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“Yes?” I said.
“Sorry to disturb you,” she said, bowing her great head of green hair, “but there’s a guard to see you.”
“Thank you,” I said. “Return to your duties.”
So, the day had come. After the Supervisor told me about the investigations that were going to take place in each department of the prison, I smelled a rat.
They were looking for someone to pin the blame on for the recent riot. And who better than the female in charge of the Prize Pool?
I was little more than dead weight to them and meant nothing. They could easily throw me to the wolves, blame me for everything that’d taken place, punish me, and then move on with their lives.
It wouldn’t solve their problems when it came to the next riot, but that hardly mattered. The important thing was in pointing the finger of blame and moving on with their lives.
I needed to be careful about what I said to this guard, and ensure I didn’t give him the rope he could use to hang me with.
I touched up my makeup and made myself look more presentable. As I didn’t need to attract the attention of the Champions, there was little need for me to look any better than when I stumbled out of bed.
But today could be different.
I doubted it would make much difference to the guard — they weren’t usually much interested in the Prizes — or, at least, pretended they weren’t.
I was going to need every last morsel of influence I could get and I wasn’t shy about using it. I changed my dress and put on a plain pair of earrings.
I checked myself in the mirror. The female who looked back was not the same woman from five years earlier. This female rarely smiled without good reason. Her heart had been broken and never fully mended. She knew the damaging effect love could have and wanted no further part of it.
I looked good enough.
Then I marched out of the room, crossed to the doors that fed onto the Viewing Room, and placed my hand on the handle. I took a deep breath, affixed a practiced warm smile to my face, and adopted my “madam” persona, as I referred to it.
It was one of subservience and yet, more than a little sharpness, to deal with the problem patrons. It was a persona I had developed over the years to deal with any issues or problems that might arise… and there were a lot of problems that seemed to arise.
I saw the Lead Guard at the door. He stood, taller than the other guards by at least a foot. He had his hands cupped behind him, looking out the window at the fighting pits below.
They were very quiet. The fights had been suspended for now until the aftermath of the riots had completely passed.
The Lead Guard was new here — sent to specifically deal with the riots and although he hadn’t seen the fights, he must have heard of them. They were famous throughout the galaxy.
“You should return when the fighting pits are open again,” I said with a smile. “We have some of the best views in the whole prison. No obstructions, no jostling crowds. And, of course, the best company to be had in the entire prison. At least, we like to think so.”
The Lead Guard turned to look at me. In his visor I could make out only my made-up face and caught the flicker of fear that I always wore when I had to deal with the prison guards.
If the Supervisor was God in here, then his guards were his arms, able to do just about anything they wished with the inmates, or us, the Prizes.
Each Supervisor managed differently and you never knew how aggressive they might be. The new replacement was untested… as was this new figure staring at me now with his shiny visor.
He didn’t mutter so much as a word and his body language was just as cold and impossible to read.
“Well,” I said, recovering quickly, “the invitation is open and you can take us up on it whenever you want. Shall I give you the tour?”
He turned and followed me as I led him through the Viewing Room.
“This is where we host the Champions,” I said. “They come up the steps and stand here to observe the Prizes. Once they make their selection, they take their Claim and return to their cells where they… entertain the female.”
Even now, it was difficult for me to describe what happened to the Prizes. It too often conjured images of my own personal experiences with Ohara, and that wasn’t exactly something the “madam” persona I’d cultivated should be thinking.
I glanced at the lead guard and he just stood there, looking at me.
A talker, huh? I grumbled inwardly. “Onward then,” I said.
