Chapter 25 – Jericho

  Psychosomatic Output: 1,044 Units

  Synaptic Rank: unbound

  It wasn’t the thick tube shoved down his throat that woke Jericho up, but a wet touch on his forehead. His sleep was dreamless, and it felt instantaneous. He half expected to wake up on the training court and his body tensed instinctively to dodge another attack from Sto'ram.

  As his eyes flew open, Sto'ram’s black scaled face was only a foot away from his, her hand placed gently on his forehead. This was his first time seeing a Titulonist up close, and truth be told it wasn’t a pleasant experience.

  Her skull was human-like, but her face more closely resembled a rodent, and he wasn’t entirely sure where her mouth was. Her bulbous black eyes were the real source of his discomfort. They were disproportionately sized and took up over half the space on her head. They were black orbs of nothing, and it was impossible to truly tell where her focus was. Underneath her eyes, were the strange tentacle-like appendages that writhed like sentient worms.

  He desperately hoped the tentacles wouldn’t touch him.

  She grabbed the tube protruding from his mouth and pulled. The sensation wasn’t like anything he felt before, both satisfying and extremely uncomfortable. As if a thousand splinters were being removed from his internal organs at the same time. He choked and gagged as the device was removed. He caught a glimpse of its spider-like shape dripping in saliva and internal fluids.

  “Did I frighten you?” Sto'ram placed the device beside her. “You jerked when you woke.”

  “No, I just- I thought I was still in the arena.” His throat felt raw, and his words came out in a rasp.

  The Titulonist gave him a toothless smile that did nothing but creep him out, “You’re in the med bay, somehow alive.”

  The disbelief in her voice did not bode well, and he his hands flew up to hair, “My head…”

  “I cracked it open like melon.” Sto'ram sniffed, “you should be dead.”

  “But how?”

  The Titulonist’s globe-like eyes started to rapidly dart around the room, an there was an uncomfortable expression on her face.

  “I don’t know.” She said quietly.

  “I’ll tell you how,” A deep, harsh voice said from somewhere in the room, “because I’m the greatest physician in the galaxy.”

  A flicker of annoyance passed over Sto'ram’s features. Behind her was the oldest Hokkonian Jericho had ever seen. His hairless skin sagged like loose clothing. But his sunken eyes glinted with obstinate intelligence.

  “Or it was the Trilboroth.” Sto'ram snapped. “You act as if you didn’t whine to me that he was too far gone.”

  A congested growl came from the elder, “You overstep pilot, this is still my clinic. I don’t care how helpful you are, I’ll dry you out before you can swim to Arthros and complain.”

  Jericho looked at the old Hokkonian and back at Sto'ram who seemed completely unperturbed by the threat.

  “Uh- what is a Trilboroth?”

  The elder limped over, “My invention, Trilboroth comes from our primordial language. It translates to ‘Tril’s breath of life’. It catalyzes rapid cell regeneration through the assimilation of your blood vessels and capillaries.”

  “Yes, but who reconstructed it to match a human’s physiology?” Sto'ram snapped.

  The Hokkonian’s spines quivered, but failed to erect, “You corrupted my masterpiece, that’s nothing to be proud of.”

  “So that thing, it regenerated my brain?” Jericho asked.

  “Yes,” they both said in unison.

  “That’s unbelievable.” He murmured.

  How many pit fighters did he watch die from injuries that could have easily been fixed? This Trilboroth could save thousands of lives back on Kleth’altho. Tens of thousands!

  The old Hokkonian shooed the Titulonist out of the clinic, and she obeyed without a fight. Probably glad to be free of the cantankerous alien’s presence.

  Jericho wished he could join her. Instead, he was stuck in bed, and he stayed there for the remainder of the day.

  The physician wasn’t afraid to voice his displeasure of treating a human. He made sure to constantly remind Jericho that he wasn’t untouchable, and if he wanted to, he could deny an order from Arthros.

  Jericho highly doubted that was true.

  He stayed the night and dreamt of Kyrin. She was there on Hokku, alive and smiling. She fed him and laid with him in the bed. She took care of him while he recovered and whispered soothing words in his ear.

  He woke to a feminine voice, and for one foolish moment he expected to see Kyrin standing in the entrance.

  “How are you feeling?” Randrea asked with a smile.

  He blinked the sleep out of his eyes and did a mental check of his pain. There wasn’t any. “I feel good.”

  She nodded and walked over to his bed.

  “Did I say you could come in here?” The physician said, suddenly appearing from the corner of the room, “Visiting hours are-“

  “Can it Strathos.” She snapped, “He’s discharged, I’m taking him out, isn’t that what you want?”

  The old physician frowned and mumbled something about respect. He limped back to whatever task he was working before Randrea showed up.

  The female Hokkonian rolled her eyes and held out a hand, “Come on kid, vacation is over.”

  Her hand enveloped his, and she pulled him effortlessly to his feet. Her eyes widened and she turned away quickly. “You might want to put some clothes on.”

  Oh my god, I’m naked!

  He yelped and grabbed the blanket from his bed. He looked around for his possessions, and saw a bundle stuffed with his clothes seated on a shelf beside his bed. He pulled on his clothes, and when he saw Randrea’s shoulders shaking from laughter, he willed himself to die.

  “Don’t worry I barely saw anything,” she mused.

  He didn’t believe her, but at least she seemed to be back to normal. “Where are we going?”

  She turned around and lifted a hairless eyebrow, “where do you think?”

  He just shrugged dejectedly. A few more hours of rest would have been nice, but he was in no position to complain.

  She looked down on him like a stern teacher, a disturbingly good impression of Arthros.

  “Don’t expect this to get any easier,” Her stern expression evaporated into a playful grin, “so when Sto'ram splits your head open again, try to enjoy the sleep when it comes.”

  “She was trying to kill me.” He muttered.

  Randrea shrugged, “For good reason, we all found out about your little secret. Not that it really changed the outcome of the fight, we’re all going to be trying to kill you at some point.”

  He froze, they all knew. Is that why she was being strange with him before?

  He hurried to catch up and glanced up at her. “So you know then?”

  She didn’t’ look at him, “Yep.”

  “That I’m unbound.”

  “Mmm hm.”

  He waited for her to say more, but she kept her gaze locked down the hall. “I still don’t really understand it myself.”

  “None of us do, it’s never happened before,” She shrugged again.

  They walked in silence for a few more minutes. Jericho tried to think of something to say, but he couldn’t think of the right words. He enjoyed speaking with Randrea, and he didn’t want to strain the tentative friendship he assumed they had with the wrong words. Yet, the pressure of her presence was too much, and he felt the unbearable need to fill the awkward silence.

  “I don’t want the others to look at me differently.” He managed.

  As soon as the words left his tongue, he knew it was a stupid thing to say. Obviously, they were going to look at him differently, they already did before they knew about his Synaptic Ranking.

  Randrea stopped and looked at him with odd expression that he couldn’t place, “Do you know what a monkey is?”

  Jericho frowned, unsure what a monkey had to do with anything. “A monkey? Like the animal?”

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  “Yes, like the animal.”

  “I’ve heard about them, they’re primates from Gasaan.”

  The female folded her arms, “Well imagine you’ve been told that you’re special, and I mean top of the star system kind of special.”

  Jericho fought the urge to tell that he’d been told the very opposite.

  “And one day your mentor flies to Gasaan and brings back a monkey, a stupid, dung-flinging animal.”

  He winced at her vehement bitterness and wondered where she was going with this analogy.

  She continues, “You think to yourself, a monkey? Surely my mentor isn’t going to favour a brainless primate over me!”

  Jericho’s heart started to sink.

  “And then, you find out that not only is your mentor giving special treatment to the monkey, but the beast is also special.” She placed a finger on his chest.

  Jericho swallowed and licked his lips. He opened his mouth to reply but the feeble response he was trying to muster died when Randrea brought his face close to his.

  Her eyes were pale white, and her irises storm grey. There was sadness in them as she searched his own. “And that’s when you realize that you’re never going to be better than that monkey. No matter how hard you try, the monkey will one day surpass you.”

  His mouth was dry, and he longed to caress the soft lines of her face. He didn’t care that she didn’t have a human’ nose, or that she had grey skin. He didn’t even care that her head was hairless and covered in spines. She was beautiful.

  In that moment, he thought of Kyrin. The grief that had been suppressed by the AI hit him like a hammer blow, and he felt his heart constrict painfully.

  “You are that monkey, Jericho.” Randrea muttered.

  She gave him another painful jab with her finger and turned away. He watched her walk down the hall, fighting through the thunderous cascade of emotions. He spent his entire life surviving in the pits, alone and afraid. He finally found someone who loved him, and he threw that away for a promise of greatness. Now Kyrin was dead, and he was a long way from home, in a place where he didn’t belong.

  He missed his dad.

  ***

  He shuffled into the training arena, keeping his gaze diverted from the others. Sto'ram was standing in the middle of the painted circle, while the others lounged on the bleachers that overlooked the area.

  It was impossible to tell what Arthros was thinking, and Randrea refused to look at him.

  Jericho couldn’t find it in him to speak, so just motioned for the crown. At least this time he would be ready.

  Ready was an exaggeration. He still crumpled to his knees when Arthros activated the crown, but with the help of AI, he was able to overcome the pressure even quicker than before. That revelation encouraged him and helped to clear away the somber muck that muddied his thoughts.

  He had to focus if he wanted to survive. Be somebody!

  Sto'ram started her deliberate approach towards him. He eyed the quarterstaff in her hands and longed for the familiar weight of his ARC blades at his sides.

  “Do I atleast geta weapon?” He slurred.

  Arthros shook his head, Sto'ram approached.

  “So, whatdo you expectme to-” An unexpected lunge from his opponent cut him short.

  He dodged, narrowly the quarterstaff’s jab that would have punctured his lung. That would have been an embarrassing start to the spar.

  “You should not need weapons when sparring with Sto'ram, she is by no means a combat specialist.” Arthros droned.

  An overhead strike that ruffled his hair as he ducked. Sto'ram was feeling him out, testing his reaction speed.

  “Ah come on Commander,” Graito mocked from the sideline. “I don’t think he’s much of a combat specialist either. He can't even walk!”

  “Neither could you” Randrea sneered, “you looked as graceful as a newborn cervidae during your first spar.”

  Jericho was grateful for the backup, but he was inclined to agree with the Myrd. With his sluggish movements he just barely rolled out of the way of an overhanded strike. The capped end bounced hard off the solid rubber floor with a thwack. This fight was going to end as bad as the last one if he couldn’t get his legs to move properly.

  You’re that monkey, Jericho.

  He gritted his teeth, was that really how they saw him? A half-brained beast? Frustration made him antsy, and he acted on impulse. He dodged another jab and dove forward to tackle her.

  Sto'ram let out a yelp of surprise and stepped back with surprising speed. His lunge brought him off-balance, stumbling to his hands and knees.

  A dung-flinging animal.

  The Titulonist spun the staff, and it sang a tune of death as it whistled through the air. A second later she brought it down in a devastating overhanded strike.

  Instincts forced him to roll, and instead of a killing blow, the staff caught him in the meat of his forearm. The crack of his bones echoed through the arena, and he clenched his teeth as he screamed. The sound came out as a muffled squeal.

  He pushed himself to his feet and fought the nausea that was now threatening to overcome his focus. He tried to square his shoulders and brace for the next attack but the pain in his arm was too much. It hung at his side uselessly.

  Sto'ram didn’t move. She watched him carefully, waiting to see what he would do with the broken arm. Behind her, Arthros stared at him, silently judging his every move.

  “You’re that monkey, Jericho.” Randrea’s words continued to echo in his mind in cruel repetition.

  He didn’t want to look at her, but he couldn’t help it. His gaze was drawn to her despite the opponent in the ring. They made eye-contact and in a subtle motion, she tapped her temple with her slender forefinger, the ethereal thread was tied around her wrist.

  Shame replaced every other emotion like a layer of black paint. How could he whine and complain when is father was still missing? When Kyrin was dead? He had the opportunity of a lifetime, and he was watching it slip through his finger like sand.

  “Don’t ever worry about what people think about you.” His father had murmured.

  With a newfound fire, he started reassessing the situation. How was he going to make it out of here alive? Everything thing was a clue and a tool he could use to win.

  His arm. The arena. Sto'ram and her staff.

  He allowed himself a moment of respite within the depths of his own mind and could sense each individual tendril of the crown’s pressure. He was almost at his limit, both physically and neurologically.

  But his AI…

  He sought out the computer and its bottomless well of its power. In a shocking moment of clarity, he realized the AI was far from capacity. He had only just tapped into its strength.

  Jericho didn’t understand what happened next, but as he dipped into that pool of energy, he felt the pain leave his arm like a vacuum sucking it out of his nerves.

  He gasped at the sudden relief. All sensation vanished, including his ability to control it. But it didn’t matter, the debilitating pain was gone along with the brain fog he had felt earlier.

  “And that’s when you realize that you’re never going to be better than that monkey. No matter how hard you try, the monkey will one day surpass you.” Randrea’s voice echoed.

  He gave Sto'ram a sloppy grin. He was that monkey.

  The weight was gone, his pain had vanished. He was a new man, a reinvigorated fighter. He bounced on his toes and saw the ethereal thread tied around her neck.

  Sto'ram stopped her approach, her orb-like eyes frozen on his, “Your AI has eliminated the sensation in your arm.”

  “Oh, come on Sto!” Fydither scoffed from the bleachers, “not this early.”

  Scor and Flux murmured in agreement, but Arthros said nothing.

  Sto'ram tilted her rodent-like head, “your pain is gone, isn’t it.”

  Jericho nodded. He didn’t’ care to hide it, the relief made him giddy.

  “Arthros told me your integration speed was unparalleled to the rest of our crew, including even me. A symptom of your unbound psymetra? I have never felt so betrayed and so fascinated in my entire life.” The black scaled alien was shaking.

  Without warning she lunged forward, faster than she ever had before. Too fast for him to dodge. The end of her staff cracked his ribs and drove the breath from his lungs. He fell on his back gasping for air and clutching his chest. He tried to scramble away but Sto'ram planted a wet foot on his broken ribs, the pressure ignited the pain to an unbearable level and despite himself he screamed.

  “You have been gifted with an ability that exceeds any of us, and yet even now I can overpower you,” Her soft and watery voice was filled with malice and fury. “It is beyond my comprehension.”

  She pushed even harder on his chest. The broken edges of his ribs and sternum rubbing up against each other. Why did his integration speed even matter? Just a few hours ago Sto'ram was gently shaking him awake and now she was standing over top of him ready and willing to knock his head off.

  “It’s not fair, you’re just a human. You’re weak. You’re nothing.” She snarled.

  “Sto.” Arthros’ low warning sounded miles away.

  Jericho grabbed hold of her leg; he was barely able to get a grip on the slick scales. “I’m not.”

  He ignored the searing pain in his chest, and pulled his face closer to Sto’s, “I’m going to be greatest the pilot alive.”

  He twisted violently. The movement caused her foot to slip off his chest. As she started to fall to the ground, Jericho launched himself from the ground and drove his shoulder into her torso.

  The air was driven from her lungs and her body went limp as he crashed down on top of her. She stared up at him in shock and let out a strangled shout of pain when he drove his knee into her throat.

  He still had one good arm, and he used to rain punches into her face. His hand hurt, his ribs hurt, his head felt like it was swimming in thick soup, but he didn’t dare stop.

  Sto'ram stopped struggling and he slowed his assault until eventually he ran out of steam. He was having a hard time catching his breath, he couldn’t continue.

  His chest heaved and sweat dripped off his face. The Titulonist wasn’t moving, and for a moment he wondered if she was dead. He glanced up at the others, they were staring at him in shock. Arthros said nothing, his gaze was as cold and calculating as ever.

  “I did it,” He mumbled.

  The Titulonist started to laugh beneath him, and he stunned to see a smile on her bloody face. “You might be unbound, but you’re still a human, weak and non-threatening.”

  She bucked her hips violently which flipped Jericho forward. The adrenaline that had been fueling his muscles was gone and he tumbled to the floor in an awkward heap.

  “I’m impressed, Jericho.” Sto'ram stated loudly. “You pushed yourself to the limits and I think we can all agree that it was an admirable effort. But it’s time to give up.”

  He ground his teeth and wormed his way onto his back so he could look at Sto'ram, “No.”

  Sto'ram’s ruined face looks confused, “but here I am, and there you are, on the ground.” She flourished her staff in her hands and stabbed it into the ground to emphasize her point. “And I am the weakest fighter amongst our division.”

  Jericho swallowed. He was so close. He looked at Randrea, and then to Arthros.

  The Commander was watching with a face like stone, his eyes unreadable. Yet, in that moment, he gave Jericho the tiniest nod.

  He could do this.

  “Not yet,” Jericho said and with a rumbling groan he pushed himself up to his feet. “I’m not done yet.”

  He lifted his chin to lock eyes with Sto'ram and to his satisfaction, the smile on her face curdled.

  He stumbled towards her like an inebriated cripple. “Your opinion of me is worthless.”

  “You’re just a human.” Sto'ram growled.

  He had to laugh then, “who cares? I’m unbound.”

  He charged her, but he was as slow as a toddler. The black scaled alien dodged his attack with ease and brought an overhand strike down on the shoulder of his good arm. The blow crumpled him to the ground. His energy reserves were at zero, even with the Ai’s assistance.

  He couldn’t react in time as Sto'ram planted her foot on the back of his head. She stopped down, and he felt his nose break as his face was ground into the durable rubber floor. Blood flowed into his mouth, and he choked on its viscosity.

  She forced him to roll over with a sharp kick. He squinted at the harsh overhead lights as he stared up at Sto'ram. Her face was shrouded in shadow, but the glint of anger in her eyes was unmistakable.

  “I’ll see you when I wake up Sto,” he sputtered.

  “Not this time.” She raised the staff above her head.

  He would survive this; he did last time. Surely the Trilboroth could regenerate his brain a second time.

  She brought the staff down, and Jericho squeezed his eyes closed.

  Arthros barked a sharp command, “Sto'ram, stop.”

  Jericho wasn’t sure if the command saved his life because the staff collided with his skull all the same. Everything went dark.

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