"She stays," I snarl, moving right up to the male and getting in his face.
The trainer—a mesakkah of low caste, judging by his tarnished horns—holds his ground. He glares defiantly at me. "Look, friend. You and I both know that my job is to get you ready for your first arena bout in Lord Sir's stable. I don't know what kind of lovers' spat you two have going on, but I do know that as long as she's sitting there, glaring at you, your focus isn't going to be on fighting. So get it together, or Lord Sir's going to have us both put to the death for being failures."
I glare at him, at how close he is. How dare he not back down? My hands clench into fists, and I think it would be so easy to bite his throat, just rip it out—
And prove to Mina that I'm the monster she thinks I am. I glance over at my female. She's stiff, her eyes wide, and her fear-scent plays on the breeze. She's just waiting for me to lose control so I can prove that her fears are right.
That defeats me like nothing else does. Sighing heavily, I turn away, stalking back to the starting spot in the pit. "Get her out of here, then."
I don't watch as Mina leaves. I'm not entirely surprised when the other glads turn in their weapons and head out, too. "Let's focus on endurance drills today, since your attention span is elsewhere," the trainer says. "Take a quick break to hydrate, and tell me when you're ready."
"I'm ready now." Maybe if I work hard enough to pass out, I'll forget that look of fear and disappointment on Mina's face.
25
MINA
I'm almost relieved when I'm sent away from watching Crulden. Seeing him in the pit just reminds me of the horrific vids from yesterday, but in an entirely different sort of way.
Crulden doesn't move the same.
I don't know how to explain it. There's something about all of it that bothers me. From what I can tell of alien culture, they don't treat their vids like people do back on Earth. They're not interested in manipulating faces or special effects or anything like that. There's an honor in recording things exactly as they happened, in their eyes, and vids are treated more like the news than actual entertainment. Unless someone's gone rogue and has started fucking with vids, that's truly Crulden on the screen.
But he doesn't move the same. That cobra-like deadliness isn't quite there. I don't know how else to describe it. The Crulden on screen was utterly terrifying, his eyes cold and calculating. And I can't help but wonder if that's truly my Crulden after all. The one that was visibly distressed last night when he saw my fear. He bit off his claws in the hopes of making himself less frightening to me, and slept without a blanket. He didn't eat. He didn't pressure me to join him in the bed, and he sure didn't try to force me to do anything.
Did they overhaul his personality when he was in stasis, somehow? Take the cold-blooded killer out of him? But it makes no sense. If he's going to be fighting in the arena, wouldn't they want him to be that cold-blooded killer? Was he damaged, then? Is that why they're constantly training him even though he should be a killing machine already?
I feel like I need answers, and the only thing that has them might be more vids.
The thought of watching more bouts turns my stomach, but I said I would, and I suppose I have to. So I point at the scientist's little office as we cross the compound, and my guards escort me there.
As I go inside, the scientist is at his desk. He looks up from the multiple data pads he has scattered across his desk, and on screen is what looks like a health profile for one of the other gladiators. He frowns at the sight of me, but gets to his feet, waving away the guards. "I'll call you when she's done." He plucks at the shoulder of my slave shift, careful not to touch me, and leads me into one of the back rooms like I'm a naughty pet. If my entire situation wasn't so sad, it might almost be funny.
It's the same room as yesterday, and the scientist pulls out the old data pad, a sour look on his face as he pulls up the files needed. "I'm told you and Crulden slept apart last night and he's not doing well in training today?"
The fact that we have no privacy shouldn't surprise me, but I bristle anyhow. "So?"
"Your job is to make him compliant," he says in a crisp, irritated voice. The scientist holds out the data pad for me. "I don't care if he wants you on your knees all night long. Make him happy."