detecting chicken had brought him safely to the doors to 'upstairs'. One day he would be considered important enough, or at least dangerous enough, to have to report to the King's own guards. But for now, he just had to tip his hat to the clerk on the door.
"Open up in the name of me, Talkar. And be quick about it." He calmly deflected the blade thrown at his head, taking it as the normal reply to those sorts of trumpeting announcements. It had been thrown without any real animosity, so he merely pocketed the blade amongst the invisible arsenal already on his person.
He only showed one visible weapon. Not entitled to a naming blade because of his totally unfair lack of status as a male, he wore a rapier instead. He rather liked the jewelled hilt and etched blade. He had come across it on some planet or other and appropriated it for himself. After all, it wasn't as if the previous owner could use it any more. The man had been most unreasonable about Talkar's attentions to a young lady and paid the ultimate price for his insolence.
It had been most upsetting. The girl in question had been most eager to see him. And expressed her delight in a number of interesting and enjoyable ways. Talkar remembered being quite glad to see her as well. Unfortunately the man had unreasonably objected, and Talkar had been forced to be quite stern with him. After all, it wasn't as if the man had been married to the girl or anything. He had merely had been promised the girl and objected to her no longer being virginal. Talkar had been too much of a gentleman to offer the excuse that she had lost that status long before coming to his bed. Besides, the fellow had really not been in the mood to listen.
Still, fighting his way free had been quite enjoyable. He had kept the rapier as a memento. His tongue brushed his fangs in remembrance.
But he was forgetting himself, a dangerous thing to do. He returned his attentions to the clerk. The man was being lamentably lax in opening the force door and Talkar was in a hurry. Talkar returned the man's blade to him and leant over the body to adjust the controls himself.
Talkar was about to leave when he noticed how untidy the body was. Its discovery might make his return tiresome. The King set an unreasonable store by these clerks, and he might be plagued with unwanted questions if they realized he had anything to do with the mess. It only took a moment to reprogram the monitors to show that twit that had been annoying him recently standing in his place. Soon the monitors showed that fool callously destroying the poor defenseless clerk. Now Talkar was free to leave and enjoy himself.
As he left, Talkar absentmindedly left a gas pellet in the field. He was aware the one he had just framed had been following him. Really they should thank him for ensuring the culprit would be unconscious at the scene of the crime.
**************************************
It was some time later when he made his entrance at the portal room. He politely waited until no one else was in earshot. They might be embarrassed by the tearful reunion of mother and son.
While he waited, he carefully arranged the flowers he had found lying near an attractive blonde. He tied them off with a peach ribbon. Perfect. The time spent unwinding the ribbon from the woman's bodice had definitely been worthwhile. Plus it had definitely relieved his boredom for a while. And hers. And peach was his mother's favourite colour.
The last party left the room. Here was his chance. He stepped forward, "Hello Mummy, happy bon voyage party". He presented the flowers with a sweeping bow.
She took the flowers with a raised eyebrow. "I am not going anywhere."
He leaned against the counter, "Well seeing we are having the party anyway, why not send me instead? What is the chance of sending me on a quick trip to Earth?"
"About the same of you being a virgin on your hundredth birthday." Melinski returned in her lilting voice. He had never heard her voice change. She loved, killed and scolded all in that same musical voice. It held that mystical quality that made you think of a perfectly harmless and slightly absentminded butterfly. Of course, she was a butterfly that could heave a two ton boulder into a group of people and hit the ant that bit her a week before. She was an amazing woman. She could make a saint feel that she knew exactly what he had done wrong and was going to spank him. And make him look forward to it.
She was also the singularly most manipulative woman he knew. Considering that manipulation was a skill taught Shaytonian children from birth, that was saying something. Still he was hardly an amateur himself, "Mother, that is hardly fair. After all, how could I stay your little angel with that devil that you gave me?" They both knew he was referring to a particular birthday present she had given him.
Knowing he would not be able to test his survival skills with the others of his age, she had smuggled him to another world for his survival testing. Great store was set in these tests, each child either became an adult or died. But to test amongst the others, he could not survive without using skills he was not supposed to have. So he had tested alone and unacknowledged.
Unbeknownst to him, his mother had sent him to an old friend that had tested his skills in quite a few other areas as well. Not that he had objected, but she had not wanted to let him go. He had to introduce her to some soldiers to escape her clutches.
Melinski nodded, "A trip to Earth is still out of the question. You would be discovered too quickly." To forestall his next parry, she offered a compromise, "How does a trip to the Classian section sound instead?"
Talkar shrugged, seeming unconcerned, "I suppose, but I will have to check out Earth eventually." He often wondered if his mother's reluctance to let him see Earth was tied to her same reluctance to say anything about his father. “I could visit Father.”
"And you will…eventually." Talkar bowed to acknowledge her ability to never be shaken out of her calmness. She leaned forward to receive a kiss on the cheek, "Once you are a little higher in the hierarchy than you are now."
"Working on it every day." Talkar grinned, thinking of the reprogrammed monitors. He saw a flash of grin on his mother's face. Was there anything she did not know about?
She pushed the lever forward, *Nothing at all.* sounded in his head.
**************************************
The bar was crowded with representatives of a thousand different worlds. He could see why his mother had chosen here. Anyone could lose themselves in this varied crowd. Talkar carefully avoided all the various intoxicants. He was looking for something he found much more intoxicating, the smells of beings looking for adventure. There wasn't a being in that room that was not looking to score. Each 'score' may have had differing levels of legality, but all felt the adrenaline rise. Talkar felt like he only had to open his mouth to drink it in. His fangs began to ache with the need to find a real source of it soon.
A quite attractive redhead had caught his eye when a snort sounded behind him.
Self-preservation gripped him firmly and threw him to the floor. He rolled away saving his handsome head from being removed from his shoulders by an entire bar. Glancing around, he saw the stout fellow that had sent the bar on its way. He was huge!
The bar itself had flown like a large rock, landing on a large bearish fellow nearby. The bear decided that a table would fly better than a bar, and returned fire. This seemed to trigger a reaction in the room as beings everywhere decided to try their own hand at helping impart the miracle of flight. Soon bodies filled the room and Talkar thought it best to appreciate their efforts from safety. He slid down into a cave formed by two chairs covered with the unconscious body of the gentleman that had started it all. Talkar liberated two drinks and invited the red head to join him in watching the night's entertainment.
As they chatted over the screams and sounds of shattering furniture, it became clear that the entertainment had started because the stout fellow providing their shelter was her husband, and he was unaccountably jealous of her harmless flirting. Talkar looked at the lovely naked expanse of her neck and wished these aliens were considerate enough to tell you they were unavailable before you were nearly decapitated by a bar.
Sighing and handing the girl his drink, he launched himself into the fray. The Fates provided a new distraction in the form of a delightful raven haired lass being protected by the bearish creature. Talkar waited until the Bear was defending her from the attentions of some unworthy before coming closer to judge the situation for himself. Far from being a damsel in distress, she looked quite capable of saving herself to Talkar.
When he was sure that the Bear had finished his fun removing all of the competition, Talkar relieved him of his senses. No sense in letting him get over excited. The fellow had worked hard and deserved a rest.
Talkar turned to find the damsel removing a stiletto from the ribs of someone that had carelessly run against it. She smiled at him, and in a cultured voice assured him that if he survived the trip to the door, she would be waiting for him there.
The trip to the door had required a little more effort than Talkar normally put in, but it seemed well worth it when he lowered a satiated body to the waiting sheets some time later.
He had wound his way through the bar, pausing only to ensure he could cover expenses. After all, those unconscious would be unlikely to need to pay any bills for this evening anyway. Well possibly medical expenses, but he was in favour of a public health system anyway.
A kiss at the bar door, had become a great deal more once they had reached her sparse but comfortable rooms. Hands and lips had met and flowed across each other's bodies and for the first time in his life, Talkar lost control. It scared him. He felt his fangs slide into her skin as if through soft silk. He had to fight to pull away, although he had been helped considerably by the appearance of her stiletto at his throat. In spite of the fear of his unaccustomed hunger and her reaction, he craved still more of the blood so hot and sweet in his mouth.
Eventually they had both assured themselves that Talkar was back in control and gone on to a very enjoyable evening. Somehow that first bite added to the pleasure of the evening, each of them finding new heights in the next one. She had fallen asleep, but he felt unable to follow her into the arms of Morpheus. Instead he lay there watching her face. A slight smile warmed her sleep and he felt the need grip him again. He lowered his mouth to her throat.
Later he had woken alone. Lying on the pillow was a slip of paper. Reaching for it, he began to read the words written in an amazingly childlike hand. Her unit had been recalled. She asked him to remember the night as she would. A sudden premonition sent Talkar to his clothes. Everything was still there, except his rapier.
A thoughtful smile crossed his face. Then he laughed, leaving the room and the planet with nothing but a memory. She had fought, wooed and won the sword as he had. It all seemed very right somehow.