ST Perseus: Son Rise--Sun Set Part 6
Part 6
***********************************************************
Escorted into the ornate chamber by Elabrius and one of his aides, Anara took the seat next to the proconsul’s dais at his instructions. “I think you will find this interesting my dear.” He remarked as the Deltan woman took note of the commotion surrounding her. Seated in one of the luxury sky boxes of what was obviously a stadium, the Perseus’s first officer saw spectators of all ages filing into the seats carrying drinks and food as well as various noisemakers.
“Why have you brought me here?” Anara asked.
“As I said earlier, you might be interested in tonight’s entertainment.” The proconsul declared with a fat grin as an attendant brought both of them wine.
“And why would I be interested in watching this ‘spectacle’?” The Deltan woman responded, her voice dripping with disdain as she reluctantly took a sip from her goblet.
“I think…” Elabrius gloated, pointing to a television monitor on the far wall as the crowd in the stands stood for the fanfare to the current Caesar, “…you’ll find one of the contestants to be of interest to you.”
Watching the monitor, a gasp escaped the Deltan first officer as she saw Yitzhak, her helmsman, wearing a leather kilt and metal skullcap and carrying a short sword and a small round shield, being escorted into the arena by two men wearing ancient Roman military dress, each carrying the traditional Roman javelin better known as a pilum. From the opposite end of the arena, a man wearing a leather studded breastplate, leather kilt, plumed helmet, and carrying an oval shield and short sword. As the two contestants drew closer to the center of the arena, the announcer’s voice blared out from the P. A. System…
“This is Gaius Livinius and you’re watching the Games of the Week live on the Imperial Broadcasting Network. Sitting next to me and providing color commentary is Lucius Marcellus, retired Golden Gladius champion retiarus. Our first bout tonight is a Pro-Am spectacular with Marius, the Eastern Province champion…” the announcer paused for several moments to allow the crowd to express itself in thunderous applause, “… taking on the newcomer, a Child of Isaac and rebel against the Empire, Yitzhak Shalev.” Pausing again as the audience booed a grim faced Yitzhak, the announcer turned to his colleague, “Well, Lucius, the odds-makers are handicapping this fight as 10-1 in favor of Marius, what do you think?”
“That sounds about right, Gaius. Marius is an expert at close in blade work—remember his championship bout against Agricola? He’s also pretty good with the shield bash. But we shouldn’t completely count out the newcomer. He looks lean and wiry, and his people have a reputation for being savage fighters when cornered. I look for a well-fought bout tonight—but…” he concluded with a chuckle, “…I’d put my money on Marius.”
“There you have it, Arena fans. Now, hurry up and get your wagers in because the fight is about to commence!”
***********************************************************************
“Right.” Captain Christopher Hobson declared as his eyes took in Valeria, T’Pren, and the rest of the resistance fighters gathered in the catacombs, all cradling their weapons and looking back at him with a mixture of enthusiasm and fear. “This will be a two pronged attack. Our objective is to infiltrate the palace compound. The first group will be with me and will consist of myself, Valeria, and T’Pren. We will move to secure the broadcasting facilities—and—if all goes well, the Proconsul. The second team, led by Avram…” Chris continued in a clear patrician tone, “Will carry out a rescue of our people”
Responding to this portion of Hobson’s plan with a snort, Bradleius called out derisively, “How? By letting them kill us—or becoming prisoners ourselves? There’s too many of them—it’s suicide.”
“Not if you keep to the plan.” Valeria interjected before the starship captain could reply. “Besides…” she added in a cheerful tone, “…we have help for a change.”
“What do you mean?” Junius asked as he addressed the captain, “Are your people going to give us weapons or extra men?”
“No.” Valeria once again interrupted. “This is our world—our fight. Captain Hobson…” she explained, giving the starship captain a polite nod of her head, “…understands and respects this. If we’re going to do this—if we’re deserving of our liberty and freedom—then we have to be willing to fight for it. We can’t always be dependent on the generosity of others.” Taking a deep breath, she concluded her speech, “Now…if there’s anyone who wants to sit this one out, you may do so…” Sighing in relief as no one took her up on her offer, the rebel leader ceded the platform back to the man standing next to her.
As the fighters made their final equipment checks, Chris whispered into Valeria’s ear, “Nicely done.”
“I’m sorry if I stepped on your toes.” The lovely rebel replied, also speaking in a low voice.
“Not at all.” Chris averred. “You said the right words at the right time. It was especially important that they came from you and not me. I’m also glad that you understand that we have to keep my people’s involvement in what is to come absolutely secret.”
“Completely.” Valeria responded. “No one will ever know from me what your vessel in orbit is about to do for us.”
“Good.” Chris answered back with a slight smile as T’Pren tapped him on the shoulder.
“Sir? Everyone’s ready.”
“Excellent.” The captain replied with a nod of his head, “Let’s go.”
**********************************************************************
“Why are you doing this?” Anara protested to the proconsul, watching in horror as the young helmsman whom she had just recently gotten to know and his opponent prepared to do battle. “You promised…”
“I promised you nothing, my dear.” The proconsul replied, his heart once again racing at the close contact with the alien woman. “Until you cooperate. I’m not an unreasonable man, though. I can…and will…call off the bout. That is…” he grinned slyly, “If you’re willing to meet my terms right now.”
“And if I don’t?” Anara asked.
“Then the fight continues and in four hours I will execute the hostages.”
“And what if Shalev lives?” Anara ventured.
Laughing, Elabrius responded, “If your man wins this bout, I’ll be out a hundred solidi.” His laughter vanishing as suddenly as it appeared, the proconsul continued, “If he wins, then, he’ll be our featured guest for the program following this one. A popular broadcast called Hercules’ Labors based loosely on the myth.” His cruel smile returning, the Roman explained, “He’ll have to survive twelve contests—if he wins them all, my word as a Roman, he’ll gain his freedom. But I must tell you—no one has ever survived all twelve challenges.” Pausing for a moment for his words to sink in, Elabrius insisted, “So…do you accede to my demands?”
Knowing that Chris was still free, Anara took a deep breath and answered back with a single word, “No.”
“Then let the Games commence!” Elabrius exclaimed, officially announcing the beginning of the fight.
********************************************************************
“And with those words from our Proconsul, the fight officially begins! Marius is approaching cautiously…he’s no hurry…”
“He’s just feeling out his prey, Gaius.” The former gladiator providing color commentary interjected, “Amateurs tend to either rush in or back off real quick. Either way, they usually end up stumbling, providing the perfect opening for a quick ending.”
“About the size of a Nausicaan sword, but I have to remember that it’s double edged…” Shalev muttered to himself as he saw his opponent approaching, “…and that it can slash as well as stab.” Feeling the weight of the shield on his arm, Yitzhak’s lips turned up into a sly grin as he removed it, receiving a surprised gasp from the audience in response.
“Well now, that’s unusual Lucius. Any reason why he’d do that?”
“Well…a buckler is difficult to use for someone unskilled…” the ex-champion opined, “…but why hasn’t he discarded it? Unless…”
Seeing his opening, as the hulking figure before him raised up just enough from his crouch, Yitzhak, tossing the buckler at his foe like a discus, rushed his opponent as the tiny shield impacted with the top of the oval shield, leaving his opponent’s legs temporarily exposed.
“Mars damned!” The color commentator exclaimed, “This man can’t be an amateur! I’ve only seen that maneuver done three times—and only by the most experienced pros!”
“Just listen to that crowd!” The announcer called out as the audience cheered the unusual and bold move. “They love it! And now…I don’t believe it! The newcomer’s sidestepped…he’s sliding. A back-slice to the Achilles tendon as he slid past! And Marius is on the ground!”
“An improvised variation of the Demetrian Slide followed up by a makeshift Cornelian back slash!” The former gladiator exclaimed. “That was totally unexpected—especially for an amateur.”
“The crowd loves it when an underdog pulls off an upset and this is definitely one for the books!”
“You’re right, Gaius. They’ll be talking about this for some time.”
The cheers of the crowd dies down as everyone awaits the Proconsul’s decision. Will he spare the life of the EasternProvince champion or will it be thumbs down? The decision after this message from our sponsors!
“After an exciting afternoon at the Arena, ride home in style with the top down in our new Mercury Aquila convertible…
*********************************************************************
A chagrined look on his face, Elabrius glared at his prisoner.
“What?” Anara said, matching her captor glare for glare, “You expected him to die without putting up a fight?”
“None of those from the first group showed anywhere near this sort of ability.” The proconsul declared as he gazed down on the arena, “Not even the ones that came after—with one exception—showed any real prowess.”
“Then you need to rethink your history.” The Deltan woman replied with just a trace of smugness, “Because ours tells us that they did everything they could to avoid harming or killing your people—and it wasn’t easy for them to restrain themselves either.”
“That just affirms the fact that you are weak.” Elabrius countered as the commercials played on the television screen.
“What you see as weakness…we see as strength.” Anara rebutted. “Time passes for us as well as it does for you. Just as you have changed…so have we. We’ve been through wars so horrible that you can’t even imagine them—our very existence threatened. All of that has made us see that life is all the more precious a commodity…one not to be squandered or wasted foolishly.”
“We’ll see about that.” The proconsul answered back grimly as his assistant signaled him that the commercial break was ending.
A drop-dead gorgeous raven-haired model appeared on the screen wearing a gold belly dancers top and bottom surrounded by several tanned, well-muscled, bare-chested Adonises wearing gladiators’ outfits. “I’m Messalina and all my men wear Aqua Virilis…” she winked, “…or they wear nothing at all!”
**********************************************************************
“And we’re back! Will it be life…or death…for the fallen Marcus? The Proconsul is standing…he’s raising his hand…and it’s…it’s thumbs down for the former champion!”
“That’s the way it goes in the Arena, Gaius.” Lucius declared fatalistically, “Marius was a brave and gallant champion—I had the pleasure of fighting by his side on more than one occasion, but…as the traditional salutation and the gladiator code goes—We who are about to die…salute you.”
“And now the crowd waits in stunned silence as the newcomer, Yitzhak Shalev, prepares to make his first Arena kill.”
“The first of many, I’ll wager.” The color commentator remarked, “The contests only get harder from here, but I have a feeling this young man will be up to the challenge.”
Images flashed in and out of the young helmsman’s mind as he held the bloody sword in his hand. Dead and dying crewmates from the Marlin…the wounded called out to him as he hid in a Jeffries tube from the Jem’Hadar who stabbed down with their bayonets at both the living and the dead. Clutching his bleeding side, Yitzhak bit his lip to keep from crying out in pain as the Jem’Hadar passed him by. All except for one who remained behind, his back turned to him. Seeing his opportunity, the native of Eretz Israel struck, stabbing the small of the back of the Dominion soldier, twisting the blade as he vented his fury and rage.
His mind returning to the present, Shalev looked down on his fallen foe; his eyes looking up to him in a mix of fear and anticipation. Crying out, Yitzhak thrust the blade down, stabbing into the earthen arena mere centimeters from his fallen foe’s head. “No!” He yelled up at the darkened skybox. “You’ll have to get your thrills from someone else you sick son of a bitch! I’m not going to do it!” With that, he turned and walked back the way he came. While many in the crowd, once they realized what the victor had done, began to boo, a sizable proportion, much to the surprise of the Proconsul, began to cheer, their cheers growing louder and louder as Yitzhak approached where his guards stood waiting.
“Why are they cheering?” The proconsul mused aloud, “The man turned lily-livered.”
“Maybe it’s because they’re beginning to see something you refuse to see.” Anara opined, “Maybe they’re beginning to realize that there’s strength in not killing.”
His face reddening in anger, Elabrius barked out, pointing his finger at his Deltan prisoner, “Take her back to her cell—at once!”
“What about him?” The proconsul’s aide inquired as he pointed at the retreating Yitzhak.
“He’s to appear on the next broadcast of Hercules’ Labors.” The Roman official declared, adding in a menacing tone as he made his way towards the door, “And I expect him to fail—and fail most humiliatingly.”
********************************************************************
“Here.” Valeria whispered, halting the group at the base of an ancient rock-hewn stairway. “There’s a trapdoor at the top of these stairs. It leads directly into the sewers that will take us to the palace.”
“I’m surprised this place isn’t guarded.” T’Pren noted.
“Why should they bother?” The rebel leader replied, “No one living has been down here for centuries. As far as they’re concerned, the only things down here are rodents and ghosts.”
“Right.” Hobson acknowledged, “Let’s move—tempus fugit.”
**********************************************************************
Part 6
***********************************************************
Escorted into the ornate chamber by Elabrius and one of his aides, Anara took the seat next to the proconsul’s dais at his instructions. “I think you will find this interesting my dear.” He remarked as the Deltan woman took note of the commotion surrounding her. Seated in one of the luxury sky boxes of what was obviously a stadium, the Perseus’s first officer saw spectators of all ages filing into the seats carrying drinks and food as well as various noisemakers.
“Why have you brought me here?” Anara asked.
“As I said earlier, you might be interested in tonight’s entertainment.” The proconsul declared with a fat grin as an attendant brought both of them wine.
“And why would I be interested in watching this ‘spectacle’?” The Deltan woman responded, her voice dripping with disdain as she reluctantly took a sip from her goblet.
“I think…” Elabrius gloated, pointing to a television monitor on the far wall as the crowd in the stands stood for the fanfare to the current Caesar, “…you’ll find one of the contestants to be of interest to you.”
Watching the monitor, a gasp escaped the Deltan first officer as she saw Yitzhak, her helmsman, wearing a leather kilt and metal skullcap and carrying a short sword and a small round shield, being escorted into the arena by two men wearing ancient Roman military dress, each carrying the traditional Roman javelin better known as a pilum. From the opposite end of the arena, a man wearing a leather studded breastplate, leather kilt, plumed helmet, and carrying an oval shield and short sword. As the two contestants drew closer to the center of the arena, the announcer’s voice blared out from the P. A. System…
“This is Gaius Livinius and you’re watching the Games of the Week live on the Imperial Broadcasting Network. Sitting next to me and providing color commentary is Lucius Marcellus, retired Golden Gladius champion retiarus. Our first bout tonight is a Pro-Am spectacular with Marius, the Eastern Province champion…” the announcer paused for several moments to allow the crowd to express itself in thunderous applause, “… taking on the newcomer, a Child of Isaac and rebel against the Empire, Yitzhak Shalev.” Pausing again as the audience booed a grim faced Yitzhak, the announcer turned to his colleague, “Well, Lucius, the odds-makers are handicapping this fight as 10-1 in favor of Marius, what do you think?”
“That sounds about right, Gaius. Marius is an expert at close in blade work—remember his championship bout against Agricola? He’s also pretty good with the shield bash. But we shouldn’t completely count out the newcomer. He looks lean and wiry, and his people have a reputation for being savage fighters when cornered. I look for a well-fought bout tonight—but…” he concluded with a chuckle, “…I’d put my money on Marius.”
“There you have it, Arena fans. Now, hurry up and get your wagers in because the fight is about to commence!”
***********************************************************************
“Right.” Captain Christopher Hobson declared as his eyes took in Valeria, T’Pren, and the rest of the resistance fighters gathered in the catacombs, all cradling their weapons and looking back at him with a mixture of enthusiasm and fear. “This will be a two pronged attack. Our objective is to infiltrate the palace compound. The first group will be with me and will consist of myself, Valeria, and T’Pren. We will move to secure the broadcasting facilities—and—if all goes well, the Proconsul. The second team, led by Avram…” Chris continued in a clear patrician tone, “Will carry out a rescue of our people”
Responding to this portion of Hobson’s plan with a snort, Bradleius called out derisively, “How? By letting them kill us—or becoming prisoners ourselves? There’s too many of them—it’s suicide.”
“Not if you keep to the plan.” Valeria interjected before the starship captain could reply. “Besides…” she added in a cheerful tone, “…we have help for a change.”
“What do you mean?” Junius asked as he addressed the captain, “Are your people going to give us weapons or extra men?”
“No.” Valeria once again interrupted. “This is our world—our fight. Captain Hobson…” she explained, giving the starship captain a polite nod of her head, “…understands and respects this. If we’re going to do this—if we’re deserving of our liberty and freedom—then we have to be willing to fight for it. We can’t always be dependent on the generosity of others.” Taking a deep breath, she concluded her speech, “Now…if there’s anyone who wants to sit this one out, you may do so…” Sighing in relief as no one took her up on her offer, the rebel leader ceded the platform back to the man standing next to her.
As the fighters made their final equipment checks, Chris whispered into Valeria’s ear, “Nicely done.”
“I’m sorry if I stepped on your toes.” The lovely rebel replied, also speaking in a low voice.
“Not at all.” Chris averred. “You said the right words at the right time. It was especially important that they came from you and not me. I’m also glad that you understand that we have to keep my people’s involvement in what is to come absolutely secret.”
“Completely.” Valeria responded. “No one will ever know from me what your vessel in orbit is about to do for us.”
“Good.” Chris answered back with a slight smile as T’Pren tapped him on the shoulder.
“Sir? Everyone’s ready.”
“Excellent.” The captain replied with a nod of his head, “Let’s go.”
**********************************************************************
“Why are you doing this?” Anara protested to the proconsul, watching in horror as the young helmsman whom she had just recently gotten to know and his opponent prepared to do battle. “You promised…”
“I promised you nothing, my dear.” The proconsul replied, his heart once again racing at the close contact with the alien woman. “Until you cooperate. I’m not an unreasonable man, though. I can…and will…call off the bout. That is…” he grinned slyly, “If you’re willing to meet my terms right now.”
“And if I don’t?” Anara asked.
“Then the fight continues and in four hours I will execute the hostages.”
“And what if Shalev lives?” Anara ventured.
Laughing, Elabrius responded, “If your man wins this bout, I’ll be out a hundred solidi.” His laughter vanishing as suddenly as it appeared, the proconsul continued, “If he wins, then, he’ll be our featured guest for the program following this one. A popular broadcast called Hercules’ Labors based loosely on the myth.” His cruel smile returning, the Roman explained, “He’ll have to survive twelve contests—if he wins them all, my word as a Roman, he’ll gain his freedom. But I must tell you—no one has ever survived all twelve challenges.” Pausing for a moment for his words to sink in, Elabrius insisted, “So…do you accede to my demands?”
Knowing that Chris was still free, Anara took a deep breath and answered back with a single word, “No.”
“Then let the Games commence!” Elabrius exclaimed, officially announcing the beginning of the fight.
********************************************************************
“And with those words from our Proconsul, the fight officially begins! Marius is approaching cautiously…he’s no hurry…”
“He’s just feeling out his prey, Gaius.” The former gladiator providing color commentary interjected, “Amateurs tend to either rush in or back off real quick. Either way, they usually end up stumbling, providing the perfect opening for a quick ending.”
“About the size of a Nausicaan sword, but I have to remember that it’s double edged…” Shalev muttered to himself as he saw his opponent approaching, “…and that it can slash as well as stab.” Feeling the weight of the shield on his arm, Yitzhak’s lips turned up into a sly grin as he removed it, receiving a surprised gasp from the audience in response.
“Well now, that’s unusual Lucius. Any reason why he’d do that?”
“Well…a buckler is difficult to use for someone unskilled…” the ex-champion opined, “…but why hasn’t he discarded it? Unless…”
Seeing his opening, as the hulking figure before him raised up just enough from his crouch, Yitzhak, tossing the buckler at his foe like a discus, rushed his opponent as the tiny shield impacted with the top of the oval shield, leaving his opponent’s legs temporarily exposed.
“Mars damned!” The color commentator exclaimed, “This man can’t be an amateur! I’ve only seen that maneuver done three times—and only by the most experienced pros!”
“Just listen to that crowd!” The announcer called out as the audience cheered the unusual and bold move. “They love it! And now…I don’t believe it! The newcomer’s sidestepped…he’s sliding. A back-slice to the Achilles tendon as he slid past! And Marius is on the ground!”
“An improvised variation of the Demetrian Slide followed up by a makeshift Cornelian back slash!” The former gladiator exclaimed. “That was totally unexpected—especially for an amateur.”
“The crowd loves it when an underdog pulls off an upset and this is definitely one for the books!”
“You’re right, Gaius. They’ll be talking about this for some time.”
The cheers of the crowd dies down as everyone awaits the Proconsul’s decision. Will he spare the life of the EasternProvince champion or will it be thumbs down? The decision after this message from our sponsors!
“After an exciting afternoon at the Arena, ride home in style with the top down in our new Mercury Aquila convertible…
*********************************************************************
A chagrined look on his face, Elabrius glared at his prisoner.
“What?” Anara said, matching her captor glare for glare, “You expected him to die without putting up a fight?”
“None of those from the first group showed anywhere near this sort of ability.” The proconsul declared as he gazed down on the arena, “Not even the ones that came after—with one exception—showed any real prowess.”
“Then you need to rethink your history.” The Deltan woman replied with just a trace of smugness, “Because ours tells us that they did everything they could to avoid harming or killing your people—and it wasn’t easy for them to restrain themselves either.”
“That just affirms the fact that you are weak.” Elabrius countered as the commercials played on the television screen.
“What you see as weakness…we see as strength.” Anara rebutted. “Time passes for us as well as it does for you. Just as you have changed…so have we. We’ve been through wars so horrible that you can’t even imagine them—our very existence threatened. All of that has made us see that life is all the more precious a commodity…one not to be squandered or wasted foolishly.”
“We’ll see about that.” The proconsul answered back grimly as his assistant signaled him that the commercial break was ending.
A drop-dead gorgeous raven-haired model appeared on the screen wearing a gold belly dancers top and bottom surrounded by several tanned, well-muscled, bare-chested Adonises wearing gladiators’ outfits. “I’m Messalina and all my men wear Aqua Virilis…” she winked, “…or they wear nothing at all!”
**********************************************************************
“And we’re back! Will it be life…or death…for the fallen Marcus? The Proconsul is standing…he’s raising his hand…and it’s…it’s thumbs down for the former champion!”
“That’s the way it goes in the Arena, Gaius.” Lucius declared fatalistically, “Marius was a brave and gallant champion—I had the pleasure of fighting by his side on more than one occasion, but…as the traditional salutation and the gladiator code goes—We who are about to die…salute you.”
“And now the crowd waits in stunned silence as the newcomer, Yitzhak Shalev, prepares to make his first Arena kill.”
“The first of many, I’ll wager.” The color commentator remarked, “The contests only get harder from here, but I have a feeling this young man will be up to the challenge.”
Images flashed in and out of the young helmsman’s mind as he held the bloody sword in his hand. Dead and dying crewmates from the Marlin…the wounded called out to him as he hid in a Jeffries tube from the Jem’Hadar who stabbed down with their bayonets at both the living and the dead. Clutching his bleeding side, Yitzhak bit his lip to keep from crying out in pain as the Jem’Hadar passed him by. All except for one who remained behind, his back turned to him. Seeing his opportunity, the native of Eretz Israel struck, stabbing the small of the back of the Dominion soldier, twisting the blade as he vented his fury and rage.
His mind returning to the present, Shalev looked down on his fallen foe; his eyes looking up to him in a mix of fear and anticipation. Crying out, Yitzhak thrust the blade down, stabbing into the earthen arena mere centimeters from his fallen foe’s head. “No!” He yelled up at the darkened skybox. “You’ll have to get your thrills from someone else you sick son of a bitch! I’m not going to do it!” With that, he turned and walked back the way he came. While many in the crowd, once they realized what the victor had done, began to boo, a sizable proportion, much to the surprise of the Proconsul, began to cheer, their cheers growing louder and louder as Yitzhak approached where his guards stood waiting.
“Why are they cheering?” The proconsul mused aloud, “The man turned lily-livered.”
“Maybe it’s because they’re beginning to see something you refuse to see.” Anara opined, “Maybe they’re beginning to realize that there’s strength in not killing.”
His face reddening in anger, Elabrius barked out, pointing his finger at his Deltan prisoner, “Take her back to her cell—at once!”
“What about him?” The proconsul’s aide inquired as he pointed at the retreating Yitzhak.
“He’s to appear on the next broadcast of Hercules’ Labors.” The Roman official declared, adding in a menacing tone as he made his way towards the door, “And I expect him to fail—and fail most humiliatingly.”
********************************************************************
“Here.” Valeria whispered, halting the group at the base of an ancient rock-hewn stairway. “There’s a trapdoor at the top of these stairs. It leads directly into the sewers that will take us to the palace.”
“I’m surprised this place isn’t guarded.” T’Pren noted.
“Why should they bother?” The rebel leader replied, “No one living has been down here for centuries. As far as they’re concerned, the only things down here are rodents and ghosts.”
“Right.” Hobson acknowledged, “Let’s move—tempus fugit.”
**********************************************************************
Stay tuned for further details regarding our hard-charging ambitious operations officer...
