She took the capsule and shoved it under her tongue. It felt cold and hard, not merely lifeless but actively malignant. She hated knowing that she might actually welcome death soon.
The airlock finished cycling, and the bolts clanged open. Darrow pushed the door outward, and cold air billowed in from the docking tunnel. Erin shivered.
“Whenever you’re ready, ma’am,” Darrow said, turning his back. “Take your time.”
Erin unzipped her jacket. “Worst day of my life,” she muttered.
Erin didn’t quite understand why the Quggano insisted that both champions playing Ton-Gla-Ben had to be nude in the competition chamber. Sure, part of it was to enforce the no-cheating rule, making sure nobody could smuggle in any devices to give them an unfair advantage over their opponent, but according to Darrow, most of it was based in the Quggano warrior culture. Something about having to strip down to your birth essence to reveal your true nature in single combat, shedding any impediments which might distract from your own personal ability.
She pulled herself through the docking tunnel, doing her best to ignore the swaying of the cylindrical passage and to not think about the fact that there was only a thin membrane separating her from hard vacuum. The lack of gravity was a welcome novelty, though she did grumble when she reached the other ship’s gravity field and her breasts sagged again.
The Quggano airlock didn’t look too dissimilar from the Myrmidon’s, aside from the unfamiliar signage in their language. Erin briefly wondered if Darrow would find that a compelling argument for the aliens’ personhood.
There were also markings on the floor—not quite arrows, but definitely a line leading out from the airlock and down the corridor. Erin followed the line into the Quggano ship, suddenly self-conscious about her nude body. Why hadn’t she spent more time on the treadmill? Why hadn’t she stuck to a healthier diet? Why hadn’t she been more careful with her interstellar navigation?
Two Quggano guards met her at the entrance to the competition chamber. They looked like all the pictures she’d ever seen: tall and spindly, humanoid enough to be familiar but with enough buglike features to make them unnerving. She had no idea what the child would look like.
After the guards looked her over and passed a scanning wand across every part of her body, they opened the chamber door and motioned her forward. Erin was very proud of herself for not fainting or stumbling as she stepped inside. The door closed behind her.
In the center of the square room was a heavy round table with two stools. Another door was outlined on the far wall. A grid of illuminated strips cast light from above. The walls, floor, and ceiling were otherwise bare. Erin briefly wondered if every Quggano warship kept a special room set aside just for these contests, or if they hastily converted a cargo hold every time something like this came up.
She walked forward and sat down on the stool closer to her, which was mercifully padded with some kind of cloth. The only objects on the table were the Ton-Gla-Ben board and pieces. She looked around nervously, even though Darrow had assured her there would be no cameras or other recording sensors in here. It was some kind of point of honor that the two champions would face each other alone.
The game board had been oriented so that Erin was playing the dark side. That meant she would move second, and could be at a disadvantage. She wondered if her opponent would complain—or even notice—if she turned the board around, so that she would move first as the light side. Switching seats might be a bit obvious.
Erin picked up the dark king, which was heavier than she expected. The piece had been carved out of some kind of rock, apparently by hand. She could see that the lines cut into the sides of the conical shape were not quite straight. What kind of history did these objects have? Were they the Quggano captain’s personal effects? A family heirloom?
She sighed and put the game piece down. Maybe Darrow had the right idea. It would be easier to fight the Quggano if she didn’t think of them as people. But they were. Erin made her living as a merchant by treating all kinds of alien life forms as people. Her business was understanding what each species valued, and finding the most profitable way to trade between as many of them as possible. She didn’t judge those species which prized things she found distasteful, like cannibalism or slavery; she just didn’t do business with them. But she had to acknowledge that they were people. Maybe bad people, or just people she didn’t want to hang out with, but still people.
The door in the far wall slid open, and Erin’s opponent entered the chamber.
The child didn’t look like a miniature version of an adult Quggano, as Erin had thought it—he—might. Instead of walking upright on his four back limbs, he scuttled forward on all eight legs. The door slammed shut behind him, and Erin barely caught a glimpse of two adults—his parents, presumably—watching as their offspring crawled forth into battle.
How the hell did I wind up here?
The young Quggano climbed up onto the stool across from Erin. His body was squat and round. His dark, bulbous eyes reflected the ceiling lights. She couldn’t tell where he was actually looking; the Quggano’s fly-like ommatidia radiated in all directions. It felt like the kid was staring at her. She folded her arms to cover her bare breasts—which was silly; an alien wasn’t going to get turned on by her naked body. But it just felt wrong, to be unclothed in front of a child.
“Hi,” Erin said, after the silence had gone from awkward to weird. “I’m Erin. What’s your name?”
The kid tilted his head slightly.
“Erin,” she repeated, tapping her chest with one hand. She pointed at the kid. “What’s your name?”
The kid raised one foreleg, aimed it at Erin, and made a noise that could have been interpreted as “AAARRRNNN.”
Erin nodded and pointed at herself again. “Erin. Close enough. What’s your name?”
The kid touched its own thorax and said something like “MMMAAAKH,” with extra hissing at the end.
Erin stared for a moment. “Mikey?”
The kid repeated the sound and waved his antennae.
“Mikey,” Erin repeated. “So. Nice weather we’re having, eh?”
“GAALAANN,” Mikey said.
He reached out with two limbs, picked up a light pawn, and moved it into the center of the board. The surface glowed momentarily, just as Darrow had predicted: it was recording each move, for archival purposes. It would also send a signal outside the chamber when the game ended. That was the only communication permitted between this chamber and the outside world for the duration of the contest.
“Well,” Erin sighed, “I guess we’re getting right down to business.”
She pushed a dark pawn forward to block the light pawn from advancing. Mikey immediately grabbed one of his tall-bishops and shoved it forward.
Erin frowned, her hand hovering over the board. Why did this seem familiar?
“Light pawn to center,” she murmured to herself. “Dark pawn to block, tall-bishop forward, then…”
She remembered. This was one of the first game openings Darrow had taught her, a simple strategy he called “tower defense.” Erin lifted one of her side-rooks and moved it up next to her pawn, watching Mikey’s expression. His mandibles twitched, but she had no idea what that meant.
As soon as Erin released her side-rook, Mikey moved his other tall-bishop into position to threaten the leftmost of her three knights. Completely by the book.