GLADIATOR GIRL

An Alternate Reality Action-sports Love Story

R. H. Watson

Chimaera Ranch, LLC

Appleton, WI
2010
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and
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Copyright © 2010 R. H. Watson. This work is made available
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 For my mother, Pearl Watson,
who lived a long, full life,
although, not the one she dreamed of living
when she was young.
 Acknowledgements

Many thanks to the following people for their invaluable help

and support.
Bob Larson for encouragement, for reading the first and last
drafts, and for letting me work in the back room of his comic
book shop: Powerhouse Comics in Appleton, Wisconsin. Be sure
to drop by if you’re in the area.
Kelsey Grimmer (who was working in her Uncle Bob’s shop)
for reading and proofreading the first draft as it rolled off the
keyboard. (Bob and Kelsey are both immortalized in the story.)
Annie Quick-Laughlin for her critical reading of the manu-
script, both the faux-final and real final versions, and for provid-
ing indispensable editorial comment and encouragement, not to
mention advice on girl-girl sex.
Yehoshuah M. Young who kindly pointed out that I had too
much exposition. Fixing that turned into a major revision—one
I'm much happier with.
Tony Vander Pas, who’s mastery of the f-bomb informed the
cadence of Lucy’s profanity.
The staffs of Harmony Cafe and Acoca Coffee for not kicking
me out, and along with the Appleton Library, for providing
places away from my cats where I could get this work done
when Powerhouse Comics wasn’t open.
Special thanks to my mother for always and forever wanting
me to succeed at something. I am deeply sorry you were not able
to read the finished book.
Part I
 Chapter 1
Lucy Star is Born, Again

There were thirty-seven buns in the oven and one was about ready
to drop. Mary sat at the console in the Monitor Room. She pulled
a card from her deck and was making a play when the birth alarm
went off. The monitor showed that the womb with the bun named
Lucy Star had broken its water and was chugging away with con-
tractions. The girl’s head was emerging.
A gurney was parked outside the Monitor Room that Mary
had prepared when she came on duty for the night shift. She
picked up the big, fluffy towel from its mattress and hung it
around her neck. Vesper, one of her matron’s aids, came out of
the Recovery Ward. “I got it,” she said to Mary and headed to the
Memory Vault to collect the girl’s placenta jar. Mary pushed the
gurney into the Womb Room.
Rows of bulky, mostly organic contraptions stood down both
sides of the room. They were big, corpulent, fleshy things with
fittings at the top to feed in nutrients. Other tubes lower in the
back removed waste. In the lower front, each had a vulva big
enough to pass a grown woman. About two-thirds of the way
down the room, one had done just that. A limp, naked girl, wet
with amniotic fluid, was lying in a soft, squishy birth basin. Her
umbilical cord trailed back into the womb where her foot was
caught in the birth canal.
4 R. H. Watson

Mary pulled the girl’s foot out, cleared her mouth, and
listened to her take her first gargling breath in over two weeks. It
sounded healthy.
She cut the girl’s umbilical cord, and sealed the ends, then lif-
ted the girl onto the gurney, swaddled her in the big fluffy towel,
and pressed a rubber teat into her mouth. The girl suckled, and
her mouth and stomach re-awoke to the delights of digestion.
Mary pushed the gurney out of the Womb Room and into the
Recovery Ward. She gave the girl a gentle bath, dried her off,
and tucked her into a postnatal bed with soft protective sides.
She let her sleep.
Vesper arrived at the womb with the girl’s placenta jar. She
popped its lid and put it under the womb’s vulva. The jar was
lined with a membrane that was a genetic match to the girl’s own
uterus and was filled with synthetic amniotic fluid. She put the
stringy placenta end of the umbilical cord in the jar. A few
minutes later the placenta itself followed, plopping into the fluid.
Vesper closed the lid and return it to the Memory Vault where it
would sit in blissful silence, remembering the latest version of
the girl’s life, over and over and over.

In a couple of hours Lucy Star stirred herself awake. She re-

leased the side of the bed and sat up. A beeping alarm went off,
and a minute later Mary came into the Recovery Ward.
“Look who’s finally awake,” she said, “and good as new.” She
gave Lucy a hug.
“Hi, Mary,” Lucy said and returned her hug.
“Easy there. Sit until you feel like walking, but call me before
you do. No falling on my watch!”
“How bad was it?” Lucy said.
“Let’s see.” Mary drew her finger across the back of Lucy’s
left upper arm. “Your arm was cut off here.” She kept drawing
over to her spine. “Your heart was cut in two.” She continued
through her spine and half way to the other side of her back.
 Gladiator Girl 5

“And you were nearly cut all the way in half yourself.” She patted
the invisible line. “But don’t worry, not a scratch on you now.”
Lucy leaned back, supporting herself with her arms. This was
the best part of dying: she felt weak and a little dizzy, but she
also felt brand new and as clean as it was possible to feel—like
she had only, just now, touched the world for the first time. The
simple act of breathing was intoxicating.
Mary handed her a glass of rebirth formula. “Drink it all.”
Later, after convincing Mary her dizziness was gone and she
was strong enough to walk on her own, Lucy got dressed. She
finished by adjusting her hat in front of the dressing room mirror.
This outfit was a bit bold and a bit cute. It made her look like an
anime artist’s idea of a matador. She slung her bag over her
shoulder and picked up her sword. One of the club’s assistant
equipment managers would have cleaned it and delivered it to
the Laughing Cherub. Lucy pulled the blade part way out of its
scabbard to check the edge. It looked good, but the surface was
dull. She would polish it properly in the morning.
Lucy found Mary in the Monitor Room, back at her card game.
“Could I take a look at my girl before I leave?” Lucy said.
Mary played her card. “Of course you can.” She led the way
to the Memory Vault.
Its walls were lined with racks filled with placenta jars. Each
was fed a trickle of nutrition and oxygenated artificial blood. The
amniotic fluid was cycled and filtered to remove waste. The light
was dim, and the room was kept at body temperature.
Lucy knew where her jar was. She walked over and touched
its smooth, warm side. A display above the jar confirmed that the
little world inside was lovely. “You take care,” Lucy said. She
kissed her fingers and pressed them against the side of the jar.

It was two o’clock when Lucy left the Laughing Cherub. The air
was cool. Autumn was settling in. The street lights were dimmed,
and glare shields kept waste light out of the sky. The night was
6 R. H. Watson

awash with stars; Lucy could even make out the dim fog of the
Milky Way.
Mary had insisted on calling a cab. “Complements of the
Cherub.” In fact, it wasn’t. Mary paid for the late night cabs out
of her own pocket. The cab pulled up. Lucy got in and gave the
driver Brody’s address. He peddled them away and used the
electric motor for an assist up the hill to Wicker Lane.

Brody’s apartment was in one of the new, partly grown mini-ar-

cologies. Lucy climbed the outside stairs to the third tier. It felt
good to be almost home. She could never have afforded this
place on her own, even with roommates from the club. If she was
picked up by an Alpha League club next season, she promised
herself she would pay Brody back for his support. Now, she was
craving his warm body and looking forward to making love.
She rubbed her key against the door―nothing happened. She
tried again―nothing. Crap! She didn’t want to wake Brody; she
wanted to slip naked into their bed and have him wake up to the
erection she would give him in his sleep. She tried to unlock the
door three more times. Crap, crap, crap. She put the key away
and pressed her lips to the door frame. “Brody.” She spoke
softly. “Wake up, honey. I’m home.”
She waited, giving him time to get up and put something on.
She was about to try again when she heard the sigh of the locks
releasing. The door opened and there was—
“Emily Stone? What are you doing here?” Lucy said. Emily
stood just inside the door, holding a cotton robe partly closed. It
was decorated with blue and orange frogs.
“That’s my robe!”
The living room lights came on behind Emily. Brody was
standing in the bedroom door, naked, looking bug eyed. His gap-
ing mouth would have made a great bull’s-eye for something.
Lucy pushed past Emily. “What’s this?” she said to Brody.
“Lucy, I’m sorry. You weren’t supposed to find out this way.”
 Gladiator Girl 7

“You said she knew.” Emily was still by the door.

“I was going to have the Cherub send me a notice when she
was reborn, but I, ah . . .”
“But you, forgot?” Lucy said.
“Ha!” Emily crossed the room to Brody. “He lost his nerve.
That’s what I love about you Brody-bear.” She rubbed noses
with him. “You’re so easy to intimidate.”
“Aargh!” Lucy dropped her bag, drew her sword, and jabbed
it at Brody’s penis. “That’s mine! I’m going to feed it to the cats
behind the city farm and make you eat their feces!”
Brody covered his goods. Emily pulled her own sword from
the corner by the bedroom door. She left it sheathed, but stepped
in front of Brody, ready to block. “Easy there,” she said. “You’ve
got a bit of the post-birth crazies; don’t do anything stupid. I
could report you to the League for this.”
Lucy held her ground, then exhaled and sheathed her blade.
Emily relaxed. Lucy swung her sheathed sword at Emily, knock-
ing her off balance, then in one motion, she drew her blade,
fanned it past Brody’s penis and re-sheathed it. She picked up
her bag and walked out.
She went down to the second tier and far enough around the
curve of the mini-arcology to not be seen from Brody’s door. She
leaned her back against the wall, pressed the heels of her hands
into her eyes, and let out a long quiet growl, the kind they use in
movies to let you know bad things might happen to somebody.
Emily was right: strong emotions were hard to control for sev-
eral hours after being reborn. Lucy dropped her hands and sent
an emergency talk-to request to Charlotte.
After a couple of minutes, Charlotte’s voice said, “Lucy, are
you OK? Did something go wrong at the Cherub?”
“No,” Lucy said, “everything went fine.” She took a deep breath.
“I’m really sorry to bother you, but I went home, to Brody’s place,
and Emily Stone was there. Brody was screwing her while I was in
the womb. I almost did something really stupid.”
8 R. H. Watson

“Try not to think about it,” Charlotte said. “Come over here.
You can stay with me until we get this sorted out. I’ll put on
some tea. See you soon?”
“Yeah, soon. Thanks,” Lucy said. The sky had clouded over; it
started to rain. “Fuck!”

It was nearly three-thirty when the public car dropped Lucy at

the Winnebago Graveyard. The rain was now a downpour. She
walked across the uneven cobblestone, letting her feet splash in
the puddles with determined indifference.
Charlotte waited next to her hatch with an umbrella. She was
wearing a white nightdress and rubber boots. When Lucy got to
her, Charlotte hugged her with both arms while holding the um-
brella straight up to block the rain.
“I’m all wet,” Lucy said.
“Me too, now,” Charlotte said. She let go of Lucy and stepped
back. The front of her nightdress was soaked from the hug. “Come
on, let’s get out of the rain.” She let Lucy go down the stairs, then
followed. The hatch closed when they were both inside.
“I’m so stupid,” Lucy said.
“Brody’s a bastard.” Charlotte took a terrycloth robe out of the
closet by the stairs and handed it to her. “There are towels in the
shower room, and you can hang your wet clothes in the stall. The
fans will blow them dry by morning.” While Lucy was drying
herself off, Charlotte dropped the dinette table to convert the din-
ing nook into a bed. She pulled out and dressed the mattress.
Lucy came out wearing the robe. Charlotte handed her a cup
of tea. She sat on the bed and looked at the sleeve of the robe.
“I was wearing one of these four hours ago. I should have
stayed in the Cherub’s dorm until morning, but I wanted to get
home.” She squeezed her eyes closed. Another growl came out
of her throat.
Charlotte pulled a chair up to the bed and put her hand on
Lucy’s knee. “They deserve each other.”
 Gladiator Girl 9

“Brody, that stupid son of a bitch!” Lucy said. She was talking
and clenching her teeth at the same time. “Fuck! Why tonight? I
feel like a . . . such a . . . used!”
“We’ll take care of him tomorrow. Now you need to calm
down and get some rest.” Charlotte took Lucy’s tea and put both
cups in the kitchenette sink, then sat on the bed. Lucy curled up,
laid her head in Charlotte’s lap, and closed her eyes. “We come
out of those wombs physically mature women,” Charlotte said
while stroking Lucy’s hair, “but for days or weeks, our bodies
and minds are tricked into believing we’re babies again. It takes
a while to get ourselves sorted out.” She continued to comb
Lucy’s hair until her breathing settled into the steady rhythm of
deep sleep, then she slipped off the bed and tucked in her friend.
 Chapter 2
Burning Desire

Charlotte shook Lucy’s shoulder.

“Ermph,” Lucy said through squinted eyes. “You’re dressed.”
“Yes, and showered—though not in that order.”
“What time is it?”
“Seven twenty-two.”
“How much sleep did I get?”
“Except for some excitement earlier this morning, and including
your womb time, you’ve had almost two and a half weeks of sleep.”
Lucy sat up and stretched her arms, then leaned against the
settee backrest. She was still wearing the robe Charlotte had lent
her. She let her head loll back so she could look up through the
skylight. The sky was blue with a few puffy pink clouds. “Can
people see in through that?”
“No, it’s frosted on the outside.”
“One-way frosting,” Lucy said. “Mmm, it’s making me hungry.”
“I made toast,” Charlotte said.
Lucy rolled her head off the settee. “Toast? I say ‘one-way
frosting’ and all you can offer is toast?”
“What’s one-way frosting?”
“I don’t know, but when I age-out, I’m using my blood money
to open a confectionery that specializes in it.”
“I’m going to open a toast store,” Charlotte said.
 Gladiator Girl 11

“Who’s going to go to a store specifically to buy toast?”

“French people.”
“There already is french toast,” Lucy said.
“Yes, and French people don’t eat it. I’m not going to sell
french toast. I’m going to sell toast to French people.”
“Huh, it might work.” Lucy looked around. “Where’s the toilet?”
“In the shower. It folds out of the wall. The sink folds out too,
and there are guest toothbrushes in the cabinet behind the mirror.”
Lucy slid off the bed and headed for the shower room. “How
many guest toothbrushes do you have?”
“Five.”
“Five? You can’t even fit five people in here.”
“It’s possible,” Charlotte said, “but afterward everyone really
needs to use a toothbrush.”
Ten minutes later Lucy was out of the shower. Charlotte had
unmade the bed and converted it back into a dinette. “Your
clothes are in the closet by the stairs,” she said.
Lucy slid the closet door open. “So, this is your new house?
The one you spent all your prize money on?”
“Not all of it. What do you think?”
“It’s tiny.”
“It’s a winnebago traveling canister, converted to a domicile.”
“It’s buried under a cobblestone road.”
“Not a road, a former parking lot. It was wasted space ever
since private cars were banned from the city. I think it was rather
brilliant to turn it into a neighborhood.”
Lucy dressed and picked up her coffee and toast. They were
both quiet for a bit, then Charlotte said, “You can stay here.”
“No, I couldn’t . . .”
“You’re not moving back into the club dorm.”
They were quiet again.
“Thanks,” Lucy said.
“If you want, I’ll get your things from Brody’s apartment.”
“No, I can deal with him today. I’ve decided he can keep his penis.”
12 R. H. Watson

“That’s very magnanimous of you,” Charlotte said. She went

into the bedroom and came out with her workout bag and foil
case. She put her hand on Lucy’s shoulder. “I’ll see you back
here this evening. We can go out for dinner and discuss the living
arrangements.” Lucy nodded. Charlotte headed up the stairs. “I
already told the hatch that you’ll be staying.”
Lucy stood in the kitchenette, and finished her toast and cof-
fee, then she picked up her sword, climbed the stairs, and went
out the hatch, leaving her bag behind in her new home.

While she walked through the Winnebago Graveyard to the public

car kiosk, Lucy sent a high priority message: “Brody, I’m coming
over to get my stuff. I expect to have access to your apartment―start-
ing now. You really don’t want to cross me on this.”
Half an hour later, she was standing in front of Brody’s door
for the second time that morning. This time, when she pressed
her key against the door, she heard the locks release. She pushed
on the door and walked in.
“Hi, Lucy,” Brody said. He was standing in the living room. It
looked like he had just stood up from the sofa.
“I’m not here to talk,” Lucy said. “I’m getting my stuff.”
She walked into the bedroom and opened the closet. Her
clothes were all there, including her blue and orange frog robe.
She got her three moving bags off the top shelf and packed her
clothes from the closet into the first one, then she pulled out the
dresser drawers that contained her things, put the contents into
the second bag, and tossed the empty drawers on the bed. She
collected her things from the dresser top, the floor, the laundry
hamper, and stuffed them in the bag. She sealed the full bags and
carried them into the living room.
Brody hadn’t moved. “I’m sorry about last night,” he said.
“You’re lucky about last night,” Lucy said. She walked around
the living room and kitchen collecting everything that was hers
and tossing it into the third bag.
 Gladiator Girl 13

“You wouldn’t really have . . . you know, if Emily wasn’t here

to stop you?” Brody’s hands instinctively made a protective
move toward his crotch.
“If Emily wasn’t here, I would have been making love to your
‘you know,’” Lucy said.
In the shower room, she used her arm to plow her cosmetics
and toiletries off the shelves and into the bag.
Brody followed her to the shower room door. “Given the cir-
cumstances, last night, you wouldn’t—”
“Brody,” Lucy said, “your genitals were probably safe last
night and they are definitely safe today.” She opened the his-and-
hers sex toys drawer and started tossing the his toys in the toilet
and the hers toys in the moving bag. When she was finished, she
sealed the bag.
“You’re in my way.” Brody moved back. She slipped her sword
under her belt, slung one bag over her shoulder, and grabbed the
other two by their handles. She hauled the bags out of Brody’s
apartment, down the stairs, and to the local public car kiosk.

Half an hour later, she was unpacking in Charlotte’s little buried

house. She managed to find places for all of her clothes and
things without having to move any of Charlotte’s stuff. It helped
that all the drawers in the kitchenette and around the dinette were
empty. She took over a narrow broom closet next to the dinette
for her sword and club gear.
She sat at the dinette table with the cleaning kit she had re-
covered from Brody’s and cleaned, polished, and oiled her long-
sword, then she opened its scabbard; the equipment assistants
never did a proper job cleaning out the blood.
When she was finished, Lucy looked for something to eat and
found that Charlotte only had coffee, tea, and bread for toast.
She picked up her training bag and sword, and went up top for
a look around her new home turf. The winnebago canisters
hadn’t been completely buried. The cobblestone was raised
14 R. H. Watson

around each one, turning the old parking lot into a collection of
oblong patios with the curved winnebago skylights poking
through. The denizens had covered their patios with potted
plants, cast iron chairs, flags, whirligigs, and whatnots. Char-
lotte’s patio was bare.
“Good morning.”
Lucy turned around. A man, maybe in his mid-forties, had
come out of the neighboring winnebago and was standing on his
patio. “Wicks,” he said, “Dudley Wicks.” He tapped his finger to
his hat. He was wearing heavy gloves and coveralls.
“Lucy Star,” Lucy said. “I’ll be staying with Charlotte for
a while.”
“Ah,” Dudley said.
“I’m a friend of hers,” Lucy said. Dudley didn’t react. “A
friend, friend? From way back? We met at the Academy.”
Still no reaction. “The Concepción Academy of Rebirth
Athletics?”
“Ah!” he said and glanced at her sword. “Nasty business.” He
took off his glove and extended his hand. “Welcome to the
Graveyard.”
“Thanks.” Lucy shook his hand. She had to reach up. “But it’s
not nasty.”
“What’s that?”
“What we do.”
“Ah,” he said.
“Do you know where I could get something to eat? A cafe,
lunch counter?”
“There’s a sandwich shop about, oh, one hundred paces past
the public car kiosk.” He pointed to the south.
“Thanks,” Lucy said. “It was nice meeting you, Dudley.”
“Ah, yes,” he said. “Goodbye.” He picked up a crate of
gardening supplies and carried it to a collection of box gardens
that covered the back half of his patio.
***
 Gladiator Girl 15

After eating, Lucy took a public car to the Burning Desire train-
ing complex and had it drop her at the player entrance. There
was a score of fans behind the security fence. “Hey, Lucy!”
“Lucy Star!” “Good game Lucy!” She walked over to them. A
girl pushed a match program and pen through the fence. “Can
you sign this, please?”
“Sure.” Lucy signed her name, replacing the ‘t’ in ‘Star’ with
a five pointed star. She handed the pen and program back
through the fence.
“You were brilliant against Bright Savanna,” the girl said.
“What you did to defended the Goddess, it was so audacious—”
She grinned and blinked back a tear.
“Thanks,” Lucy said. “I expect my coach will have a different
opinion.” She signed a few more programs, a souvenir wooden
sword, and a picture of herself.
“Can I see your sword?” the boy with the picture said.
“Sorry, no. It only gets unsheathed for cleaning, practice, and
for a game.” And for threatening to cut off my cheating boy­
friend’s penis.
She waived and walked back to the player entrance. Frank, the
security guard, held the door for her. “Where’d they all come
from?” Lucy said.
“They knew you’d be here this afternoon. Started collecting
about an hour ago.”
“Really?”
“Better get used to it while you’re still a rookie. It’ll only get
worse, or better, depending on how you look at it.”
“I suppose.” She went in and headed down the corridor to
Coach Kai’s office. She could hear the team in the practice arena
and wanted to be there with them, but Coach was expecting her
at fourteen o’clock.
This was Coach Kai’s first season with Burning Desire, and her
first season as a head coach. She was old for blood battle—Lucy
guessed sixty, or something—her League bio didn’t say, but it did
16 R. H. Watson

say she was ex-army and had applied to coach in the BB League
after retiring from the military. Lucy knocked on her door.
“Come in. Sit down.” Coach Kai held out her hand to an old
wooden office chair in front of her desk. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine. How else would I be?” Lucy sat in the chair, it was
solid and comfortable. She rested her sword between her left leg
and the armrest.
“I don’t mean physically,” Coach Kai said. “I mean emotion-
ally, considering what happened this morning.”
“How do you know about that?”
“The rumor that you tried to cut off your boyfriend’s jizzum
stick has been rolling through the local BB locker rooms like a
drunken katamari ball.”
“Who talked?”
“Apparently, it was your boyfriend.”
“Ex-boyfriend.”
“Yes, well, you scared the Mother’s load out of him. He told a
friend about the scheme, who told a friend—”
“Scheme?”
“Turns out Emily Stone set the whole thing up. She was trying
to provoke you into violating League rules.”
“Why?”
Coach Kai picked up a pencil and twiddled it between her fin-
gers. “How about we get back to her after reviewing your game.
What’s the last thing you recall?”
“Hmm, I saw their guardian take out Bridgett . . . I never saw
Grenada after she went through the hedge. Our forwards were
singing that Savanna’s guards had killed her before she reached
their temple. With Han and Kelcie already dead, we were out of
chargers. Our only chance to win was an attrition fight down in
the grass which we were, well, already losing, and they still had
two chargers.
“In our arena, two of Savanna’s forwards were dead, but we
had lost Fausta, Hildegard, and Chiyo. Because of that, our
 Gladiator Girl 17

guards lost control of the center paths. Then the forwards sang an
alert that the two Savanna chargers were skating for the
hedge . . . That’s when it gets garbled, so I guess I didn’t last
much longer.”
Coach Kai invoked the game review. “Here’s the start of your
last several seconds.” An overhead view of the blood battle field
blurred into focus on the animation board under her desktop
glass. It was zoomed in to show only Burning Desire’s arena.
She pushed a loose stack of papers out of the way. For ex-milit-
ary, her office was kind of cluttered.
Coach Kai started playing the review. “Their forwards took
down Mim and drew Cinnamon to the right,” She pointed with
her pencil, “clearing the way for their chargers to reach your
temple at full speed.”
Lucy watched the chargers skate out of the hedge, race along
the narrow paths that were partly hidden by the tall field grass,
and jump the lowland stream. They arrived at the plaza, kicked
off their skates, and with the forward momentum gained from
skating the length of the field, they leapt up the tiers of the
temple pyramid, one from the left, one from the right. Coach Kai
paused the replay.
“Wow,” Lucy said. “Their timing is perfect. Whichever one I
attack I expose myself to the other. I’m dead. Fuck!”
“Language,” Coach Kai said.
“Sorry.”
Coach Kai zoomed in to the top of the temple. The girl repres-
enting the Goddess sat on her heels on the altar wearing her
simple white vestment. Her back was straight; her head was held
high. She was serene and indifferent to the furious fight for her
neck about to erupt just behind her. Coach Kai set the replay go-
ing in slow motion. Lucy watched herself take a step closer to
the Goddess. Coach Kai paused again. “Why did you do that?”
“I don’t know. This is way into the short term memory
shadow. I don’t remember any of this.”
18 R. H. Watson

“Why do you think you did it?”

Lucy studied the frozen scene and flipped through several dif-
ferent views, then she remembered Mary’s finger at the Happy
Cherub drawing the path of her wound, starting from her left arm
and continuing almost all the way across her back. Almost all the
way! “I got it,” she said.
“Tell me.”
“The charger coming up on the left is left handed―” She sat
forward. “That’s Emily Stone!”
“Indeed,” Coach Kai said. “What happens next?”
“I attack the charger on the right with my long-sword while
attempting to draw my short-sword to block Emily.”
“It won’t work,” Coach Kai said. “Kinesthetic intelligence or not,
their synchronization has to be off by at least a couple hundredths of
a second for you to switch your attention between the two.”
“That’s irrelevant,” Lucy said. “What I actually want is to get
my left arm down against my side. I don’t really want to block
Emily, I’m trying to provoke her. She’s left handed, and she’s
already winding up for a left to right attack, see? By stepping
closer to the Goddess I’m reducing the scope of her attack, mak-
ing her use finesse rather than force. I want my left arm down to
get as much flesh and bone in the path of her blade as possible so
she doesn’t cut all the way through my torso. And I bet I’m go-
ing to put all my weight on my right leg just as her blade cuts
into my arm.”
“Why?” Coach Kai said.
“It’s the other reason I took that step closer to the Goddess.
When I die, I want to fall to my left. I’m counting on Emily’s
sword getting caught in my ribs, at least for a moment, and I’m
now close enough to the Goddess so when my body falls, it falls
against her or at least close enough so Emily’s sword scratches
her back. Emily causes a foul, and we win. Boo-yah!”
Coach Kai started the replay at normal speed. It was over in a
second, exactly as Lucy had described.
 Gladiator Girl 19

“The Savannas tried to claim you caused the foul since you set it
up, but by the rules, the moment you lost motor control from a mor-
tal wound it became Emily’s responsibility to prevent the error.
“Xaun was the senior surviving offensive player. With no
chargers left, it fell to her to performed the penalty beheading of
Savanna’s goddess. She made a good, precise cut, not easy to do
with a forward’s field sword. Would you like to see it?” Coach
Kai reached to advance the review to the next tabbed event.
“I’d rather not, if you don’t mind.”
“Oh? Yes, of course.” She relaxed her finger, picked up her
pencil, and tapped the desk. “You were credited with the win and
named M.V.P. Better be ready for a cold shower tomorrow.” She
pointed the pencil eraser at Lucy. “Don’t let it go to your head.”
Lucy sat back and let it go straight to her head, but not for
long. “So I tricked Emily into losing the game. That’s what her
revenge scheme was about?”
“No. The latest blood test for Lilly Aguilar, the top charger for
Diana’s Glory, came back with a red flag. She’ll age-out within
six months, and she’s not even twenty-five. They tried to keep it
quiet, but had to pull her from their active player list and
scramble to find a replacement in the farm clubs. The word was,
Emily would get the nod, then you tricked her into committing a
match losing foul, and the Glories passed her over―for our own
Segune, as it turned out.”
“Huh,” Lucy said. “What do you know.”
“She tried to get you expelled from the League. I spent all
morning arguing your case with the Propriety Board. Eventually,
they agreed your judgement was impaired because of your just
concluded rebirth, and Emily was admonished for not being more
sensitive to your situation. You were lucky. Do you understand?”
Lucy nodded.
“Good. Be ready to work yourself hard starting tomorrow. You’re
on the roster for the next match against Beauty Incarnate. Your ap-
pointment at Pete’s Tattoo is in fifteen minutes, better get going.”
20 R. H. Watson

They stood and Coach Kai held out her hand. “Good to have
you back.”
Lucy shook it. “Thanks Coach.”
“One more thing,” Coach Kai said. “If you ever again draw
your sword in the presence of an unprotected person, I’ll be the
one throwing you out of the League.”

Pete’s Tattoo was close enough for Lucy to make her appoint-
ment with a brisk walk east through the Seafront Park in the Old
Harbor District. The fans had dispersed so she slipped out the
player entrance, unnoticed.
“Hey, Lucy,” Second Pete said when she walked in.
“Hey, Second Pete.”
“The kid is just finishing up with another client.”
“Hi, Lucy,” Todd said from his work station. He was leaning
over a client’s back, working on a major project. The reference
drawing on the wall showed a grizzly bear biting off the head
of a horse.
“Hi, Todd.”
“We’ve been seeing quite a few of the girls from your last
match,” Second Pete said. “Great save, by the way.”
“Thanks. I do what I can.” Lucy glanced at the pictures
hanging on the wall. There were six group pictures of Burning
Desire players; Lucy was in the back, top row of the newest one,
lined up with the other guardians. Everyone was sporting their
team tattoos; some were fresh, done the day of the picture.
“You make a killing off of us, don’t you,” Lucy said.
“It helps,” Second Pete said. “But we had to put in two extra
work stations and we bring in freelance artists every two weeks
to handle the work.” He flipped his thumb at the back of the
room where a couple of artists were setting up. “Hildegard and
Fausta are coming in later.”
Lucy moved to another set of pictures showing the best work
from the three generation history of the shop. “This is your dad,
 Gladiator Girl 21

Original Pete?” She was looking at a picture of a tattoo artist, his

own arms and torso covered with ink. He was shaking hands
with a sumo wrestler showing off a coiled dragon that wound
around his belly.
Second Pete wheeled over. “Yup, and that’s the Mighty Cal-
houn, greatest wrestler of his generation. It’s still a popular sport.
No blood version yet.” He cracked a smile and winked at Lucy,
but she wasn’t biting.
“It’s a pain in the ass that we have to get our tattoos redone
every time we pop out of a womb,” Lucy said, “but I can’t ima-
gine committing myself to a permanent one and being stuck with
it for the rest of my life. What if I change my mind?”
“What if you do? You’re stuck with the consequences of every
decision you ever make, big or little, good or bad. A tattoo, even
if it embarrasses you years later, at least lets you know you lived
your life with some gumption. Why the dark thoughts?”
“I just got reminded that my career’s going to last five or six
more years, if I’m lucky. Then what?”
“You come back here and have Todd give you your first per-
manent tattoo to commemorate the event. Getting a tattoo is noth-
ing compared to what you did. You let them change your genes.”
“No I didn’t. One of my ova was changed so it would grow into
my memory placenta, that’s it. I’m the same as I always was.”
“Yeah? Well, that’s one hell of an egg.” Second Pete pointed
at her belly. “Let’s see it. I’ve got to get my bet in on your innie-
outie pool.” Lucy pulled up her shirt, and Second Pete leaned
close for a good look at the stub of her umbilical cord.
“Hmm . . . I’m putting my money on an outie.”
“Pretty risky. I’ve never had one yet.”
“I’ve got a feeling this time’s going to be different. I always
go with my gut.” Second Pete glanced at Todd’s work station.
“Looks like you’re next.”
The back tattoo client climbed out of the chair and checked
Todd’s work in the mirror. He was nearly two meters tall with
22 R. H. Watson

wide, strong shoulders. Lucy watched his trapezius and latis-

simus dorsi muscles flex and relax under his skin as he twisted
one way and another to see the full tattoo. His obliques were nice
too, and his abdominals were great. She imagined gliding her
cheek along those undulations, but there was something odd
about them that forced her to drop her fantasy and take a profes-
sional look. At first she couldn’t see it, then she realized he had a
scar on his belly, about four centimeters long. She thought it was
a surgery scar, but in the mirror, she saw a corresponding scar on
his back that had been camouflaged by the tattoo. It looked like
he had been run through with something. She couldn’t tell how
old it was. For all the stabbing and dismemberment of blood
battle, she wasn’t used to seeing scars and didn’t know how to
read them.
The client dug a big tip out of his coin purse and handed it to
Todd. “Good work, man. Thanks.”
He pulled a t-shirt over his head followed by a sweater with
an outer layer of loose wool that Lucy wanted to run her fingers
through. “Nice tattoo,” she said. He left the shop, pushing past
her without a word.
“He’s a good customer,” Second Pete said, “but he doesn’t
like you girls and your swords, he thinks it’s unnatural.”
“He needs to get over it,” Lucy said. “Maybe I could help?”
“He’d be a hard nut to crack.”
“I’ve cracked harder nuts than his.”
Second Pete guffawed. Todd shook his head.
“He set me up,” Lucy said to Todd. “I’m not going to deny an
old man a laugh.”
“Thanks. Now I’ll have to listen to him tell that story all
week. Ready to go?”
Lucy took off her shirt and sat back in the chair. Todd brought
out Burning Desire’s official inks and stencils. “Sorry to hear
about your boyfriend,” he said.
“Ex-boyfriend.”
 Gladiator Girl 23

***
Charlotte took Lucy to a local pub called the Pony ’n Pony. Lucy
pointed to a high table against the wall; one with stools. “How
about there? These tattoos are too itchy for a backrest.”
“Sure,” Charlotte said. She signaled the barman with two fin-
gers. He drew a couple of draughts and sent them over via the
bar-boy.
Lucy studied the menu. “What do you recommend?”
“I usually have the lentil stew.”
“Usually? Have you ever tried anything else?”
“No.”
“I’ll have the couscous,” Lucy said to the bar-boy. “She’ll
have the lentil―”
“Two couscous,” Charlotte said. “You only live so many
times, right?”
The bar-boy trotted off with their order.
A couple stopped next to their table. “Hey Charlotte. Who’s
your friend?”
“Hi,” Charlotte said to them. “This is Lucy, my new room-
mate. Lucy, meet Toni-I and Tony-Y.”
“Eye and Why? Oh.” Lucy laughed. “A pleasure to meet you.”
“Do you also fence?” Tony-Y said.
“Nope, I play blood battle.”
“Really?” Toni-I said. “I’m sorry, I don’t recognize you. Are
you with Diana’s Glory?”
“She’s a big fan of the Glories,” Tony-Y said.
“I play for Burning Desire.”
“What position?” Toni-I said.
“Guardian.” Lucy held up her sword.
“Oh. Oh! Are you Lucy Star?”
“When is this Brody rumor going away?” Lucy said to
Charlotte.
“What rumor?” Toni-I said.
“It’s nothing,” Charlotte said.
24 R. H. Watson

“I mean,” Toni-I said, “are you the Lucy Star who pulled off
that amazing game save two weeks ago?”
“I guess,” Lucy said.
“Yes,” Charlotte said.
“The whole League was talking about it. Everybody’s got
their eye on you.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Too bad about Emily Stone though, losing her chance at
the big leagues.”
“That fu―”
“Yes, too bad,” Charlotte said.
The Pony ’n Pony was getting crowded. The bar-boy wedged
himself between Toni-I and Tony-Y to deliver their couscous.
“It was great meeting you,” Toni-I said. The Tonies, I and Y,
continued to the back of the pub.
Charlotte picked up a bit of couscous on her fork and tasted it.
“The main thing we have to figure out,” she said, “is who gets
the shower room first and how do we handle sex.”
“Sex? What about that?” Lucy pointed at Charlotte’s plate.
“It’s good.”
“Better than lentil stew?”
“Different.” Charlotte took another taste.
“Humph,” Lucy said. “You’ve always been an early riser, so
why don’t you go first. As long as I’m in the shower by seven
fifteen, I’ll be fine.”
“Would you mind getting up and making coffee and toast?”
“Do you really, only eat toast every morning?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, I’ll make coffee and toast. Would you mind if I bought
some actual food and cooked it now and then?”
“As long as you don’t stink up the place.”
“Some people think cooking makes a house smell better.”
“We’ll see.” Charlotte ate a fork-full of couscous. “I’ve got a
bedroom, so you’ll only have to deal with my lovers when they
 Gladiator Girl 25

walk back and forth to the toilet, but you’re essentially going to
be having sex on the dining room table. Will that be OK?”
“Fine with me,” Lucy said, “if you don’t mind eating your
toast off that same table.” She tapped her plate with her fork.
“This is really good.”
They finished eating. The bar-boy cleared away their dishes
and they ordered another round of beer.
“I need to ask you to do something for me,” Charlotte said. “I
have a fencing bout Saturday night. I’d like you to be there.”
“You know you don’t have to ask. Who are you fighting?”
“Winnie Chaturvedi.”
“Wow. She’s ranked number one,” Lucy said. “That’s a cham-
pionship event.”
“Yes it is, that’s why I want you there.”
“Sure, when and where?”
“It’s a sanctioned event, but private. Very exclusive―no fam-
ily and friends box. The only way I can get you in is to make you
my second.”
“I’m not qualified. Isn’t a second supposed to take your place
if you can’t fight?”
“In theory, but that never happens, and if it did, you would
formally forfeit the bout. I’d lose my ranking, but that would
also happen if you fought and lost. The second is really an assist-
ant. You help me prepare for the bout, and when we go out to the
fencing strip, you play the second’s part in the bout rituals. If I
lose, you collect my things, supervise my recovery team, and
make sure my body arrives at the womb-atorium and is safely in-
terred in a womb.”
“I expect I’ll need permission from the Blood Battle League.
I’m not licensed to participate in another blood sport.”
“You won’t be fencing, so your life won’t be at risk. This sort
of thing happens more often than you might think. It just needs
to be a contract between clubs. Your club will be lending you to
my club to temporarily fill a non-hazardous support role. It won’t
26 R. H. Watson

take any time away from your practice, and Burning Desire
makes extra money by lending you out for an evening.”
“So I’m being traded around for money?”
“You get paid, too.”
“Okay, I’ll do it.”

It was after midnight when they got back to Charlotte’s win-

nebago. They were both a little drunk. Charlotte showed Lucy
how to convert the dinette for sleeping, then retired to her bed-
room, put on a fresh nightdress, and went to bed. She listened to
Lucy rummage around, use the toilet, brush her teeth, and crawl
into her own bed.
Quiet settled over Charlotte’s little buried house. She laid on
her back, watched the stars twinkle through the skylight, and
drifted to sleep thinking about confections coated with one-way
frosting.
 Chapter 3
The Boy from There

The next day, the day after she was reborn; Lucy walked into the
locker room at seven fifty.
“Look who finally dropped,” Mim said.
“Hey, Mim,” Lucy said. She ambled over to her locker, and
girls started collecting. She opened the door, stuffed her bag in,
set her long-sword in its cradle next to her short-sword, took off
her sweater, hung it inside, emptied her pockets, and put
everything on the top shelf. She closed the door and turned
around. “Okay,” she said, “you ready to do this?”
The girls relaxed. Cinnamon was next to Lucy and Fausta
was on the other side of the bench that ran down the middle of
the locker row. Cinnamon reached out to take Lucy’s arm. Lucy
slipped her foot behind Cinnamon’s heel, planted her forearm
under her clavicles, and stepped into her, tripping her back
against the lockers. She bent low, reached under Fausta’s arm
and around to her back, grabbed a handful of t-shirt, and pulled,
twisting her around and toppling her over the bench. Lucy
jumped onto the bench and ran down the row. Everyone trying to
follow was tripping over Cinnamon and Fausta. At the end of the
row, she leapt off and collided with Bridgett. They tumbled to
the floor. Bridgett tangled herself up with Lucy’s arms and legs
long enough for the others to catch up. They grabbed her and lif-
28 R. H. Watson

ted her over their heads. The players who had died along with
Lucy in her last game were given the privilege of hauling her ass
to the shower. The water was already running. Tanneth stood just
outside the spray, reaching in and waving her hand in front of the
sensor to keep it going.
They tossed Lucy in. She landed on her feet, stood up, put her
hands on her hips, and let the water splash off her head and soak
her clothes. “Happy now? Can I come out?”
“Turn around,” Chiyo said, making a pirouette twirl with her fin-
ger. Lucy turned all the way around. She was thoroughly soaked.
“You can come out.”
Lucy stepped out from under the spray. “That was nice,” she
said. “You should try it.” She reached for Chiyo and everyone
backed up. The shower shut off. Lucy clamped her teeth together
to keep them from chattering and flashed a satisfied smile. She
walked back to the locker room past her club mates, stripped out
of her wet clothes, and hung them to dry on the coat rack by the
door. Meanwhile, the other girls trickled to their lockers and the
gossip gate opened:
“I finally had one.”
“Are you sure?”
“Oh yes!”
“Have you heard about the boy gladiators?”
“It’s an urban legend.”
“So, what kind was it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Describe it.”
“Yeah, that story’s been going around for years.”
“But it was in the news. They found bodies.”
“There was no warning. Ollie went down on me, and was
doing his thing with his other finger, when all of a
sudden―I’m not sure what happened―but I hit him in the
mouth with my pubic bone; he cut his lip on a tooth!”
“No shit? Hahaha!”
 Gladiator Girl 29

“Boy gangs have been killing each other forever, but ever since
blood sports started, somebody’s always trying to blame it on us.”
“Yeah, ‘They’re over compensating.’ ‘They think they have to
die to prove they’re better than us.’ What bullshit.”
“Then I started shaking. My legs were jerking so much, I
was afraid I was going to kick his candy sack! It went away
and came back at least three more time, and then it was over.”
“It would be sad if it was true though, don’t you think?”
“If it was true, maybe.”
“I’d hate to think my Quentin feels inadequate because of me.”
“That camp follower you’re shacked up with? You should
drop his ass.”
“That was a Rodeo in a Box. No doubt about it.”
“I’m jealous. I want one, too.”
“You haven’t been chopped up enough yet. You need to be
in a womb for at least a week and a half. Two is better.”
“Yeah, Lucy fell for one of those guys and look how that
turned out―oh, sorry Lucy.”
Lucy put on her athletic suit jacket over her t-shirt and shorts,
then closed her locker door harder that she needed to.
“Time to get busy.” Angela Sáez, the defensive coach, was
standing at the locker room entrance. “Lucy. You, Hildegard, and
Fausta, report to physical therapy. Nice to have you back, by the
way—all three of you.”

On the way to the PT room, they passed a couple of the club

goddesses walking the other way. Lucy slipped behind Hildegard
and Fausta.
“What was that about?” Fausta said.
“It’s the guardian-goddess thing,” Hildegard said, “Right Lucy?”
“Uh-huh,” Lucy said.
“I don’t get it,” Fausta said.
“Come on. You don’t know about the guardian-goddess thing?”
“This is my rookie year, I’m still learning.”
30 R. H. Watson

“But we’re three matches into Delta—it’s the last third of

the season.”
“Sorry,” Fausta said.
“All right,” Hildegard said, “Guardians are trained to do one
thing—protect the Goddess, and as you know,” she glanced at
Fausta’s arm, “Lucy here, can be real extreme about it. But now
and then, when the opposition is about to botch a beheading and
commit a foul, guardians are supposed hold back and let it happen,
right? Well, it’s easier for them to do that if they only ever think of
the goddesses as, ‘The Goddess.’” She air-quoted. “So, guardians
and goddesses don’t interact because they don’t want guardians
thinking of goddesses as real people. Isn’t that right, Lucy?”
“Yeah,” Lucy said.
“I was talking to a goddess last week,” Fausta said. She coun-
ted on her fingers. “I mean, three weeks ago, before our last
match. Should I not have been?”
“We’re guards, not guardians,” Hildegard said, “for us it
doesn’t matter; for her,” she flipped her thumb at Lucy, “it does.”
She lowered her voice so she was mostly mouthing words. “But
she gets a little nuts about the whole thing.”
“Hey, I heard every word,” Lucy said. “I’m not nuts, I just . . .
Oh fuck, change the topic.”
Hildegard made a screw motion with her finger and mouthed
to Fausta, “Crazy.”
They turned into the PT room. Lucy set her long-sword in the
cradle by the door.
“About time,” Parisa Cartwright said. “You’re the last three
from your match to pop. You making a habit of being late?” She
closed the door. “Hildie, Fausta, you know the routine. Lucy,
long time, no see.”
“Don’t jinx me,” Lucy said.
“My job is to turn your womb-pampered muscles back into
predatory assets,” Parisa said, “give you back those reflexes you
need for no-mistakes lethal sword play.” She mimed swinging a
 Gladiator Girl 31

sword. “You work with me, and work hard; and in a couple of
days, you’ll be immune to jinxing. Ready?” Lucy nodded. “Good,
let’s check you muscle tone, see where we’re starting from.”

Parisa pushed the girls hard. By eleven o’clock Lucy was sweat-
ing, and her muscles were hurting, but she was feeling stronger
and more precise in her movement.
Donna Quinn, the head of the club’s security office, opened
the Physical Therapy door and motioned to Lucy. “Outside,
please,” she said. “It’ll just be a minute,” she said to Parisa.
Lucy followed Donna into the corridor. “What is it?” She was
breathing hard from the workout.
“We’ve got someone at the front desk who claims to be your
brother, Zachary Knole. Do you know anything about this?”
“No,” Lucy said. She wiped the sweat off her forehead with
the hem of her t-shirt. “Are you sure?”
“That’s what he says. We’re checking on him right now. Your
background, before you arrived at the Academy, is pretty
sketchy. Do you even have a brother?”
Lucy didn’t say anything. Her fingers curled into her palms.
“It’s a simple question,” Donna said.
“Yes, and that was his name.”
Donna took a picture out of her folder. “This is the guy. Does
he look familiar?”
She looked at it, but didn’t touch it. “That’s sharp, for a
security camera.”
“No it’s not.”
“That could be him. He was ten the last time I saw him.” She
looked away from the picture and away from Donna.
“So, he’d be . . . sixteen now?” Donna said.
“I guess.”
“You’ve been estranged from your family and legally eman-
cipated since you were fourteen. Do you have any idea why your
brother would be here today, without any warning?”
32 R. H. Watson

“No, and I don’t care.”

“This is a potential security issue. If you want, we can make
him go away.”
“Go away?” Lucy’s focus came back to Donna.
Donna chuckled. “Not like that. I can tell him to go away and
leave you alone, and make sure he gets the message.”
“That doesn’t sound much better.”
“It’s not.”
“Before you do anything, can you let me know what you
find out?”
“Sure, what do you want to do with him in the mean time?”
“Let him wait.” Lucy looked off again, past Donna’s shoulder.
“If I decide to talk to him, it won’t be until the end of the day.”

Lucy had her lunch tray, her short-sword, and her cleaning kit.
She sat next to Frankie at the guardian table in the cafeteria.
“You gonna clean that thing here?” Frankie said.
“Sword training’s next. I don’t want Bimini turning up her
nose at my imperfectly maintained blade. I haven’t had a chance
to clean it until now. Yesterday was busier than I expected.”
“Hah! So I heard.”
Serendipity put her tray on the table and sat on Lucy’s other
side. “Was Brody’s penis erect or flaccid when you considered
cutting it off?” she said.
“What the fuck?” Frankie said. “That’s the first thing you
thought of to say? How about, ‘Hi Lucy. Welcome back?’”
“You didn’t say, welcome back,” Lucy said. She wiped her
short-sword blade with a dry cloth.
“It’s still a fucking weird question,” Frankie said.
“If I didn’t ask, I wouldn’t know whether to be impressed or
not,” Serendipity said.
“It was flaccid,” Lucy said.
“See? Now I’m impressed.”
“My ‘What the Fuck,’ still stands,” Frankie said.
 Gladiator Girl 33

“You know Lucy doesn’t do anything with her swords without

already knowing she can succeed,” Serendipity said. “Anybody
could cut off an erect penis, but if she thought she could cut off a
flaccid one and leave the scrotum intact, I’m impressed. That
was what you visualized, wasn’t it? Just the penis, nothing else?”
“First,” Lucy said, “the part about me always knowing ahead
of time? That’s bullshit. But yeah, in this case, I thought I could.
But I didn’t. I mean, I wasn’t really going to do it. You know
that, right?”
Frankie stuck a couple of fingers in her mouth and whistled.
The whole cafeteria was startled. She raised her hand, snapped
her fingers, and pointed at a girl in the middle of the room who
had stopped in her tracks. When she had the girl’s attention,
Frankie pointed at an empty chair at the table.
The girl came over. “You don’t mind?” she said.
“Sit,” Frankie said.
The girl sat and smiled at everyone. “Hi,” she said, “I’m Li-
liha, but you can call me Liha.”
“Nice to meet you. I’m Lucy.”
“I know,” she said. Her smile turned into a grin.
Lucy raised an eyebrow to Frankie.
“Uvan and Sandeep are wombed up and not expected to pop
in time for next Saturday’s match, so Liha was brought up from
the reserve squad to be the standby guardian.”
“Good to have you with us,” Lucy said to Liha. She started
polishing her sword. “A word of warning though,” she nodded at
Frankie. “This one’s putting on the nice, but she’ll do everything
she can to make you feel like an incompetent bug, so don’t be
afraid to tell her to go fuck herself. She won’t mind, in fact, she
makes a great go-fuck-yourself practice dummy.
“And this one,” Lucy nodded at Serendipity. “Good luck fig-
uring out what she’s talking about.”
“Thanks,” Serendipity said.
“See what I mean?”
34 R. H. Watson

***
After lunch they headed to the Sword Practice room.
“What’s Bimini Tanaka like?” Liha said.
“She’s nice, but old,” Serendipity said.
“She’ll cut you a new dung hole with one word,” Frankie said.
“She’s the smartest swordswoman I’ve ever met,” Lucy said.
Bimini walked into the room and closed the door. “Good af-
ternoon,” she said. “Welcome back,” she said to Lucy. “Liliha, I
look forward to working with you. To clarify, I am fifty-two
years old; my skill is adequate for teaching; and Frankie is the
only one in need of an additional anus. Please put on your short-
sword practice harnesses. You three,” she pointed at everyone
except Lucy, “warm up.”
She took Lucy to the side. “Simple exercises today. You chose.
Move at the speed of competence, nothing faster. No risks.” She
held up her index finger for emphasis. “You are womb weak, and
your coordination is compromised. Your ex-boyfriend is lucky. If
you had attempted a penis emasculation you would likely have
shaved off his quadriceps along with all of his genitalia.”
Bimini left Lucy alone for most of the afternoon, but once in a
while she came by and put her hand on Lucy to redirect her
movement. At sixteen o’clock Bimini said, “Very good.” Practice
was over.

Lucy took a shower, put on her street clothes (by now they were
dry), and picked up her long-sword and bag. She walked into the
corridor and turned toward the player entrance. Donna was wait-
ing. “Did you forget?” she said.
“No, not really,” Lucy said. “Is he still here?”
“He is.”
“I guess I was hoping—”
“I know,” Donna said.
Lucy adjusted her bag on her shoulder. “Okay, what did you
find out?”
 Gladiator Girl 35

“He’s definitely your brother. Five days ago he boarded a pub-

lic transit cabin in your home town, then rode free local services
across the country until he arrived here, today. He came straight
to the club. You changed your name after you were emancipated.
I don’t know how he knew you were here.”
“I got some inter-regional attention because of my last game,”
Lucy said. “Maybe he saw the story and recognized me?”
“I’m embarrassed,” Donna said. “I didn’t think of that. Have
you decided what you want to do?”
“I’d like to look at him. Do you have a one-way window, or a
camera I can use so he doesn’t know I’m there?”
“Sure.” Donna led the way to the lobby entrance, the one the
players didn't use. “You never talk about your family, so every-
body’s got a theory, and after poking around today, I’ve got a
few of my own,” she said, “but it’s been my experience, con-
trary to your basic shrink point of view, that if someone buries
their past, they probably have a good reason, and it’s better to
leave it buried.”
They went into a dim room with a window that looked out on
the reception area from behind the receptionist’s desk. There was
a waiting area beyond the desk with chairs and a low table. Zack
was sitting with his arms wrapped tight around his chest and his
hands tucked into his armpits. He was wearing jeans and an un-
zipped jacket over a t-shirt. A backpack sat on the floor between
the cheap sneakers he was wearing.
“From his side this looks like a picture of the players. You’re
in it, right about here.” Donna pointed to a spot left of center
near the top.
“I was looking at that picture yesterday at Pete’s Tattoo,”
Lucy said. “Didn’t anybody give him a magazine to read?”
“There are magazines on the table.”
Lucy watched him. He looked up at the clock, then at the re-
ceptionist, who ignored him, and then at a spot in the middle of
the floor. “Is he a security risk?”
36 R. H. Watson

“Not so far. The situation is still weird enough that we’ll be

keeping an eye on him.”
“If I take him around the corner to Alice’s Tea Shop are you
going to have someone follow us?”
“You bet.”
“Will they listen to what we say?”
“Do you promise to tell me if you think something’s wrong?”
“I promise.”
“Then we won’t listen.”
“Okay, I’ll talk to him,” Lucy said.
They went through a door next to the receptionist. Donna
stayed back and gave the receptionist a discrete OK sign. Lucy
walked over to Zack and stopped a meter away. He looked up.
“Hello, Zack,” she said.
Zack started to speak, but his voice was phlegmy. He cleared
his throat. “Hi Debbie,” he spoke with the accent she had trained
herself to lose within a month of leaving—that place.
“My name’s Lucy,” she said.
“You broke Mom and Dad’s hearts.”
This is absurd. Donna’s right, it’s stupid to dig this shit up.
“I wanted to break more than that,” Lucy said. She looked
back at Donna. Donna made a gesture with her thumb. Lucy was
pretty sure it meant, “Give me the word and I’ll kick his ass out.”
Lucy shook her head and turned back to Zack. “You see that big
woman over there?” Zack nodded. “She’s the head of security. If
I tell her to, she’ll throw you out and make sure you never come
back.” Fuck, I’m threatening to break his fingers again.
“Do you want me to go?” Zack said.
“Yes.” Zack got up. She held out her palm to stop him. “Wait.
Yes, I want you to go, but first, there’s a tea shop around the
corner. Let’s go there, and . . . see if we can talk about something.”
Sixteen year old Zack was nearly a head taller than Lucy. She
led him to the street door, let him go out first, then turned and
gave Donna a what-else-can-I-do? shrug before following.
 Gladiator Girl 37

Alice’s Tea Shop was one block away and around the corner
from the club. Lucy kept up a quick pace and didn’t say any-
thing. Zack was winded when they arrived.

The little bell hanging above the door jingled twice when Lucy
and a young man walked in. Mr. Fredrick was handing a take-
away cup of tea to one of the club’s goddesses.
“Thank you,” the goddess said and paid for her tea, adding a
tip and a kiss on the cheek.
“Always at your service,” he said.
The goddess glanced at Lucy and smiled. Lucy noticed,
caught herself, and looked away. The goddess bit her lip. She
watched Lucy lead the young man to a table, then she turned and
went out the door, jingling the doorbell.
“Two house teas, please,” Lucy said. Mr. Fredrick shook him-
self out of the reverie the goddesses always put him in and set
about preparing the infusions.

Lucy couldn’t think of anything to say. She was feeling dumber every
moment for trying to go along with whatever it was Zack wanted.
“How have you been?” Zack said.
Small talk!
“I’ve been fine,” Lucy said. “How about you? Did Dad hit
you lately?” She didn’t know she was going to say that! Lucy
realized she was squeezing the scabbard of her sword. She re-
laxed her hand.
“He never hit me like he did you,” Zack said. “And he
stopped all that, after you left.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“He did. He joined a group. You changed him.”
Don’t you dare say that! Lucy’s eyes settled on the best place
to strike Zack’s neck for a clean decapitation. “What about
your . . . our mother?”
“She caught the flu last month.”
38 R. H. Watson

“Does he still hit her?” She squeezed the scabbard so tight,

she felt it’s seams creak.
“You hit her too,” Zack said. Lucy started to growl. His
face went pale; his eyes went wide. “No! He didn’t hit her
anymore either!”
Mr. Fredrick brought over the tea, and retreated to the counter
without speaking.
“Just a minute,” Lucy said to Zack. She got up, walked out to
the sidewalk, and put in a talk-to request to Donna.
“Yes?” Donna said.
“Start listening.” Lucy broke the contact. She went back in
and sat down. She took a sip of her tea. Zack hadn’t touched his.
“Try it, it’s good,” she said. She watched his body language.
There was cowering in everything he did; all his movements
curved back on themselves.
“You’re lying,” she said.
“Really . . . things changed.”
“If he stopped hitting you and . . . Mom, then he’s doing some-
thing else.” Zack was blank. He didn’t move. “Look at you,” she
said. “Even here, half way across the country, everything about
you says he’s got you ready to piss in your pants.”
“You’re the one who’s scary!” Zack said.
Lucy’s mouth froze half open.
Like father like daughter? No!
She waited until she calmed down. “I’m sorry I left you there.”
She reached toward his hand, then pulled back. “I’m sorry I
couldn’t protect you and Mom. I found a way to escape and I took
it. I didn’t look back. I don’t want to look back. You want to know
how I’ve been? My life started at fourteen. I have friends. I’m
good at what I do. I’m really good at what I do, and I love it.”
They sat for a minute, Zack looking at his tea cup, Lucy look-
ing at him.
“There’s a shelter east of here,” Lucy said. “It’s called the
Helping Hand. They seem like good people. I shop at their thrift
 Gladiator Girl 39

store. They’ll put you up and help you find work.” Lucy leaned
forward and tried to make eye contact, but Zack kept his eyes
down. “Take care,” she said. “I hope things work out for you,
but . . . I don’t want to see you again. Do you understand?”
He nodded, then looked up. “Goodbye Deb―Lucy.” He stood
up with his backpack and walked out. The doorbell jingled.
Lucy picked up her tea and carried it to the counter. “Can I get
this in a take-away?”
“Absolutely,” Mr. Fredrick said. Lucy took out her coin
purse to pay.
“This one’s on the house.”
“Thanks.” She took the cup from Mr. Fredrick, pulled open
the door, and left. The bell jingled.
She headed to the public car kiosk by the club. Donna came up
and walked beside her. “Your story’s as old as the hills,” she said.
“I know,” Lucy said. “What a fucking cliché.”
“Until you’re caught in it, then it’s personal.”
They reached the lobby entrance to the club. “Are you going
to keep an eye on him?” Lucy said.
“For a while.”
“Make sure he’s okay.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“Good night,” Lucy said, “and thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” Donna pulled open the front door of the
club and went in.
While Lucy waited at the kiosk for a car, she thought it might
be fun to surprise Charlotte with a home-cooked meal.
 Chapter 4
Duel à Mort

The Helping Hand Social Services Society was in the business of

attracting lost souls who had been cast adrift. They provided
temporary shelter and security, and if they could, they helped
their residents find a place in the world.
That’s what the information sheet said—more or less, and
Wilhelmina Mazur did her best to live up to it. She picked up the
sheaf of overnight reports and leaned against the front of her
desk to read them and sip her coffee.
Christopher knocked on her open office door. “Your first in-
terview is here.” She flipped back to the top sheet. That would be
the young man who had walked into the shelter last night. She
looked up. He was standing behind Christopher. Shy, defensive
in posture, he avoided eye contact at all costs.
“Thank you,” she said to Christopher. “Please come in,” she
said to the new lost soul. “Have a seat.” Wilhelmina showed
him to one of the two arm chairs in her office. She walked
around her desk, collected her notebook and pen, and sat in the
other one.
“Good morning,” she said.
“Morning, ma’am.”
“How did you sleep?”
“Fine, thank you.”
 Gladiator Girl 41

She checked the admittance report. “You’re Zachary Tang, is

that correct?”
“Yes.”
“Do you prefer Zack or Zachary?”
“Zack.” He didn’t relax. Given the opportunity to choose their
preferred form of address, most interviewees relaxed, at least a little.
“That’s a nice accent you have, may I ask where you’re from?”
“They said last night you didn’t ask questions,” Zack said.
“That’s not quite correct. We ask, but you don’t have to an-
swer if you don’t want to. I’m asking in case there’s anyone back
home we can contact for you. Anyone who might be worried
about you?”
“No.”
“What about here in Heritage? Do you know anyone here?”
Zack shifted in his chair. “No.”
“I’m curious why you came to the city. It’s a long way
from home.”
Zack shrugged.
“Is there anything you need that we can help you with?”
Zack shook his head, but then said, “I need a place to stay, and
I need work. I was told you can help me find work.”
“We can do that. Do you have any skills we should know about?”
“I helped out on the yeast pond this summer. Syphoning
and raking.”
“That’s good to know. I’m sure we’ll find something for you,”
Wilhelmina said. “May I ask, who told you about us?”
Zack shifted again. “I . . . just heard people talk.”
“OK. Let’s go see Christopher.” She led Zack to Christopher’s
desk in the outer office.
Christopher checked a list. “We have an opening in the thrift store.”
Zack took a step back; blood drained from his cheeks. “No,”
he said. “I don’t think I’d be good at that.”
“It’s not difficult―”
“Maybe you could find something else?” Wilhelmina said.
42 R. H. Watson

Christopher flipped through a stack of cards. “You could work

on the trash detail. We have a contract with the city to empty the
trash baskets in the Old Harbor Seafront Park.”
“How will I know what to do?”
“You’ll be working with Neil, a good, industrious kid. He’ll
show you what the job entails. How does that sound?”
“Okay, I guess.”

“Hi Lucy,” Andrea said. “Congratulations on your last game.”

“Thanks,” Lucy said. She nodded at the other charger. “Kelcie.”
“Lucy,” Kelcie said.
“Warm up with basic attack-block-counterattack exercises,”
Mana Ebner said. Mana was the charger sword coach. This was the
weekly joint charger-guardian practice. They were starting with rote
exercises: good for warm-up, not for meaningful training.
Lucy and the two chargers put on their masks and faced off. “I
haven’t seen you before,” Lucy said to Andrea. They started
maneuvering through the predetermined steps.
“I was brought up from the reserves two weeks ago to replace
Sigune,” Andrea said. “The girl the Glories picked up to replace
Lilly Aguilar?”
“Right,” Lucy said.
“I should thank you. If you hadn’t messed up Emily Stone’s
record, I wouldn’t be here.”
“I suppose.”
“I’m in the next match against Beauty Incarnate. I’ll be char-
ging on Frankie’s team.”
“Good for you.”
“If the match goes to three games, maybe I’ll be charging for you.”
Kelcie broke the exercise pattern and hit Andrea on the back
of the head. “Ow!”
“Never wish for a third game,” Lucy said. “It’s bad charm.”
They finished the exercises. “Free-form attack and defend,”
Bimini said. “One group at a time. Frankie, Serendipity, Liha,
 Gladiator Girl 43

then Lucy.” There was a rectangle marked on the floor to match

the size and dimensions of the temple-top. Frankie walked out
and took up her waiting stance within its bounds. For this exer-
cise, the guardian had to stay inside the rectangle; it gave the
chargers a fair chance to win and stressed the guardian’s ability
to confront multiple attackers in a confined space. Frankie’s two
chargers conferred, spread apart, and moved in. Attack, block,
kill, kill. Real sword fights were almost always over in a second
or less, they never lasted more than two. Any practice stick strike
on a padded suit that would have resulted in a kill counted as
one. Frankie had killed both chargers. They went again, ten times
in all. Frankie won six of her fights.
Serendipity won seven. Liha won four. And Lucy—three. She
could handle Kelcie; the girl had been killed in Lucy’s last
match, and was only four days out of a womb. Like Lucy, her re-
flexes were slow. Andrea, the brand new rookie boiling with en-
thusiasm, was beating her. They walked off the floor, and Bimini
took Lucy aside.
“Her skill is crap,” Lucy said, “but she keeps getting the first cut.”
“You are too aggressive,” Bimini said. “Your body is not
ready. Let Andrea get her hits. Today she is better than you. By
Monday, I expect you to beat her ass.”
The next time they were up, Andrea wasn’t so successful.
Lucy won six fights. Better. But not good, not yet.

“How may I help you?” The receptionist’s gaze lingered a mo-

ment too long on her sword.
“Lucy Star. I’m here to see Charlotte Marceau.”
He consulted a calendar. “Ah, yes. Madam will be with you
shortly. Please, have a seat.”
Lucy didn’t sit; she was full of frustrated energy from a day of
practice that her body hadn’t been ready for. She walked to a
wall of pictures displaying the champions who had represented
the East Slope Fencing Club throughout its history. Second
44 R. H. Watson

Pete’s wall of heros was more colorful, but these formal poses
made the same point: we’ve been here longer than you’ve been
alive. Duel à Mort fencing was merely the newest form of the
sport. This long tradition was so different from blood battle,
which had been created brand new by Gunda Thorstenson just
twelve years ago.
Charlotte came into the lobby wearing fencing protective gear.
“I see you’ve been checking out our wall of renown.”
“You’re not on it,” Lucy said.
“They’re waiting until I age-out to see if I’m good enough to
be an august member. Come on back. I’ll show you around the
place.” She led Lucy through the door she had entered the lobby
by, and they turned down a hall.
An august fellow walking in the opposite direction didn’t
quite stop as he passed, but said to Charlotte, “Let’s talk tomor-
row. Need to clear up a few last minutes before Saturday even-
ing.” As he swept by, he gave Lucy a quick up-down look.
“I’ve got to warn you,” Charlotte said, “there’s a significant
amount of snobbery here toward blood battle.”
“Don’t worry, I’ve already run into it at your bouts, and the re-
ceptionist looked like he wanted to put me out with the trash.”
“I’ll have a word with him.”
“Don’t. I like knowing where I stand with people.”
They cut through a room of fencing strips that were in use by
a junior league. A girl of about fourteen ran up to them. “Char-
lotte,” she said. “Guess what, I’ve got my appointment to tryout
for the Academy next month!”
“That’s great, Tiffany,” Charlotte said. “I know you can do it!”
Tiffany grinned, then noticed Lucy. “Who’s your friend?” she said.
A younger girl ran over to join Tiffany. “Is that a blood battle
sword?” she said with some yuck in her voice.
“This is my friend, Lucy,” Charlotte said. “That is, indeed, a
blood battle guardian’s sword, and if you’re not nice, she’ll cut
your head off with it.”
 Gladiator Girl 45

“Don’t start another rumor,” Lucy whispered to Charlotte,

then patted the girl on the head. “Don’t worry, your head’s way
too pretty to cut off.”
“That didn’t help,” Charlotte whispered back. “We’ve got to
go,” she said to the girls.
“Bye!” they ran off. Tiffany’s friend looked scared and
watched Lucy over her shoulder. Charlotte led Lucy out a door at
the other end of the room.
“Tiffany seems enthusiastic.”
“Yes, but she doesn’t have what it takes to really finish off an
opponent―no blood lust. I wrote a letter to the Academy recom-
mending they don’t accept her.”
“Then why are you encouraging her?”
“Because she could be a remarkable conventional fencer.
Right now, trying to get into the Academy is what’s driving her.
She’ll get over it and redirect her energy.”
They went through a door into a room that had one fencing
strip. Two people were already there.
“This is Hamal,” Charlotte said. “He’s a referee, and this
evening he’ll be playing the part of the referee for our rehearsal,
and this is Amy, she’s the captain of my recovery team and will
be playing the part of the whole team.” Everyone shook hands.
“What’s all that?” Lucy nodded at a clothes rack and a table of
paraphernalia.
Charlotte walked over to the clothes. “These are East Slope
Fencing Club slacks and blazer uniforms. We’ll wear them for
the limousine ride to the mansion.”
“Limo ride?” Lucy said. “Mansion?”
“The bout is the main attraction for an old money charity fun-
draiser. Our host, Madame Verbeek, is using us as bait to pull in
the deepest pockets in the city so she can shake them down. No
expense will be spared.”
“She’s paying for a championship event so she can raise
money for charity?” Lucy said. “How much is she spending?”
46 R. H. Watson

“I hope, less than she’s expecting to raise,” Charlotte said.

“Back to the clothing tour. These are club athletic suits. Like the
slacks and blazers, they’re uniforms―not to be used for actual
athletics. We’ll wear them out to the fencing strip for the bout.
This is the mask and protective gear you’ll wear so I can use you
as a practice dummy when I warm up before the bout. And
these . . .” Charlotte partly unzipped two garment bags revealing
silk evening gowns, “are for us to wear if I win the bout. The
winner will be the guest of honor for the soirée, and her second
also gets to attend, but not be honored.”
“A fancy dress ball? You better win.”
“I’ll try.” She moved to the table. “My foil case.” She
opened it. “Fighting foil, practice foil, cleaning cloths, oil,
blood wipes, disposal bags for the used wipes.” She moved
down the table. “Chalk dust for the chalk pan, so my feet don’t
sweat and get slippery.”
“You bring our own chalk?”
“Some of us are obsessive about our chalk formula.”
“Hah,” Lucy said. “I’ll bet you are.” She pointed at a case
next to the bag of chalk. “What’s this?”
“Makeup so I look pretty, alive or dead.” Charlotte opened the
case and the one next to it. “And these are various toiletries, en-
ema syringe―”
“What?” Lucy said.
“Like the Academy says, ‘Blood sports celebrate the fleeting
nature of our mortal flesh.’ Although they do it by making our
own existence not quite so fleeting―I’ve never understood that
slogan. Anyway, the refined taste of the fencing aficionado can
only celebrate so much fleshy mortality. A voided bladder or
bowel upon death is too much for them. We can pee before a
match to clear our bladders, but the bowels need some help, so
we take an enema, and as my second, you prepare it for me.”
“I suppose some of you are obsessive about this formula,
too?” Lucy said.
 Gladiator Girl 47

Charlotte pointed at a card in the lid of the case. “There are

the instructions.”
“I never thought I’d say this about anything blood sport re-
lated,” Lucy said, “but that’s disgusting. I always assumed you
used butt plugs.”
“Wouldn’t work. The plug would be voided along with
everything else.”
“Hmm, I guess so.” Lucy moved to the last item on the table.
“Your womb-atorium bag?”
“Yes,” Charlotte said. She zipped it open and poked through
the contents. “Clothes, cosmetics, a book for the trip home—
looks ready to go.” She closed it. “The club uses the Live Long
womb-atorium. My recovery team will be standing by, and will
know where to go and what to do, but it will be your responsibil-
ity to double check everything and sign off after I’ve been in-
terred in a womb. Ultimately, my life will be in your hands.
There’s no one I trust more with it.”
“And you with mine,” Lucy said.
“All right then, let’s start with the match ceremonies.” Char-
lotte walked to the fencing strip. “They’re pretty simple. You’ve
seen them before, but seeing isn’t doing.”

One time, at the Academy, while visiting Charlotte in her dorm room,
Lucy picked up her fighting foil, wiggled it, and watched the tip whip
around out of control. “How can you do anything with this?”
“Give me that,” Charlotte said, “before you poke your eye
out.” She stood up and took the foil from Lucy’s hand. It stopped
wiggling. She reached over to her desk and used the tip to flip
open a book and turn the pages, one at a time.
Lucy blew air out her nose. “Show off.”
“Don’t worry,” Charlotte said, “When you get your blades
next year, I’m sure you’ll be able to do fancy tricks too.” She lif-
ted the foil and lunged at an invisible opponent. “Of course, nov-
elty tricks don’t win bouts.”
48 R. H. Watson

“So, how do you kill with that thing?”

“It’s not easy, but what would be the point if it was? Foils
were never meant to be true dueling weapons. They were de-
signed for practice and later used for touch scoring in competi-
tion. Their tips weren’t sharpened until blood sport fencing was
developed.” She pressed her finger against the tip, showed Lucy
the sanguine drop oozing out of the pin prick wound, then put
her finger in her mouth and sucked off the blood. “They’re frail
and bend with the slightest lateral pressure. I can’t hack someone
up like you’re learning to do, but find the right entry point and
thrust true? I’ll drop you before you even know you’ve been
penetrated.” She lunged, twisted the foil, and pulled back.
“Fuck,” Lucy said.
“Impressed?”
“No, but your making me horny. And we don’t hack, guardi-
ans strategically sever. We practice the art of separating an op-
ponent’s desire to act from her ability to act.”
“OK, I can’t ‘strategically sever.’ All I can do is kill (that’s the
art of separating an opponent’s life from her body, by the way),
and with this,” she waggled the tip of her foil, “there are only two
viable ways to do it; you either attack the heart or the brain. Slow
death attacks, like causing arterial bleeding, don’t work because
the bouts never last long enough for anyone to bleed to death.”
She pointed her foil at the head of her invisible opponent.
“The brain is the hardest to get at. The foil is too flimsy to make
its own holes in the skull, so you have to go in through natural
weak points. It’s either eyes, ears, or nose. The nose is easiest,
but still, it’s a last resort.
“Always go for the heart if you can.” She poked the invisible op-
ponent in the ribs. “The most straight forward attack is through the
rib cage, but you have to attack through an intercostal gap, between
the ribs. If you hit one, the foil bends and you’re wide open for a
counterattack. Any failed attack is pretty much the end of the bout.
The other options for attacking the heart are to come up from under
 Gladiator Girl 49

the ribcage, or down through the neck.” She demonstrated the at-
tacks, then retreated. She brought the foil up to her nose, then down
and to her side. “Foil fencing is a remarkably non-bloody blood
sport. The foils poke tiny holes through the skin, and most of the
bleeding is internal, except for the brain. The brain is messy.”
Charlotte twisted on her heel to face Lucy. “Exactly how
horny are you?”

After Saturday practice at the Burning Desire complex, Lucy

caught a car back to Charlotte’s Club and changed into her slacks
and blazer uniform.
“You’ll have to leave your sword behind,” Charlotte said.
“Starting now, you’re representing the East Slope Fencing Club.
That’s not an appropriate fencing weapon. Sorry.”
Lucy fingered her scabbard. “How much am I getting paid for this?”
“A lot. Come on, I’ve arranged for you to lock it in the club
president’s office.”
“When will I get it back?”
“The president’s secretary has agreed to stay here and let you
into the office as soon as you return.”
“Nobody touches it but me.”
“Nobody but you.”
“Okay.”
After the sword was locked away, they carried the gear for the
evening out to the club’s car dock. A limousine as large as three
public cars was waiting. “Who are these people?” Lucy said. Ob-
taining a waiver for a private car was expensive, getting one for
a car this size required a fortune.
The Limousine came with a handsome chauffeur who didn’t
actually drive. He took their bags, loaded them into the storage
compartment, and was smart enough to not try and take Char-
lotte’s foil case. There were also security guards: a couple of
girls—they looked like twins—whose age suggested they were
protected by rebirth.
50 R. H. Watson

The cabin door slid open, and the chauffeur offered his hand
for assistance. “Watch your step,” he said. Lucy tickled his palm
on her way in.
“That wasn’t proper,” Charlotte said after the door closed.
“But he’s so cute,” Lucy said.
“We’re stepping into a more striated society than you’re used
to. Flirting and power get confounded, especially between strata.”
“Sounds complicated, and not fun.”
“Just make sure you flirt up, not down. You’re a guest, so flirt-
ing with the staff caries an implied threat. Flirting with the other
guests is, at worst, merely inappropriate.”
The limousine whisked them northwest to the Verbeek Man-
sion, where they were escorted from a garage, down hallways,
up an elevator, and into a suite of rooms that belonged in a fairy
tale. Every wall was painted with a mural.
Charlotte handed Lucy her practice padding and mask. “Get
ready, I need to warm up.”
There was a partial fencing strip on the floor long enough to
include the two en guarde positions. Lucy suited up in her pad-
ded jacket and breeches. Charlotte wore an old athletic suit. She
picked up her fighting foil and tossed Lucy the practice foil.
“You don’t need to fence, just strike the poses I tell you, and
I’ll do the rest.”
Lucy looked at the sewing needle sharp tip of Charlotte’s foil.
“I thought this was a non-hazardous job?”
“Don’t worry, I won’t even touch you.”
“Then why am I wearing all this?”
Charlotte shrugged. “Just in case. Put on your mask.”
They worked for half an hour, then someone knocked on the
door opposite to the one they had entered through. “Come in,”
Charlotte said.
The august fellow from Thursday popped in. “One hour to the
bout.” He gave Lucy another once over. “Is everything OK?”
“Thanks Perry, we’re doing fine,” Charlotte said.
 Gladiator Girl 51

Perry gave a brisk nod. “Let me know if you need anything.”

He ducked out the door.
“Who was that?” Lucy said.
“The club president. Be nice to him. Your sword is in his of-
fice, remember?”
“I’m always nice.”
Charlotte put her foil away. “The countdown clock is ticking.
Can you get my enema ready?”

An hour later they were showered, cleaned up, made-up and in

their never-used-for-athletics East Slope athletic suits. They were
standing in front of a gilded set of double doors. Charlotte’s hair
had been pulled back in a french braid to keep it out of her eyes
and away from her arms. She carried her foil case; Lucy carried
her womb-atorium bag, and chalk dispenser. Charlotte’s recovery
team waited next to a portable processing station and a refriger-
ated coffin. (“If Charlotte loses we’ll have her prepped, cooling,
and on her way within five minutes of CD,” Amy had said at the
Thursday rehearsal.)
A chime sounded, the doors opened, and they were admitted
into a ballroom. Lucy walked three paces behind Charlotte. The
recovery team slipped in and waited just inside the doors. Winnie
Chaturvedi and her second were entering from the opposite end.
A fencing strip had been laid out in the middle of the room
with a row of chairs on each side set at a sufficient offset to be
out of range of any unexpected sprays of arterial blood. Charlotte
had instructed Lucy to not look directly at the spectators, but she
snuck a glance. The chairs were occupied by people who seemed
as out of place in this fairy tale mansion as Lucy. They were
dressed in modern elegance that had no regard for the whimsical
excesses of their surroundings. She made eye contact with a gor-
geous, princely-handsome young man. He flashed her a covert
smile, and she looked away. He, at least, fit the fairy tale part, if
one imagined him without his inappropriate tuxedo.
52 R. H. Watson

They arrived at their end of the strip. Charlotte put her case on
the foil stand, and Lucy put the womb-atorium bag on a table
provided for that purpose. Charlotte unzipped, untied, and re-
moved her East Slope athletic suit and matching slippers. She
handed them to Lucy who folded the suit, and laid it and the slip-
pers next to the womb-atorium bag.
Charlotte opened her foil case and took out her weapon. While
she stepped through a few practice moves, Lucy shook some of
her chalk mix into the chalk pan. Charlotte tapped her feet in the
chalk and tested her foot work.
The evening’s entertainment was one bout which meant it
would be over within seconds of starting. To extend the event,
Madame Verbeek had been regaling the assembled deep pockets
with a history of the art of fencing. As the projection faded, the
Master of the Bout stepped to the center of the strip.
“Gentle friends, it is my pleasure to welcome you to this Re-
public Fencing Society sanctioned bout between the top rank-
ing Duel à Mort foil fencers in the North Coast region. To my
right, I present Charlotte Isabel Marceau representing the East
Slope Fencing Club. She has remained undefeated for fifty-one
weeks, having silenced twenty-seven opponents in succession.
She is currently the number-two ranked foil fencer in the re-
gion.” Charlotte walked out to her en guarde line and saluted
the audience.
“To my left, I present Winifred Sandpiper Chaturvedi rep-
resenting the Crystal Hill Fencing Club. She has remained
undefeated for fifty-nine weeks, having silenced thirty-three
opponents in succession. She is currently the number-one
ranked foil fencer in the region.” Winnie stepped forward
and saluted.
The referee was introduced and saluted. He faced the fencing
strip, held up his arms, and flicked his fingers. “Seconds, you
may inspect the weapons.”
Lucy walked along the right side of the strip, passing Winnie’s
 Gladiator Girl 53

second at the midpoint. At the the opposite en guarde position,

Winnie handed over her foil. Lucy balanced it on her fingers: the
center of gravity was where it was supposed to be. She slipped a
rubber pad over the end of her middle finger and pressed it
against the tip. It had the proper flexion: not too stiff. She handed
the foil back to Winnie, and caught her eye. Charlotte had told
Lucy to remain neutral, but she couldn’t resist putting a little
sorry-you’re-going-to-lose sympathy into her glance. She turned
and nodded to the referee. Winnie’s second did the same. The
referee flicked his fingers and Lucy returned to Charlotte’s end
of the strip. When she passed Winnie’s second, Lucy let out a
resigned we-don’t-have-a-chance sigh. It never hurt to send con-
flicting signals to the other team.
“Ladies,” the referee said. He looked from one to the other.
“En guarde.” Charlotte and Winnie saluted each other, then took
their stances. “Ready?” The referee waited a beat. “Fence!”

For a moment nothing happened, then Charlotte advanced on

Winnie. Winnie closed―Ting!―their foils crossed. Charlotte re-
treated. Winnie lunged—Ting!—recovered and lunged again.
Charlotte stepped forward, moving along the outside of Win-
nie’s arm. She lifted up on the ball of her foot and raised her
arms with the foil pointed down. Winnie retreated toward the
opposite side of the fencing strip, moving herself out of Char-
lotte’s line of attack, but she kept her foil up. Charlotte felt its
edge slide against her ribs; Winnie was pulling it back for a
thrust and using the edge to feel for an intercostal gap.
The tip scratched across Charlotte’s skin. Winnie pushed her
hilt out, stepped forward, and arched her spine to give her back-
handed thrust the correct angle of attack. For a moment, her neck
was exposed. Charlotte cross stepped and closed. The tip of Win-
nie’s foil caught in her flesh and dug in. Charlotte kicked into a
jump, and stabbed down through Winnie’s neck and deep into
her chest. She stabbed three more times before landing her jump.
54 R. H. Watson

Charlotte retreated into her en guarde stance, ready to at-

tack again. It wasn’t necessary. All the residual muscle tension
went out of Winnie’s body, and she dropped to the floor in a
loose jumble.

“Ready? Fence!”
Lucy watched Charlotte advance and retreat. Winnie lunged—
twice. Charlotte moved in for a strike. Winnie stepped back and to
the side—the tip of her foil was against Charlotte’s ribs! Charlotte
leapt; stabbed down several times. Winnie collapsed. It was over.
The referee called, “Halt.” He moved up and felt Winnie’s
neck for a pulse, then motioned to the captain of her recovery
team. She came forward, checked Winnie’s vitals, and nodded.
Winnie’s team moved in with a stretcher, picked up her body,
and retreated from the ballroom.
“The match is complete,” the referee said. “The winner is Ma-
dame Marceau.”
The spectators―many of them were already on their
feet―applauded, some cheered. From their faces, Lucy was sure
at least half of them had never seen a live blood sport event and
had just discovered the visceral thrill of watching a duel to the
death, right there, in the flesh. Lucy looked for the handsome
princely guy. She found him and made eye contact. He winked;
she smiled back.
But she had duties. Charlotte was bleeding from Winnie’s
failed attack. The referee held up crossed index fingers. She
picked up the first-aid kit and some blood wipes, ran out to the
center of the strip, and handed the wipes to Charlotte. While
Charlotte cleaned Winnie’s blood off her foil and wiped her
hands to remove any blood splatter, Lucy used the first-aid kit to
clean and disinfect the wound. It didn’t look bad—just a big
scratch. She pealed the backing off a bandage and pressed it in
place. Charlotte handed her the used blood wipes; she took them
and jogged back to the end of the strip.
 Gladiator Girl 55

Now that her blade and hands were clean, Charlotte shook
hands with the referee and the Master of the Bout, saluted the
audience one more time, and walked to her end of the fencing
strip. She put her foil away, dressed in the athletic suit and slip-
pers, and picked up her foil case. Lucy slung the womb-atorium
bag over her shoulder, picked up the chalk dispenser, and led
Charlotte out of the ballroom, walking three paces ahead of her.
 Chapter 5
Lucy and the Princely Guy

“That was great!” Lucy said. She imitated Charlotte’s finishing

strokes. “Thu-thu-thu-thu! You were like a sewing machine set
on murder!” They were back in what Lucy was calling the fairy
tale locker room.
Charlotte put her foil case down on the sideboard, then turned,
picked up Lucy, and spun her around. “Whooo!” She said and
put her down, but held her by her shoulders. “I couldn’t have
done it without you!”
“That was all you,” Lucy said. “You could have done it with
an orangutan for a second.”
“No, you’re my rock.”
“What?”
“Ever since I first saw you at the Academy, you had such a de-
sire to succeed. It was feral and frightening, and I pitied anyone
who would get in your way. I was technically good, but you
taught me how to win―what it really took to win.”
“No way.”
“Don’t under estimate yourself. You lend out strength and you
don’t even know it. I needed you here tonight, this bout was too
important. I needed you at my back.”
“I’ll always have your back,” Lucy said. “You know that.”
“And I’ll have yours,” Charlotte squeezed her in another hug,
 Gladiator Girl 57

released her, and took a deep breath. She wiped her eyes, then
shook her fists in the air, “YES!” Charlotte unzipped her jacket,
peeled the bandage off her ribs, and held it up. “She almost got
me.” A line of blood had soaked into the gauze. She lifted her
jacket away from her side. Blood was dribbling from the end of
the wound where Winnie’s foil had dug in. She wiped it up with
her finger and sucked it off. “But I’m the one who can still
bleed!” Her grin was fierce.
Someone knocked on the door. “Yes?” Charlotte said.
Amy stuck he head in. “I need to check your wound.”
“Sure, come in. Lucy, this is Amy—oh, right. You already met.”
Amy set her bag on the makeup table and pulled out the chair.
Charlotte took off her jacket and sat.
“The chair’s for me,” Amy said. “Stand up and lift your arm.”
“You’re not putting me in a womb,” Charlotte said. “I want to
feel this win now, in real time, not when I’m waking up and try-
ing to remember how to chew my food. I’m due for a three
month conjoining a week from now anyway. Surely, we can wait
until then.”
Amy pulled on sterile gloves and cleaned the wound. “Lucy,
you did a good job. Was that your first time dressing a
wound? . . . Lucy?”
“Huh? Oh, yeah.” Lucy said.
Amy put on magnifying spectacles and broke the seal on a
pair of forceps. She leaned close and poked them in the wound.
“My concern is the point where Winnie punctured your skin. If
her foil penetrated your chest cavity, even with a pinhole, the
danger of infection goes way up, and we’ll want you in a womb
ASAP. Hmm, doesn’t look too bad. She got into the muscle tis-
sue, but not by much.” Amy put down the forceps, cracked open
a sampling swab, and stuck it in the wound. “If this tests clean,
you should be OK.” She sealed the sample, opened a bottle,
cracked open another swab, and dipped it in the bottle. “In the
mean time, I’m going to cauterize the puncture. Ready?”
58 R. H. Watson

“Yes,” Charlotte said.

“Want something to bite on?”
“No.”
“Tongue clear?”
“Yes.”
Amy pushed the swab in; it fizzed while she worked it around.
Charlotte clenched her teeth, or was still grinning from her vic-
tory, Lucy couldn’t tell which. Amy pulled out the swab, daubed
the edge of the puncture with a cotton ball, and put a new band-
age over the wound. “That’s it. Enjoy the party.” She packed up
her bag and nearly collided with Perry on her way out.
Charlotte grabbed her athletic jacket. “Sorry,” Perry said and
averted his eyes. “I should have knocked. The excitement . . . I
apologize.” He backed out the door.
Charlotte put on her jacket. “You can come in.”
Perry stepped in and took a furtive look around. He relaxed
when he saw propriety had been restored. “Fantastic perform-
ance!” He extended his hand. Charlotte shook it, but he didn’t let
go; he clasped her hand with both of his. He was shaking. “Do
you know what this means? You’re the number one ranked Duel
à Mort foil fencer in the region!”
“It means everyone will be out for my blood,” Charlotte said.
“Including Winnie.”
“Yes, I suppose so,” Perry said.
Charlotte pulled her hand out of his. “I’m number one for as
long as it lasts, and I’m representing your club. Go milk that for
all the P. R. you can.” She pushed him toward the door. “Now
get ready for the ball and leave us girls alone.”
He turned to face Charlotte, “Congratulations!” He ducked out.
“Poor man,” Charlotte said when the door closed.
“Why?”
“He wanted to bring blood fencing into his club to keep up
with the times. But he doesn’t really know what to make of us.
He’d be happier if blood sports and rebirth had never existed.”
 Gladiator Girl 59

She took off her jacket. “The dressers will be here in less than
an hour. I need a shower, and my adrenaline is just about sapped;
I could use a nap before they arrive.”
Lucy nodded toward the garment bags. “We need help putting
those on?”
“Yes we do.” Charlotte smiled, but fatigue had taken over. She
went into the shower room.

Lucy hadn’t broken a drop of sweat. She was still emotionally

wired, not sleepy at all, and on top of that, she hadn’t had any
sex since being reborn. She flopped into a chair―an incredibly
fantastic chair―and looked at the mural painted on the opposite
wall. It showed a sun-dappled clearing in a forest. A young wo-
man with pale skin and pink cheeks was riding on a swing hung
from a tree limb. She was wearing a frilly dress with so many
layers of petticoats that the skirt opened up like a mushroom top.
A young man was pushing the swing. The girl seemed ecstatic.
Lucy imagined a knobby wooden dildo carved into the swing
seat and imagined she was the girl in the frilly dress.
“Wag-mump,” someone said.
“Huh, what?” Lucy said.
“Wake up,” Charlotte said. “The dressers are here.”
Lucy jumped up, groggy with sleep. She checked the chair’s
seat cushion for stains. There weren’t any. “I’ll be right back,”
she said and stumbled to the toilet.

Lucy stared at the elegant woman standing in the mirror wearing

the gorgeous blue evening gown. She turned this way and that but
couldn’t see any seams or fasteners. She didn’t know how the
dressers had gotten her into it, or where they had found that
bosom. It was strapless, but didn’t constrain her breathing, and
when she moved, the skirt felt like a natural extension of her legs.
Charlotte was studying herself in another mirror. Her gown
was white with an opalescent shimmer. It gave her long fencer’s
60 R. H. Watson

body an ethereal lightness, yet tethered her to the earth just

enough to keep her from floating away.
Half an hour earlier a fussy team of style magicians had swarmed
into the room to transform Lucy and Charlotte. A makeup artist had
tsk-tsked over the state of Lucy’s skin tone, and almost fainted
when he saw her Burning Desire club tattoos; a hairdresser had
struggled to do something brilliant with her short, black hair; and
a―whatever you call a person who puts jewelry on people―found
just the right neckless and earrings to complement everything.
After approving their ensembles, Lucy and Charlotte were es-
corted back to the same gilded doors that had admitted them to
the fencing venue.
“Is there anything I should know about etiquette in there?”
Lucy said.
“They’re not going to pay any attention to you. Even if
they’re carrying on a conversation with you, they won’t be pay-
ing any attention. As long as you don’t belch, fart, or burp
through your nose you should be fine.”
The doors opened and they stepped in. A man next to the door,
dressed like a toy soldier, announced, “Ladies and Gentlemen,
the guest of Honor, Madame Charlotte Isabel Marceau, accom-
panied by Lucinda Marcia Star.”
Madame Verbeek came over, took Charlotte by the arm, and
spirited her off into the throng. The toy soldier gestured for Lucy
to move away from the door.
She started circling the room to take in the spectacle. This was
the same room that had been mostly empty an hour and a half
ago when Charlotte murdered Winnie. Now it was bright and
filled with chairs, settees, tables, sideboards, waiters, a chamber
orchestra, and many more people than the handful who had
watched the bout.
“Champagne, madam?”
A waiter offered a tray of champagne flutes. Lucy took one.
“Thank you,” she said, but the waiter was already moving off.
 Gladiator Girl 61

Except for the incredible wealth and stage managed courtesy,

this wasn’t any different from the parties Lucy went to in taverns
or apartments: People collected into groups of acquaintances or
common interest. There were several seduction games going on,
and a few people stood around the edges, alone and watching.
Like me.
When she had gotten a quarter of the way around the room,
Lucy spotted the handsome princely guy standing with a group
of other handsome princelies. He looked at her and she raised her
glass. He held up his finger in a just-a-moment gesture and said
something to the other princelies that she hoped was, “Pardon
me while I go bed that commoner.” He walked over.
“Lucinda Star?” he said.
“Every day,” Lucy said.
“Jayzen Verbeek, at your service.” He offered his hand.
Lucy shook it. “Hello Jayzen. You can call me Lucy.”
“Jay will suffice for me,” he said.
“Hi Jay.”
“Impressive victory on the part of your lead,” he said.
“You bet.”
“You are also a Duel à Mort fencer?”
“No, I’m a friend.”
“But you were the second. What if you had to fight?”
“That would never happen, but if it did, I would have for-
feited. I was helping Charlotte out. She asked me to replace her
regular second.”
Jayzen lowered his voice. “Don’t tell anyone else. These people
only pay for the best. If they found out, they would feel cheated.”
“What would they do, slap me in the face with a glove? Chal-
lenge me to a duel?
“Nothing so honorable.”
“Anyway, they weren’t cheated. Charlotte’s club hired me for
the evening. Tonight I’m officially representing the East Slope
Fencing Club.”
62 R. H. Watson

“Ah,” he said.
“You sound disappointed I’m not a fencer.”
“I’ve been training recently with an épée. I was hoping I could
get some pointers.”
“Even if I were a fencer, I doubt I could have helped,” Lucy
said. “Conventional fencing has all sorts of rules to let contestants
score points without getting hurt. The blood sport versions pretty
much throw out all those rules for the only one that matters—the
duelist left standing wins. I’m not sure I could have given you any
pointers that would have been useful for touch scoring.”
“You do know something about the blood sports then?”
“I do. I’m a blood battle guardian.”
“That would be for . . . Diana’s Glory?”
“No, Burning Desire.” She pointed at her chest tattoo.
“Lovely. A rose, is it?”
“A Burning Desire rose,” Lucy said.
Jayzen smiled polite indifference.
“You don’t know much about blood battle, do you.”
“I apologize, no,” he said.
“The clubs are named after breeds of roses. This is an official
club tattoo. There’s another one on my right shoulder, see?” She
turned to show him. “And my player number is here,” she turned
the other way to show him her left shoulder, “and on my back.”
She held up her index finger in front of his face. “And here, just
below the finger nail, see it? It’s tiny and almost matches my
skin color.”
“Ah, I believe I do . . . ?”
“That’s my club ID and player number. They’re tattooed all over
my body. Makes it easier to sort out everyone’s parts after a game.”
“Where’s your sword?” He looked at her hip. “I thought you
blood battle girls never went anywhere without them.”
“Thats just for guardians, like me, and chargers. But you’re
right. Since I’m representing Charlotte’s fencing club tonight, I
had to leave it behind.”
 Gladiator Girl 63

“You don’t sound pleased.”

“I’m not.”
“Maybe you could give me some pointers after all,” he said.
“I’ve been training in the samurai arts since I was six years old.”
“Blood battle swordsmanship isn’t the same,” Lucy said. What
am I doing? “But I should be able to help you with something.”
Jayzen glanced around the room. “This soirée is dull after
watching your friend’s victory. There’s a gym downstairs. Per-
haps you could show me something now?”
“Sure,” Lucy said. “Let’s give it a try.” She mentally punched
the air.

Jayzen led Lucy out a side door. They took a marble stairway
down two flights, walked through an enclosed courtyard garden
with a fountain and skylight ceiling, and into a gymnasium. The
lights came up when they entered.
“What do you think?” Jayzen said. He spread his arms wide
and walked backward into the center of the space.
“Not bad for a home gym.”
“This isn’t a home. No one actually lives here except for the
staff. This is the Verbeek Family Club House. It’s used for entertain-
ing and making deals, like tonight.” He walked to cabinets in the
opposite wall and opened a set of doors revealing samurai practice
gear. He opened another door, took off his tuxedo coat and tie, and
hung them inside. He started removing his shirt. “You’re not going
to fight in that are you?” he nodded at Lucy’s gown.
“I don’t want to, but it took three people to get me into it. I
don’t know how they did it, or how to get it off.”
Jayzen finished removing his shirt and came over. “Turn
around. It uses molecular zippers that seal the gown around you.
There are pressure points that release the bonds.” He slid his fin-
gers behind the bodice and between her shoulder blades. It split
down the back and fell to the floor. “See?” Lucy stepped out of
the gown. Jayzen picked it up and hung it in the cabinet. He re-
64 R. H. Watson

moved his pants, shoes, socks and underwear while Lucy

watched. He spread his arms wide again. “You fight in the nude.
I want you to feel comfortable.”
Lucy looked him over, then took off her shoes, remaining
clothes, and the jewelry. “Just to make you feel comfortable.”
She handed everything over to be hung in the cabinet.
“We compete in the flesh,” she said, “not in the nude. There’s
a significant difference between the two.”
“I don’t see it.”
“Flesh has blood, it’s physical. Nudity has beauty, it’s concep-
tual. I don’t know how to kill nudity, but I’m very good at killing
flesh. It would be dangerous for you to fight me in the flesh,
even with practice sticks. That’s your first pointer.”
Lucy started pulling a padded practice suit out of the
samurai cabinet.
“Do we have to?” Jayzen said.
“Practice versus competition,” Lucy said. “As much as I’d
like to play your game, training rules are training rules.
“I appreciate your concern, but you know I won’t be able to
touch you, and I’m sure, despite your eloquently delivered point,
that you won’t hurt me unless you want to.”
Lucy looked him up and down. He was so pretty and hand-
some, all over. “We’ll at least use head gear and masks.” She
tossed him a padded helmet and a samurai practice stick, then
she put on a helmet, took another practice stick, and walked to
the center of the gym. She stepped through some maneuvers to
get a feel for the stick’s weight and balance.
Jayzen came out and performed a few flourishes of his own.
“I’ll be careful,” Lucy said, “but before we start I want to
make clear that, like fencing, modern samurai martial arts train-
ing is built around formal rules for scoring points in competition.
In blood battle we don’t score points, we kill as efficiently and
quickly as possible while avoiding getting killed. It’s aggressive,
and it’s not civilized.”
 Gladiator Girl 65

“You’ve made your point,” Jayzen said. “Let’s get started.”

He assumed a samurai fighting stance with his practice stick
raised, ready to attack or defend. Lucy assumed her relaxed
guardian stance: facing him with the point of her stick resting on
the floor in front of her, but it felt strange not having her short-
sword attached to her back.
“Are you ready?” he said.
“Yes.”
He attacked. Lucy stepped forward, lowered her center of
gravity, and raised her stick to block. This felt wrong. Her in-
stinct was to duck under his stick and split his gut open, severing
his spine from his pelvis, and only then deal with any residual
energy remaining in his attack. If they had been wearing full
padding, that’s what she would have done.
“I don’t think this is going to work,” Lucy said, but Jayzen
brought his stick around and tried to attack her ribs. She blocked,
although her instinct was to simply cut off his arms.
“Wait. Stop!” she said. “This isn’t working. I can’t teach you
anything like this. If this were real, you would have been dead
twice already.”
“Can you pull your punches?” Jayzen said.
“I guess I can, but you have to, too. Right now I’m block-
ing to stop you from hitting me. Do you think you can pull
your punches?”
“Yes,” he said.
“You better, and when I say ‘You’re dead,’ you break off.”
Jayzen took up his starting stance. “Why don’t you attack
this time?”
“I play defense. I don’t start fights.”
“Give it a try,” he said.
Lucy stepped in with her stick raised for a high attack. He
moved to block. She brought her stick down, slipped it under his
hands, and moved into his body, letting her stick slide up under
his arms. She stopped just as it reached his armpits.
66 R. H. Watson

Her mouth was next to his ear. “You’re dead,” she said. “If
this was real, I would have cut through your pectoral muscles
and sliced the top off your ribcage. Pointer number two.”
“Let’s go again,” Jayzen said.
This time he attacked her right side, below the ribs. She ig-
nored his attack, brought her stick up into his groin, stopped be-
fore hitting him, pulled back to block, then stabbed up, just be-
low his sternum.
“You’re dead,” she said. “If this was real, I would have split
your pubic bone, then slid my blade out of the wound to block
your attack, but before that I would have used the leverage I had
while my sword was still in you groin to twist you around,
killing your momentum. And then I would have finished you
off.” She tapped the tip of her stick against his xiphoid process,
where it had stopped. “Pointer number three.
“Also,” she said, “you’ve been keeping a secret from me.”
“I have?”
“Someone’s been teaching you killing moves. That wasn’t
competition samurai, you’ve been learning cutting patterns.”
“Maybe your skills and mine aren’t so different after all,” he
said, then attacked. Lucy stabbed at his heart while blocking his
leading sword arm with her left hand. If she had her short-sword,
she would have drawn it and cut off his hands. Jayzen didn’t pull
his punch, and he hit her on the shoulder.
“Ouch! Fuck! That hurt!” she said.
He tried again, but left himself wide open. Samurai practice
helmets had heavy neck padding. Lucy brought her stick
around and hit him on the side of the neck. The blow sent him
staggering several paces, but he came back with another at-
tack. He was so inept that she didn’t even consider blocking.
She hit him in the ribs, and he stumbled to the floor, gasping
for breath.
Lucy planted her practice stick on the floor and put her left
hand on her hip. She looked down at Jayzen. “I don’t know what
 Gladiator Girl 67

your deal is, but I’m tired of it. I came down here to get laid. Are
you up for it, or should I leave?”
Jayzen took off his helmet and pulled himself to his feet using
his practice sword like a cane. “One more time.” Lucy didn’t
move. “If you don’t want to . . .” he said.
“Okay,” she said, “but this is it. Pick up your helmet.”
“No. You take yours off. I want to look in your eyes.” He
pointed at his own eyes with his index and middle fingers. “The
eyes are the tell.” Then he pointed at her eyes. “The eyes keep
the match honest.”
Lucy took off her helmet and tossed it to the side. “Did your
sensei tell you that?”
Jayzen assumed his fighting stance. Lucy stayed put: one hand
on her hip; her practice stick planted on the floor. “Come on,”
she said, “it’s your show. I’m waiting. My eyes are waiting.”
Jayzen faked an attack toward her sword hand. She rolled her
eyes. He reversed his attack. It looked like he was expecting her
to move in and block his stick. Instead, Lucy cracked him on the
inside of his advancing knee. He began falling and brought his
arms down to catch himself on the floor. Lucy flicked her stick
up and hit his wrists. The move knocked his stick out of his
hands, and he sprawled to the floor. She stepped over to his prac-
tice stick, hooked its hilt guard with the tip of her own stick and
flicked, sending it skittering across the gym floor to clatter
against the far wall. She pointed at it with her practice stick. “If
you say, ‘one more time,’ one more time, that’s where your
testicles are going to end up.”
Jayzen’s breathing was heavy and he was holding himself up
with his hands and sore wrists. She hunkered down in front of
him and put her hand on his shoulder. “I’m concerned the mood
has been ruined, but if you’re willing to give it a try, there’s a
nice stack of exercise mats over there.”
Jayzen struggled to his feet. Lucy put his arm across her
shoulders, held him around the waist, and helped him limp to the
68 R. H. Watson

mats. “Here’s pointer number four,” she said. “This is the big
one. The problem with all that mystical sensei bullshit is, it’s lost
its edge. It used to be that the master’s training either kept his
students alive or it got them killed. A sensei who got his students
killed pretty much lost his sensei license. A sensei who kept his
students alive did it by being practical and paying attention to
what kept them alive and what didn’t. He had to constantly re-
vise his methods to pass that simple test.” They arrived at the
mats; Lucy flopped Jayzen onto the stack. “My sword coach
doesn’t have any fancy ratings or pretty belts, but she’s a better
sword master than any of your how-to-score-points senseis, even
the ones that teach you nasty little killing tricks, because for us,
once again, bad training gets us killed.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Jayzen said from his flipped turtle position.
Lucy crawled on top of him. He grimaced when she brushed
his sore ribs. “Work through the pain, it’ll be worth it.”

She kissed him, then buried her nose in his neck. She had
worked him hard enough that his sweat was overpowering his
cologne. He smelled good.
Jayzen rolled onto his side. “Ah!”
“Don’t hurt yourself,” Lucy said.
“Don’t be so smug.” He pressed his hand against her shoulder
and she rolled onto her back. Jayzen orbited a breast with his
hand, then circled the nipple with his thumb. She felt a sympath-
etic tingle deep in her groin.
She pressed her hands against his pectorals, pinched his
nipples, pulled him down, and kissed him. She felt his penis
grow against her thigh.
He moved down and kissed her throat. She dug into his scalp,
pushing her hands up against the lay of his hair, covering them
with sweat and oil, then she rubbed her palms across his
shoulders and into his armpits. Jayzen kissed his way down her
belly, across her hip to the inside of her thigh, and up to her la-
 Gladiator Girl 69

bia. Lucy sat up on her elbows and watched him while walking
her heals up and down his back, kneading the bundles of his
erector spinae muscles.
Jayzen wrapped his lips around her hood and sucked with a
light pressure. She closed her eyes and hung her head back. He
eased two fingers into her vagina, pressed his tongue against her
clitoris, and nudged her tissue back and forth. She slipped off her
elbows, reached down, collected two handfuls of his hair in her
fists, and rolled her hips to his rhythm. Her sweat, trapped
between her back and the mat, was turning into a viscus slick;
she was oozing off the crest of the mat pile. She slipped her feet
off Jayzen’s back, and pressed them on the matt to push herself
back up, then worked them under his pelvis and took hold of his
penis with her toes. “Ah!” he said, and to her surprise, his puff of
hot breath against her genitals was the thing that set her on the
physiological cascade to orgasm.

Lucy let herself sink into the sensation, then felt herself collapse
against someone. She opened her eyes and saw the point of
Emily’s sword sticking out of her ribs. She watched it cut into
the Goddess’s back. Blood soaked into her white vestment, and
the girl, not the Goddess, turned to Lucy, but it wasn’t her. Lucy
was looking into her brother’s six year old face—puffy, running
with tears, and full of uncomprehending fear and betrayal.

Lucy opened her eyes. “What the fuck?” She grabbed Jayzen’s
ears, and pulled. As his groin came up to hers, she guided his penis
into her vagina, then kissed him hard on the mouth, wrapped her
legs around his thighs, and pumped her pelvis against his.
The orgasm flooded up her spine, across her belly, down her
legs. It ebbed, then welled up again, and again, like a thunder
storm walking off to the horizon, and washing everything away.
One one­thousand, two one­thousand, “Ahuungh!” One one­
thousand, two one­thousand, three one­thousand . . .
70 R. H. Watson

Jayzen tensed and shivered several times. “Wow,” he said.

The spasms receded and she felt like she was waking from a
dream. Jayzen lay on top of her until they both caught their
breaths. He pushed up and looked at the mat. “You made a mess.”
“What?” Lucy sat up. The top mat was glistening. “Huh.”
Jayzen stood and held out his hand. “We should shower before
getting dressed.” Lucy took his hand. He pulled her off the mats
and winced. They walked across the gymnasium to a locker room,
then into a shower room. Jayzen was favoring his right leg.
The shower room offered her a shower cap. She declined.
“Fancy showers,” Lucy said, “but I guess they’d have to be to fit
in around here.” Little nozzles at the ends of bendy, long tubes
wriggled down from the ceiling like jellyfish tentacles and sur-
rounded her. They sprayed her from head to foot and weaved
around finding ways to wet every part of her without getting wa-
ter in her eyes or mouth.
“Whoa!” she said when a little nozzle wiggled between her
butt cheeks; tiny brushes started to whir. Other little brushes des-
cended to soap and scrub. Another collection of wet little wid-
gets washed and combed her hair. She found she could walk
around the shower room and the washing would be handed off to
other nozzles that dropped down from the ceiling to replace the
ones retracting behind her.
Jayzen came over. “Was that one of those rebirth orgasms I’ve
heard about?”
“Oh yeah. That was a Super Juicy.”
“You have names for them?”
“Yup. Rodeo in a Box, Kiss-Bang-Boom, Unicorn’s Rainbow―”
“So, you used me to put the finishing touch on your recent
womb visit?”
“Do you feel used?”
“I feel privileged.”
“I think you’re patronizing me,” Lucy said. “How did you
know I was just reborn?”
 Gladiator Girl 71

“Your navel. Couldn’t help noticing as I passed by.”

Lucy looked down and felt her belly. “Curious isn’t it? The
only wound that can’t be healed in a womb is the one from
cutting our umbilical cords. Huh, it looks like I’m getting an
outie this time.”
The nozzles stopped spraying water and started blowing warm
air. All the water ran down the drains, leaving the floor dry.
The brushes and combs finished fussing over their hair, and
the nozzles shut down when their skin was moist, but not wet.
All the tentacles sucked back into the ceiling.
They walked to the cabinet in the gymnasium where Jayzen
had hung their clothes. “What about the mats?” Lucy said.
“The staff will take care of them. They’ve seen worse.”
“Hmm.” Lucy stepped into her hosiery.
“What?” Jayzen said. He balanced on one foot to pull on his sock.
“Lots of things could fit under ‘worse.’ I was wondering how
bad ‘worse’ gets in the Verbeek Family Club House.”
“You girls regularly spill each other’s entrails. I think your
worse tops anything that happens here.”
“Good point. How do I seal up this dress?” She stepped into
the evening gown and pulled it up. Jayzen moved behind her and
pressed his fingers on the inside of the bodice hem. The gown
closed up and once again looked fantastic.

Jayzen and Lucy slipped into the ballroom. Lucy spotted Char-
lotte, still in the company of Madame Verbeek. They were
strolling the room and stopping at various groups to chat. Char-
lotte was being shown off. She was the misdirection while M.
Verbeek picked her guests’ pockets for charity.
Jayzen motioned to a young woman, maybe three or four
years younger than Lucy. She seemed out of place. It took a mo-
ment to see why. She was actually dressed appropriately for the
fairy tale room which meant she was dressed entirely inappropri-
ately for the soirée. She came over, but took her time.
72 R. H. Watson

“Lucinda, this is my sister Francine. Francine, this is Lucinda

Star, a most accomplished swordswoman. Would you be so kind
as to accompany her? I have some business to take care of.” He
turned to Lucy. “Madame Star, it has been an honor.” He made a
slight bow and walked away.
Lucy watched him go. “Who was that show for?”
“For the room,” Francine said. “For anyone he imagines is
watching him out of the corner of their eye. And a lot of them
are.” She nodded toward a chattery group of girls who had a
princess look about them. “I don’t mean to be cruel, only real-
istic; he’s probably already forgotten about you—” She took a
closer look at Jayzen. “Is my brother limping?”
“Yup,” Lucy said. “He wanted some sword fighting tips. I ex-
pect it’ll take two or three days before he forgets about me.”
“Hah!” Francine said. “Come on, I want you to meet my
friends. Call me France, like the European provence.”
“And I’m Lucy.” They walked over to a group of people about
Francine’s age who, like her, were dressed in fairy tale wear.
“Hi Guys,” Francine said. “I’d like you to meet Lucy. She made
my brother limp.” She nodded toward Jayzen. They all looked. He
was back with his princely gang favoring his right leg.
“How did you do that?” one of the girls said.
“I expect, the old fashioned way,” another girl said.
“I hit him with a stick.” The group was silent.
“How did that come about?” one of the boys said.
“Let’s not pry too deeply,” Francine said. “This is Beth, Helena,
and Gilbert.” she pointed to each of the three who had spoken. “I
won’t burden you with other names until they say something.”
“What brings you here tonight?” another boy said. He glanced
at her chest tattoo.
“That’s Aldan.”
“I’m with Charlotte.”
“Who?”
“The fencer,” Francine said.
 Gladiator Girl 73

“Oh, the come-on.”

“The what?” Lucy said.
“The more cynical among us,” Francine skewered Aldan with
a look, “think my mother’s charity events are nothing more than
confidence scams. The more cynical among us should think be-
fore they open their mouths and make disrespectful comments.”
“I apologize,” Aldan said.
“Accepted,” Lucy said.
“You play blood battle, don’t you?” one of the girls said.
“This is Charlotte, our Charlotte, not yours.” Francine said.
“Yes, I’m a guardian.”
“I knew it! You’re with Burning Desire,” their Charlotte said.
“I recognized your rose. Where’s your sword?”
“I had to leave it behind since I’m—”
“Oh mother goddess!” Helena said. “Lucy? Are you Lucy Star?”
“Now you know why I wanted you to meet my friends,” Fran-
cine said. “We’re BB fans. I hope you’re not embarrassed.”
“No, not embarrassed. Kind of surprised though. I, ah . . .”
“Didn’t think people like us followed blood battle?” Beth said.
“I guess.”
Their Charlotte said, “I’m surprised Jayzen still has a leg.”
“Before any rumors get started,” Lucy said, “he really did
want some sword handling tips. Everybody gets a little banged
up from practice.”
“You’re not banged up.”
“That’s Roger,” Francine said.
“I’ve had more practice.”
Charlotte came over, Lucy’s Charlotte.
“Excuse me,” Charlotte said to the group, and then to Lucy,
“It’s time for us to leave.”
“Congratulations on your victory,” Gilbert said to Lucy’s
Charlotte. Everyone chimed in, “Yes.” “Absolutely.”
“Of course, none of them actually saw your bout,” Francine said.
“Did you?” Lucy’s Charlotte said.
74 R. H. Watson

“Yes, I snuck in dressed like, them.” She kept her hand close to
her chest and poked her finger at the milling guests. “Compared to
blood battle, it was . . . personal, not spiritual. I found it upsetting.”
Aldan leaned in. “Who’s being disrespectful now?”
“Not disrespectful,” Francine said, “honest.”
“I appreciate that,” Lucy’s Charlotte said, “and I agree. Des-
pite it’s civilized trimmings, Duel à Mort is primal, no meaning-
of-everything metaphors, just two people trying to kill each other
for no other reason than to see who lives. No muss, no fuss.”
“It was great meeting you,” Lucy said to the group. “Thanks
France.”
They all waived, and Charlotte and Lucy walked out the
gilded doors.

Francine saw her brother watch them leave. She got a bad feeling,
but this was hardly the first time her family made her uneasy.
“We should go to Lucy’s next match,” Beth said.
“Burning Desire is playing Beauty Incarnate next Saturday.”
Gilbert was consulting a match schedule. “It’s an away match in
Appalachi City.”
“We can use one of my family’s cross-country cabins for the
trip,” Francine said.

“That was an experience and a half.” Lucy flopped into the lim-
ousine seat. Charlotte sat next to her. They were dressed in their
club slacks and blazers.
“You disappeared for a while,” Charlotte said, “with Jayzen
Verbeek, the son of our host, the woman who paid for us to be at
her soirée this evening, the woman who might be concerned that
her son came back with a limp.”
“He should be fine by morning,” Lucy said. Without her
sword she didn’t know what to do with her hands.
“Did you get a proper lay?”
“Oh yes.”
 Gladiator Girl 75

“Is that what made him limp?”

“No, he wanted some sword fighting tips.”
Charlotte didn’t say anything.
“He pissed me off,” Lucy said. “I think he wanted a real fight,
so I gave him one, or at least made him think I did.”
“You shouldn’t trust him.”
“I’m never going to see him again. I expect he was only trying
to make a boring evening a little more interesting.”
“You should be careful. These old money families can be dan-
gerous. You should have let him win.”
“What about his sister? That was her and her friends I was
talking to when you came over. They said they were BB fans. Do
you think they were looking for a laugh at my expense?”
“No, France is OK. She’s the black sheep of the family. Every
old money clan has one.”
Lucy was silent for a while. The limousine hummed around them.
“Her— My brother showed up the other day.”
“Are you OK?” Charlotte put her hand on Lucy’s arm and
leaned forward to look at her face.
“Yes. I guess.”
“What did he want?”
“He wouldn’t say. I told him his life and his family were be-
hind me, and I didn’t want to see him again.”
Charlotte leaned back, put her arm around Lucy’s shoulder, and
pulled her close. “You’re not a black sheep,” she said. “You’re an
orphan in the storm, but don’t worry, I’ve got your back.”
 Chapter 6
Other People's Problems

IMMEDIATE DELIVERY
DATE: Sunday, Delta, 2nd 15th ’47
TIME: 9:00
ITEM: Burning Desire Roses
QUANTITY: 1 Score
DELIVERED TO: Lucinda Star
CARE OF: Charlotte Marceau; Canister 17; Sunshine Village
(A.K.A. informal: Winnebago Graveyard)
SENDER SAYS: “Dear Lucy, Thank you for a charming and
enlightening evening. I would be honored if, at your pleasure,
you would consider sharing company some evening, without
crossed swords. Always at your service, Jayzen Verbeek”
RECIPIENT REPLIES: “Dear Jay, thanks for the roses, but
you shouldn’t have, really. You should have donated the
money to your mother’s charity. I appreciate your offer of a
less confrontational evening. I’ll think about it, but . . .”

Francine

She walked into the breakfast parlor in the main house of the
Verbeek Estate and heard the tail end of a message: “. . . but for
now, I don’t have the time. Best wishes―” Jayzen cut it off.
 Gladiator Girl 77

“Who was that from?” She sat and poured a cup of coffee.
“No one,” Jayzen said.
“It sounded like Lucy Star. Did she just turn you down?”
“She’s busy,” he said.
“Honey please,” Francine said. Jayzen handed her the honey
pot. She stirred some into her coffee. “How’s your knee?”
“What about it?”
“You were limping last night.”
“It’s better.”
“Lucy said she was giving you some pointers. You’re not going to
pass that limp off as a side effect of your sexual prowess, are you?”
Jayzen shrugged. “I asked her to give me some tips.”
“Whatever possessed you to do that?”
“The party was boring.”
“The fencing match got you excited, didn’t it?” Francine said.
“It was interesting.”
“I know you, dear brother, you’re a raving romantic. You were
jealous. You wanted to be the one killing a rival in a duel. You
wanted to get as close to that experience as a boy can get.”
Jayzen ate a spoonful of oatmeal and sipped some coffee. “I
thought it would be interesting to test myself against one of those
blood sport girls. The second seemed like a good choice.
Someone who wasn’t of championship quality.”
“Lucy Star isn’t a fencer. She’s a blood battle guardian.”
“On a beta team,” Jayzen said. “I’ve been trained in the sword
arts since I was six. It seemed like a better opportunity to test my
mettle than fencing.”
“You poor boy.” Francine reached over and patted his cheek.
“She might be with a Beta League club now, but next year she’ll
be eligible to move to the Alpha League. If Diana’s Glory
doesn’t take their option on her, another club will. She’s known
for never―ever―giving up. The rule for any team going against
her is to not consider her out of the game until her head is at least
three meters away from her body.”
78 R. H. Watson

“Is that true?”

“No! But people are already telling tall tales about her. Be
careful you don’t end up the joke in the next one.”
Jayzen took another swallow of coffee.
“Did you know she won her last game after she was dead?”
Francine said.
“Oh, right.”
“Actually, that one’s true.”
Madame Verbeek came into the parlor. “Good morning
Jayzen. Good morning Francine.”
“Good morning Mother,” they both said.
“Jayzen, what happened to you last night? You were limping!”
“It was nothing Mother, I had a little too much champagne
and banged my knee on a chair.”
“You should be more careful.”
Mister Verbeek came in. “Good morning dear.” He bent and
kissed his wife. She smiled at him.
“Morning Jayzen, Francine.” He sat opposite his wife.
“Good morning,” they both said.
“Isn’t Charlotte Marceau a dear?” Madame Verbeek said.
“What a charming young lady. I’m so glad she won.”
“I see your event is causing a stir this morning,” Mister
Verbeek said.
“What for?”
“You paid a small fortune to stage a championship bout and the
fencing public is upset that it was kept private. I hope it was worth it.”
“The Children’s Educational Fund will be pleased with the
results. I expect, when we announce the total raised, those com-
plainers will be silenced by guilt.”
“Even so, I can’t believe you allowed blood sports to be prac-
ticed on family property.”
“Why?” Madame Verbeek said.
“There’s something fishy about that whole rebirth business. It
only works on females, and only for a short time? I don’t believe
 Gladiator Girl 79

it, never have. Something that complicated and it just works, yet
no one understands why? Somebody’s hiding something.”
The other breakfasters ignored him. “The Verbeek Fund has
spent billions on research to figure it out, and all those scientists can
say is, ‘It’s complicated. Give us five more years and we should
have something.’ They’ve been saying that for twenty years!”
“It is complicated,” Francine said. “Dr. Amanda Azulai is
the only one who ever understood it, and old fools like you
put her in prison.”
“She committed murder.”
“And two weeks later, her victim was walking around
and talking.”
“At the time, it was murder.”
“That didn’t stop the army from using her work to make girls
into bomb disposal experts and Special Operations soldiers.”
“The law was changed and she was pardoned.”
“She was an autistic genius, by then she’d crawled back into
her shell. She hasn’t said a word since.”
“Someone should make her talk,” Mister Verbeek said.
“Good luck with that. It’s likely she couldn’t explain how her
code works even if she did talk. It wasn’t concocted, it was one
of those insights that springs whole from a genius’s head.”
“Poppycock,” Mister Verbeek said. “Gene therapy has been
around for years.”
“Sure, we can read the raw code, but its expression is too
chaotic to follow. We cured a few cancers, fixed some heart
problems, made a handful of genetic disorders go away, learned
to make blue eyes brown, and a few other parlor tricks, but that’s
it. Gene therapy hasn’t led to the breakthroughs you expected.”
Madam Verbeek tapped Jayzen’s arm and pointed at the plate
of toast. He handed it to her.
“The only big breakthrough was rebirth,” Francine said, “and
you certainly didn’t expect that. Dr. Azulai woke up one day, saw
a clear path through the chaos and wrote the genetic code that
80 R. H. Watson

creates memory placentas. Her path is too chaotic to be mapped

or understood in any linear fashion. You’re either a genius who
can see the whole thing, or you don’t see anything.”
Mister Verbeek put his elbow on the table and leaned toward
Francine. “Why does it stop when the girls reach twenty-five?”
“Memory placentas seem to work by amplifying the natural
human growth process. We keep growing until we’re about
twenty-five. Once we stop growing, they stop working. Didn’t
your scientists tell you anything?”
“Humph!” Mister Verbeek said. “I still don’t want it practiced
on family property.”
“You’re such a hypocrite,” Francine said. “I’ve received re-
birth gene therapy and so have all my girl cousins. We have a
private womb-atorium in the mansion.”
“That’s a necessity to keep you and the other Verbeek girls
safe until you’re old enough to act responsibly.”
“I read books and go to museums. We have bodyguards to
keep us safe―bodyguards who are also protected by rebirth. I
wanted to do something meaningful with this ability. I wanted to
be a blood battle goddess, but you said it was frivolous.”
Madam Verbeek pointed at the jam caddy. Jayzen passed
it to her.
“I will not allow my daughter to participate in that vulgar
spectacle,” Mister Verbeek said.
“You don’t understand. Gunda Thorstenson tricked everybody.
It looks vulgar, but it’s not. The Goddess represents the spirit that
arrises from our struggle to find a worthy―”
“The family womb facility has saved several of your cousins’
lives. That’s the only reason it’s there.”
“Saved them? Gretchen climbed a mountain so she could
jump off. Last week Mirabella took poison―for the third time.
She says she wants to find the best one to use when she turns
twenty-five. She’s sixteen, next year she’ll be hanging herself to
determine which hosiery makes the best noose. Do you want me
 Gladiator Girl 81

to keep going? The Verbeek girls are using your wombs for re-
creation and attention dramas.”
Mister Verbeek and Francine stared each other down, until he
blinked and turned to Jayzen. “Be a good boy and pass the jam.”
Francine finished her coffee. “If you will excuse me, I have a
museum date with my friends.” She stood and left.
“I’m off too,” Jayzen said. He caught up to Francine at the
central elevator. “France, you and your friends actually follow
blood battle, don’t you?”
Francine turned around. “We do. It’s exciting, and contrary to
what most people think, quite spiritual, and as I suspect you
learned last night, requires significant skill.”
“Do you know when Lucy is playing her next game?”
“It’s called a match.”
“Whatever, do you know when the next one is?”
“Are you smitten?” Francine said. “Has Lucy Star stolen
your heart?”
Jayzen gave her an impatient scowl.
“You better not do anything stupid,” Francine said.
“I have no desire to cause her distress, quite the contrary.”
“You weren’t listening earlier. I’m not worried about her.”
“Thanks for your concern, little sister.”
“It’s this Saturday at nineteen o’clock, in Appalachi City,
against Beauty Incarnate. I’m going with my friends, and you
can’t join us.”
Jayzen turned and walked off.
The elevator settled into place and the gate folded open. Fran-
cine stepped through. “Down,” she said. “All the way.”

She walked off the elevator onto the house car dock. “Good
morning, Ned.” She smiled at the security dispatcher. “How are
you today?” Her family drove her crazy; the house staff was
friendly, but careful to say the right thing; and her teachers were
pompous, brilliant asses. Ned was the antithesis to them all:
82 R. H. Watson

calm, confident, good-natured. Despite being staff, he was the

closest thing to an adult friend she had.
“It's a good day to be alive.” Ned returned a generous smile.
“Thanks for asking.” He was tall and fit. His un-tailored uniform
gave away more about the underlying shape of his body than he
probably realized.
“No doubt the security service hired you for your intimidating
appearance,” Francine said, “but you’re really a teddy-bear,
aren’t you?”
“You see right through me. Will you be needing transport?”
“I will.”
A car pulled up to the dock. Ned snapped his fingers and a
pair of bodyguards came out of the Standby Room. They were
identical, annoying twins, several years older than Francine.
Francine stepped into the car. “Come on girls,” she said.

Zack

He wandered around in the dark city and felt safe surrounded by

these old dead structures, then the ground convulsed and the
buildings began falling apart. He realized they had been facades
glued to bio structures, but not the normal wood and grass kind,
these were meat and bone. He tried to run, but his feet slipped;
he couldn’t get any traction. He looked down and saw that his
belly had been torn open by a talon growing out of the road. His
guts were spilling out, and his feet were sliding on a pile of his
intestines. They tangled around his legs, and he fell. The ground
was slick, all blood and flesh. He tried crawling, but couldn’t get
any purchase. The meaty ground tipped up, and he began sliding
backward. A mouth was eating the road behind him, sucking in
and biting down on mouthfuls of juicy flesh. The mouth caught
up with him. He kicked at its teeth as it took a big bite just be-
hind his buttocks. The mouth sucked in more roadway and bit
down on his stomach. Zack felt the teeth grind from side to side
 Gladiator Girl 83

as they bit through his spine. He tried to scream, but instead of

sound, he regurgitated his lungs. Then he realized that, despite
everything, he had an erection and desperately wanted to do
something with it . . .
“Ache-up.” Someone said. “Hey, wake up. We’ve got to start
work. Wow, you must have been having a great dream! If you
want to take care of that, do it quick. We’ve got to get going.”
“Ah, Oh. Morning, Neil,” Zack said. He sat up and realized what
Neil was talking about. He piled his blanket around his crotch.
“Don’t worry about it,” Neil said. “Sit for a minute if you
need to, then we got to get to work.” Neil headed to the
dorm shower room. Zack waited for his salmon squirter to
go away. When he could stand without feeling embarrassed,
he followed Neil.
The Helping Hand had taken him in, just like Debbie had
said. They gave him a bed, food, and a job. Neil seemed okay.
They were scheduled to work four days a week: Sunday,
Monday, Thursday, and Friday, from five to eight and again
from seventeen to twenty. The schedule gave them time dur-
ing the day to look for better jobs, or take classes. Christopher
had made a big deal about that. “It’s important to plan for your
future,” he had said.
It was still dark when they arrived at the park with their trash
wagon, but the eastern sky was starting to brighten up.
“Who’s that?” Zack said. He was looking at an old man stand-
ing by the railing that ran along the former quay. “I’ve seen him
in the cafeteria.”
“That’s Max,” Neil said. “He’s there most every morning.”
“Is he on the staff?”
“No. My girlfriend, Kathy, she helps out in the office, she says
he’s rich, but he likes to live in the shelter. He gives them lots of
money, and they let him do whatever he wants.” Neil lifted a
trash basket out of its holder.
“What’s he do?” Zack said.
84 R. H. Watson

“Hangs out at the old guys table in the cafeteria. Sits in the
park drinking coffee and talking to people. Watches the sun come
up in the morning. Visits a tea shop over that way, behind Burn-
ing Desire. Hey, did you know we got a blood battle club in the
neighborhood? How fantastic is that?” Neil waited for a reaction,
didn’t get one.
“If he’s got a choice, why is he here?” Zack said.
“Why are you here? We all have a choice. None of us has to
be here.”
“I, ah . . .”
“That was rhetorical. You don’t have to answer,” Neil said. He
dumped the basket contents into the trash wagon. “So why are
you here?”
“I, ah . . .”
“Never mind. you don’t have to answer. Did you see your
counselor yet?”
“My first session is this morning, when we’re done working.”
“It’s a good thing you landed at the Hand. They really try to
help. The last place I was at was shit. We were just an excuse for
them to get charity money. Here, they got me in school. I’m
learning to be a structural topiary engineering assistant, so I can
help grow the city. We’re making a new world, and I’m gonna be
part of it. I’m taking a night class too, after our evening
shift―they don’t know about that one. Martial arts. I’m doing it
on my own―taking the initiative. Train the mind and the body,
you know?” Neil noticed he was holding an empty basket. He
put it back in its holder. “Who’s your counselor?”
“Huh? Ah, Wilhelmina Mazur.” Zack said.
“Wow, you must be fucked up, no offense. She always takes
the tough cases. Don’t worry about it. You’ll be fine.”
Zack dumped the last basket for this section of the park into
the trash wagon. They sat on their saddles, and peddled past Max
to the next section. The sun broke the horizon.
***
 Gladiator Girl 85

Jayzen

He changed into his training gear, entered the dojo, and bowed to
Hashimoto Sensei.
“What were you thinking?” said Hashimoto Sensei, whose
real name was Bob.
“What?” Jayzen stood upright.
“You tried using the sword arts with one of those blood
sport girls.”
“How do you know?”
Bob waggled his thumb at Eduardo and Faustus who were at
the other end of the dojo, looking sheepish. “Your friends snitched
on you. I had a word with them about honor.”
“I was curious how useful your training would be,” Jayzen
said, “if I ever had cause to use it in a real fight.”
“A real fight? This isn’t feudal Africa! We don’t have real
fights. That’s what your two ninjas are for.” He nodded at
Jayzen’s bodyguards standing discretely to the side of the dojo
floor looking, in fact, like ninjas. They were dressed head to toe
in matte black bodysuits that covered everything except their
faces. They wore loose, black jackets with lots of pockets con-
cealing who-knows-what scary weapons. Their faces were decor-
ated with makeup, eyeliner and red lipstick. Jayzen was particu-
lar about their appearance. They were identical twins.
“I couldn’t even touch her,” Jayzen said.
“Of course not. From what I heard, you weren’t even using a
proper weapon. You were using a practice stick. How could you
expect to perform properly?”
“She was using one, too.”
Bob folded his arms to indicate frustration.
“She said your sword training was nothing but a collection of
tricks,” Jayzen said. “She said you’ve lost your edge, you’re en-
cumbered by rules for scoring points, you’ve forgotten how to kill.
After seeing her perform, I’m inclined to agree.”
86 R. H. Watson

“She was taunting you, sowing you noggin with confusion

and doubt.” Bob reached out and woodpecker tapped Jayzen’s
head. “It’s part of winning. You didn’t have a chance against her
because you were playing by her rules. Rules that are not as con-
straining as ours. Rules you are incapable of playing by because
you cannot come back from the dead. To defeat her, you would
have to change the rules to your advantage.”
“How?” Jayzen rubbed his noggin.
Bob thought on this, then said, “She may talk about killing and
death, but it’s all play acting. No one actually dies in the blood
sports any more than they do in a samurai competition. They only
appear to. You want to defeat her? Get her into a real fight to the
death, one she can’t recover from. Make her afraid for her life.
“But first you would have to make yourself unafraid. You
would have to become a real samurai, roaming the countryside,
challenging and killing rivals more skilled than yourself. If you
survived, then maybe, you could defeat her.”
“Hmm,” Jayzen said.
“That was a joke. This isn’t a movie; it’s the modern world. If
you really want to defeat her, wait until she’s twenty-five and
have one of your ninjas shoot her in the head.”
“They wouldn’t be allowed to do that.”
“Of course they wouldn’t, unless you corrupted them with
your charm, or money.”
“Really?”
That was another joke,” Bob said. “My last for today. Now,
let’s get started.”

Wilhelmina

She wrote her notes on the session with Zachary Tang while they
were fresh in her memory. He was hiding just about everything.
She suspected he had given a false name. He seemed like a de-
cent kid, but deeply troubled.
 Gladiator Girl 87

Christopher knocked on her open door. “Donna Quinn, from

security at the Burning Desire BB club, wants to talk to you.”
“Thanks,” Wilhelmina said. It took several seconds for the
talk-to request to arrive. “Hello, Donna.”
“Good morning, Mina. How are you?”
“I’m doing well. Which of our residents are you concerned
about today?”
“Right to business,” Donna said. “I appreciate that. We’re
keeping an eye on a young man who moved into your shelter last
week. He seems to be settling in—”
“And you would have preferred him to move on?” Wilhelmina
said. “You know I can’t tell you anything about our residents.”
“Yes, but if I share some of what I know. Maybe you can use
it to help the kid out.”
“And keep an eye on him where you can’t?”
“It would be reassuring to know you were.”
“Who is this lost soul?”
“Zachary Knole,” Donna said. “He’s from a nowhere town in
Moraineia, called Cliffside.”
“Why are you interested in him?”
“I can’t tell you that.”
“The more I know, the more we can help him,” Wilhelmina
said. “The more we help him, the less you have to worry about.”
“This conversation is private, just between us? You’re not
making any kind of a record?”
“You’re paranoid, but yes, just between us.”
“His sister plays for Burning Desire. She left home when she
was fourteen, won emancipation from her family through the BB
recruitment program, and changed her name.”
“Commercial exploitation of minors program you mean.”
“Don’t start. The BB program gets more government scrutiny
than you do. The sponsored girls are better off for it. I looked up
this girl’s physical exam, previous to her first rebirth. We may
have saved her life.”
88 R. H. Watson

“Who is she?”
“Somebody who changed her name after leaving home and
doesn’t want anything to do with her family. Her brother, some-
how, figured out who she was and showed up last week. We
don’t know why. She doesn’t want to have anything to do with
him. We want him to stay away. He’s living in your shelter.
That’s all I can tell you.”
“We’re not an extension of your security operation, but
thanks, this will help.” Wilhelmina ended the contact. “So,
Zachary Tang né Knole, you have a sister living in Heritage
City.” She eased back in her desk chair until the springs creaked.
“. . . and the thought of working in our store frightened you.”
She sat forward and sent a request to the Helping Hand
thrift store.
“Hi, Mina, how are you?” Zemar, the store manager, said.
“I’m Fine. Do you know if any of your customers are Burning
Desire players?”
“I expect some are, but there’s only one I know of for sure.”
“How can you tell?”
“She always has a sword with her.”
“Really? Do you know her name?”
“Lucy Star. She’s a sweet girl.”
“That’s a curious name,” Wilhelmina said. “It sounds made up.”
“I guess it does, now that you mention it. Is there a problem?”
“No, nothing to worry about,” Wilhelmina said. “Thank you.”

Samantha

She approached the scene wearing full body armor, including her
face mask. She wasn’t obviously armed, but she had a small ar-
senal of mostly non-lethal weapons tucked into her jacket and
holstered around her hips. She circled, lurked in the background,
and watched for anything, or anyone, suspicious. Her job was to
stay back, not interfere, observe, and only act to protect lives.
 Gladiator Girl 89

A forensics examiner arrived and spent some time studying

the remains, then he straightened up, looked around, and walked
straight over to Samantha. “Lieutenant Villanueva?”
“Yes.”
“I was wondering if I could ask your opinion on some-
thing.” He turned to walk back but stopped when Samantha
didn’t follow.
“I’d rather not call attention to myself,” Samantha said. “It
complicates my job if I need to take some action.”
“You need to look at the corpse.”
She glanced around the backdrop of the scene then followed
the examiner to the middle of the overgrown lot. “The body is
male,” he said as they walked, “late teens or early twenties. No
clothing. The head, hands, and feet are missing, probably to pre-
vent identification.” They arrived.
“Could you look at the wounds and tell me what you think?”
Samantha looked over the body; she disregarded the stumps
where the extremities had been cut off. “Someone chopped up
this poor kid,” she said.
“Yes,” the examiner said, “but I was wondering if you had an
opinion as to who might have done it?”
“Ah, that’s it,” Samantha said. “You heard the story that I re-
ceived my rebirth gene therapy at the Concepción Academy?”
“It’s in the gossip that gets passed around.”
“Does the gossip explain that I was only in the BB program
for two years before I switched to Police Special Operations?”
“The length of time varies with each telling.”
Everyone thought her time in the BB program counted for
something—it didn’t. Two years going the wrong way when she
was a naïve kid, that’s all it was. Gunda Thorstenson had conned
everyone; it was just a game.
“This is entirely unofficial,” Samantha said. “I’m not qualified
to offer binding testimony.”
“I understand,” the examiner said.
90 R. H. Watson

Whoever had put the body here, had laid it on its back with
the arms and legs spread to display the wounds. Samantha
crouched to look at the big cut on the body’s left side. It started
in the ribcage and sliced down through the abdomen into the pel-
vis, nearly cutting off the left a leg. She stood and stepped over
the legs to the body’s right side. “These aren’t blood battle
wounds,” she said. “That’s what you wanted to know, isn’t it?”
“You seem sure.”
“Blood battle has two types of weapons. Guards and forwards
use a field sword. It has a short, wide blade with a sharp point
and two sharpened edges: good for stabbing and hacking; not
good for making long, deep cuts like this one.” She pointed at
the wound on the body’s left side.
“The other main weapon is the long-sword. It’s handled by
chargers and guardians. It’s long, obviously, straight and thin,
sharpened on one edge. It would be capable of making that cut.
“Guardians have a second sword, a short-sword. It’s pretty
much the same as the long-sword, but about half the length. This
stab wound in the right armpit,” she pointed, “would be typical
for a guardian’s short-sword.”
“So, they could be blood battle wounds?”
“No. The girls who wield BB swords are highly trained
swordswomen before they’re ever allowed to hold real blades.
Whoever did this doesn’t have that level of skill, but may have
used guardian style swords.”
The detective was listening in. The examiner said to her, “You
think maybe we have boys trying to play girl blood sports?”
“Not in the urban legend sense,” the detective said. “A secret
sports league would be too complicated to hide. I think we’re still
looking for a killer who fancies himself to be a swordsman, and he’s
using these kids for practice. Practice for what? I don’t know.”
They both looked at Samantha. “I don’t know either,” she
said, “but he needs more practice.”
 Chapter 7
Less Than a Week

Monday — 5 Days to Go

Fuck. A whole gaggle of the club’s goddesses was gathered in

Alice’s Tea Shop. One of them was at the counter talking to Mr.
Fredrick; their heads were tucked together in private conversa-
tion. Lucy turned to walk out.
“Good morning, Lucy.” Mr. Fredrick straightened up. “Here
for your lemon tea?” The goddess peeked around at her.
“I am.” Lucy converted her turnabout into a clumsy three-
sixty twirl and walked up to the counter. “You read my mind.”
“I read your schedule,” Mr. Fredrick said. “Today you learn
the message songs for Saturday’s match. You always start mes-
sage song days with lemon tea.” He handed a cup of tea to the
goddess. Lucy was now standing right next to her.
The goddess held the cup under her nose and inhaled.
“Wonderful!” she said. “As always.” She took another peek
at Lucy, then lifted herself up on tiptoes, leaned across the
counter, and whispered in Mr. Fredrick’s ear, cupping her
hand next to her mouth to conceal her secret from nosey lip
readers.
She slid off the counter and planted her heels back on the
floor. Mr. Fredrick shook his head, equally bemused and amused,
92 R. H. Watson

then he pointed at Lucy. “Your tea, my dear, coming right up.”

He went about preparing it.
“It’s a beautiful morning, don’t you thing?” the goddess said.
Mr. Fredrick had his back turned and didn’t answer. Weird. A
moment ago they seemed like the best of friends. The other god-
desses’ chatter turned to whispers, then nothing. Something in
the corner of Lucy’s eye nagged for attention. She turned to see;
the goddess was looking right at her!
Lucy averted her eyes and focused on a dull metal contraption
Mr. Fredrick had on the back counter. “I guess,” she said.
“The air smells fresh, the sky is clear, and there were sun
dogs! Did you see the sun dogs?”
“No,” Lucy said.
“They were beautiful.”
Mr. Fredrick turned around and handed Lucy her tea in a take-
away cup. She leaned her sword against the counter, dug money
out of her coin purse, and laid it out. “Thanks. Keep the change.”
“It was nice talking to you,” the goddess said.
“Ah, yeah.” Lucy made for the door, but something else was
wrong. Fucking crap! She about-faced and picked up her sword.
The little bell above the door let out an emphatic jangle when she
yanked the door open.
She walked fast to the club. “‘The air smells fresh, the sky is
clear,’” Lucy said to herself. “Guardians and goddesses don’t
talk to each other about the fucking weather, they don’t talk to
each other about anything.” She squinted up into the eastern sky;
sure enough, sun dogs, and they were beautiful. “But, what the
fuck? She shouldn’t even have noticed me!”
That was the rule, and Lucy was good at it. She had slammed
the door on her whole life from before she arrived at the
Academy, stuffing an extra half score goddesses behind the same
door was easy―as long as they stayed there. As long as every­
body fucking stays there.
“She must be new. She better shape up or they’ll kick her
 Gladiator Girl 93

cutesy little ass out of the club. Fuck! Why do I care?” Lucy
walked through the gate in the security fence and ran into Frank,
the security guard. She splashed tea on his jacket. “Sorry!”
“Don’t worry about it,” Frank said. “You seem preoccupied
this morning.”
“It’s Monday,” Lucy said.
“Pre-match jitters?”
“No. Maybe. I don’t know.”
Frank opened the door to the building. “Are you OK?”
“I’m fine. You’re right. Jitters. That’s all.” She headed to the
locker room.
She sipped some tea, put the rest aside for lunch, and changed
into shorts and a t-shirt. She slammed the locker door on her fin-
ger. “Ow! Shit!”
During calisthenics she kept drifting off the rhythm of the ex-
ercises and was called on it, twice. While running, Serendipity
came up along side her and said, “Hey.” Lucy stumbled.
On their way to the weight room, Frankie dragged her to the
side of the corridor. “What’s wrong with you today?” Frankie said.
“You’re acting like you’ve gone off your drugs or something.”
“Are you sick?” Serendipity said.
“No, and I’m not on anything to go off of. What are you
talking about?”
“You’ve got the coordination of a drunken monkey and the fo-
cus of backward eyeglasses,” Frankie said. “There’s no way I’m
letting you spot me in the weight room. You’ll drop a barbell on
my neck and not even notice.”
“Are you upset about something?” Serendipity said.
“I’m fine,” Lucy said.
“Is it your brother?”
“How do you know about that?”
Frankie pinned her against the wall. “Out with it!”
“It’s nothing.”
Frankie pointed a finger at her nose.
94 R. H. Watson

“All right, it’s the goddesses,” Lucy said. “There was a bunch
of them at Mr. Fredrick’s this morning, and one of them tried to
make small talk with me.”
“You’ve got your head turned inside-out over that?” Frankie
slapped her.
“Ow!” Lucy said.
“Snap out of it!” Frankie said.
Lucy glared.
“Hit her again,” Serendipity said.
“What the fuck?” Lucy said.
“Just trying to help.”
“Why do you give a shit about that pack of vac-heads?”
Frankie said.
Lucy stared back at her. Frankie flicked her eyes down and
adjusted her footing. Lucy grabbed her finger. “You know
what?” She patted Frankie’s cheek, smiled, then slapped her—
hard. “You’re right. Thanks. I feel better.” She poked her finger
at Frankie’s nose. “You spot me first.” She turned and strode off
to the weight room. Frankie and Serendipity jogged to catch up.

After lunch the teams for Saturday’s match assembled in the

practice arena to learn and rehearse the message songs. Frankie
and her team for the first game took to the field. Lucy, Liha,
Serendipity, and Serendipity’s team for the second game climbed
into the row of seats above the north side-wall.
Lucy sipped the last of her tea. Serendipity sat next to her.
“Your new outie is cute,” she said.
Lucy tapped her navel through her warmup jacket. “Second
Pete cleaned up on it.”
“Me too.”
“You bet on my outie?”
“Of course. It was obvious you were going to get one.”
“How could you tell?”
“I could see it in your face.”
 Gladiator Girl 95

Lucy started to ask, but changed her mind.

Serendipity tapped the end of her nose. “The nose is the navel
of the face. That’s how I could tell.”
“No it’s not.” Lucy said. “It’s got nothing to do with navels.
You’re so full of shit.”
Lucy turned to Liha and jutted her chin at the expanse of the
practice arena. “What do you think?”
“It’s amazing,” Liha said.
“It’s the reason the club moved into this defunct factory,”
Lucy said. “It had the only enclosed span in the Old Manufactur-
ing District large enough to hold a full sized blood battle arena.
Look at it—half of a whole blood battle field—that’s fucking im-
pressive for a Beta League club. They replaced the original roof
with that greenhouse air tent, and dug out the floor and filled it
with fertile earth, so that’s all alive down there. The hedge is
real. The field is covered with real long grass, wild flowers, and
bushes. And that’s a real stream and marsh in the lowland. There
are even frogs and snakes living down there.”
“Nice,” Liha said. “I like snakes.”
“I wonder what the world would be like if frogs ate snakes,”
Serendipity said, “instead of the other way around, like it is now.”
Liha’s eyes drifted to the top of the temple: a rectangular pyr-
amid that jutted out from the back-wall, between the north and
south plazas. “Yeah,” Lucy said. “That’s the place. While you’re
with us this week, make sure you climb up there when no one’s
around, just you and the arena. Bring both your swords. Stand up
there and feel what it’s like to know that’s your temple, and any-
one who tries to take it away dies.”
“Horribly,” Serendipity said. She was leaning forward to see
around Lucy. “You should always imagine they die horribly,
even if, in reality, they just die.”
“That part’s optional,” Lucy said.
“There’s a straw goddess on the temple altar,” Liha said. “The
goddesses don’t join us?”
96 R. H. Watson

“Ah . . . No,” Lucy said.

“Since the Goddess is indifferent to the competition,” Serendip-
ity said, “the club goddesses aren’t included in game practice.”
They fell silent and waited for things to start. Coach Kai and
her assistant coaches had climbed onto the opposite side-wall
and were having a conference before beginning.
Lucy was still looking at the straw goddess. “What do you think
they do all day, up in that goddess suite?” she said to Serendipity.
“I don’t know. Maybe they don’t do anything. That’s what
they do, nothing. Maybe they spend all day practicing nothing.”
“Wow, I can’t tell if what you just said was deep or stupid.”
“Thanks.”
“Thanks? I just called you, maybe stupid.”
“No. You said you couldn’t tell.”
“That’s because I can never tell if conversations with you are
conversations.”
“How’s your brother?”
“How do you know about that?”
“I don’t know.”
Lucy did a ‘Huh?’ take. “Well, whatever the fuck you think
you know, or don’t know—forget it. He’s got nothing to do with
me, not anymore.”
“I know.”
“Then why did you ask?”
“To make conversation.”
Coach Kai held a megaphone to her mouth. “We’re ready to
start. George, it’s all yours.” She handed the megaphone to
George Condor, the singing coach.

Wednesday — 3 Days Left

When Lucy woke up, Charlotte was making coffee and toast.
“Felix is in the shower,” she said. “He seems nice.”
Lucy heard the shower turn off and the fans turn on. “Who?”
 Gladiator Girl 97

A couple of minutes later, Felix came out of the shower room.

Charlotte handed him a cup of coffee. “She doesn’t remember you.”
“I was kidding. Good morning, Felix.”
“Good morning, Louisa.” he said.
“Who?” Lucy said.
“Oh! I meant . . . I mean . . .”
Lucy sat up and accepted her coffee cup from Charlotte.
“Don’t worry, you get a we-met-while-intoxicated pass.” She
took a couple of sips. “And you’re cute when you’re desperate.”
She heaved herself off the bed without spilling, and held out her
hand. “Lucy Star. Nice to meet you.”
“I’m so sorry,” he said, “Lucy,” and shook her hand.
She put her cup on the kitchenette counter, then unmade the
bed, tossed the sheets in the washer, turned the bed back into a
dinette, and washed and dried the table top. Felix’s clothes had
been folded neatly on a towel on the floor. Lucy raised an eye-
brow to Charlotte. Charlotte shook her head and pointed at Felix.
“Huh,” Lucy said. She picked up Felix’s underpants from the
stack and handed them to him. “Minimum dress code for sitting
on anything other than a made up bed.” She pulled on her own
undershorts, dug two t-shirts out of a drawer under the dinette,
and handed one to Felix. “And we dress formally when enter-
taining guests.” She picked up her coffee and sat at the table.
“Have a seat.” She patted the settee. “Let’s see if we can figure
out what we saw in each other last night.”
Charlotte put a plate of toast on the table and leaned against
the kitchenette counter. Felix tool a slice.
“What do you do when you’re not eating toast in your under-
wear?” Charlotte said.
“I’m a student at the Polytechnic, in the Social Philosophy
program.”
“What’s that?” Lucy said.
“We look at the philosophical implications of social trends
and behavior.”
98 R. H. Watson

“I think you just said the same thing. How about an example.”
“Well, we’re currently studying rebirth, ‘The Cruel Joke that
Changed the World.’ That’s the book my professor wrote.”
“A joke?” Lucy said.
“Sure. At first, it looked like it might be the mythical trans-
formative medical miracle; the one that would allow everyone to
live potentially, endlessly long lives without sacrificing their
youth. But one,” he held up his thumb, “it doesn’t slow
aging―at all. Two,” he flipped up his index finger, “it’s so intim-
ately tied to the female reproductive system, that half the popula-
tion is immediately excluded. Three,” he held up his middle fin-
ger, “it only works between puberty and the end of physical
growth at around twenty-five. And Four,” his ring finger went
up, “it’s ridiculously complicated and expensive to support. To
afford the treatment, a girl’s family has to be beyond rich, or she
needs to be sponsored by a government, or a wealthy private en-
tity. Hence, cruel joke.”
“So, what’s that joke got to do with social philosophy?”
“Because the joke’s on the joke! Rebirth is transformative,
just not in the way people had hoped. Think about it, in the last
twenty years we handed over our most dangerous jobs, including
jobs that protect the very nature of our civilization, to a handful
of young women. Jobs that have traditionally fallen within the
male compass. This raises big ethical and social dissonances, and
the way those are resolved, or ignored, defines how rebirth is
changing our society.”
“Okay . . . ?” Lucy said.
“Take something as trivial as sports. They’re just entertain-
ment, right? Wrong!” He poked the table top with his finger so
hard, the toast plate rattled. “Sports are our most popular rights
of passage, which among other things, define and assign gender
roles. Granted, in our modern versions, most of us participate
vicariously; we appoint just a few elite athletes to actually per -
form the rituals.
 Gladiator Girl 99

“But by bringing rebirth into sports, we’ve essentially revived

gladiatorial games—the most aggressive sporting rituals ever prac-
ticed—and we have licensed their practice exclusively to athletes
who produce ova and are capable of gestating and giving birth to a
memory placenta. Now every week, we watch girls display a level
of aggression that would be impossible, not to mention illegal, for
anyone else to attempt. And it’s wildly successful. In just twelve
years, blood battle has become the most popular sport, world wide,
and incidentally, the most banned—see above, re ethical dissonance.”
“Easy there, ranchero,” Lucy said. “Don’t forget to breath.”
“Sorry, I got carried away. But you see what I mean, right?
Rebirth and its most visible manifestation, the blood sports, has
changed the way society associates power and aggression with
gender. As of last year, sixty-three percent of blood battle fans
identified themselves as female, and identified with the athletes.
The ‘joke’ is changing the world. Today little girls can dream of
growing up and chopping people’s heads off.”
“Little girls have always dreamed of growing up and chopping
heads off,” Charlotte said.
“Yes, but now they may actually be able to do it!”
“Huh,” Lucy said.
“So, what do you two do?” Felix said.
“He doesn’t know?” Charlotte said to Lucy. Lucy shrugged. “I
don’t know how you two met,” Charlotte said to Felix, “and I
don’t know how drunk you were—well OK, you couldn’t re-
member her name—but didn’t you notice the sword?”
“He was distracted by my eyes,” Lucy said.
Felix’s smile turned into, I-don’t-get-it.
Lucy reached around the end of the dinette to the broom closet
and took out her long-sword. She set it on the table and pulled
the blade part way out of its scabbard. “The joke’s on you,
kiddo,” she said.
Felix looked at the sword, at Lucy, and then at Charlotte.
“Me too,” Charlotte said. “Duel à Mort, foil fencing.”
100 R. H. Watson

Felix opened his mouth and closed it, then his eyes flared.
“You’re Charlotte Marceau!”
“Before you go gaga over my roommate,” Lucy said, “remem-
ber who you had sex with last night, and remember who’s sword
this is, lying right here, in front of you.”
Felix looked from Charlotte to the sword, and to Lucy. “See?”
he said. “That’s just the sort of thing we study! Not the implied
threat to cut off my balls―that’s nothing new―but the casual
understanding that it would be a trivial act, given your experi-
ence and capabilities―experience and capabilities that no one
has been able to acquire before rebirth. That’s new!”
Lucy leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “If I knew you
well enough to know I liked you, I’d say, ‘that’s what I like about
you.’” She sat back and regarded him. “How many implied
threats to cut your balls off do you get?”
“I, ah . . . what?”
“Never mind.”
Felix bit a corner of his toast, picked up his cup to drink, then
put it down without drinking.
“I think, you think you have a dumb question,” Charlotte said.
“Go ahead; ask it.”
“But be careful,” Lucy said. “You only get one dumb ques-
tion. Don’t waist it on something smart.”
“What’s it like to die?” Felix said. “You must hear this all the time,
and I’ve read about the experience, but still, I can’t imagine it.”
“First,” Lucy said. “Obviously, we don’t die.”
“Yes, but physiologically, your bodies go through a series of
traumas that no one else can survive. You recover from a state far
beyond where I would be declared irrevocably dead.”
“If you’ve read about it then you know we don’t remember
dying,” Lucy said. “The process of converting short term
memory to long term is disrupted. The closer a memory is to the
time of death the less coherent it is, and anything within about a
minute of death is lost entirely.”
 Gladiator Girl 101

“It probably saves us from some uncomfortable recollections,”

Charlotte said. “I remember non-fatal, or not immediately fatal
wounds, but I don’t know if I want to remember losing all control
of my body at the moment of death.”
“Remembering fencing wounds is like remembering bee
stings,” Lucy said. She leaned toward Felix. “I remember hold-
ing my intestines in while chasing the charger off my temple
who cut me open.” She got on her knees and mimed holding her
belly. “I took off her shoulder and punched her in the back of the
head.” She swung her arm, and punched the air. Felix slid into
the corner of the settee. “But that’s all I remember. I died and
lost the game—the bitch did her job.”
She flopped back onto the settee, not at all happy, then she
brightened and turned to Charlotte. “It could be useful though, don’t
you think? If I could remember the actual moments when I die,
what it actually took to kill me, I could refine my own killing meth-
ods and save several hundredths of a second that I’m sure I waste
overkilling opponents. It wouldn’t make a difference for you—you
kill one opponent and the bout’s over—but for me, any extra time I
spend killing a charger gives the next one more time to kill me.”
“Sometimes you even scare me,” Charlotte said.
“I do?”
“Sorry, just kidding.” Felix was still scrunched into the corner
of the settee. “I’ll bet this isn’t your typical college cafeteria con-
versation,” Charlotte said to him.
“No,” he said and sidled out of the corner.
“But this is what you were talking about, right?” Lucy said.
“‘Experience and capabilities that no one else has been able to
acquire.’ We can learn from our fatal mistakes―no one else has
ever been able to do that.”
Charlotte pushed away from the counter. “I’ve got to go, and
sorry to break this up, but you’d better check the time, too.”
“Oh, shit! Felix, I’m sorry, I’ve got to get to the club, and you
know, hone my killer instincts for Saturday’s match.” She gave
102 R. H. Watson

him a quick kiss, put her sword away in the closet, and ran into
the shower room. “Leave your talk-to address, mine’s on the
message board.”

Thursday — 2 More Days

“Today we will be performing exercises to challenge your kines-

thetic intelligence.” Bimini, Lucy, and the other guardians were
assembled on the north plaza of the practice arena.
“It is one thing to load your bodies with reflexes and muscle
memories,” Bimini said, “it is another to use that training in con-
flict, where predictable, rote behavior will get you killed; where
there is no time to think, yet you must interpret events and act
upon them.
“Kinesthetic intelligence is the core guardian skill. It is the
ability to anticipate without knowing, to leave thought behind yet
act with sagacity. It is not just your mind, but the entirety of your
flesh seeking its optimal path through the present.
“You may observe your actions, and after the fact critique, but
do not interfere in the moment. Your opponents are similarly
trained; if you think before you act, you concede action to them.”
Bimini walked up to Liha. “You and they,” she glanced at the
other guardians, “have been hearing similar speeches since you
began training at the Academy. However,” she spoke directly to
Liha, “you do not yet comprehend.”
“With deference,” Liha said. “I think I do understand.”
Bimini walked away. “You do not yet comprehend that under-
standing misses the point. Let’s begin. Liha, swords. Lucy, prac-
tice sticks.”
Lucy and Liha removed their athletic suits. Lucy checked the
lacing on her shoes. Guardian shoes were lightweight and
provided some ankle support and extra traction for mountain-
goating around the temple pyramid. She pulled on her helmet (a
guardian’s sole piece of armor). It was the same thin carbon skull
 Gladiator Girl 103

cap, molded to fit her cranium, that everyone wore. It fastened

around the back of her head leaving a hole she could feed her hair
through (a stubby black ponytail in Lucy’s case) and was colored
to mimic the fiery red and orange of the Burning Desire rose.
Lucy clipped her practice short-stick scabbard in place on her
short-sword saddle, pealed the backing off the saddle adhesive,
and stuck it just below the middle of her back, to the left of her
spine. She wore her short-sword upside down with its hilt low
and to the left. The scabbard crossed her back, angling up to her
right shoulder.
Least armored but most armed, guardians exchanged armor
for maneuverability, and for being the only players allowed to
wield two swords. Guards and forwards had their turtle shell
plating, and chargers had their forearm and foreleg shields, but
with her long-sword in hand, and her short-sword at her back,
Lucy had all the protection she needed, and they had none—not
against her.
Liha attached her saddle over her right scapula. “You draw
over your shoulder?” Lucy said.
“So I can bring it into play faster.” Liha saw Lucy’s place-
ment. “You don’t agree?”
“To each her own. I like pulling my short-sword from behind
my back. The move is partly hidden by my body. I can pull it
forehanded or backhanded, and my long-sword is usually far
enough away so my opponent is either distracted by it, or has to
split her attention across a wide field to take in both weapons.
Are you ready?”
Liha nodded.
“After you,” Lucy said.
Liha vaulted up the temple pyramid; Lucy followed, hopping
up the five, meter high tiers to the top. Bimini was waiting,
standing on the Goddess’s altar.
“You will perform an improvisation,” Bimini said to Liha.
“Confine your scope to the temple. Do not attempt conscious
104 R. H. Watson

control of your actions. Every moment must be an independent

extrapolation from the previous moment, but one moment must
not anticipate the next. Your kinesthetic intelligence, if you have
any, will be driving you. Disregard Lucy’s presence. She will fol-
low you and tap you with one of her practice sticks every time
you violate these rules.”
“But we’re in the flesh,” Liha held out her sword. “What if I
kill her?”
“It is Lucy’s responsibility to avoid death. If she fails, you are
the standby guardian and will take her place in the match on Sat-
urday. You have another question.”
“Are you going to stay there? You’re not even protected.”
“I am standing on the Goddess’s altar. A guardian’s blades
never violate this space. Now, stop thinking, and start.”
Liha took up her guardian stance behind the altar. Lucy did
the same two meters behind her. Liha breathed in; Lucy stepped
forward and hit her on the shoulder. Liha turned to look; Lucy hit
her in the back of her head. Liha leapt off the first tier, twisting
and lifting her long-sword between her and Lucy. Lucy pulled
her short-stick and rapped Liha’s knuckles.
“I’m not here,” Lucy said. “This is a solo exercise.” She
whacked Liha’s knee with her long-stick. “Stop,” whack, “mak-
ing yourself,” whack, “think.”
Liha stopped for a beat, then another. She dropped to her
knee. Relaxed. Tumbled backward off the tier. Spun with both
blades cutting the air. Landed on her feet. Sheathed her short-
sword. Planted her hand to vault up a tier. Instead used the lever-
age to reverse her direction.
Lucy followed, avoided Liha’s swords, and reached in now
and then, to tap her elbow, her rib, her foot. Liha’s body explored
the variety of options available when time expands to fill the
present. She leapt into kinetic activity, slowed, sliced the air,
jumped across the temple-top, landed with solid footing, rolled
and skipped down two tiers. Once she left both her swords be-
 Gladiator Girl 105

hind on the third tier. That impressed Lucy so much, she almost
got clipped by Liha’s long-sword when she recovered them.
“Please finish,” Bimini said.
They stopped, and found they had returned to the temple-top.
“You have potential,” Bimini said to Liha. “Let us continue.
Lucy, swords. Frankie, practice sticks.”
Twice Frankie tried to hit Lucy, but each time Lucy dodged
out of the way. She was pretty sure she had setup Frankie to have
a little fun, but that’s the thing about kinesthetic intelligence; she
didn’t always know why she did what she did.
When they finished, Bimini said to Lucy, “Very good.”
“I know,” Lucy said. This was a good day to feel cocky, and
you have to go with how you feel. She hopped down the tiers
and off the pyramid.

Saturday — Ø Day

Lucy woke up at six. At six forty-five she climbed out the hatch
with her overnight bag, her long-sword, a cup of coffee, and a
slice of toast. At seven, she arrived at Burning Desire's team en-
trance to wait in the chilly morning air with the other club mem-
bers who were making the trip to Appalachi City.
 Chapter 8
Who is Chrysanthemum?

“Good morning, Lucy,” Mathilda said. She was one of the assist-
ant equipment managers, but for now, she was managing the cabin
assignments for the outbound trip. Coach Kai had the players and
staff assigned randomly to cabins so they would have an opportun-
ity to meet people outside their usual circles of skills and friend-
ships. “You’ll be in cabin five with Glenna, Esmerelda, Jana, Beth-
any, Toshi, and Chrysanthemum. They’re collecting over there.”
“Who were the last two on the list?” Lucy said.
“Toshi Sanchez, she’s a prep team intern, nice girl, and Chrys-
anthemum—her real name—Story. She’s a goddess.”
“That’s a mistake. Goddesses aren’t supposed to be traveling
with other team members and especially not with a guardian.”
“That’s what it says.” Mathilda held out the seating list for
Lucy to see.
“Where are the other goddesses sitting?”
Mathilda flipped through the list pages. “Here they are,” she
said, “in cabin twelve.”
“All of them?”
“Yes.”
“See? It’s a mistake. Carnation should be there, too.”
“Chrysanthemum,” Mathilda said.
“Huh?”
 Gladiator Girl 107

“Her name’s Chrysanthemum.”

“Who made the list? I’ve got to get this changed.”
“It’s a random list.”
“Not for goddesses.” Lucy poked her finger at the cabin
twelve passenger list.
“Coach Kai approved it.” Mathilda held up the last page.
“See? Her initials.”
“Where’s Coach Kai?”
“Ah . . .” Mathilda looked around. “There she is.”
“Thanks.” Lucy hurried to where Coach Kai was talking to
Angela and Sky, the defensive and offensive coaches.
“Coach Kai?” Lucy said.
“Yes?”
“There’s a problem with the seating assignments. One of the
goddesses got assigned to my cabin.”
A pleased-with-herself smile crossed Coach Kai’s lips.
Oh shit!
“It’s not a mistake. And it’s not random. Chrysanthemum’s an
interesting girl. I think you’ll like her.”
“But, doesn’t this violate a prime directive or something?”
“It doesn’t violate anything. A lot of ideas were bandied about
when Gunda’s people cobbled together blood battle, and a lot of
those ideas stuck without ever being tested or scrutinized, like
the notion that guardians and goddesses shouldn’t interact.”
“But—”
“The girls who represent the Goddess are living, breathing hu-
man beings, yet you’re told to put them in a box and only see the
symbol, and to not even acknowledge their presence off the field,
all to make it easy for you to treat them like things, with no more
regard than for carbon fiber practice dummies.”
“That’s kind of the idea,” Lucy said.
“I suspect that idea is wrong,” Coach Kai said. “It’s a lie. I
think living that lie makes you a little less of a person, and for
my purposes, a little less of a guardian. I want you to feel for the
108 R. H. Watson

girl you’re defending, and when you have to make that decision
to withhold your protection to win a game, you should be willing
to accept the responsibility that a real person will feel, and may
remember, real pain because of your decision. Accepting that
makes you whole, and I want a whole Lucy Star standing on the
temple, not one with a chunk of herself boxed away.”
“This is one of your radical ideas, isn’t it?”
“I trust you can handle it.”
“Crap.”
“Go on, get to know Chrysanthemum.”
Lucy walked back to where the cabin five passengers were
gathering.
Who the fuck is Chrysanthemum?
Why the fuck did Zack come to see me?
I like my boxes closed . . .

The next centipede cabin pulled up. “Cabin five!” Mathilda

called out. Lucy and her cabin mates stepped forward to board.
“Where’s Chrysanthemum?” Mathilda said.
There was a commotion, and a girl burst from the mingling
players and staff. She was wearing a shapeless cotton dress over
leg warmers, and a second hand, at least, baggy wool sweater
over the dress. Old canvas shoes were on her feet. She had a
rucksack over her shoulder and was holding a steaming cup from
Alice’s Tea Shop in a rainbow colored knit glove. Red ear flaps
dangled from her knit, orange and yellow hat. A big pompom
flopped around at the top.
“Sorry,” she said. “Had to get my tea from Mr. Fredrick.” She
held up her cup. “Is this our cabin?” Mathilda nodded. She
clambered aboard. Lucy and the others followed.
Once the passengers had their bags stowed and were buckled in,
the centipede cabin moved out to find its way to Appalachi City.
Toshi picked a window seat. “Wow, look at that!” she said.
Esmerelda and Jana broke out a deck of cards. Bethany started
 Gladiator Girl 109

reading. Glenna fell asleep. Chrysanthemum had pulled a knit-

ting project out of her rucksack before stowing it. Lucy, like
Toshi, looked out a window.
The cabin rolled up onto a former elevated railway bed and
shunted over toward the Old Warehouse District. “Look,” Toshi
said, “the Winnebago Graveyard!” They shifted onto a city ex-
press lane and joined a local centipede, one of the impromptu
trains the cabins formed to draft each other and reduce drag.
The centipede moved uptown at a brisk clip, then the cabin
broke off for the Great Bridge—one of the last of the old,
heroic engineering projects.
“Look where we are!” Toshi said. The suspension system of
the bridge flickered by outside her window. She turned to the
others; no one else seemed to be looking.
“It’s pretty amazing,” Lucy said.
Toshi grinned and went back to her window.
From the Great Bridge, they slipped onto a cross-country ex-
pressway and joined a high speed centipede heading southwest,
rushing through the tree tops of a resource management zone.
Their seat restraints released.
Lucy decided it was time to start Coach Kai’s experiment.
“Ah, hello,” she said to Chrysanthemum. “I’m Lucy.”
“I know,” Chrysanthemum said. She put down her knitting.
“We met before.”
“We did?”
“At Alice’s Tea Shop. We were talking about sun dogs.”
“That was you?”
“Didn’t I just say so? You didn’t say much.”
“Well, I . . . you know, guardians and goddesses aren’t sup-
posed to talk.”
“We’re talking now.”
“Coach Kai thinks we should give it a try.”
“Betty Kai is a smart lady,” Chrysanthemum said. “By the
way, thanks for saving me.”
110 R. H. Watson

“When did I do that?”

Chrysanthemum tapped the side of her head. “You saved my
head, twice.”
“Oh, you’re welcome,” Lucy said.
“Once you didn’t.”
“I’m sorry.”
“That’s all right. You died trying. It’s the thought that counts.”
This is going nowhere. “What are you knitting?” Lucy said.
Chrysanthemum held up her project. “It’s an anatomically cor-
rect sweater depicting the thoracic and abdominal viscera. It’s for
my boyfriend; he’s studying to be a surgeon.” She flipped it over
so Lucy could see the back.
“Wow, that’s pretty accurate,” Lucy said.
“Thanks, that means a lot. You’re the guts expert. Thad hasn’t
cut anybody open yet.”
Chrysanthemum put down her knitting, stood up, and
stretched. “Oh, I can’t stand sitting around on these long trips.”
She took a sip of her tea.
“Seems ironic,” Lucy said.
“What does?”
“You can’t stand sitting, yet that’s what you do.”
“You don’t cut up everyone you see, yet that’s what you do,”
Chrysanthemum said.
Lucy wasn’t sure that made any sense. “I guess so,” she said.
Chrysanthemum took another sip of tea while walking in a
circle. “This is one of Mr. Fredrick’s personal infusions, blended
specifically for me.”
Lucy was beginning to think the reason guardians and god-
desses were discouraged from getting to know each other was to
prevent guardians from cutting the goddesses’ heads off them-
selves. If she would just stand still long enough.
“Call me Chrissy,” Chrysanthemum said. “Chrysanthemum is
such a mouthful.” She bent over until her nose was between her
knees and her palms were on the floor, then she straightened up
 Gladiator Girl 111

and bent back, then she stretched to the left and to the right. She
looked at the book Bethany was reading. “That’s a good one.”
Bethany looked up. “Last year I read his, Saved by the Pi­
geons, so I thought I’d give this a try.”
Chrysanthemum sat on the floor in front of Bethany. She put
the soles of her shoes together, grabbed her feet, and bent forward
while still looking up at Bethany. “Pigeons was good,” she said,
“but that one’s much deeper. It looks like you got to the part where
Harradonnus has to choose between Peppermint and Rosemary?”
“Oh yes, fantastic, wasn’t it?” Bethany slid down and sat on
the floor facing Chrysanthemum.
Lucy walked over to the kitchenette and drew a cup of coffee.
Specially blended for me and millions of other people’s taste. She
moved her seat next to Toshi who was watching the forests,
fields, and small towns zoom by. “First away match?” Lucy said.
“Yes,” Toshi said. “Isn’t this great? But, you’re probably
used to it.”
“Not yet,” Lucy said.
Chrysanthemum glanced over at her, then continued discuss-
ing Bethany’s book.

Glenna woke up at lunch time, stretched, and looked around.

“I’m hungry.” She went to the kitchenette and checked the pre-
pared food list. “Mmm, Sweet Potato Burritos.”
The thought of food broke up Esmerelda and Jana’s card game.
The cabin was traveling through the foothills of the Eastern
Appalachi mountain range. These were new mountains, as
mountains go; sharp and pointy, but so far, they hadn’t heaved up
above the tree line. “They look friendly,” Toshi said.
Lucy excused herself and dug through the fresh produce and cook-
ing supplies in the kitchenette, then said, “I’m making pasta with
mushrooms and artichoke hearts. Does anyone else want some?”
“I will,” Chrysanthemum said.
“Sure. Thanks,” Toshi said.
112 R. H. Watson

“I’m in,” Esmerelda said.

When Lucy served up the food, the pasta eaters moved their
seats over to Toshi’s window.
Toshi pointed. “Look at that waterfall!”
“That’s the Soup Stock cascade,” Esmerelda said. “When
giants used to walk these mountains, they would stop here in
the autumn and use water from the fall to make soup stock.
Unfortunately, the major ingredient was little boys and girls.
They ate their soup in the winter, and by spring they were
full, so they burped. Their burps sounded like nursery
rhymes because of all the children they ate. In the spring,
when you heard nursery rhymes wafting out of the moun -
tains, you knew it was safe to go outside, because the giants
had full bellies and would soon fall asleep. They slept all
through the summer and didn’t wake up until the autumn
leaves tickled their noses.”
Everyone had stopped eating.
“I grew up around here,” Esmerelda said. “My granny told us
that story.”
“I never noticed your accent before,” Lucy said.
“It comes back when I see the old mountains.”
“Could you really hear the nursery rhymes?” Toshi said.
“Sure. For a couple of weeks in the spring, the wind blows
through a gorge seven kilometers up the mountain and makes a
kind of singsong moan. It took a lot of imagination to turn that
into nursery rhymes, but growing up in the mountains, imagina-
tion was all we had.”
“Did your grandmother make up the story?” Chrysanthemum said.
“I never thought about that. She had lots of stories, and I
never heard them from anyone else. My brothers and sisters are
coming to the match, I’ll see what they know.”
“What about you, Lucy,” Toshi said. “Do you have any
granny stories?”
Chrysanthemum turned to Lucy. Esmerelda tried to get
 Gladiator Girl 113

Toshi’s and her attentions with a discreet finger-across-the-

throat gesture. Chrysanthemum got the message; Toshi
didn’t.
“No,” Lucy said.
“Where did you grow up?” Toshi said.
Chrysanthemum put her hand on Toshi’s knee. “What about
you?” she said. “Where are you from?”
“Oh, I’m not interesting. I’m a local girl, grew up in the
Quills, south of the city.”

After lunch Lucy collected the pasta eaters’ plates and utensils,
and started washing them. Chrysanthemum came over and
picked up a towel to dry.
“So what’s your deal?” Lucy said.
“What do you mean?”
“I understand going through the gene therapy, giving birth
to a memory placenta, and betting your life that this crazy
scheme will work if it let’s you do something exciting or im -
portant that would be impossible otherwise, but you sit on
your butt and meditate. It’s not dangerous. It doesn’t kill you
if you do it wrong.”
“No, but now I get paid for it.”
“You’re doing it for the money?”
“You’ve got to admit, the money’s good. When we age-out
and get our League stipends, we’ll both be almost rich. But
you’re right. That was a disingenuous answer. You play blood
battle because it’s exciting, right?”
“More than that,” Lucy said, “but you first.”
“My point is, it’s similar for me. Nothing challenges my abil-
ity to, ‘just be,’ like the prospect of imminent death.”
“But it’s not imminent.”
“Yes, we’re reborn—quite reliably. But we still die.”
“Maybe, by some conventional definition,” Lucy said. “My
friend would say the medical definition of death is pushed fur-
114 R. H. Watson

ther out for us than for other people, and as long as our memory
placentas exist, we can’t be considered dead.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, they’re part of us. Genetically they are us. Their brain
tissue specifically organizes itself to hold us: our memories, our
experiences, our emotions. It might be in a kind of suspension,
but we are very much alive in them.”
“Yes, I see what you mean, and my tiny rational mind might
know this, but all the rest of me doesn’t, and doesn’t want to die.
Who’s your friend?”
“Charlotte, Charlotte Marceau. You might have heard of her.
She’s the number one ranked Duel à Mort foil fencer for the
North Coast. She’s my roommate.”
“You’re proud of her.”
“She’s my best friend.”
“I know Charlotte,” Chrysanthemum said.
“You do?”
“Yes. Tall. Hair down to here.” She reached around to the small
of her back. “Light skinned—almost Old Epoch European.”
“How do you know her?”
“We sit together in the East Slope Xen Center.”
“Fuck,” Lucy said.
“What?”
“I hate that small world shit.”
“Why?”
Lucy didn’t say anything. She re-washed the clean plate she
was holding.
“Are you OK?” Chrysanthemum said.
Lucy stopped washing and looked straight ahead at the
shelf of cleaning supplies above the sink. “There are
people . . . people I don’t want to run into, ever again. I want
the world to be big enough so I can be sure I never will, so I
can put them behind me, for good.” She held up the plate
and watched the suds bubbles drip off. “Small world shit re -
 Gladiator Girl 115

minds me I can’t do that.” Then to herself, “Not like I need a

reminder, now.”
Chrysanthemum took the plate before Lucy could wash it a
third time. “What do you mean, you don’t need a reminder?”
Lucy flipped the stopper and watched the sink drain.
“One of them showed up.” She rinsed the lingering suds out
of the basin, wiped it down, pulled the trap, cleaned and pol-
ished it. She turned to Chrysanthemum. “How about some
hot cider?”

The cabin was on an expressway branch winding its way down

the west side of the Appalachi main range, roughly following the
course of the Mayfly River toward Appalachi City. Esmerelda
was telling Toshi about the local lore associated with the passing
landmarks. Chrysanthemum pulled Lucy’s and her seats away
from Toshi’s window.
Lucy warmed a couple of cups of apple cider, handed one to
Chrysanthemum, and sat. She rested her sword across her lap.
“What do goddesses do all day? You show up in the morning
when we do, and you leave in the evening when we do. You’re
not meditating all that time are you?”
“We practice yogic ballet, flower arranging, tea ceremonies,
meditative martial arts like dai gi. Do you know there’s a form
that uses a sword?”
“Should I be worried?”
“Of course not,” Chrysanthemum said. “There are also god-
dess specific exercises to train and test our ability to remain in-
different in the middle of chaos.”
“There’s no chaos on my temple,” Lucy said.
“I’ve noticed.”
“You have? Do you watch game reviews?”
“No. I pay attention to the games while I’m in them.”
“You’re paying attention? I thought you were supposed to go
elsewhere in your head or something.”
116 R. H. Watson

“Some of the girls do. I prefer to notice everything that goes

on around me. I just don’t react.”
“I can’t even conceive of . . . How is that even possible?”
“For you, survival requires instant action and reaction. For
me, it’s stillness. If I react, I cause a foul and lose my head.
We’re opposite, yet intertwined forces. Like lovers, don’t you
think? ‘I am your center and you are my existence.’”
“I— What’s that?” Lucy said.
“It’s from the book Bethany’s reading. It’s what Harradonnus says
when—” Chrysanthemum waved her hand. “It’s not important. What
is important is, I think that’s what Gunda was afraid of. That’s why
her people decided guardians shouldn’t interact with goddesses.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t—”
“You have to make cruel decisions regarding the Goddess. If
we were friends, or worse, lovers, could you be trusted to sacri-
fice your lover when the effigy has outlasted its purpose and be-
come detrimental to the good of the people?”
“Good of the people? It’s a game.”
“Yes, a game, but a game wrapped in powerful metaphors.
Your turn,” Chrysanthemum said.
“For what?”
“Why do you play blood battle? You said it was exciting, but
there was more to it.”
“Wow, um. Yes. It is exciting. And I’m good at it―really good
at it. And I love it.”
Chrysanthemum smiled.
“What is it?” Lucy said.
“Your confidence in yourself is genuine, not a boast. It’s . . .
I like it.”
“Yeah, well, that’s my standard answer―and it’s true―but . . .”
Lucy took a breath. “Blood battle saved me. This isn’t one of
your metaphors. The League’s emancipation program gave me a
way to . . . escape.” She took another breath. “From those
people. The ones I don’t ever want to meet again.”
 Gladiator Girl 117

“Except you did meet one of them.”

“Yes, but he’s gone, again. I hope.” The back of Lucy’s neck
tensed up. Fucking adrenalin.
“He frightens you?”
Lucy shook her head. “No,” she said, “not him.” She had to
look away to say it. Her venous blood hissed passed her ears, in
a staccato rhythm driven by her racing heart. She waited for the
adrenalin to dissipate. “I don’t know why I thought I could talk
to you about this, but I can’t.”
“I apologize for bringing it up.”
“It’s not your fault,” Lucy said. She glanced at Chrysan-
themum, then sipped her cider, put the cup down, and moved her
sword a centimeter to the left on her lap. She couldn’t understand
why she felt like a thief for needing that moment of reassurance
she saw in Chrysanthemum’s eyes.
“May I ask one more question, about blood battle?”
Chrysanthemum said.
“I guess. Sure.”
“Why a guardian?”
Lucy brushed her fingers along her sword scabbard. “Be-
cause . . . protecting someone is the only thing worth living, or
dying, for.” But I didn’t, I ran away. “I’m sorry, Chrissy. I like
you, I do, but this conversation is getting too . . .”
“Too dangerous?” Chrysanthemum said.
Lucy nodded. She stood and moved her seat to a window on
the opposite side of the cabin from Toshi’s. Chrysanthemum
picked up her knitting. Every now and then, she glanced at Lucy.
Eventually a gong sounded alerting the passengers that the
cabin would be leaving the expressway. Everyone buckled their
seat restraints. Twenty minutes later, they slipped into the visit-
ing club car dock of the Appalachi City blood battle stadium.

It was fifteen thirty. The centipede cabins were arriving one after
the other in the order they had departed. Elizabeth, the other as-
118 R. H. Watson

sistant equipment manager, stood on the car dock routing players

and staff to their assigned locations.
“See you later.” Chrysanthemum waved to everyone with her
re-gloved rainbow hand. Elizabeth shooed her off to the goddess
dressing room. Toshi left to do whatever prep team interns do,
and the rest of cabin five was herded toward the visiting team’s
locker room.
Lucy pulled the stadium door open; it caught on her toe, and
she hit her head on the edge of the door. “Shit! Fuck! Crap!”
Frankie came up behind her with the cabin six players. “Now
what is it?”
Glenna, who knew everything about everybody, said to
Frankie, “There was a goddess in our cabin.”
“With Lucy?”
“Yup.”
Frankie grabbed Lucy’s arm. “You gotta get it together!”
Lucy shook her off. “I’ll be fine!” She went through the door.
In the locker room, she punched her locker door with the heel
of her hand. Everyone around her stopped talking. She opened
the door (the hinge squeaked because of the new dent). Her
short-sword was inside, placed there by the advance team, along
with her other locker contents. She stripped off her clothes, put
on her practice short-sword harness, took both swords, and
walked out of the locker room and down the corridor to the prac-
tice rooms. Nobody got in her way.
In a few minutes the team would fill these rooms. She went
into the first one and closed the door. There was no lock. She
jammed a chair under the handle like they do in the movies and
hoped it worked in real life. She unsheathed her swords, walked
to the center of the room, and started a kinesthetic exercise.
She was getting tunnel vision, but the exercise forced her to
concentrate or risk slicing off a piece of her own leg or arm. She
finished and knew she was off. Her swords weren’t hers. Rather
than extensions of her body, they felt like clumsy prosthetics.
 Gladiator Girl 119

“Start again.” Lucy turned. The movie lock hadn’t worked.

The chair was lying on its back. Bimini Tanaka leaned against
the door; she had jammed a wedge under it to keep it closed.
“Slow motion,” she said.
Lucy lifted her swords and moved like a slow speed replay.
Bimini came over. From behind, she cupped Lucy’s jaw in her
hands, and started moving her head: nodding, tilting, and turning
it in disorienting ways that were out of sync with the exercise.
Lucy had to let go of everything to finish without stumbling, she
even had to let go of her concentration. They finished together.
Bimini released Lucy’s head. Someone was knocking. She
walked back to the door and leaned against it. “One more time;
full speed,” she said. Lucy started . . .
When she finished, her swords were hers again. She sheathed
them. Bimini kicked the wedge out from under the door and held
it open. “You’ll do fine,” she said.
“I know,” Lucy said. “Thanks.” Frankie, Serendipity, and the
chargers were standing outside the door waiting to get in. Lucy
went back to her locker, changed into her warm up clothes, and
returned to the practice room.
 Chapter 9
The Match Against Beauty Incarnate

Bimini ran her guardians through low-impact muscle memory

exercises to wake up their bodies from the long trip and remind
them what they were capable of. Now and then Lucy noticed
Frankie watching her.
They broke for a light meal. Lucy, Serendipity, and Frankie
headed for the cafeteria. When they were out of the practice
room Lucy stepped in front of Frankie. “You’re pissing me off.
What is it?” she said.
“Nothing,” Frankie said.
Lucy poked her in the crotch with the hilt of her sword.
“Hey!” Frankie said.
“You were acting a little weird in there,” Serendipity said to
Frankie.
Frankie gave Serendipity a nasty look, then turned back to
Lucy. “It’s you and those goddesses. I don’t know what the fuck
your issue is, but you’ve got to get over it. You were crazy when
we got here. Scary crazy. Some of the girls thought you were go-
ing to kill yourself.”
“What?” Lucy said. “That’s insane!”
“You were acting pretty crazy,” Serendipity said to Lucy.
Lucy glared at her, then took a moment to compose herself.
She spoke to both of them. “Coach Kai has this, ‘crazy,’ idea we
 Gladiator Girl 121

should get to know the goddesses. She put Chrissy in my cabin

so we could talk.”
“Who?” Frankie and Serendipity said.
“Chrissy. The goddess in my cabin. Short for Chrysanthemum.
That’s her name.”
“They have names?” Frankie said. Lucy poked her in the
crotch again. “Just kidding! So, they’ve got names. Great. They
can talk. Great. I don’t know how talking to a vac-head can
screw you up so much, and I don’t care. But I do care if you’re
going to screw up on the temple.”
“If you’re so worried about me,” Lucy said, “then make sure
you fucking win your game!” She moved her arm as though to
poke her again. Frankie flinched.
“Ah, guys?” Serendipity said.
Lucy turned and poked Serendipity in the sternum with her
finger. “You too!”
“I just wanted to point out that we’re going to be last in line
for the food.”
Lucy scowled at her for a moment, then laughed. “Yeah, all
right, let’s go. And stop worrying about me, both of you.”
“I’m not worried,” Serendipity said.

After the meal everyone stayed in the cafeteria while the coaches
reviewed the match plan for the last time. Frankie would play the
first game. The Incarnate guardian opposing her was a new girl
promoted from the reserves in mid-season. She didn’t have much
of a performance history to build a strategy around, so they
would play a classic game to feel her out.
Serendipity would play the second game. Sky Molina, the
offensive coach, had noticed the Incarnate guardian her team
would be facing tended to step back when she moved to con -
front an attack from her right. Sky had put together a strategy
to take advantage of that foible and attack her hard on the
right side.
122 R. H. Watson

Lucy was the clean-up guardian: she played if either Frankie

or Serendipity lost. Her team would be assembled from the sur-
vivors of the first two games. If the casualties were too high,
they might have to play short handed―third games were heavy
on improvisation. Incarnate’s clean-up guardian had a tenacious
reputation like Lucy’s, but she could get reckless if pressed hard.
Frankie and the team for the first game headed to the locker
room. Lucy took her long-sword and walked up the tunnel to the
Burning Desire sideline. The sidelines were behind the one-way
glass that made up the long side-walls of the field. Once a team took
to the grass they were on their own; no more communication was
allowed with anyone off the field. The one-way glass insured no
signals were passed back and forth. An animation board was moun-
ted at each end of the side-line so the coaches and off-field players
could watch game-play taking place on the far sides of the temples.
The gardeners were putting the final touches on the field flora.
A clear greenhouse tent had been inflated above the stadium to
trap heat against the chilly autumn evening. Lights had been
launched to bathe the field in artificial moonlight bright enough
for everyone to see clearly while still suggesting real moonlight.
The waxing moon itself stood high in the sky over the east arena,
the one Beauty Incarnate would be defending. The spectators
churned in the stands looking for their seats.
Some of her club mates were coming out to watch the first
game or at least the start of it. Lucy and maybe one of the god-
desses were the only ones who had the luxury of waiting to see if
there would even be a third game.
“What was she like?”
Lucy turned to see Serendipity standing next to her. “Normal,
I guess, in a weird, goddessy kind of way.”
“What do you mean?”
“Her reasons for doing what she’s doing, I don’t get it. She’s
content to be a passive . . .” Lucy’s jaw tightened, “to accept
whatever—”
 Gladiator Girl 123

“Fate?” Serendipity said. “Whatever fate the game hands to her?”

“I was going to say, ‘shit,’” Lucy said, “But yeah, fate. Except
there is no fate—not when I’m up there.” She tapped once on the
glass where it intersected with her view of the temple-top. “She
said she actually pays attention to the game while she’s sitting on
the altar. I can understand how a goddess might zone out, think
about clouds or something, so she wouldn’t see what was coming,
but to sit there and know someone is swinging a sword at your
neck, and passively accept it, and expect me to do something
about it?” She closed her hand into a fist and pressed her knuckles
against the glass, increasing the pressure until the pane flexed out.
Serendipity put her hand on Lucy’s arm. “It’s a game. Don’t
over-think it.”
Lucy relaxed and dropped her hand. “That was easier to do
last week, before my life got crowded with people I didn’t ask to
be in it.”
Serendipity removed her hand. “Your brother and Chrissy?”
“Yes. So?”
“Two isn’t a crowd.”
“Okay, two people too many, that I don’t need fucking up my life.
No, three. Add Coach Kai and her crazy ideas. See? It is a crowd.”
Serendipity leaned close. “Coach Kai is a smart lady.”
“How did you . . . ? Chrissy said the same thing.”
“I’m going to go oil my swords,” Serendipity said. She turned
and strolled down the tunnel to the visitor’s locker room. Lucy
stayed and watched the gardeners walk off the field.

Francine and her friends shuffled into their seats on the south
side of the stadium. They overlooked the west arena, the one
Burning Desire would be defending. Francine handed a couple of
tickets to her bodyguards. “You have the two seats behind mine.”
“Thanks, we have our own,” the bodyguard in the brown coat
said. Francine didn’t know their names. She insisted her body-
guards dress like her friends, so they weren’t wearing their grey
124 R. H. Watson

body armor. She suspected what they were wearing would stop
bullets just fine.
“Is my brother here?” Francine said.
Brown Coat ignored her while discreetly inspecting her seat-
ing area and the surrounding spectators.
“You must know if you have colleagues here with Jayzen.”
“That’s privileged information,” Brown Coat said.
“Then you can tell me. After all, I am a daughter of privilege.”
“We’ll be nearby,” Brown Coat said. She and Dark Green
Coat slipped off in different directions to blend into the crowd.
As Brown Coat scanned the stadium, she regularly took in the
other two girls from her agency standing behind Jayzen in his
private box on the north side of the stadium. “Bitches,” she
mumbled to herself.

Jayzen was sitting above Burning Desire’s sideline. He

looked through his stadium glasses at the team wearing their
armor and holding their swords, but he couldn’t see Lucy. He
looked further along and saw her dressed in an athletic suit,
standing by herself. “What? I came all this way, and you’re
not playing?”
He checked his match program. Under, “Third Game (If
needed),” it said, “Guardian: Lucinda Marcia Star.”
The public address came alive. “Gentle friends, welcome to
this evening’s blood battle match between the visiting Burning
Desire from Heritage City, and Appalachi City’s own Beauty
Incarnate.
“Burning Desire’s team for the first match will be . . .” The
announcer introduced the team members one at a time, ending
with, “Number twenty-two, Guardian Francesca Antoinette
Starling: four wins, five losses.”
Next, Beauty Incarnate’s players were introduced to
whoops and hollers from the home crowd. Then the announcer
said, “Friends, please welcome the Goddess.” The two god-
 Gladiator Girl 125

desses walked onto the field in their white vestments, they

were never named and were always referred to as a single en -
tity. In a curious ritual introduced by the fans during the
second year of blood battle, the spectators rose in silence and
many of them prayed.
“This is crazy,” Jayzen said.

Francine stood and pressed her hands together.

“Mother,” she said.
“We offer our Guardian,
“To stand in defense of the Goddess.
“The Goddess who guides us,
“And proffers, even her own blood,
“To sustain our quest for a worthy life.
“In humility, therefore,
“We ask for a place in your earthly bosom.”
Aldan, who had been saying the same prayer, leaned over to
her and said, “I don’t think that makes sense.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Francine said, “It’s the desire that counts.”
Stairways extruded from the front of both temple pyramids.
The goddesses climbed to the altars, and in a single move, turned
while spreading their vestments (so they wouldn’t sit on them)
and settled into place. They sat on their heels—knees together,
hands clasped in their laps, heads held high—and looked into
each other’s eyes across the full reach of the field. Their hair had
been braided into tight topknots to kept it clear of their necks and
to provide a convenient handle for the match officials to use
when checking for a valid beheading.
The stairs retracted. Francine, her friends, and everyone
settled into their seats. Two men dressed like monks stepped onto
high platforms on each side of the midfield and blew on long
horns that curved down ten meters and then out toward the hedge
line. The horns emitted a thrumming, space-filling sound.
***
126 R. H. Watson

Frankie’s Game

Lucy watched Burning Desire’s goddess climb the stairs, and for
the first time, looked to see who it was. She was relieved it wasn’t
Chrysanthemum. Then she hoped this goddess would survive the
game, then she wondered what her name was, and then she real-
ized she didn’t know how goddesses were assigned to games. Was
it one for each game, like guardians, or if there was a third game,
did the surviving goddess reprise her role? She decided it would
have to be one per game since, like guardians, it was possible for a
goddess to die or be wounded even when her team won.
The reverberations of the start horns faded, and Lucy was on
her feet moving back and forth to watch the game develop in
each arena. The forwards for both sides advanced through their
six, thorn-enforced one-way paths in the midfield hedge. Each
path had a kink to block sight lines, making it impossible for
players to see what was happening in the other arena. Even
guardians could only see the top half of the opposition’s temple.
The coded message songs—a large collection of short vocaliza-
tions based on yodeling, overtone singing, pig calling, and whist-
ling—were the only way to coordinate strategy and send warn-
ings between a team’s guards in their own arena and their
forwards in the opposition’s arena.
The guards and forwards fought hard, but neither team was
having much success with their game plans. Then Burning De-
sire opened a charger path. Bridgett and Vanora took off, skating
in tandem. Not the best plan―a temple fight between a guardian
and two chargers required near flawless execution on the char-
gers’ part to give them the advantage―but the forwards’ mes-
sage songs indicated the branching paths near the temple were
clear, giving them room to maneuver and set up an attack from
different directions.
Incarnate’s untested guardian waited patiently behind the
Goddess until Bridgett and Vanora reached the top of the temple.
 Gladiator Girl 127

She ducked under Bridgett’s sword, cut off both her legs, spun
and kicked Vanora off the temple-top, then jumped after her and
stabbed her in the chest when she bounced off the second tier.
She bounded back up, leapt over the temple-top, cut off Brid-
gett’s sword arm, then finished her off with her short-sword. It
might have seemed an overreaction: Bridgett was fast bleeding
to death and could only crawl with her arms, but Lucy under-
stood. Neutralize the immediate threats, then cleanup all possible
loose ends—leave nothing to chance.
“You’re a feisty little hornet,” Lucy said. “I like you!”
While the spectators were distracted by the fight on Incarn -
ate’s temple, their forwards cleared two paths and three of
their chargers headed for the hedge to attack Frankie. Lucy
ran along the sideline to follow them. A three charger attack
was harder to pull off, but was considered an even fight when
done well. This one wasn’t; one of the chargers was lagging
behind the other two.

Frankie’s forwards had sung a three charger warning, but there

was no sign of the third charger in Burning Desire’s arena.
Frankie jumped down to meet the first two who were approach-
ing on the inside south route. She impaled the lead charger, but
was nervous about the, so far, unseen third charger. That charger
had been delayed in Incarnate’s arena and was now skating fast
through Burning Desire’s lowland along the inside north route.
Frankie couldn’t see her from the south side of the pyramid, but
Burning Desire’s guards sang a warning. Frankie turned to regain
the top, and her balance wavered. She moved her short-sword
arm to compensate, and the second south-side charger arrived in
time to cut it off. Frankie still had her long-sword, but couldn’t
wield it two handed. She scrambled up the pyramid to setup a
second defense at the top. The third charger came up the north
side of the temple and sliced Frankie open from shoulder to pel-
vis when they met on the temple-top.
128 R. H. Watson

The Goddess could only be effectively beheaded from two po-

sitions—the sweet spots—one on each side of the altar and
slightly behind the Goddess. The charger stepped into the left
sweet spot and decapitated Burning Desire’s goddess.

“You screwed up, you fucking bitch!” Lucy averted her eyes from the
sight of the goddess’s head tumbling down the front of the temple.
A piercing horn blew, signaling a temporary halt to the game.
Everyone stood their ground. Three officials wearing purple
gloves ran out to check the goddess’s head. They lifted it with
care, handling it by its braided topknot, and inspected the cut. It
had to be respectful, entering between the mid-points of the
fourth and fifth cervical vertebrae and exiting just below the
larynx—a clean, single stroke causing instant death and minimal
damage. They approved the cut, and signaled their decision by
placing a purple satin pillow on the spot where the head had
come to rest. They closed its eyes, and laid it on the pillow, rest-
ing on its cheek as though asleep. The fake monks blew their
thrumming horns, and the first game was over.
The charger who had cut off the goddess’s head stood guard
over it while collection teams for each club ran onto the field
with body bags to pick up the dead and their parts. They were
directed by spotters high up in booths, who had been keeping
track of the injured players and their dismemberments. The sur-
viving players stayed on the field and helped point out the loca-
tion of bits they had cut off. The spectators got into the spirit,
cheering when a finger that had been trodden into the muck of
the marsh was finally retrieved.
The collectors finished and ran off the field laden with with
their bags of fallen players. The steps extruded from the front of
the temples. The spectators hushed themselves and rose. Burning
Desire sent out a special collection team with a purple body bag
to claim their goddess’s body and head. After they cleared the
field, the Beauty Incarnate goddess stood, descended her stairs,
 Gladiator Girl 129

and walked off. The surviving players ran to their sidelines, end-
ing the post-game rituals.
There was a forty-five minute break until the next game. On
the field, gardeners touched up the flora, and cleaners scrubbed
dirt, blood, and waste off the temples, plazas, and charger paths.

Serendipity’s Game

Lucy prowled the sideline for a while and inspected the field.
The basic layout of all BB fields was the same, but the soil
and vegetation varied with the local environment. Lucy didn’t
have to worry about running and fighting down in the grass,
but she was the team’s lookout until she had to engage char -
gers on the temple. It helped if she had a feel for what made
this arena unique.
When she’d seen enough, she trotted down the tunnel to the
locker room. The players on the second game team were pumping
up each other’s emotions. The survivors of the first game had re-
treated to the showers to avoid infecting the second team with
their loser’s energy. Coach Molina was huddling with her char-
gers, getting them psyched for the attack she had planned for the
Incarnate guardian. Lucy turned the corner to the guardian lockers.
“Hi, Lucy,” Serendipity said. She was putting on her helmet
and collecting her hair into a curly red fireworks burst to stick
out the back.
“Hey, Dippy,” Lucy said. She walked behind Serendipity and
ran her fingers along the new indentation in her own locker door.
She turned to Serendipity and opened her mouth.
“You want to play so bad you can taste it,” Serendipity said.
“You want to psych me up, so I’ll win, right?”
“Fuck yes.” Lucy said.
“Don’t worry.”
“That sounds insanely confident. You know something
Angela doesn’t?”
130 R. H. Watson

“No. I just think you shouldn’t worry so much.”

“I’m not worried. I want to win, and I’m counting on you to get
me on the temple. Yeah, I can taste it. It tastes bitter. I like bitter.”
“It tastes like butterscotch to me.” Serendipity reached out and
brushed a strand of hair off Lucy’s forehead. “I wish I had your hair.
It’s so dark and mysterious. I don’t want your eyes, though. They’re
dark—yes, but honest. I wouldn’t know what to do with eyes like
that. You can’t hide anything in them. Don’t even try. They used to
call eyes like yours, cow eyes. It was a complement.”
A gong sounded and the team for the second game whooped,
butted helmets, slapped fannies, and headed out to the field.
Serendipity picked up her long-sword and tapped her butt with
the scabbard.
Lucy slapped her cheek. “Make sure they die horribly.”
“They will,” Serendipity said and whisked herself up the tunnel.

This time Lucy avoided looking at the goddesses for either team.
The horns sounded and the game began. There were four narrow
charger paths through the hedge. Like the forwards’ paths, they
curved enough to prevent players from seeing through to the other
arena. Between the hedge and the plaza, those paths branched into a
dozen interconnected routes. Sky Molina’s plan was to quickly gain
dominant plaza to plaza control over the two north charger paths
and their branches, and not worry about the south paths. All four
chargers were waiting on Burning Desire’s north plaza.
Burning Desire sent their forwards through the three northern-
most one-way paths. Incarnate launched a symmetrical flanking
attack designed to control the north and south charger routes and
force Burning Desire’s guards into the center of the field.
The message singing started. Serendipity reported on In-
carnate’s attack strategy, and knew the Incarnate guardian was
alerting her forwards to Burning Desire’s asymmetrical attack,
but they were already in the hedge and committed to their
opening moves.
 Gladiator Girl 131

Four Incarnate guards were covering the charger paths on the

north side of their arena. All twelve Burning Desire forwards
came out of the hedge and fell on them. Even at those odds,
guards were hard to kill. Two fell, taking two forwards with
them; the other two were pushed back.
Burning Desire’s guards were massed on the north side of
their arena. Usually, there weren’t enough guards to successfully
ambush forwards as they came out of the hedge paths. Enough
forwards always get through to flank the ambushing guards, but
by committing to Sky’s plan, and only trying to control the north
side of the field, they had the depth to stage a successful ambush
on the three north paths.
Esmerelda and Fausta took up positions on each side of the
middle north ingress path. An Incarnate forward rushed out, hold-
ing her sword up and forward, ready to block or attack. Esmerelda
stabbed under her arm and into her heart, an instant kill. She held
her position in case there was another forward in the path. The
second forward saw her teammate die and came out sideways fa-
cing Esmerelda. To make themselves lighter and faster, forwards
sacrificed most of the back armor that guards wore. Fausta stabbed
underneath the strip of armor the forward wore across her upper
back, another instant kill. They both stepped away from the hedge.
The guards were singing the tally, “One from the inside north path
two each from the middle and outside paths.” Cinnamon, on the
outside path, had been stabbed deep in her thigh by the second for-
ward and was bleeding to death.
Another forward jumped out of Esmerelda’s path. Chiyo
stepped behind her and chopped her in the back. She fell on her
stomach and Esmerelda stabbed her in the back of the neck. They
had killed half of Incarnate’s forwards and only lost one guard.
They spread out along the center line of the arena. Incarnate
was starting to adjust to Burning Desire’s strategy: their remain-
ing forwards were moving to keep control of the south paths and
to try and cut off at least one of the north paths. They pounced on
132 R. H. Watson

the guard closest to the temple and killed her. They were trying
to flank Burning Desire along the back end of the field, but
pulled back when they realized all four chargers were on the
north plaza. Chargers normally stay out of the defense, but with
only six forwards left, Incarnate didn’t want to risk drawing them
into the fight.
Esmerelda and the other guards had done their job and taken
control of the two north paths in Burning Desire’s arena.
Serendipity was regularly singing out, “Two north paths open.”
What was taking the forwards so long on the other side of
the hedge?

Xaun Henatta, the Burning Desire forward captain, was singing,

“Outside path open; inside path closed.” Sky’s plan required both
north side paths.
By staging such an asymmetrical attack, the coaching staff
knew they were giving Incarnate an opening to make a similar
attack on Serendipity along the south side, but they would have
to put their attack together on the fly. Their chargers were spread
out: two on the north plaza, two on the south. Erdoza, Florence,
and Candice rushed to the north plaza to cut off those two char-
gers before they could move to the south plaza. A guard
wounded Florence giving one of the chargers time to slip around
the front of the temple. They backed the other one into the north
east corner.
Casualties were mounting in both arenas, and contrary to
Sky’s plan, Incarnate was the first team to open two charger
paths. Xaun sang out to Serendipity, “Warning: three chargers on
the two south paths!”

When the chargers took off, Lucy hustled to the west end of the
sideline to watch the looming temple fight. Of her fellow guardi-
ans, Serendipity was the one she most enjoyed watching. The
girl had a deceptive way of moving so you never saw what was
 Gladiator Girl 133

coming next. Off the field, she was a ditz, but Lucy was begin-
ning to suspect that was all an act to trick people into not seeing
the wrath she was bringing their way.
One of the Incarnate chargers tried to flank Serendipity, but
Chiyo and Mim blocked the branch path she was angling toward,
forcing all three chargers to approach the temple on Serendipity’s
right. Serendipity didn’t have a right-handed foible to exploit.
They were skating straight into her wrath.
The two chargers on the inside route arrived first, the leader
angled to the rear of the south side of the pyramid, the other to-
ward the front. They kicked off their skates and leapt to the first
tier. Serendipity skipped down like a naïve fairy about to be
caught between them, then she slipped to the rear of the pyramid.
Her long-sword flickered like gossamer and the sword arm,
shoulder, and head of the rearward charger flew off her body.
The charger at the front of the pyramid leaped off the second
tier on her way to the Goddess. Serendipity reversed direction
with such a light touch of her foot, Lucy couldn’t see how it had
the force to so completely change her direction and momentum.
The charger reached the fourth tier, one vault away from the
sweet spot and the Goddess’s head. Serendipity flew by and
slipped her short-sword into the charger’s spine. The girl’s legs
stopped working, and she fell on her face.
Serendipity again completely changed direction with a
slight kick and dove head first down the pyramid with her
long-sword extended. She impaled the third charger just as
she reached the temple, then curled, tumbled off the pyramid
while extracting her sword, and landed on her feet at ground
level. She removed the arms and legs from a forward who
happened to be standing too close, turned, and flitted back up
the temple. (For a weird moment Lucy thought she had
sprouted wings.) She dragged her long-sword through the
back of the paralyzed charger as she breezed by.
Lucy pounded the glass with her fist. “Yeah! Wow!”
134 R. H. Watson

***
By the time Serendipity reached the temple-top, Burning De-
sire’s forwards had opened both north routes; all four chargers
were on the move through the hedge, skating in tandem, two on
each path. Bethany and Nara arrived first and ascended the
temple, staying slightly to the rear of the guardian. The guardian
stepped back to meet Nara and blocked her sword with a cross-
handed twist that brought the tip of her blade up through Nara’s
ribs and heart. She again stepped back, swinging her long-sword
at Bethany. Bethany deflected the sword, but the guardian had
her short-sword out and stuck it up under Bethany’s jaw and into
her atlanto-occipital joint, damaging her spinal cord just below
its exit point from her skull. Bethany collapsed in full paralysis;
not dead, not yet.
They had succeeded in pulling the guardian to the rear, away
from the Goddess. Grenada was on the temple leaping for the
sweet spot. The guardian swung around, and with two running
steps, closed on Grenada and stuck her long-sword under her
shoulder blade. For a moment the guardian’s right side was ex-
posed. Kelcie jumped for the temple-top and stabbed up through
the guardian’s ribs, but she wasn’t sure if she had scored the
heart. She wrenched her blade around, twisted the guardian off
balance, and kicked her feet out from under her. The guardian
and Grenada tumbled down the pyramid.

Erdoza, Florence, and Candice had been holding the fourth In-
carnate charger at bay in the northeast corner of the plaza. When
she saw all four Burning Desire chargers burst through the
hedge, she fought her way out, killing Erdoza and the already
wounded Florence. She pushed Florence’s body into Candice,
looked at the temple and saw her guardian sliding down the pyr-
amid tiers with the limp articulation of the raggedy dead. She
kicked off her skates and ran for the temple to replace the guard-
ian as the Goddess’s defender.
 Gladiator Girl 135

***
Kelcie didn’t hesitate after flinging the guardian off the tem -
ple-top. She ran for the altar, starting to swing her sword. As
she ran through the sweet spot, her blade entered and exited
the goddess’s neck. The Incarnate charger reached the top a
moment too late.

Lucy’s Game

There was an hour break between the second and third games to
give the second game survivors time to cleanup and prepare to
play again.
Lucy cornered Serendipity on her way to the shower. “You did
a swan dive off the pyramid! Where did that come from?”
“Not a swan dive—a swimmer’s dive: low, long, get in the
water fast. A swan dive would have taken too long. I like to
swim, and win, during the off season; strictly amateur. You
should try it; it’s fun.”
Angela, the defensive coach, came over. “Nice move with the
dive,” she said. “That’ll muddle up everybody’s plans for attack-
ing you in the next few games. Keep ’em guessing.”
For the tiniest moment, a slight, non-ditzy smile crossed
Serendipity’s lips, then she tapped the tip of Lucy’s nose with her
finger. “See? Your turn to win. You really shouldn’t have wor-
ried.” She disappeared into the shower room.

Lucy picked up her short-sword from her locker and warmed up

in a practice room. She was looking for the relaxed but ready
state that she could maintain indefinitely while waiting for
Beauty Incarnate to bring her a fight. When she was satisfied she
had it, she went back to her locker and stripped down for the
game. She tied on her shoes, fastened her short-sword scabbard
to its harness, pealed the backing off the harness saddle, and
stuck it to her back, then drew and sheathed her short-sword a
136 R. H. Watson

couple of times to be sure her arm knew where it was. She pulled
on her helmet and picked up her long-sword.
The casualties in the first two games had been high. Lucy’s
team would be short two guards and one charger. Incarnate could
field a full team.
Angela Strong came over to talk strategy. “What do you
think?” she said.
“Anybody who steps on my temple dies,” Lucy said.
“I wouldn’t expect anything less, but so you know, with seven
guards, we’re going to concentrate on holding one charger path
open. The forwards will try to open up as many branches in In-
carnate’s arena as they can. We’ll concentrate on the south most
path so we can keep our backs against the side-wall. Incarnate’s
going to expect this; they just don’t know if we’ll defend north
or south. They might try a flanking attack again, but if I were
them, I wouldn’t worry about our one path, I’d come right up the
middle to get control of the other three.
“It will be entirely up to our forwards to block those paths in
Incarnate’s arena, so there’s a better-than-usual chance you could
get hit with a full, four-charger attack.”
“Doesn’t change my plan,” Lucy said.
“I didn’t think it would.”
The warning gong sounded. Lucy butted helmets with every-
one around her, then slapped butts and backs as the team headed
up the tunnel. She let everyone go ahead of her since she would
be the last player on the field. She was about to head up the tun-
nel when Coach Kai came over.
“Everybody thinks I’ve gone crazy,” Lucy said. “They’re wor-
ried I’m going to screw up.”
“I’m not worried,” Coach Kai said.
“I’m going to kill anyone who sets foot on my temple.”
“Except the Goddess.”
“Yup, except her.” Lucy whooped and ran up the tunnel.
Screw Coach Kai’s plan!
 Gladiator Girl 137

Serendipity was at the top of the tunnel dressed in street

clothes. She gave Lucy a thumbs up, and slapped her ass.
The team ran onto the field as they were announced, ending
with, “Number fifteen, Guardian Lucinda Marcia Star, seven
wins, three losses.” Lucy unsheathed her long-sword, ran onto
the field and up to the top of the pyramid.

Francine’s entourage cheered and waved their hands.

“Go Lucy! We love you!” Francine yelled through cupped hands.

With his stadium glasses, Jayzen watched Lucy lope up the pyr-
amid tiers and couldn’t stop thinking about the previous Saturday
night on the exercise mats.

Lucy turned forward and assumed her relaxed stance with the tip
of her long-sword resting on the temple surface in front of her.
She waited while the other team was announced.
Then the goddesses came out. The stadium fell silent. Lucy
felt a vibration in her feet as the steps extruded from the front of
the pyramid. She kept her eyes on the other temple and watched
the Incarnate goddess climb the steps. This is crazy. I can’t de­
fend the Goddess and avoid looking at her. Coach Kai's experi-
ment was only half finished. She gave in and looked at the front
edge of the altar. The Goddess's face came into view.
Chrysanthemum stepped onto the altar, looked up, and
winked! Lucy’s mouth gaped. She closed it immediately, then
didn’t quite suppress a grin, and then . . . winked back. Chrysan-
themum smiled a sly little smile, wiped it from her face, turned
while spreading her vestment, and settled in place on the altar, in
perfect coordination with the Beauty Incarnate goddess.

“Did something just happen?” Francine said.

“Like what?” Aldan said.
“I don’t know, I thought I saw . . . Ah. It was nothing.”
138 R. H. Watson

***
Jayzen sat forward with the stadium glasses pressed to his eyes.
He felt jealous, but he didn’t know why.

Gunda Thorstenson’s make-believe monks blew their game horns.

Lucy was pumped; ready to take on the world to defend
Chrysanthemum. I mean the Goddess. She lived for this, but the
winks had made her giddy, and giddy made her nervous. She
didn’t see how giddy was going to help her kill chargers.
Down in the grass, the guards had positioned themselves to
defend against a flanking move, just in case. All three chargers
waited on the south plaza for their south-side route to open.
As Angela had predicted, the Incarnate forwards came through
the middle of the hedge. The guards shifted and spread out to
protect the south charger route.
Two Incarnate forwards ran down the field and swung in to
isolate the guard on the temple end of the line. One of those for-
wards angled dangerously close to the temple―dangerous for
her. There were no threats to the Goddess in Burning Desire’s
arena. Lucy decided to help even the odds for her guards. She
ran down the pyramid, hit the front corner of the bottom tier, and
as she turned to run back up, she stabbed down through the for-
ward’s neck and into her heart. Just like Charlotte did it, except
with a big fat sword.
The two guards on the west end ganged up on the other for-
ward who had become disoriented when her teammate dropped
dead for no apparent reason. They forced her back, wounding her
in the abdomen. The guards gave Lucy a nod of thanks, and she
flipped back a thumbs up.
Incarnate controlled the two north charger routes. Burning De-
sire’s guards pressed against their line to deny them clear control
of the inside south route.
The message songs from the Incarnate arena said Burning De-
sire’s forwards were attacking across the width of the field, but
 Gladiator Girl 139

pushing harder on the south to open the south charger path. The
Incarnate guards were pressing back on the north side to get at
least two paths open for their chargers.
Burning Desire’s guards couldn’t sustain a long fight: two
were dead; one was wounded. They were falling back and get-
ting pushed up against the south path―they were losing. The
fight deteriorated until only two guards remained alive against
six healthy Incarnate forwards and the wounded one. Incarnate’s
forwards controlled all four paths in Burning Desire’s arena.
Burning Desire’s forwards sang an alarm, “Four chargers on
four paths!” On learning that Burning Desire’s guards had lost,
Incarnate’s guards attacked hard on the other side of the hedge.
They took heavy losses, but cleared all four paths long enough
for their chargers to get through.
Four chargers on four paths gave them every advantage. They
skated out of the hedge, traveling fast and unhindered. Lucy saw
Han, one of Burning Desire’s chargers, move to intercept part of
the attack. She sang out a warning, calling Han off. She had seen
one of Incarnate’s chargers stumble; it wasn't a big stumble, just
enough to make her arrive late―that evened the odds. Lucy
didn’t want her chargers risking injury by playing defense. She
shifted her attention to the first three Incarnate chargers.
They arrived: two on the left, one on the right. For Lucy, time
began passing in hundredths of a second. Bimini’s kinesthetic
training was in charge―thinking took too long.
There was something odd about the charger coming up the
forward end of the pyramid on the left side; she should have
been the biggest threat, but instead Lucy turned, took a step
down toward the charger on the right, and handed her long-
sword off to her left hand. She reached out and stabbed the
charger through her eye―brain blood sprayed out. Lucy contin-
ued turning and handed the long-sword back to her right hand.
She pulled out her short-sword and leapt across the temple to
meet the charger arriving from the left rear. She caught the
140 R. H. Watson

charger’s long-sword between her crossed blades and used her

own long-sword to push the girl’s blade away while slashing
through her side with her short-sword, splitting her kidney and
severing her latissimus dorsi along with her abdominal ob-
liques. The impact spun the girl around. She was mortally
wounded, but not mortal enough. Lucy sheathed her short-
sword while bring her long-sword around. Taking hold of it
with two hands, she cut through the girl’s belly from her rectus
abdominis to her spine taking away her ability to articulate her
thorax and cutting her descending aorta. She would be uncon-
scious in seconds. Lucy kicked her in the other kidney, toppling
her down the pyramid. The kick twisted Lucy around so she
landed back on the temple-top facing forward.
The charger on the front left, the one she ought to have at-
tacked first, was swinging at Chrysanthemum’s neck. Her foot
landed in the sweet spot and slipped―she was going to miss!
Her blade would hit Chrysanthemum in the shoulder. Lucy tried
to tell herself to stand her ground and let the charger split open
Chrysanthemum’s back, but her instincts were in charge and they
were screwing up! They let the momentum of her landing carry
her into a low crouch. What the fuck? From there, she stabbed up
and into the charger’s armpit, stopping her attack.
A blade buzzed by, just above Lucy’s head. The fourth char­
ger! She realized what was wrong: the girl she had stabbed was
faking her miss, pulling her punch. If she had stood her ground,
the fourth charger would have cut off her head. Her instincts had
sensed the trick.
Lucy used her long-sword to twist the front charger away
from Chrysanthemum. She couldn’t see the fourth charger and
didn’t have time to look, but she could see her sword swinging
away; that told her everything she needed to know. She reached
back with her short-sword and felt it go into the charger’s gut,
then she twisted it up and shoved it into her heart. Lucy’s hand
was inside the girl’s belly; she felt her muscles relax as she died.
 Gladiator Girl 141

Despite the sword in her armpit, the front charger was trying
to swing her blade at Lucy’s shoulder. Lucy stepped inside her
reach, shoved her short-sword through her neck, and pressed it
back against her cervical vertebrae, cutting all the blood vessels
to her brain. She wedged her foot up against the girl’s chest and
pushed out, sending her backward. Off my temple!
The girl’s body fell onto one of Incarnate’s forwards. Lucy
looked around. Incarnate had sent their remaining healthy for-
wards onto the temple to backup their chargers, leaving all the
charger paths open in Burning Desire’s arena. They had bet
everything on their trick either killing Lucy or wounding her
enough so their forwards could finish her off.
Oopsie!
Lucy sang out, “All paths open, three chargers ready.” She
looked down at her chargers. They looked back in disbelief. Four
Incarnate chargers had just swarmed up the temple. A couple of
seconds later, they were all dead and Lucy was dripping with
their blood, grinning like she had just received the best present
ever, and she wasn’t at all concerned about six forwards scram-
bling up the sides of the temple.
The song came back from the other side of the hedge, “Two
center paths open!” Lucy tipped her head toward the Incarnate
temple. Bethany and Kelcie nodded back. The rookie, Andrea, was
staring at Lucy, then her face lit up; she grinned back and all three
took off. Andrea had to be careful not to out-skate her teammates.
Lucy assumed her relaxed waiting stance: short-sword
sheathed at her back, arms at her sides, long-sword tip resting on
the temple-top in front of her feet. Forwards were almost as
heavily armored on their front upper bodies as guards, but their
necks, upper arms, thighs, and abdomens were all available,
more than she needed. Lucy waited a full second for the first for-
ward to reach the penultimate pyramid tier . . .
As the last dying forward tumbled off the temple, she
scanned around the field. The only Incarnate player left alive in
142 R. H. Watson

Burning Desire’s arena was the wounded forward, bleeding

from her abdomen.
Giddy works.
There was movement on Incarnate’s temple. Andrea was run-
ning up the front, a dangerous move that Lucy wasn’t happy
with―she was risking committing a foul on the Goddess. Han
and Kelcie approached, one from each side, in a coordinated at-
tack. Han swung at the guardian’s legs, and Kelcie at her torso.
Their timing was off. The guardian stepped over Han’s blade and
ducked under Kelcie’s. Half way through her twisting dodge, she
cut off Han’s head, and opened Kelcie’s belly, but Andrea was
leaping over the corner of the altar. She plunged her sword into
the guardian’s back, turned, and beheaded the Goddess.
The officials approved the cut. The monks blew their horns.
The game was over. Then Lucy sheathed her short-sword, walked
up, alongside the altar, and put her hand on Chrysanthemum’s
shoulder. Chrysanthemum was startled and looked up. Lucy
winked. Chrysanthemum smiled, almost grinned, then cleared her
face and turned forward. A blush colored her cheeks. Lucy
squeezed her shoulder, let go, and trotted down the pyramid to
help the collectors find the pieces of those foolish forwards.

“Did you see that?” Francine said. She and her friends were
standing and cheering.
“I sure did!” Aldan was looking at Andrea who was guarding
the head of Beauty Incarnate’s goddess.
“I mean over here. Lucy touched the Goddess. They looked at
each other!”
“You must have been seeing things again.”
“No, look. You can see Lucy’s bloody hand print on the god-
dess’s shoulder.”
“That’s just some blood that splashed on her from the fight. It
happens all the time.”
“No, it’s not,” Francine said. “I think . . .”
 Gladiator Girl 143

“Think what?”
“I think you wouldn’t understand.”

On the other side of the stadium, Jayzen said, “Let’s go,” to

his bodyguards. He tossed his match program in the trash on
his way out.
 Chapter 10
Lucy’s Dream

Beauty Incarnate carried their goddess away in her purple body

bag, then Chrysanthemum rose, descended the stairs, and walked
off the field. Lucy and the two surviving guards, Chiyo and
Mim, were the only players left in Burning Desire’s arena; the
wounded Incarnate forward had been taken away by her collec-
tion team to be put in a womb. Over in Beauty Incarnate’s arena,
seven forwards and Andrea were the surviving members of
Burning Desire’s offense. Including Serendipity, Chrysan-
themum, Serendipity’s goddess, and Amrit, a forward who hadn’t
played in the third game, fifteen Burning Desire players survived
the match out of the full named roster of fifty-three, plus the
three goddesses. It was an expensive victory. They ran off the
field in high spirits, but the empty locker room swallowed the
sounds of celebration.
Lucy took a shower, and put on fresh street clothes. She
moved her swords and cleaning kit to a weapon cleaning table.
These unique features of blood battle locker rooms looked like
baby changing tables, and in fact, often were, with a new label.
Andrea came over. “Mind if I join you?”
“Please,” Lucy said.
Andrea laid out her cleaning supplies and long-sword. “You
should have been M.V.P.”
 Gladiator Girl 145

“Nope, Serendipity earned it. She was flawless. I lost track of

that last charger and almost got my head cut off.”
“I thought you were amazing.”
“Thanks,” Lucy said. “That was a pretty risky move, run-
ning up the front of the temple right past the Goddess. It made
me nervous.”
“You don’t think I should have?”
“I’m not criticizing you. It worked. Any other approach
would have gotten you killed. But if you had touched their god-
dess, it would have been a foul, and they would have gotten a
free swing at Chrissy.”
“Who’s Chrissy?”
Lucy rolled her eyes. “The goddess for our game. Chrissy,
short for Chrysanthemum. Am I the only one who knows she
has a name?”
“Are they all called Chrysanthemum?”
“No, just her, I think. Anyway, when I’m on the temple, I’ll
do whatever it takes to protect her neck. If I’d known you
were going to do something so potentially dangerous to
her―to her neck―I would have run down there and killed
you myself before you left.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Andrea said.
Lucy gave Andrea her best do-I-look-like-I’m-kidding look. A
moment later Andrea said, “Oh!”

Andrea was the newest rookie. She had been pulled out of the re-
serve squad just four weeks ago, so she was only now hearing
the club stories and trying to figure out which were true, which
were fables, and which were bullshit. One story, new to this sea-
son, told of Lucy’s first game as a rookie guardian.
There aren’t many rules in blood battle, but the penalty for vi-
olating any of them is the same. The game is halted and a mem-
ber of the opposing team is offered a free swing at the neck of
the violator’s goddess. One rule stipulates that only one defender
146 R. H. Watson

is allowed on the temple at a time. In Lucy’s first game, so the

story goes, she saw a fellow rookie, a guard, so intent on trying
to intercept a forward that she ran onto the plaza. Her cleated
shoes slipped on its smooth, skate-friendly surface. Lucy, seeing
that she was about to put her hand on the first tier of the temple
pyramid to keep her balance, leapt down in two diving steps, cut
off the guard’s arm before her hand touched the tier, and kicked
her away so she wouldn’t fall against the temple.
When Andrea said, “Oh!” she had realized the story wasn’t a
fable, and it wasn’t bullshit.

“I won’t do it again,” Andrea said.

“That’s not my point. You do what you need to do to win, but
if it’s going to put my goddess’s neck at risk, make sure I don’t
know about it.”
Coach Kai was walking around talking to the players.
“Great move,” she said to Andrea, “using the Goddess to
mask your approach.”
Andrea looked confused.
“What’s she been saying to you?” Coach Kai said.
“I was just explaining that, even though we’re on the same
team, her goals and mine aren’t always the same.”
“Did you tell her about the arm?”
“I think she already heard about it. I was making sure she
knew it was true.”
“It’s not true,” Coach Kai said to Andrea. “Not exactly, it
happened in Lucy’s second game, not her first.” She turned to
Lucy. “And it won’t ever happen again, right?”
“As long as everybody stays clear of my temple.”
“That’s the lesson,” Coach Kai said to Andrea. “A guardian’s
loyalty is to the Goddess, not to her teammates. Not even to her
coach, it seems.” Lucy didn’t react. “She wants you to win and
will do everything she can to help, but only because that is the
best way to protect the Goddess.
 Gladiator Girl 147

“The only exception is when she has to face that crucial de-
cision, when a game can be won by allowing the other team to kill
or injure the Goddess with a bad stroke.” Coach Kai looked at
Lucy. “Why did you stop the charger from committing a foul?”
“I didn’t want to stop her, but my instincts, Bimini’s kines-
thetic intelligence, did. Sorry if I messed up your experiment, but
you saw it was a trick, right?”
“You didn’t, and yes, I did. See you both at the game review
tomorrow.” She walked away to talk to Chiyo and Mim.
“Coach Kai is kind of weird,” Andrea said.
“Some people say she’s a smart lady,” Lucy said.
“What do you think?”
“I hope they’re right.”
Lucy’s swords were now pristine, polished, and oiled. She
took her short-sword scabbard apart for cleaning. It always got
so full of blood.

After each game, the dead and wounded players were taped and
stapled back together, packed into refrigerated caskets, flooded
with almost freezing artificial amniotic fluid, and shipped to the
Laughing Cherub by express transport. Elizabeth and her interns
would spend the night cleaning and packing their equipment,
swords, and personal belongings, then ship everything back to
Burning Desire, but for now she was back on the car dock sort-
ing the living into their assigned cabins for the return trip. Des-
pite the casualties, it would still take several cabins to get the
surviving players and the staff home. “You’re sharing cabin three
with Glenna, Katixa, Chiyo, Toshi, and Chrysanthemum,” Eliza-
beth said to Lucy.
This time Chrysanthemum was already waiting—with a fresh
cup of hot tea. “Where did you get that?” Lucy said.
“Mr. Fredrick prepared a tea bag and sent it to the Euphoria
House. It’s five streets over, that way.” She pointed. “They
brewed a cup and ran it over.”
148 R. H. Watson

Lucy laughed and shook her head.

“Do you want a sip?”
“Thanks.” Lucy took the cup and sipped. It had a mild lilac
taste followed by strong cinnamon. The cinnamon faded to a
warm licorice that diffused down through her stomach, past her
entrails and settled in her―womb? What?
“What’s in this?”
“Tea, spices, various bits of plant matter. Mr. Fredrick doesn’t
reveal his secrets.”
Lucy held the cup under her nose, closed her eyes, and inhaled
the infusion’s aroma.
“Do you want another sip?”
“Ah . . . no. Thanks,” Lucy said, waking up. She handed the
cup back. “Wow,” she said. “That’s . . . not what I expected.”
“You can have Mr. Fredrick prepare a personal infusion for
you too.”
“Maybe I will.”
“Lucy! Over here!” Lucy hadn’t noticed the yelling while she
was under the spell of Chrysanthemum’s tea. She looked and
saw Francine and her friends at the security fence.
“I’ll be right back.” She walked over to the fence. “Hi France.
I can’t believe you came all the way here.”
“Great game!” “Wow!” “Fantastic!” they said.
“Is that the Goddess?” Francine was looking at Chrysan-
themum.
“Not now, the game’s over. Now she’s a person.”
“What’s her name?”
“Chrissy. Short for Chrysanthemum.”
“What a beautiful name!” Francine said. “I thought guardians
and goddesses . . . you know.”
“My coach thinks that might be a load of crap. We’re trying
something different.”
“I knew it!” Francine said. “See? I told you,” she said to her
friends, then back to Lucy, “There was some kind of mystical
 Gladiator Girl 149

bond between you and the Goddess, I mean Chrissy―well, I

guess she was the Goddess then―a bond that gave you some
kind of second sight. It saved both your heads!”
“I don’t know,” Lucy said. “I think I screwed up, but
got lucky.”
“People always say ‘lucky’ when something happens they
can’t explain,” Francine said.
“Hey, Lucy!” Elizabeth yelled. “You’re boarding!”
“I’ve got to go. Thanks for coming.”
“Bye, Lucy!” they all said. Lucy jogged back to the dock and
climbed into the cabin.

It was nearly midnight when the cabin departed. They strapped

into their seats and the lights dimmed. Lucy was sitting next to
Toshi. “How are you doing?” Lucy said.
“I feel bad for Esmerelda,” Toshi said. “Her brothers and sis-
ters were at the match, but she didn’t get to see them. She was
really looking forward to it.”
“She’ll have other opportunities.”
“I know, but family is important. I miss my mom and dad.”
Oh, fuck!
“What happened to them,” Katixa said. She twisted in her re-
straints to look around the backrest.
“Nothing,” Toshi said. “They’re fine. I just haven’t seen them
for two weeks.”
“We fell apart in the last game,” Chiyo said. “That’s why
Esmerelda didn’t make it.”
“Bullshit,” Lucy said. “You guards did fine. You started out
short handed, and killed five forwards and wounded one.”
“You killed one of the forwards,” Chiyo said.
“Okay, you still killed four. The problem was in the second
game. The forwards took too long to open their charger paths,
that forced you guards to take more losses than you should have.
That’s why you were short by two in the third game.”
150 R. H. Watson

“What do you know?” Glenna, a forward, said. “Perched up

on your pyramid. You couldn’t see what was happening down in
Incarnate’s grass.”
“Wrong game,” Lucy said. “I was on the sideline, I saw
everything.”
“You can’t see shit from the sideline,” Katixa, also a for-
ward, said.
Lucy relaxed and sat back.
No one’s talking about missing mom and dad now.
The cabin eased onto the expressway and let them out of their
safety belts. They converted their seats into beds, changed into
pajamas, nightdresses, or whatever, took turns in the toilet, and
settled into bed. Toshi, Lucy, and Chrysanthemum were on one
side of the cabin, Chiyo, Katixa, and Glenna on the other. The re-
turn trip would take all night.
The cabin lights dimmed and went out. Chiyo and Glenna
kept reading lights on. The windows curved up into the ceiling.
The beds were arranged so the passengers could look up at the
sky. The night was clear and the vast field of stars shimmered
through the settling night air. “Wow,” Toshi said. She was lying
on her back to Lucy’s left, arm pointed at the sky. She mumbled
to herself while pointing at, and naming, stars and constellations.
To Lucy’s right, Chrysanthemum was doing the same thing, but
she spoke under her breath and pointed only with her finger.
Lucy looked at the cold twinkling sky and didn’t name any-
thing. At the top edge of her field of view, dark silhouettes of tree
tops sped past the window and black cutouts of distant moun-
tains drifted along, marking the west horizon. She nodded off . . .

She lifted a wooden spoon to her lips for a taste of the soup. It
needed more salt. She took a knife from her apron, cut open the
end of her thumb, and let blood dribble into the soup while she
stirred. She staunched the blood flow with her index finger, and
tried another sample. Much better. She put her thumb in her
 Gladiator Girl 151

mouth and bit down hard on the cut. She bit so hard the pain
made her eyes tear up. She stopped biting and pulled out her
thumb. It was healed but the nail was missing. She felt around
inside her mouth with her tongue and found it. She stuck her
thumb back in her mouth and used her tongue to push the nail in
place. She tried the soup again. What was missing now? She dug
a grater out of the drawer next to the stove, held her arm over the
pot and used the grater to shave slivers of flesh off her forearm
and into the soup. She stirred and tried it again. Perfect! Blood
welled up in the shallow gouges the grater left behind. She licked
her other hand several times from the heel of her palm to the tips
of her fingers until it was wet and shiny with saliva. She pressed
her hand against the bleeding forearm and squeezed the saliva
into the wounds. When she took her hand away, her arm was
healed, but some of the blood was now on her palm. She licked it
off and dried her hand on her apron. She reduced the heat under
the pot to simmer the soup, then set the wooden spoon to the side
and noticed that it was made of bone.
She walked out of the kitchen onto her porch. The grass in the
yard was green, but worn down to dry mud in spots. The sky was
blue and scudding with cumulous clouds. The air was warm and
it was snowing, just a few flakes. Her daughter was running
around in the yard wearing a grass stained cotton dress and try-
ing to catch the flakes in her mouth. Lucy sat on the porch steps
to watch. She still couldn’t believe she had made this wonderful,
sometimes incredibly frustrating, little person. Her daughter
plopped to the ground and sat in one of those impossible pos-
tures only a child can manage. She pointed at the sky and started
naming the shapes she was seeing in the clouds. Lucy realized
her daughter was Toshi. She didn’t know how that was possible.
She looked up. Toshi was not naming the things she saw; the
clouds were assuming the shapes of the things she named. Toshi
was the creator, and Lucy watched her make the world into
something new.
152 R. H. Watson

“Honey, that’s wonderful.” She felt her love flow into Toshi
like a stream of energy powering her cloud sculpting fingers.
She needed to share this feeling and turned to the only person
she knew who would understand: her husband and co-creator
of this marvel. Until now, she hadn’t noticed him standing
next to her with his hand on her shoulder. He was holding a
smoking rifle in the crook of his other arm. Lucy looked
around the side of the house. A dead monster was slumped in
the road. “Don’t worry,” he said. “Both of you will always be
safe as long as I’m here.”
Lucy looked up into his face. The world tipped and shifted.
When it settled, it was the middle of the night. They were lying
in bed, naked. “I forgot to tell you what our daughter did today.”
“Tell me,” Chrysanthemum said. She wrapped her arms
around Lucy.
“She commanded the clouds. I was so proud of her.”
“We made an amazing girl, didn’t we?” Chrysanthemum said.
Lucy nodded. Chrysanthemum kissed her forehead and the tip of
her nose. “She takes after her mother.” She kissed her lips. Lucy
returned the kiss, reached under Chrysanthemum’s arm and
around her back. She loved the feel of her back muscles flexing
and relaxing under her hand. Chrysanthemum pressed her hips
against Lucy. Lucy buried her face in her neck and said, “Yes.”
Chrysanthemum slid her hand down Lucy’s side and around to
the inside of her thigh. Lucy licked her fingers and caressed
Chrysanthemum’s nipple. As Chrysanthemum tickled her fingers
up and down Lucy’s vulva, something washed over her: an erotic
mix of craving, selflessness, desire, danger, trust, and love―al-
ways familiar, always new. She pushed her hips against Chrysan-
themum’s hand. Then she needed to pee. No!

Lucy woke up . . .
In the next bed, Chrysanthemum was leaning on her elbow,
looking at her. “You were having quite a dream.”
 Gladiator Girl 153

Lucy reached down to feel her pajamas; they were dry.

“Ah . . . I’ll be right back.” She scrambled out of her bed, rushed
to the toilet, pulled down her pajama bottoms, and sat. She put
her elbows on her knees and held her head in her hands. The
sound of heavy peeing drowned her out. “Fuck! Fuck, fuck,
fuck,” she said. “What the fuck was that?”
Lucy returned to the cabin and got into bed. She put her
hands behind her head and looked up at the stars. Toshi was
snoring; it wasn’t loud, more like a purr. Chrysanthemum was
still leaning on her elbow.
“What time is it?” Lucy said.
“About one fifteen.”
“That’s all?” Lucy turned to Chrysanthemum. “How did I
have to pee so bad? So soon?”
“The tea does that sometimes,” Chrysanthemum said.
“I only had a sip,” Lucy said. Chrysanthemum shrugged. The
frilly strap of her nightdress slipped off her shoulder. Lucy
looked back at the impersonal sky.
“Tell me about your dream.”
“Hmm.” Lucy glanced over. Chrysanthemum’s strap was back
on her shoulder. “It’s fading away,” Lucy lied, “but ah . . . I was
making soup.”
“You’re a good cook.”
“Thanks. Anyway, the ingredients were kind of weird—”
“What were they?”
“They were, well, me. Parts of me. My blood. My skin.”
“You put yourself into your cooking. People always say that,
but the rare ones, the best ones, actually feel that they do.”
“Okay. Anyway, then I went outside and Toshi,” Lucy pointed
her thumb at the next bed. “Toshi was my daughter, and she did
something with clouds that I wanted to tell my husband about—”
“Was he handsome?”
“Ah . . .”
“Never mind, keep going.”
154 R. H. Watson

“My ‘husband’ had just killed a monster that, apparently, was

a threat to me and Toshi.”
“Curious transference,” Chrysanthemum said. “You’re the
hero type in real life.”
A messy collection of emotions rose up in Lucy. “Well, things
changed and it was night, and I was in bed with, my ‘husband,’
and I told him about the amazing thing Toshi, our daughter, had
done, and he said it was . . . because she took after her mother.”
Lucy rushed through the last phrase. She choked up when she
said it, and it pissed her off.
She collected herself. “Then ‘he’ kissed my forehead, and ‘he’
turned out to be you.” She delivered the last bit like an accusa-
tion, and looked at Chrysanthemum.
“I’m honored,” Chrysanthemum said. “Is that when you
woke up?”
“No. Then we started to make love.”
“I’m doubly honored.”
“Then I thought I was going to pee on you, and then I woke
up. Don’t you dare say you’re triply honored.” Chrysanthemum’s
strap slipped off her shoulder.
There was a rustle on the other side of the cabin. Glenna came
over, keeping low like she was playing a soldier in a game. “I
heard you guys whispering. I can’t sleep either. What are you
talking about?”
"Lucy had an erotic dream with me in it." Chrysanthemum sat
up, pulled her strap back onto her shoulder, and made room for
Glenna to sit on her bed.
“I’m jealous,” Glenna said. “How far did you get?”
“She woke up because she had to pee.”
“Too bad,” Glenna said.
“Hey, it’s my dream.” Lucy sat up. “Do you mind if I tell it?”
They were silent. Glenna and Chrysanthemum waited.
“In the dream, I was married to Chrissy, but she was a man, or
I thought my husband was a man until I wanted to say something
 Gladiator Girl 155

to him about Toshi. Oh yeah,” she pointed over her shoulder at

Toshi’s bed, “Toshi was our daughter.”
“Was I in the dream?” Glenna said.
“No, my dream was restricted to this side of the cabin. So,
Toshi was our daughter, and she had just done something that
made me proud, I wanted to tell my husband about it, and sud-
denly it was night, and he turned out to be Chrissy, and then we
started to make love.”
“All three of you?” Glenna said.
“No. What? With my daughter? That’s disgusting! How could
you even think that?” Lucy said.
“Hey, just asking.”
“Only Chrissy and I made love. Well, we were starting to
make love, and just before . . . then I woke up.”
“Because you had to pee,” Glenna said.
“Yes,” Lucy said. “Because I had to pee.”
“How was Chrissy as a lover?”
Lucy thought back. She remembered the dream with more
clarity than she expected. She wanted to strip naked and swim in
that contradictory flood of desires.
“That good, huh?”
“Ah, yeah, I guess.” Lucy returned to the world, but avoided
eye contact with Chrysanthemum.
There was more rustling from the other side of the cabin,
and Katixa came over. Lucy made room on her bed. “What’s
up?” Katixa said.
“Lucy was telling us about her dream,” Glenna said. “She and
Chrissy got married, then Chrissy turned into a man, and they
had a baby that turned out to be Toshi.” She pointed at Toshi and
lowered her voice like she was trying to not wake a child. “And
then Chrissy turned back into a woman, and Lucy made crazy
mad love to her until she had to pee.”
“Really?” Katixa said.
“Close enough,” Lucy said.
156 R. H. Watson

“Did you have an orgasm?”

“Are you asking, for real, or in the dream?” Glenna said.
“Both.”
“No,” Lucy said. “Didn’t anybody else have a dream?”
“I did,” Toshi said. She was waking up and slurring her words.
“There was a chipmunk the size of a house.” She sat up and
spread her arms wide. “And . . . I’ll be right back.” She stumbled
out of her bed and into the toilet.
Thank you, daughter. Lucy was surprised how strong the
mother-daughter bond from the dream still felt.

By the time Toshi returned from the toilet, the impromptu camp-
fire meeting had broken up. Everyone was back in their own
beds and falling asleep. Toshi crawled into bed and was soon
busy finding food for her giant pet chipmunk.

The cabin gong sounded several times, and the beds nudged their
occupants awake. The eastern horizon was bright from the ap-
proaching sun. They unmade their beds, scheduled toilet time,
got dressed, and settled in for the last stretch of the trip.
The cabin arrived at seven fifteen. They disembarked; Mathilda
checked them off her list and reminded everyone they were due
back at noon for the game review.
“It was nice to finally talk to you.” Chrysanthemum said to
Lucy. She waived goodbye to her cabin mates and walked off to
Mr. Fredrick’s for her next shot of tea. Lucy half expected her to
skip away.

The bell above the door jingled. “Hello, William,” Chrysan-

themum said. There were no other customers in the shop.
“Good morning,” Mr. Fredrick said. “I see you retain your
head.”
“Yes I do. And it’s a very nice head, don’t you think?” She
raised her chin in profile, earning a friendly smile.
 Gladiator Girl 157

Mr. Fredrick scooped bits of leaves and spicy debris into a

small pot of water from jars he kept under the counter. He put
a cover on the pot and turned up the heating pad. “Was your
trip eventful?”
“Maybe.”
Mr. Fredrick raised an eyebrow.
“I think my guardian has fallen in love with me.” Chrysan -
themum put her elbow on the counter and rested her chin in
her palm.
“How could that happen?” Mr. Fredrick said.
“Betty Kai has contrarian ideas about the goddess-guardian
dynamic. She arranged for Lucy Star to meet and talk to me
during the trip.”
“Interesting.” Mr. Fredrick leaned his own elbows on the
counter.
“She even dreamed about me on the return. A complicated
dream. More than she was willing to say.”
“And you . . . ?”
“You know me. How can I not swoon for the woman who
saves my head or will die trying?” She dropped her hand and
bit her lip.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m worried about her. We really did talk. Guardian heroics
are supposed to be part of Gunda Thorstenson’s spectacle, but I
think, for Lucy, it’s real. I think, even without wombs and re-
birth, she would be willing to die trying to save us. I’m worried
she may need to be willing to die. Did you know she won’t talk
about her past?”
The teapot chimed. Mr. Fredrick strained Chrysanthemum’s
tea into a take-away cup. “I hear all the gossip from the club,” he
said. “More than you do. Lucy is the girl without a childhood.
She has so thoroughly locked it away, it’s as though she didn’t
exist before arriving at the Academy. Her teammates know not to
ask her about it.”
158 R. H. Watson

“So I found out. But she tried to tell me. I encouraged her. I
was curious and selfish, and now, I think, it was a mistake.”
Mr. Fredrick set Chrysanthemum’s tea on the counter and slid
it across to her. “I’m sorry, my dear,” he said, “but what’s been
cast on the wind can’t be snatched back. My advice is, for what
it’s worth, if you want to help Lucy Star, you need to find out
whom she couldn’t die trying to save.”
Chrysanthemum watched Mr. Fredrick’s face through the
steam rising off her cup, then leaned across the counter and
kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you,” she whispered.
She put on her hat and gloves, slung her bag over her
shoulder, and turned for the door, raising her cup in a salute. The
bell jingled.

Chrysanthemum called a cab to take her home. During the ride

she worked on her boyfriend’s anatomically correct knitted
sweater, but between Green Street and Tom’s Vista she stopped
knitting, reached under her dress, and masturbated while imagin-
ing making love to Lucy Star.
“What was that?” the cab peddler said when they passed
Tom’s Vista.
“Nothing,” Chrysanthemum said. She removed her hand and
went back to knitting.
Part II
 Chapter 11
Where Did Normal Go?

The public car dropped Lucy off at eight fifteen, and she hurried
through the Winnebago Graveyard.
“Fantastic game!” Charlotte said when Lucy came down the
stairs. She hugged her when she got to the dinette, the first place
there was room for a hug. Charlotte touched the shoulder of an-
other woman who was in the winnebago. “This is Jessica. Jes-
sica, Lucy. We watched her match last night.”
“Hi Jessica,” Lucy said.
“Call me Jessie. I never saw a whole blood battle match be-
fore. It was . . . not what I expected.”
“That good?”
“I didn’t realize there was so much ceremony involved.”
“We make people wait for the blood and guts.”
“Jessie’s an artist,” Charlotte said. “I think you’d like her work.”
“I’ll have to see it sometime.” Lucy tried not to sound like she
couldn’t care less.
“I’m going in for a three month synchronization this morning,”
Charlotte said. “I’ll finally be rid of Winnie’s damn scratch. So the
canister’s yours until Tuesday.”
“Oh.”
“Is something wrong?”
“I, ah . . . was hoping to talk.”
162 R. H. Watson

“Give us a minute,” Charlotte said to Jessica. “Let’s go up

top.” Lucy and Charlotte went out the hatch. “What is it?”
Charlotte said.
“That fucking match last night.”
“I wasn’t kidding. I’ve never seen you that good. You were
blazing fast, and your intuition was razor sharp.”
“I know,” Lucy said, “The game was great, but . . .”

Ten minutes later they walked back down the stairs. “We’ll talk
more on Tuesday,” Charlotte said, “just―”
“Don’t do anything stupid,” Lucy said.
“Just relax. OK?”
Lucy nodded.
“Now, I have a favor to ask. Jessie wants to come along and
observe my enwombment. Do you think―”
“Sure,” Lucy said. “I’ve got to be back at the club by noon for
the match review, but I’m free until then.”
“Great.” Charlotte picked up her womb-atorium bag. “Jessie,
you first.” She stood back so Jessica could go through the narrow
vestibule leading to the hatch stairway.
Lucy grabbed coffee and toast off the counter and followed
Charlotte out. “You cut your hair!”
“I was ready for a change,” Charlotte said. “What do you
think?”
“I like it.”

The East Slope Fencing Club used the Long Life womb-atorium.
It was the newest one in the city, built with modern techniques of
structural topiary: all wood and evergreen on the outside and
broad leaves, grass, and ceramic on the inside.
Charlotte took a shower and put on a simple white cotton
smock. “Are you sure about this?” she said to Jessica. “Enwomb-
ment can be difficult to watch.”
Jessica nodded.
 Gladiator Girl 163

“I’ll explain everything first so you’re not caught off guard.”

She led them into a room that looked like a surgery. “This is the
Prep Suite.” Two women in green coveralls were in the room.
“Hi Tez, Hi Ronda,” Charlotte said. “This is Jessie and Lucy,
they’ll be observing the proceedings.
“Tez and Ronda will prepare me for the womb after I’m dead.
Actually they’ll start while I’m dying, the quicker our bodies get
into a womb the less there is to repair and the shorter our gesta-
tion will be. By inflicting an insignificant but fatal wound right
here in the womb-atorium, I’ll be out in two days. That’s about
the minimum possible womb time.
“When we’re ready, I’ll lie down on this table.” She put her
hand on a ceramic table in the center of the room. “They’ll wait
fifteen minutes, more than enough time for my memory of lying
down to be stored in long term memory, then Tez and Ronda will
stick this tube with this large needle into my carotid artery, right
here.” Charlotte lifted her chin and tapped the side of her neck.
“They’ll drain my blood into that reservoir.” She pointed at a
large bottle sitting on a shelf under the table. “I’ll lose conscious-
ness and bleed to death shortly after. As soon as I’m dead, they’ll
stop bleeding me. The blood is sent to the city blood bank―we
make great donors.”
“What's that?” Jessica pointed at a thing that looked like a
pepper grinder with teeth.
“The button saw. After I’ve passed out, and while I’m dy -
ing, they'll use it to cut out my navel. Some girls keep their
old navels. I don’t.”
Jessica looked at Lucy.
“I don’t either,” Lucy said, “but I’m thinking about keeping this
one.” She pulled up her shirt to show Jessica. “It’s my first outie.”
“If my body had arrived dead from a bout,” Charlotte said, “they
would also do something pretty gruesome to clean out my
gastrointestinal tract, but in this case, I took care of that yesterday.”
“That’s why you didn’t eat anything last night?”
164 R. H. Watson

“Yes, I didn’t want to sully the mood by explaining.” Char-

lotte led them through swinging doors into the Womb Room and
stopped in front of a womb close to the Prep Suite doors. It had
been rotated, raising the vulva to a comfortable working height.
“They’ll bring my body here. My memory placenta and its amni-
otic sac are already settled into this womb, waiting for me. Tez
and Ronda will use that speculum hanging from the ceiling to
open the birth canal and cervix; they’ll cut open the amniotic sac,
fish out the umbilical cord, cut off the end, and staple it to the
wound where my navel used to be. The staples will dissolve as
the umbilical cord heals itself to me. Then they’ll insert my body,
folding me into a fetal position, staple the sac closed, top off the
amniotic fluid, and remove the speculum. What do you think?”
Jessica looked at the rows of wombs and the plumbing that
supported them. She shook her head. “I was expecting a hos-
pital, but this is so . . . functional. Like the way they used to
handle livestock.”
“That’s where the womb technology comes from. It was
once the height of animal husbandry science, revived now to
support rebirth.”
“And you trust this? You’re not afraid you’ll . . . not come back?”
“Do you trust your liver? Your heart? Lungs? Your brain? Ge-
netically, my memory placenta is as much a part of me as any of
my organs. It’s not a thing. It’s me.” Charlotte put her hands on
Jessica’s shoulders. “Once we’re rejoined in a womb, my pla-
centa sends out its armies of white cells, antibodies, and stem
cells. It kills, digests, and expels anything that’s not me. It grows
nervous connections to my spinal cord and brain; it fixes my
body, and it can even replace some missing tissue―even missing
brain tissue. Then my placenta and I dream the shared memories
of my life. If any are missing due to brain damage, it puts them
back in my head.
“Finally, I dream the story of me since the last time we were
connected, and it absorbs and remembers it all, including, and
 Gladiator Girl 165

especially, our love making last night.” She placed her fingers
under Jessica’s chin, tipped her head back and kissed her.
“Ready to get started?” Charlotte said.

Lucy thought Jessica handled it well. She didn’t look away, and
only flinched once from a short spurt of blood when Tez poked
the needle into Charlotte’s neck. After Charlotte was safely in
her womb, Lucy and Jessica took their leave and walked to the
public car kiosk.
“You have to do that every three months?” Jessica said.
“Not exactly, we have to do it if it’s been three months since
our last rebirth.”
“So you don’t risk losing too much of your memory, in case of
brain damage?”
“Yes, but that’s a side benefit. Memory placentas start to die
after four or five months if they haven’t been rejoined to the girls
who created them. No one knows why, it’s one of the many mys-
teries surrounding rebirth. Some people think they get lonely, or
they go insane.”
“Really?”
“The only outside stimulation they get is through absorbing
our experiences. If that source dries up, who knows? I think
they’re in love with us and they die of heartache.”
“Isn’t that the same thing as going insane?”
“I don’t know,” Lucy said, “maybe it’s just my own feelings,
but how can you not get emotionally attached to something that
regularly saves your life?”
“You don’t strike me as the romantic type.”
Lucy shrugged. “Anyway, to allow a safety buffer, no more
than three months are allowed to pass between conjoinings.”
“It’s a strange life,” Jessica said.
They reached the kiosk. “When did you and Charlotte
meet?” Lucy said.
“She came to my show opening at the gallery last week.”
166 R. H. Watson

“Ah.”
“You’ve been in this position before, haven’t you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Having to make small talk with Charlotte’s lovers.”
“No, I’m just not good with people I don’t know.”
“I’m one in a long line, aren’t I?” Jessica said.
Oh crap. “Charlotte is my best friend,” Lucy said. “I mean
that in every possible, nontrivial way. That means I don’t speak
for her. You seem nice. Obviously, she likes you. Enjoy the mo-
ment.” A car arrived indicating it was there to pick up Lucy.
“I’ve got to go. It was nice meeting you.” Lucy got in the car.
“Come by the gallery,” Jessica said. “My work will be there
for the next two weeks.”

After their morning shift, Zack and Neil had breakfast in the
Helping Hand cafeteria.
“Hey, want to see my tattoo?” Neil pulled up his sleeve. There
was a fox tattooed on his shoulder. “There’s a tattoo shop not far
from here. The girls from Burning Desire go there. They’ve got
to get their tattoos redone each time they pop out of a womb. If
you pick the right day, girls are coming in, one after the other, all
day long. I’ll take you over there if you want.”
“No!” Zack said. “Thanks anyway.”
“Hey, it’s OK. I know what you mean, those girls can be in-
timidating. Do you think it’s fair? They get to fight with real
swords and we don’t?”
“I don’t know.”
“Don’t you wish you could do that?” He mimed swinging his
butter knife at an opponent. “Shook! Cut somebody’s head off.”
He swung the butter knife back, coming in low with a two
handed grip. “Shlerk! Spill somebody’s guts on the floor. Don’t
you want to know what it feels like to do that?”
Neil loaded up his knife in the oleo dish, spread it on his toast,
and spooned a huge dollop of strawberry jam on top.
 Gladiator Girl 167

“Those girls get all the fun. Did you know they can’t get
pregnant until they’re twenty-five? They can’t even get sick, or
not for long. They go into those wombs and when they come
out, everything’s fixed. No injuries, no diseases. They’re all put
back together, even if they got chopped to pieces. They can
fuck anybody they want and not worry about catching any-
thing! It’s not fair.”
Zack fidgeted with his spoon.
“Hey, sorry,” Neil said. “I didn’t mean to make you uncom-
fortable or anything.”
“My sister . . . ” Zack said.
“Yeah?”
“This is a secret, okay?”
“Sure.”
“My sister plays for Burning Desire.”
“No shit! Who is she?”
“Debbie, but now she calls herself Lucy.”
“What position does she play?”
“The one on top.”
“I like ’em on top,” Neil said. “Oh, your sister, sorry.”
“I mean, on top of the building.”
“On the temple? Guardian or goddess?”
“The one with the swords.”
“Your sister’s a guardian? Guardians are the deadliest
bitches on the planet! Hey, don’t tell her what I said about, you
know, liking ’em on top. Shit, she might cut my balls off! Wait,
Lucy? Your sister’s Lucy Star? If shit were honey! Did you see
her game last night? Did she ever show you any of her moves?
Can I meet her?”
“No! She― We don’t talk. She ran away when . . . a long time
ago, to be one of those blood girls. I came here to see her, but she
told me to go away.”
“Rough. Still, WOW! I’ve got to tell my teacher about this.”
“I told you, it’s a secret. Forget I said anything!”
168 R. H. Watson

“It’s OK. Look, you told me a secret, it’s only fair I tell you
one. You know that martial arts class I go to? We learn to fight
with swords just like blood battle girls, because one day they’re
going to figure out how to make that rebirth shit work for guys,
and when they do, we’re going to be ready.”
“Isn’t that dangerous?” Zack said. “What if you get hurt?”
“That’s the problem, isn’t it? All guys can say is, ‘Oh, what if
I get hurt?’” Neil raised his hands and mimed fear. “You know
what happens if you get hurt? The same thing that always hap-
pens―you get hurt. Tough shit!
“But, hey. We’re not crazy, we use practice weapons, and we
wear padded suits. You know what, though? So do the blood
battle girls. When they’re practicing, they use the same practice
sticks and wear the same padding we do. That’s why we can
learn to be just as good as them, even better. Shit, don’t tell your
sister that!”
“I told you, we don’t talk.”

Lucy and the surviving members of the match teams assembled

in the club’s auditorium. Everyone who was not in a womb atten-
ded game reviews, including the girls fresh out of the Academy
on the reserve squad.
Now that her stint as standby guardian was over, Liha made
her way to sit with the reserves. Lucy caught up to her. “You did
good. You know that, right?”
“I didn’t get to play.”
“Standby’s rarely do,” Lucy said, “but you impressed Bimini.
She’ll tell the other coaches and the word will get around.”
“Thanks,” Liha said.
Lucy hurried to the other side of the auditorium and sat with
her fellow guardians, Serendipity and Uvan. Frankie was in a
womb, probably for two weeks; Sandeep was due the next day.
“Look what you’ve started,” Uvan said to Lucy. She pointed
at the back of the auditorium; the goddesses were sitting behind
 Gladiator Girl 169

the reserve girls. Lucy turned and waved to Chrysanthemum.

Chrysanthemum smiled and waved back. Uvan mouthed, “What
the fuck?” to Serendipity.
Coach Kai took the podium and everyone hushed up. “We
won,” she said. The room whooped. “We also took heavy casual-
ties. That means we’ll be calling up some girls from the reserve
squad for the next match.” There was another whoop from the
reserve girls.
“Is there anyone who did not see the match last night?”
A few timid hands went up. Coach Kai pointed at one. “Rosa-
lie, which game did we lose?”
“The first,” she said.
“How do you know?”
“I heard the talk when I got here.”
“Good.” Coach Kai pointed at another girl. “Tamia, why did
we lose that game?”
“The guardian let her arm get cut off.”
“Let it get cut off?”
“Well, no. she slipped or something and it was cut off while
she was getting her balance back.”
“Winda.” Coach Kai moved to the next girl. “How many char-
gers was she facing?”
“Three.”
“How did that happen?”
“Well, ah. In our arena, their forwards opened the two in -
side routes. In their arena, the south, inside route was open so
the two chargers on the south plaza took it. That should have
been it; our forwards were blocking the other inside route
between the plaza and the marsh, but one of their chargers on
the north plaza took the outside route, which seems stupid; it
was blocked in our arena, I think.” Winda looked around for
confirmation. Several girls nodded. “But, instead of jumping
the stream, she ran through the water to the north inside route,
and took it up to the hedge. It doesn’t make sense. Running
170 R. H. Watson

through the stream, then skating uphill—she would have lost

all her momentum.”
“Except when she got to our temple she killed Frankie,”
Tamia said.
“I was getting to that,” Winda said.
“You both seem to know a lot for not having seen the match,”
Coach Kai said.
“Everybody’s talking about it,” Winda said.
“Glad to hear it. That’s a sign of a good club. Everybody’s talk-
ing about it, and even though you didn’t see the match, you
already have a good understanding of what happened and why.
But next time, watch the match.” Coach Kai brought up the replay.

Later, while discussing the events that led to the collapse of the
defense in Lucy’s game, Chrysanthemum raised her hand. “Yes
Chrissy?” Coach Kai said. There was a commotion when every-
one turned to see who Chrissy was, and then more commotion
when they realized she was a goddess.
“Lucy saw an opportunity for the defense to remove two of
Beauty Incarnate’s forwards.”
“Did the two of you discuss this after the match?”
“No.”
“Then how do you know?”
“She fidgets, all the guardians fidget while they’re standing
behind us, except Serendipity. I hear their feet and the tips of
their swords moving on the surface of the temple, and I hear
them breathe. I could tell by the way Lucy stopped fidgeting that
she saw something. From her breathing, I could tell she was
about to sing an alert, but changed her mind, and just now, I saw
what it was.”
“Lucy?” Coach Kai said.
“I think I know what she’s talking about.”
“Backup the replay,” Chrysanthemum said. “I’ll show you.
Stop. See? Right there. That forward, the second one in from
 Gladiator Girl 171

the hedge, she’s turning to her left, exposing her side to our
guard, number thirty-two―sorry I don’t know her name―but
thirty-two is paying attention to the third forward in, and she
doesn’t see it. If she had killed that forward, the second one
in, then the forward right next to the hedge would have been
isolated and she and, ah, twenty-five could have ganged up on
her and possibly killed her, too.”
“That’s interesting,” Coach Kai said, “but games are full of mo-
ments when a slight change of fortune could have affected the out-
come. They’re not something we can build a strategy around.”
“This wasn’t one of those,” Chrysanthemum said, “This was
an exploitable opportunity. If acted upon, it would have preven-
ted Lucy and me from being put in such extreme jeopardy a few
minutes later.”
Lucy sat up. “I remember seeing this and realizing that, by the
time I sang an alert, it would have been too late. Like Chrissy
said, I took a breath to sing, then changed my mind.”
“Exactly,” Chrysanthemum said. “The problem is in the mes-
sage singing. The semantics are designed to carry strategic alerts,
not imminent warnings. I was wondering if we could reserve a
class of communication, very simple but precise, made up of the
most basic song phonemes. In this case it would have said, ‘thirty-
two look right.’ Presently, those simple phonemes are wasted on
maneuvers that aren’t dependent on fast communication.”
“What do you think, George?” Coach Kai said to the Message
Singing Coach.
“It’s an interesting idea.”
“Great. We’ll discuss it tomorrow. Thank you, Chrissy, excel-
lent observation.”
“Ah, that’s my goddess,” Lucy said. She sat back and
grinned at Uvan.

Coach Kai summed up the lessons of the review, thanked every-

one for attending, and the players and staff hurried to leave and
172 R. H. Watson

make the most of what was left of their Sunday. Lucy went down
to the podium.
“Why me?” she said to Coach Kai. “Why yesterday?”
“Let’s go someplace quieter.” Coach Kai led Lucy through the
stage-side doors into the practice arena. “What did you think of Sky’s
plan for attacking Beauty Incarnate’s guardian in the second game?”
“Pretty elaborate, maybe too elaborate considering it was all
based on a minor quirk of the guardian’s.”
“That’s a legitimate criticism, but it worked.”
“It gave Incarnate a wide open shot at Serendipity.”
“That was a risk we thought worth taking. You guardians are
formidable, you’re not easy to kill.”
They were walking near the hedge. Coach Kai stopped and
looked across the lowland stream at the temple. “Did you know,
the first blood battle teams only had two chargers; can you be-
lieve that? Gunda’s people didn’t realize how deadly they had
made the guardians; those two chargers didn’t have a chance.
The temple fights were meant to be the climactic moments of a
game, but instead, they became foregone conclusions. With rare
exceptions, the guardians always won. Games were won and lost
by attrition down in the grass.
“The first guardians wore body armor, so they took that away.
It made the guardians more maneuverable and even more deadly.
They took away your short-swords and that helped, but the fans
hated it. They loved their fearless little guardians and they didn’t
want you looking weak. Finally, Gunda’s choreographer added
two more chargers, and the temple fights became real fights. The
fans were happy because now, when you die, you die a hero’s
death, fighting against insurmountable odds.”
Lucy swished the end of her scabbard through the knee high
field grass and wild flowers.
“My point is,” Coach Kai said, “you wouldn’t believe how
much time coaching staffs spend trying to figure out how to kill
guardians. We ran out of general strategies a few years ago; now
 Gladiator Girl 173

we have to focus on each one of you, individually. Sky built a

whole game strategy around that Incarnate guardian’s behavioral
tick. Even though this is your rookie year, every club has
volumes of notes on every little thing you do on that temple, all
to try and find something, some little chink, that will let a char-
ger get inside your blades.
“I apprenticed under Susila Fuentes. She was a brilliant of-
fensive strategist; now she’s Incarnate’s head coach. If anyone
was going to find a way of getting to you, I figured it would be
her. I needed to introduce something new, something no one
would see coming.”
“This whole experiment of yours was to mess up Susila’s plans?”
“You hate lies. When I changed the schedule so guardians and
goddesses crossed paths, you were the only guardian who got
upset about it. I think you’ve always sensed the lie inherent in
the guardian-goddess status quo, maybe not consciously, but you
felt it in your bones. You want to protect people, you don’t give a
dung bucket about Earth Mothers and Goddesses.
“All of Susila’s analyses were based on you standing on that
temple defending an idea, the Goddess. Last night, you were de-
fending Chrysanthemum, a unique person, someone you knew.
Susila’s analyses didn’t have a chance.”
Lucy looked into the dense, impenetrable brier of the hedge.
“Chrissy winked at me when she reached the altar,” Lucy said.
“I noticed it on the game review,” Coach Kai said.
“And I winked back.”
“I saw that too.”
“It was as though we made a compact to not take this shit so
seriously. I actually felt giddy, like a kid, like I was ten years
old―” No, don’t go there!

“You evil little bitch!” He grabbed her by the back of the neck and
pushed her down to the floor. She heard the belt come out and
tried to crawl away, but he stepped on her hand. The belt slashed
174 R. H. Watson

across her back. She pressed her face into the carpet and breathed
in the years of dry dust that had been ground into its fibers.
When she was younger, she thought the dust was all that was
left of other kids who had been beaten into the carpet. She
thought they must have cried until they were all dried up like
corn husks, then with one last lashing, they exploded into dust,
like hitting a bag of flour with a rolling pin. She didn’t believe
that anymore, but she was still afraid she would die if she cried.
The belt came down again. She buried her face in the carpet,
gritted her teeth, and growled.

“Lucy, are you all right?” Coach Kai said.

She gripped her scabbard with one hand and squeezed the hilt of
her sword with the other, ready to draw. Her eyes were unfocused. A
low growl rumbled out of her throat.
She stopped growling and blinked a couple of times. Her eyes
were dry and itchy. She tried to speak, but her lungs were empty.
She couldn’t breath in.
This hasn’t happened since . . .
Lucy took a step back. She opened her mouth like a suffocat-
ing fish trying to gulp in water that wasn’t there, then she turned
and ran through the doors into the auditorium. She ran up the
aisle, taking the stairs two at a time. She kept going until she was
on the street. Finally, she was able to suck in a chest full of air,
then she threw up.

Chrysanthemum watched Lucy jog down the aisle to Coach Kai.

They spoke, then walked through the doors into the practice arena.
“I don’t understand these changes,” Chenina said. “Why were
we here?”
“To critique,” Chrysanthemum said. “To help the teams play
better games.”
“But their strategy is irrelevant to us. No matter what they do,
we sit and wait for the end. Now we’re supposed to comment on
 Gladiator Girl 175

games, and mingle with the players and guardians? I don’t see
the value.”
“We’re part of the club, we should be club mates.”
“Like waving at your guardian?”
“Her name is Lucy.”
“I hear she’s scary.”
“Not in the least.”
The doors to the practice arena banged open, Lucy ran into the
auditorium, up the aisle, and out the back door. Several girls had
to jump out of her way.
“Not scary in the least?” Chenina said.
Coach Kai ran through the doors and up the aisle. She was
slower than Lucy. Chrysanthemum followed. Lucy wasn’t in the
corridor. They went to the player entrance.
“Haven’t seen her,” Frank said.
“The front entrance,” Chrysanthemum said. They ran to the
lobby and out to the street. There was no sign of Lucy except for
a puddle of vomit in the gutter. Chrysanthemum put her finger in
it. “It’s still hot, body temperature. What happened?”
“I don’t know,” Coach Kai said.

Donna was enjoying an afternoon with her husband and children

when an urgent request came in from the club. “Hello Betty,
what is it?”
“I think we have a problem with Lucy.”
Donna made her explain everything, starting with the cabin
arrangements and going through to the conversation in the prac-
tice arena.
“She said she felt like a kid,” Coach Kai said, “like she was
ten years old. Then she started hyperventilating . . . and growl-
ing. I’ve never heard someone do that before.”
“I wish I’d been there,” Donna said. Her son came over, look-
ing pouty. She lifted him onto her lap. “You know she won’t talk
about her childhood, right?”
176 R. H. Watson

“Yes.”
“Did you read my report last week, about her brother?”
“Just the summary.”
“So you know Lucy grew up in a dysfunctional family, with a
father who beat her?”
“Yes.”
“I talked to some of your players to see if anyone could shed
any additional light on her history.”
“And?”
“Nothing, but I kept hearing how she was real sweet, a real
nice girl. She looks out for her club mates, takes care of them,
and as far as I can tell, unintentionally intimidates every one of
them, except Serendipity―I can’t figure her out at all. Some of
them told me about the growl. Apparently, when Lucy gets seri-
ously upset, she doesn’t cry, she growls. I’m told it’s not loud,
but it scares the crap out of anyone who hears it.”
“It does,” Coach Kai said.
“What happened next?”
“I asked her if she was OK. She seemed to come out of
whatever state she was in. Then, I think she had a panic attack,
couldn’t talk, couldn’t breathe. She ran out of the facility. By the
time we reached the street she was gone.”
“Betty, you’re a great coach, and a smart lady, but now and
then you can be as stupid as a happy dog in a barrel.”
“What do you mean?”
“She used the BB League’s emancipation program to escape her
family. She slammed the door on her childhood, everything from
before she was fourteen. She doesn’t want to remember it, doesn’t
want to think about it. Last week part of that past, her brother,
walked back into her life―we don’t know why. And today, you’ve
got her trying to remember when she was once a happy ten year old.
That memory never existed. My guess is, she tried to conjure it up,
and all she found was the hell she wants to forget.”
“What do we do?” Coach Kai said.
 Gladiator Girl 177

“I’ll have someone shadow her. She won’t be hard to find; she’s
hiding from herself, not from us. She’s had a lot of practice shutting
the door to her past. If she shows up tomorrow, she should be
OK―as long as you let her keep that door closed. You could get her
a shrink, but her friend Charlotte is worth ten shrinks and she’s free.
Oh, and let her keep cutting up girls into little pieces, does wonders
for all that suppressed anger, and for your winning record.”

Lucy started walking and ended up at Alice’s Tea Shop. The

doorbell jingled, and she sat at the counter. “Is there some-
thing wrong?” Mr. Fredrick said. A trace of vomit oder
lingered about her.
“Tell me about your personal infusions,” Lucy said. “Do they
really capture a person’s essence?”
“Some people think they do.”
Lucy played with the cinnamon shaker. “Can you make one
that hides a person’s essence?”
“From whom?”
“From me.”
“All I do is make the infusion. It does what you need it to do.”
Lucy batted the cinnamon shaker into the honey bottle. The
honey bottle slid into her other hand. “Can you make me one?”
“Of course.” Mr. Fredrick set a glass in front of Lucy and
poured two fingers of a clear brown liquid into it from a bottle he
kept under the counter. “That’s a pallet cleanser. Swish it around
in your mouth and spit it back in the glass.”
It had a vinegary taste, but as soon as she spit it out the taste
was gone and so was the flavor of vomit. She felt better.
Mr. Fredrick put the glass in the sink, then he took a blindfold
from under the counter. “Put this on.” She did and he inspected
the edges. “I am going to have you smell potential ingredients in
groups of three. You tell me which you like the best and which
you don’t like.”
“What if I don’t like any of them, or I like them all?”
178 R. H. Watson

“That won’t happen. There will always be one, and only one,
you don’t like.” Mr. Fredrick selected a jar from under the
counter, removed its lid, and held it under her nose. “Don’t tell
me what you think until you have experienced all three, but do
tell me when to move to the next one.”
Lucy took a deep sniff. “Okay,” she said.
Mr. Fredrick put the cover back on the jar and placed it under
the counter, then picked up the same jar, removed the lid, and
held it under Lucy’s nose. She sniffed and he repeated the same
steps a third time with the same jar. “Well?”
“I think―”
“Don’t think, react.”
“I liked the second one the best and didn’t like the first.”
“Good.” Mr. Fredrick set the jar on the counter, selected a new
jar, and repeated the test.
“First one best, didn’t like the third.” Mr. Fredrick set that jar
back under the counter.
About half way through his samples, Mr. Fredrick saw Chrys-
anthemum watching through the front window. He mouthed the
words, “She’s OK.” Chrysanthemum mouthed back, “Thank
you,” blew him a kiss, and left. He continued the tests until Lucy
had sampled all the jars, then he removed her blindfold. Seven
jars were lined up on the counter.
“Here is the Lucy Star infusion,” Mr. Fredrick said. He began
scooping and pinching the ingredients into a pot. More of some,
less of others.
When the pot chimed, Mr. Fredrick poured the tea through a
strainer into a cup and handed it to her. She blew on it, then
took a sip. It tasted like tree bark, then like watermelon with a
bitter edge, and then a mild flavor of sweetened fall leaves that
seemed to linger into the first snowfall of winter. “This is me?”
Lucy said.
“It may take a while to taste the full essence.”
“How much do I owe you?”
 Gladiator Girl 179

“The first one is free, then the normal price for a cup of tea.”
“Thank you,” Lucy said. The doorbell jingled on her way out.

She walked to the Old Harbor’s Seafront Park and sat on a bench
to sip her tea. She tried to figure out what it said about her, then
felt stupid. She took a big gulp and sputtered. It was still hot. She
sipped and watched the sails of cargo carriers arriving and de-
parting the new harbor out in the sound.
Someone was standing beside her. “That looks good,” he said.
“Could you spare some change for an old man, so I can have
some for myself?”
“Sure.” Lucy handed him a couple of coins.
“Nice view,” he said.
“It’s kind of boring, but sometimes boring is just right. Do
you want to sit?”
“Thank you.” He was neatly dressed in worn, but clean
clothes.
The sun was setting opposite the harbor, casting the city’s
shadows out to the horizon. The sails winked between light and
dark as they eased from shadow to sunlight to shadow.
“Had a difficult day?” the man said.
“A difficult afternoon. What gave it away?”
“‘Sometimes boring is just right.’”
Lucy laughed. “What brings you down here? It couldn’t be for
the panhandling.”
“Why do you say that?”
She swung her cup through a wide arc. There was hardly any-
one in the park except for two city employees emptying the trash
baskets. “Not many touches,” she said.
“I think the view is anything but boring.”
“I suppose so,” she said. The sky had turned dark blue; stars
were popping out and beginning to twinkle. The gibbous moon
was asserting itself half way up the eastern sky.
“You got your tea from Mr. Fredrick,” he said.
180 R. H. Watson

“Is this some kind of guessing game? Because if it is, you just
cheated.” Lucy turned the cup’s label to face him.
“Maybe it is. Want to play some more?”
“Why not.”
“That is one of Mr. Fredrick’s personal infusions.” He nodded
at the cup.
“How can you tell?”
“I watched you sample it. You weren’t savoring the flavor; you
were trying to understand what it meant. May I have a taste?”
Lucy looked him over.
“I sleep in the Helping Hand shelter right over there.” He
pointed. “I am healthy. I bathe every day and brush my teeth, and
I do my laundry once a week. Just yesterday, in fact.”
Lucy handed him her cup. He poured a dollop into his mouth,
not touching the cup with his lips. He swished the tea around,
savored, and swallowed. “You are a remarkable young lady.” He
handed the cup back.
“What did the magic tea tell you?”
“That’s between me and the tea.”
“Humph,” Lucy said.
“You think I’m humoring you?”
“I think it’s just tea.”
“And this is play acting to indulge Mr. Fredrick’s vanity? It
doesn’t matter. The illusion of magical tea is more powerful than
any real magic could ever be.
“I tasted your tea. It’s only fare you taste mine. Next time
you’re at Alice’s Tea Shop ask for Maxton’s infusion. See what it
tells you about me.”
It was now dark. “I’d better be going,” Maxton said. “I appre-
ciate you did not react to me with fear or suspicion.”
“Why would I?” Lucy shifted her position and moved her sword.
“I see. You have nothing to fear from an old man, and I have
everything to fear from you.”
“I didn’t mean that,” Lucy said.
 Gladiator Girl 181

“The tea doesn’t lie.” Maxton stood. “Good night.” He walked

toward the Helping Hand Shelter.
When he was gone Lucy rolled her head back and looked
straight up at the zenith, “Where did normal go?” she said, then
got up and walked home.

A message was waiting for her:

Hi Lucy, This is Felix, I want you to know I really liked

meeting you last week. I saw your match, it was great. You
were . . . I don’t know what to say. I know you must be
busy, and you’ve got to be incredibly focused to do what
you do, but I’d like to see you again. I’ve got a couple of re-
servations for this little restaurant called the Potato Bar.
They’re hard to get. My roommate had them and he
couldn’t use them. The reservations are for Tuesday night at
nineteen. They’re for the whole evening. The idea is, you
show up, and eat, drink, and dance all night. If you’re too
busy, or you know, not interested, I understand.

She replied:

Hi Felix. The Potato Bar? Sounds simple and basic. I

could really use simple and basic right now. How about I
pick you up at eighteen thirty? I’m assuming it’s informal
dress. See you then. Thanks for thinking of me.

Lucy sent the message, then she looked around the empty can-
ister. She went into Charlotte’s bedroom and lay face down on
the bed. She smelled her friend each time she breathed in.
Later, Charlotte put her hand on Lucy’s back. “Just relax,” she
whispered. Then dream Charlotte hummed a lullaby until dream
Lucy fell asleep.
 Chapter 12
Grizzly

“We all have code names,” Neil was saying. “The teacher is
Grizzly. I’m Fox. That’s why I got this fox on my shoulder. The
class is five nights a week at twenty-one, from Sunday to
Thursday. You should join us, I’ll bet Grizzly would love to
meet you.”
“Why?” Zack said. He picked up a trash basket. “If he wants to
meet me because of my sister, I don’t know anything about her.
She left when I was ten.” It was getting dark. Every evening it was
getting dark earlier than the day before. Zack wanted it to keep
getting darker and never stop. But Year Day was approaching, and
that meant the nights would reverse and get shorter; they’d go
back to summer. He wished everything would go back with them.
Zack watched the old guy, Max. He was talking to a girl. (For a
moment, Zack thought the girl might be Debbie.) He sat next to
her on her bench, and she let him have a taste of her hot chocolate.
“If you join, maybe you can make her talk to you.”
“Yeah, sure. What?” Zack turned back to Neil.
“I said, maybe you can be better than her. That’s what Grizzly
says. If we get to be as good as them, we’ll be better, because
guys are naturally stronger than girls. He says guys are the
proper defenders of the Earth Mother, rebirth upset the natural
order of things.”
 Gladiator Girl 183

“Why do you use code names? It’s not illegal to practice with
fake swords.”
“Grizzly’s got a secret patron. The guy wants us to keep this
quiet until we’re really good. If people saw us now, they’d laugh.
When he shows us to the world, he wants people to be im-
pressed. He wants to challenge some blood battle girls, and he
wants us to kick their asses.”
“You’ll all die.”
“We’re going to do it with practice swords and padded suits.
We’re not crazy. It’s to make a point.”
“What point? All you’ll prove is you’re a bunch of pansies
with sticks and padding. Everybody will know, if it was real,
you’d all get killed.”
“No! Everybody will know, we’d win!” Neil dumped his trash
basket, banging it hard on the edge of the collection wagon. “Just
come to a class. See for yourself.”
“Okay,” Zack said. He watched Max get up and say some-
thing to the girl, probably something classy, and walk away.
“Great!” Neil said. “I’ll tell Grizzly about you tonight.”

Neil changed and left for the rendezvous. The class location was
a secret. After each session the students were given a new pickup
spot. Neil was the last one to arrive. In a few minutes, the big
limo pulled up. The two scary ninja girls with the red lipstick got
out and waited while the students got in; the door closed, and
they moved off. The windows were always opaque.
The ninja girls handed out the hoods. Neil and the other stu-
dents put them on. After a long ride, Neil heard the limo door
open. The ninjas led them through halls and down stairs. They
always seemed to take a different route. Finally, Neil heard
Grizzly say, “Gentlemen, you may remove your hoods.” Neil
pulled his off. They were back in the fancy gym.
Everybody put on padded suits. Grizzly had three assistants,
Walrus, Catamount, and Wolf. Neil and the others warmed up.
184 R. H. Watson

They practiced sword handling, then paired up and practiced at-

tacking, blocking, and counterattacking. Catamount and Wolf
walked around giving advice and demonstrating techniques.
They were being trained to handle swords like chargers. The best
students moved on to guardian training class.
Neil was practicing with Stoat and looking for an opportunity
to get Grizzly’s attention, but Grizzly was off to the side talking
with Walrus. “I’ve got to tell Grizzly about this new guy I’m
working with,” Neil said to Stoat. “His sister plays blood battle. I
think he should join our class and―”
“All right gentlemen,” Grizzly said. He had walked over to
the students. “It’s time for challenges.”
The students sat on their heels in a wide circle and laid out
their practice swords in front of their knees, making a ring.
“Badger, you’re up.”
Badger stood, picked up his practice stick, and walked around
the ring. He pointed his stick at Hyena. “I challenge you,” he
said. Hyena got up. Neil scoffed.
“Fox, do you have something to say?” Grizzly said.
“No sir,” Neil said.
“Yes you do. Out with it.”
“W-well sir. We’re supposed to challenge someone better than
us. I think Badger’s cheating. Hyena’s big, but he’s slow, and not
very, you know, smart.”
“Bullshit!” Badger said.
“Do you really think Hyena is a worthy challenge?” Grizzly
said to Badger.
“Yes,” Badger said.
“What about Fox? Would he also be a worthy challenge?”
“That little shit? I’d bleed his ass all over the floor!”
“So, if Fox fights Hyena, he won’t have a chance?”
“I don’t―”
“Sit down,” Grizzly said to Badger. “Fox, you’re challen-
ging Hyena.”
 Gladiator Girl 185

“What? Yes sir.” Neil stood up and put on his helmet. He

walked into the circle and held up his practice stick. He and Hyena
circled each other.
“Fight already!” Grizzly said.
Hyena swung down on Neil. Neil held up his stick and
blocked Hyena, but he was almost knocked off his feet. Hyena
was strong, like he had said, but slow, also like he had said. Neil
dodged to the side of Hyena’s next attack, and swung. His stick
hit Hyena in the ribs.
“Break off!” Grizzly said. “Fox is the winner. Badger, you just
washed out of the class. Take off your gear and put on your
hood. Wait over by the exit.”
Badger’s mouth dropped open, then he looked at Neil with a
face full of hate.
“Now!” Grizzly said.
Badger got up and did as he was told.
“Gentlemen,” Grizzly said to Hyena and Neil. “Good chal-
lenge. Please sit.”
Grizzly named the next challenger. The fights were fast, and
like real blood battle fights, they ended as soon as the first killing
blow was delivered.
When the challenges were finished, Catamount and Wolf
brought out the altar. It was a wooden box the size and shape of a
real temple altar. This was the part where they practiced the ulti-
mate act of blood battle: decapitating the Goddess. But the straw
goddess was missing. Wolf and Catamount spread a tarp on the
floor in front of the altar.
“We have a special guest this evening,” Grizzly said. Walrus
jogged to the gym door, the one the students never used. He held
it open and a girl walked in wearing the white vestment of the
Goddess. She was blindfolded. Walrus spoke to someone outside
the door. They handed him a purple body bag.
“Gentlemen,” Grizzly said, “please welcome the Goddess, or
a girl who aspired to be a goddess, the one legitimate female role
186 R. H. Watson

in blood battle. She was denied her dream, but thanks to a pros-
perous and benevolent father, she was gifted with rebirth. It is
time for this girl to make her three month return to a womb. She
wishes to experience a little of the dream denied her. To make
that possible, she will generously grant one of you the privilege
of performing a real Goddess beheading.”
An antsy shuffle spread through the students.
“We try to be egalitarian in all our training, but this offer re-
quires us to put forward our best student. Lynx, will you accept
this honor?”
“Ah, sure,” Lynx said.
“Then gear up, charger armor and boots, but leave the skates
off.” Lynx went over to the portable wardrobe. He took off his
practice suit and put on the helmet, forearm and foreleg shields,
and the shoes, less skates, of a charger. When he returned,
Grizzly took a charger long-sword from the class armory, un-
sheathed it, and handed it to him.
Grizzly walked over to the girl, held her hand, and led her to
the altar box. She banged the side of the box with her toe, then
stepped onto it and turned. When she was facing the front,
Grizzly said, “That’s it.”
She started to kneel, but she was standing on a corner of her
vestment. It was wrapped around her knee and pulled on her
shoulder. She almost fell off the box. Grizzly steadied her. She
stood up and tried again. Grizzly held her vestment so it
wouldn’t get caught. She knelt and sat on her heels. Grizzly con-
tinued fussing with the vestment until it was settled properly
around her. The girl looked to the front with her blindfolded
eyes. Her breathing was shallow. She was nervous.
Grizzly stepped back, extending his hand in a magnanimous
gesture. “If you please,” he said to Lynx.
Lynx stepped up to the sweet spot. Grizzly motioned him
back, indicating just-a-little with his thumb and index finger.
Lynx shuffled back. He was having a hard time getting his hands
 Gladiator Girl 187

to settle on the hilt of the sword. Finally, he pulled back to start

his swing.
Neil whispered to Stoat, “That guy I was telling you about, he
should be here for this. His sister’s a guardian with Burning De-
sire, Lucy Star.”
Lynx started his swing. The girl turned her head toward Fox.
“Lucy Sta―?” Lynx tried to stop, but his blade hit her in the
back of the head. It didn’t have the force to cut all the way
through and got stuck in her upper jaw, under her eye sockets.
The blood from her arteries pumped up, hit the underside of the
wound, and sprayed out like a greenhouse sprinkler, splattering
blood on everyone, especially on Lynx.
“Shit! Fuck!” Lynx said. He wiggled the sword to dislodge it.
The girl’s body crumpled forward.
Walrus motioned to Catamount. They moved up, opened the
body bag, and lifted the girl into it. Walrus zipped it closed. They
carried it to the door the girl had entered from and handed it out
to whoever was waiting on the other side. Neil heard the sound
of the zipper opening, followed by an angry exclamation. Walrus
closed the door. He came back and whispered to Grizzly, “I told
you this was a bad idea.”
Grizzly turned on Lynx. “What was that?”
“It was Fox!” Lynx said. “He was talking and she looked
at him!”
“She was blindfolded!”
“Well, she turned. I don’t know why.”
“Fox!” Grizzly said. “What did you say? It better have been
worth it. You’re this close to washing out with Badger!”
Neil was still spitting blood out of his mouth. “I w-was telling
Stoat about this guy I’m working with. He’s new, just moved
into the shelter last week.”
“Who the fuck cares about another loser!”
“His sister . . . he’s got a sister who p-plays blood battle for
Burning Desire. She’s a guardian. Lucy Star.”
188 R. H. Watson

Grizzly stopped being angry.

“I wanted to tell you about him. I though you’d want to meet
him. I was telling Stoat the guy should be here to see this.”
“Did you tell him about us?”
“No! Well, a little. But he doesn’t know anything.”
Grizzly put his hands together and pressed them against his
chin. He looked around at his cohorts. They were nervous, and
excited. Grizzly nodded to Neil. “Bring him along tomorrow
night. You’re lucky. His sister is Lucy Star? She better be.”
The girl’s blood had splattered over the floor, instructors, and
students, mostly missing the tarp. “Good thing the staff doesn’t
ask questions.” Grizzly shook his head. “Thanks to your fiasco,”
he said to Lynx, “we’re done for tonight. Everyone, in the
showers. Make sure you wash off all the blood. You’ll get tomor-
row night’s rendezvous in the limousine, as usual. Don’t be late!”
 Chapter 13
Just Relax

“Hey,” Neil stood over Zack’s bed shaking him awake.

“Wha’ time zit?” Zack said.
“Get up. I’ve got news. You’re alarm’s gonna go off in five
minutes anyway.”
“What is it?” Zack said.
“We’ll talk when we’re outside.”
Neil wanted to pick up a coffee in the cafeteria. He spooned
sugar into his cup. “I stuck my neck out for you last night.” He
spooned more sugar. Zack opened his mouth. “Shh!” Neil said.
“Not yet.” He led Zack into the damp, pre-dawn air and hustled
him away from the Helping Hand. “You’re in,” he said. “Grizzly
wants to meet you.”
“I don’t know,” Zack said. “I’ve been thinking, if this gets back
to Debbie, I don’t think she’ll like it. This might be a bad idea.”
Neil stopped and planted his hand on Zack’s chest. “You can’t
back out! Fuck!”
“But I’m not anybody. Why am I so important?”
“I don’t know. Grizzly thinks you are. And fuck,” he waved
his cup around, scattering splashes of hot coffee despite the
safety lid, “if you don’t show up tonight, I’m gonna get kicked
out of the class. I gave my word that you’d be there. It’s a fuck-
ing point of honor! Don’t screw me. Please!”
190 R. H. Watson

“What if I don’t like it? Can I leave?”

“Sure, of course!”
“I don’t want any of this getting back to Debbie.”
“Grizzly’s a good guy. If you don’t want her to know, he’ll re-
spect your wishes.”
“OK, I’ll go, but only tonight. If I don’t like it, I’m not go -
ing back.”
“You got it,” Neil said. “Whatever you want.”

Lucy looked at herself in the mirror. “Just relax,” she said, then
brushed her teeth. Brush. Spit. Gargle. Spit.
She dressed and poured a cup of coffee. The coffee came out
of the pot too fast and splashed on the counter. “Crap!” She had
made the usual pot, but Charlotte wasn’t there to take the first
cup. She wiped the counter and filled her cup, pouring slowly.
She picked up a piece of toast (she had made too much) and
headed up the stairs.
The air was full of mist. A delivery agent peddled his parcel
wagon through the Graveyard and stopped in front of her hatch.
“Packages for Lucinda Star. Canister seventeen.”
“That’s me,” Lucy said.
“Two boxes.” He opened the wagon and lifted them out. One
was an obvious flower box, the other was big, wide, and flat.
“Who are they from?”
“Jayzen Verbeek.”
She carried the boxes down the stairs, filled a pitcher with wa-
ter for the roses, put them in, and set them on the kitchenette
counter next to the plate of too much toast. She held one of the
flowers under her nose and inhaled. When Emanuel Jhadav cre-
ated the Burning Desire rose, he did a great job on the smell.
She put the other box on the dinette table and opened it. It con-
tained a dress: incredibly beautiful, incredibly red. It also con-
tained a necklace, earrings, shoes, hosiery, panties, white gloves,
and a matching overcoat. There was a note. “Was at your match,
 Gladiator Girl 191

blah blah blah, wonderful performance, blah blah blah, have an

evening free? Always at your blah blah, Jayzen Verbeek.”
She was late. From a car, on her way to the club, she sent a re-
quest to Jayzen. “Good morning, Lucy,” he said. “How nice of
you to contact. Did you receive my gift?” She was surprised he
was available, and then not; he was trying to seduce her, after all.
“Nice dress,” she said, “but underwear? Do you think us poor
people don’t own underwear?”
“It’s special.”
“I’m afraid to ask.”
“You’ll see.”
“It’s an arrogant gift. I’m sending it back when I get home
this evening.”
“Try it once. How about tonight, before you return it?”
“Where were you planning on taking me?”
“You can pick.”
“I don’t know your world, Jay. I don’t have a clue where to go.”
“There must be someplace you know where that dress would
turn heads, appropriately.”
Lucy thought it over. “Here’s the deal. Call the delivery ser-
vice, tell them to pick up the dress tomorrow morning and de-
liver it to the Helping Hand Thrift Shop. You pick me up at
twenty this evening. We’re going to Rude Red’s Follies and Bur-
lesque Show.”

After the morning shift, Zack changed out of his work coveralls, put
on a clean t-shirt and jeans, and went to the administration office.
Christopher looked up from his paperwork. “Good morning,
Zachary,” he said. “Mina’s ready for you.”
“Morning,” Zack said. He knocked on Wilhelmina’s door.
“Come in. Please, have a seat.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” Zack sat in the same stuffed chair he sat
in last week.
***
192 R. H. Watson

Wilhelmina stepped around her desk and sat in the other stuffed
chair. “Call me Mina,” she said. “It’s the most comfortable nick-
name I can pull out of Wilhelmina.”
“Yes ma’am.”
She settled into her chair and took a minute to observe Zack.
His fingernails were chewed to the quick. He tried to relax, but
he was stiff and symmetrical. He sat in the middle of the cush-
ion, knees a little apart, feet parallel, fingers knitted together in
his lap. He made eye contact with her chin. “You’ve been with us
for a week. How are you getting along?” she said.
“Okay.”
“How’s work?”
“Fine.”
“Are you getting along with Neil?”
“Yes. He . . .” Zack looked away.
“He what?”
“It’s nothing.”
“Why don’t you tell me anyway. I see you’re nervous. Talking
about something unimportant can help you relax.”
“He wants me to go to his class.” He unclasped his hands to
scratch his right leg.
Wilhelmina consulted some papers in a folder on her lap. “His
topiary class?”
“No. His martial arts class.”
“I haven’t heard about that.”
“I guess it’s not . . . It’s kind of a . . . He doesn’t tell many
people about it.” He crossed his arms tight around his chest and
stuck his hands in his armpits. He started tapping his right leg.
“Is martial arts something you’re interested in?”
“Not really.”
“Are you going to go?”
“I guess. His teacher wants to meet me.”
“Do you know why?”
Zack looked for something on the wall behind Wilhelmina.
 Gladiator Girl 193

“These questions aren’t important. I just want you to feel

comfortable talking to me.”
He stopped tapping his leg and remade eye contact with her chin.
“You were telling me why Neil’s teacher wants to meet you.”
“It’s because of who I know.” He stuffed his hands deeper into
his armpits, wrapping his arms so tight around his chest, Wil-
helmina wondered if they were constricting his breathing.
“Who’s that?”
Zack looked down at the armrest of her chair.
“It’s OK. You can say it.”
“My sister.” For a moment, his eyes made real eye contact.
They were wet and desolate.
“The teacher is interested in her?”
“I really shouldn’t be talking about this.” He blinked and
looked back at the armrest.
“About your sister?”
“About the class.”
“Let’s talk about something else then. I didn’t know you had a
sister. Can you tell me something about her? It doesn’t have to be
important. Is she older or younger?”
“Older.”
“Is she living here, in the city?”
“Why do you want to know?”
“I thought, if she was, maybe that’s why you came here.”
Zack turned ashen. He grabbed two handfuls of loose jeans at
the sides of his legs.
Wilhelmina leaned forward. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize this
was such a difficult topic for you. How about this, I won’t ask
you any more questions about her, but when you’re ready, I
would like you to tell me about your sister. Will you do that?”
Zack nodded.
Wilhelmina sat back. “Good, let’s change the subject. Tell me
about the Helping Hand. What are we doing right? What are we
doing wrong?”
194 R. H. Watson

***
At the end of the meeting, Wilhelmina opened the door for Zack.
“If you’re feeling pressured into going to Neil’s class, you don’t
have to. Let me know, and I’ll talk to him.”
“It’s okay,” Zack said. “I want to go. Thanks ma’am.”
Wilhelmina closed the door, sat behind her desk, and stared
through her office window into the outer office. She made a de-
cision and put in a talk-to request to Donna Quinn, then started
writing her notes on Zack’s session.
“Hi, Mina,” Donna said. “What can I do for you?”
“Do you recall that boy, the brother of your player, Lucy Star?”
“I do, but I don’t remember mentioning her name. Did he
tell you?”
“No,” Wilhelmina said, “and how I know is beside the point.
I’m concerned the boy, Zack, is getting mixed up in something.
Something that may involve his sister.”
“Oh?”
“One of our residents, another boy he works with, is pressur-
ing him to attend some sort of martial arts class. It sounds like
the teacher is interested in Zack because of his sister. Something
feels wrong. I was wondering if you could follow the boys to the
class―maybe find out what’s going on?”
“Do you know when and where it meets?”
“Not yet. It sounds secretive, but I’ll ask around and let you
know what I find.”
“Good,” Donna said. “Make sure you don’t spook him. And
Mina, if you want my cooperation, you have to tell me
everything you know and everything you suspect. Deal?”
“Deal. As long as it’s reciprocal.”
“Deal,” Donna said and broke the contact.
Helping Hand’s policy was to not invade their clients’ privacy.
Wilhelmina had just taken a big step across that line. She hoped
it was the right thing to do, and not too late.
***
 Gladiator Girl 195

The special panties were made out of a molecular elastic some-

thing. They came with instructions. She put them on, held them in
place, pinched the top seam, and ran her fingers from back to front
on each side. The panties tightened up all around. The seams were
invisible. The material didn’t wrinkle when she moved. They
turned her butt crack into a smooth concave curve, and didn’t
show any labia cleft, although, according to the instructions, both
could be adjusted. The panties were removed by reversing the
pinch direction. Handy for me. Especially handy for him.
The dress was even more adjustable. She set the skirt length
to just below her knees and kept it loose enough to not hamper
her full range of motion. She adjusted the bodice to give a hint
of cleavage. The belt was thoughtfully equipped with loops for
her scabbard.
The necklace had a snug fit and didn’t dangle. She was used
to precise control of her body; a loose necklace that added a
chunk of random momentum around her neck would have made
her uncomfortable. It was a minor but thoughtful thing. Jayzen
must have hired a consultant.
The earrings were small and held tight to her earlobes with a
clever clasp that was secure, but didn’t pinch. The consultant un-
derstood she would not have pierced ears.
The shoes were high heeled and totally wrong. Jayzen must
have picked them out. She substituted an old pair of guardian
shoes that clashed with the dress. Just right for Rude Red’s.

Jayzen arrived in a private car. “Who are they?” Lucy stuck out
her chin at the two girls in ninja outfits and red lipstick.
“These are the Bonnies,” Jayzen said. “They’re my bodyguards.”
“The Bonnies?”
“They’re identical twins who’ve both received rebirth gene
therapy. The security agency thinks twins make a superior team.
Better nonverbal communication skills, that sort of thing.”
“I’m not planning on attacking you,” Lucy said.
196 R. H. Watson

“Father insists we have bodyguards at all times when we’re

off family property. They’ll be quiet; after a while, you won’t
even know they’re there.” Jayzen stood aside to allow Lucy to
board the car, then he and his bodyguards followed her in. The
car departed the Winnebago Graveyard siding.
“I was at your game on Saturday,” Jayzen said.
“So your note explained. Your sister was there, too.”
“Ah, yes.”
“What did you think?”
“The matches were short.”
“They’re called games. The event is a match.”
“They were still short.”
“They’re kept short for safety. We don’t know how long a
girl’s body can lie around at room temperature before she’s irre-
trievably dead. We know an hour is safe. Beyond that, the milit-
ary has the best data since it’s a high risk profession, even for re-
birth girls, but they’re not telling. To err on the side of safety,
blood battle games are designed to last about twenty minutes. If
a game goes long, it’s temporarily halted at thirty minutes to al-
low the casualties to be removed and processed―”
“Champagne?” Jayzen said.
“Sure.” Lucy set her scabbard to the side and accepted the
champagne flute.
Jayzen reached for her sword.
“Don’t touch it,” Lucy said.
“My apology. You carry that for display, yes? Would you ever
actually use it?”
“Gunda wanted guardians and chargers to carry their swords
in public, like movie samurai, to add to our mystique.”
“Gunda?”
“Gunda Thorstenson. She created blood battle.”
“The opera impresario?”
“I guess she was that, too. Anyway, She lobbied the regional
councils to make sure we had the right. That right is to carry our
 Gladiator Girl 197

swords, not to use them, or even draw them.” The Brody incident
flickered for a moment. She pushed it away. “But maybe . . . if I
had no choice.”
“When would that be? It would be difficult for someone to
threaten your life. You can’t be killed, not easily, at least not until
you’re twenty-five.”
“I don’t know. I guess I might, if it was to protect someone else.”
“You’re being evasive.”
“I haven’t thought about it. I don’t know if I could fight
someone who might actually die at my hand.”
“You could wound them.”
She gave Jayzen a teasing smirk. “As you know, my skills are
very nuanced in the ways of killing, not in the whether-or-not of
killing. I don’t think I’d be good at wounding.”
“You wounded my heart,” Jayzen said.
“I’ll take credit for wounding your pride. I don’t know yet if you
even have a heart.” She poked him in the chest with her scabbard.
“You know, thanks to my girls here,” he tipped his head to-
ward the Bonnies, “I’m harder to kill than you.”
“Really? Right now, if I decided to poke you in the
heart―your fleshy physical heart,” she poked him again, “they
would be quick enough to stop me?”
“I’m not at liberty to discuss their means, but yes, you
wouldn’t have a chance. I’m better protected than you, I don’t
have to spend time in an incubator, and there is no expiration
date on my protection.”
A chime sounded. The car was approaching Rude Red’s.

Donna’s security staff consisted of herself, her assistant, and the

guards: uniformed guards like Frank and plain-clothed guards
like the receptionists sitting behind the lobby desk at the front
entrance. Any off site work was contracted out to the Esposito &
Associates Tracking Agency run by an old buddy of Donna’s,
Kwan Esposito.
198 R. H. Watson

Jandeet was a junior member of the agency, but their best city
tracker. He pulled the assignment to follow Zack. The kids were
working the trash detail in the Seafront Park when he picked
them up. The other boy, Neil, looked jumpy.
Their shift ended and the boys hurried to the Helping Hand.
Ten minutes later they emerged wearing nondescript street
clothes. They picked up a public car at the local kiosk. Jandeet
noted the car ID, then requested a car to pair with it. His car hur -
ried to catch up to the one sporting the ID he had provided. By
the time Zack and Neil reached their destination, Jandeet was
right behind them. He had to be careful to remain inconspicuous
exiting his car this close to his subjects.
Zack and Neil walked for fifteen minutes to an abandoned sid-
ing on an old, unmanaged street where several other boys had col-
lected. Over the next five minutes a few more boys arrived, then a
large private limousine slid down the street and stopped. Two se-
curity guards stepped out. These were exclusive, top-of-the-line
bodyguards wearing full body armor and jackets that, Jandeet had
no doubt, contained enough surveillance devices, and lethal and
nonlethal weapons to spot, and stop, multiple assassination at-
tempts. He slipped deep into the surrounding shadows, pulled
down his hat, and flipped up his collar to trap as much body heat
as he could, lest it give him away. The guards’ body armor and
jackets were black, but in contradiction to the usual strategy of re-
maining inconspicuous, they wore red lipstick.
The boys filed into the limousine, then it drove off. Jandeet re-
quested its ID; he got back a high pitched squeal that would have
left him temporarily deaf if his dampeners hadn’t filtered it out.
Now he was angry.
He didn’t think he had been spotted. This was most likely a
simple trick used to mask the limousine’s ID while it was on its
own. When it moved into managed traffic at the end of the street,
it would have to identify itself, but if he ran after it to try and
catch the ID, the guards would spot him.
 Gladiator Girl 199

He wasn’t a noted city tracker for nothing. Those bodyguards

had looked like a matched set. There was only one security
agency in the city that used twins, the one with the self-referen-
tial name, Twin Security.
There was a car kiosk five minutes away―one minute at a
brisk run. Part of good tracking was knowing things like, who
are the biggest clients of competing agencies. Twin Security
owed their existence, almost exclusively, to the old-money Ver-
beek family, and only one member of that family tarted up his
bodyguards like the ones Jandeet had seen.
As soon as the limousine was out of sight he started running to the
kiosk and requested to be met by a car available for exclusive use. It
arrived while he was still running. He opened the door and slipped
one of his agency tokens into the handle to pay for the premium ser-
vice. He played a hunch. “Express passage to the Verbeek Mansion.”
The car didn’t move until he buckled himself in, then it accelerated
while requesting clearances along its path. A big limousine like the
one that picked up the boys would need to use the underground cargo
transit tunnels to get around. A public car running a premium express
passage could accelerate to 160 kilometers per hour and maintain that
speed by negotiating an optimal path through the managed street
level traffic. If he had guessed correctly about its destination, Jandeet
would beat the limousine to the mansion.
Three minutes after he arrived and found a good hiding place,
Jandeet saw the limousine drive up the street and turn into the
mansion garage. He grabbed its ID while it was still on the man-
aged road alongside the mansion.
This was the end of the trail. He couldn’t get inside without
violating his agency’s license, but he could wait.

Lucy, Jayzen, and his bodyguards disembarked. The car drove

away to wait in a local siding.
Rude Red’s was a year-round costume party. The patrons
loitering in front of the entrance were ostentatious, garish, and
200 R. H. Watson

riotous in the variety of their costumes. “Don’t worry,” Lucy

said, “we’ll fit right in, even your ninja girls―especially your
ninja girls.”
They walked in and made their way toward the runway. The
room was filled with boisterous yelling and hundreds of conver-
sations. A one-man band competed for attention on the stage.
Waiters on stilts moved through the crowd.
“Lucy! Lucy!” Lucy looked around. Rude Red himself strut-
ted their way on the tallest stilts in the house. He was bulbous, or
his costume made him look that way. He wore a top hat, a coat
with tails that curled up his back, and flesh colored tights
covered in curly fake hair. A meter long dildo swung from his
crotch, its glans painted bright red. He clattered to a stop, bent
over and mimed kissing Lucy on both cheeks. His mouth was a
meter above her head.
“I loved your match!” he said, swaying upright. Then again
bent low feigning a whisper. “You’re the talk of the town, you
know. At least of my town.”
Lucy said something. Red cupped his hand behind his ear.
She wrapped megaphone hands around her mouth. “What do
you mean?”
Red waggled his finger at her. “Don’t think people didn’t
notice!” He lurched upright, held up his left hand, took a huge
lipstick dispenser from his pocket, and colored his palm and
fingers bright red. He bent low and placed his hand on a pat -
ron’s shoulder, then took it away leaving a red hand print be -
hind. The man turned around, annoyed, until he saw it was
Rude Red. Red held his finger to his lips. “Shh!” he said. “We
don’t talk about it.” He tapped the side of his nose. “Yet, stor-
ies are being told!”
He lurched upright. “Please, this way, sit upfront! Tonight,
you are an honored guest!” He held out his arm and led them to
seats next to the runway. Lucy slid onto a stool, but Red bent
down and waggled, “Come here,” with the fingers of his red
 Gladiator Girl 201

painted hand. Lucy stood and reached up. He took her hand,
stretched her arm up, and bent so low he was teetering on the
verge of toppling over. He kissed her hand, then reared up and
strutted away.
“You didn’t tell me you were a celebrity here,” Jayzen said.
“I’m not, or I wasn’t before.” She looked at the red lipstick
smudged on her hand. “Do you or the Bonnies have something I
can use to clean this off?”
They ordered, drank, and talked about nothing much, then the
burlesque show started. The lights didn’t dim. Rude Red wanted
his performers to demand the attention of his raucous customers
by the force of their performance.
The piano player knocked out an anthem. The first act, Beth
and Billy, strutted onto the stage and along the runway.
“Gentle friends and lovers, from near and far, I am here to tell
you, ‘You ain’t seen nothin’ yet!’” Despite his small size, Billy’s
voice boomed across the room.
Beth was the original fat lady. She wore the white robes and
horned helmet of the Razzmatazz era opera singer. Billy was the
skinny runt Viking warrior. But that wasn’t enough; they needed
an assistant from the audience. Billy strutted up and down the
runway looking for tonight’s victim. His eyes fell on one of the
Bonnies, and he pointed with his wooden sword. “Him! Umm,
her! Umm―” he raised his hands and shrugged his shoulders.”
The Bonnie looked at Jayzen and shook her head. “Do it,”
Jayzen said, “I’ll be safe. I have my own personal warrior to pro-
tect me tonight.” He put his arm around Lucy’s waist.
Beth charged up, grabbed the Bonnie by her upper arm and
hauled her onto the runway.
Billy pulled a huge strap-on vulva and a huge strap-on dildo
from a box of props. He held each up to the ‘volunteer’ for audi-
ence approval. The dildo won and he strapped her into it.
It was a classic burlesque show. Beth ordered Billy around.
He in turn ordered the volunteer to help Beth remove robes and
202 R. H. Watson

replace them with big feathery boas while the piano player beat
out a grinding sexual rhythm. Billy tried to seduce Beth, who
tried to seduce the volunteer.
Lucy watched the Bonnie. She had to be highly trained, but on
stage she was flustered. Lucy’s guardian hindbrain realized she
was vulnerable; this was the time to take her down. She looked
at the other Bonnie, her twin; even though she wasn’t on stage,
she seemed equally flustered.
Gotcha, gotcha both.
At the end of the performance there was a big reveal. Beth
was a man, Billy was a woman, and the volunteer was revealed
to be a man, no, a woman, no, a man . . . Billy gave up and
mugged another shrug to the audience.
The performance was over. Billy helped the Bonnie to the
edge of the runway, then the piano player played Beth and Billy
off the stage.
“Good show!” Lucy said and slapped the Bonnie’s ass as she
stepped off the runway. She turned to retaliate.
“Whoa there.” Lucy held up her hands.

The limo stopped. Zack heard the other boys shuffle to the door.
He reached up to the elastic band that held the hood around his
neck. Someone slapped his hand. “Leave it on,” a girl’s voice said.
He was the last one out. “Neil?” he said.
“Shh!” several of the boys said. Zack heard them walk away
and started to follow. He thought it was one of the ninja girls; she
took him by his upper arm and put a hand over his mouth. The
sounds of the other boys faded. The ninja girl pushed him in a
different direction. They went through a door and another one.
She pushed him into a chair and pulled off his hood.
A man sat, facing him. He was big and looked strong.
“Hello Zachary.”
“Who are you?”
The man didn’t say.
 Gladiator Girl 203

“You’re Grizzly,” Zack said.

“Yes. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“You want to know about my sister.”
“What has Neil told you about us?”
“You want to learn blood battle, like the girls, but you want to
be better than them.”
“That’s not quite right, but it will do for now. I’m curious why
you came to Heritage City. I’m told you tried to visit your sister,
Debbie, but she sent you away.”
“She calls herself Lucy, now.” They both sat on simple, hard
chairs: straight-up backrests, no arms.
“Yes, Lucy Star. She changed her name the first chance she had
after winning emancipation from your family―you, your mother,
and your father. What happened back in Cliffside to make her
want to leave and never again have anything to do with you?”
“Why does everybody want to know about Debbie?”
“Who else does?”
“My counselor.”
“At the Helping Hand?”
“Yes.” Zack liked Wilhelmina, but she made him nervous. So
did this guy.
“I want to know about you. Knowing something about your
sister helps me know you. I understand if you don’t want to talk
about her. Tell me about your father.”
“There’s nothing to tell.”
Grizzly sat forward. “Do you love him?”
Zack’s hands were sweaty. He rubbed them on his jeans.
“Ah, I see you don’t,” Grizzly sat back. “Do you hate him?”
“No.”
“Huh. You don’t love him, but you don’t hate him either?”
“He tried to be a good man,” Zack said. “He really did,
but . . .”
“But he failed? Is that why Lucy― I’m sorry. Is that why
Debbie left, because your father failed at being a good man?”
204 R. H. Watson

“He wasn’t trying to be good, not then.”

Grizzly took a moment to think. “Did you hate him, when he
wasn’t good?”
“I don’t think so.”
“You don’t think so?” Grizzly scratched the end-of-day
stubble on his cheek. “Did Debbie hate him?”
“Yes, she . . .”
Grizzly waited, then said, “Go on, you can say it.”
“She hated everybody.”
“That’s interesting. Did she hate you?”
“Yes.”
“Did she hate your mother?”
“Yes, she especially hated her. I think she hated her more than
she hated Dad.”
“Really? Why was that?”
“I don’t know.” The chair was making Zack’s sitz bones hurt.
He shifted his butt. It helped a little.
“Did your mother hurt Debbie?”
“No.”
“So what did she do to earn your sister’s hate?”
Zack was silent.
“Zack?” Grizzly said.
“When Dad was gone, sometimes, after Debbie was bad, after
he punished her, Mom would try to put bandages on her, or oint-
ment, but Debbie would punch her and kick her.”
“Why did your sister need bandages and ointment?”
“Because Dad would hit her.”
“I’ll bet she didn’t punch and kick your father.”
“No.”
“I’ll bet she was afraid of him.”
“Yes.”
“What did he hit her with?”
“His hand. He’d punch her—once, even in the face. He punished
her with his belt, and with a cut off broom handle when she was older.”
 Gladiator Girl 205

“Oh my!” Grizzly said. Zack heard the ninja girl snicker.
Grizzly looked at her, angry.
“How badly did he hurt her?”
“Pretty bad. Sometimes they had to bring her to the hospital.
They’d lie about what happened and they made me lie too.”
“What did you lie about?”
“She had bruises. A broken jaw from the time he punched her
face. Another time he stepped on her hand and broke her fingers.
He broke her ribs with the broom handle―more than once. And
the studs in his belt left scars on her back, those were the hardest
to lie about.”
“Interesting.” Grizzly crossed his legs, clasped his hands be-
hind his head, and leaned back. He looked comfortable in his
chair. “And now the scars, and those broken bones that are never
quite the same after they heal, all that evidence of her past is
gone, so completely wiped away it might as well have never
been there, thanks to rebirth.”
Grizzly sat upright, planted his elbows on his knees, knit his
fingers together and pointed at Zack. “Your sister doesn’t want
anything to do with you because you’re part of the childhood
she hates, the childhood she’s been able to scrub completely out
of her life using those rebirth wombs. You remind her of it. I
imagine she hates you more now than she ever did then for
coming here and making her remember. I imagine she wishes
you were dead.”
Grizzly seemed to think on that, keeping time with his fingers
to something in his head. “Did she ever hurt you?”
Zack looked around for the door.
“Zack!”
Zack twisted back, and by accident, looked into Grizzly’s
eyes―caught. “Yes. When Mom and Dad were gone, or weren’t
looking, she’d punish me. She said if I ever told, she’d break my
fingers.” He rushed through the words so he could look away.
“Did you ever tell?”
206 R. H. Watson

“No.”
“Because you were afraid of her.”
“Yes . . . but that’s not why.”
“Oh? Then why?”
“Because I was afraid, if Dad ever found out . . . I was afraid
he’d get so mad, he might kill her.”
“You were protecting her?”
“I guess.”
“I’ll be damned.” Grizzly mulled this over. “Do you love
your sister?”
Zack was silent again.
“Zachary,” Grizzly said. “Answer my question.”
“Yes.”
“Did your father ever hit you, back when he wasn’t good?”
“Some.”
“Like he hit Debbie?”
“No.” Zack looked down.
“No broken bones or scars for you?”
“No.” Zack’s head was bowed. He held the sides of his chair
seat and pressed down on it. His elbows squeezed against his
ribs. “He made her hate me.” The words were quiet.
Grizzly sat back. “Well . . . thank you Zachary, you’ve helped
me understand Debbie, your real sister, not that sham, Lucy Star.
“But we still don’t know why you’re here. You spent five days
bumping along from town to town all the way from nowhere,
Moraineia to Heritage City because you wanted to tell your sister
something, your sister who hates you, despite what you did for
her. What did you want to tell her?”
“Nothing.”
“Oh, not nothing. You said your father tried to be a good man?”
“Yes. After Debbie left, he changed. He got better.”
“But something sent him back to his old ways.”
“Yes.” Zack started crying, but his head was bent so low
Grizzly didn’t realize it until he saw tears drip onto his jeans.
 Gladiator Girl 207

“What happened?”
“We saw Debbie in the news, it was something about how she
won a game. They called her Lucy, but we recognized her. Mom
cried. Dad didn’t say anything, but I could see he was getting
angry, then he left. When he came back he was drunk, and like
he was before she ran away.”
Grizzly leaned forward. In the most compassionate voice he
could muster, he said, “Zachary, did someone get hurt?”
Zack released a gush of air; he had been holding his breath.
“Was it your mother?”
“Yes,” Zack said.
“I’m so sorry to hear that,” Grizzly said. “How badly is
she hurt?”
Zack said something.
“Could you speak up?”
“She’s dead.”
Grizzly mouthed, “Wow!” to the ninja girl, then said to Zack,
“Tell me what happened.”
“It was in the kitchen. When he came home, they had a
fight and he pushed her. There were knives in the drying rack.
And one . . .
“Yes? Then what?”
“I hit him with the rolling pin, knocked him down. I grabbed
one of the other knives, from the drawer, and I cut him. I didn’t
stop until . . .”
“Go on. Until?”
“Until I couldn’t recognize his face any more.”
Grizzly moved off his chair, knelt on one knee next to
Zack, and put his arms around him. Zack grabbed Grizzly’s
shirt and buried his face in it. “Then I cut his head off, just like
Debbie would do it.”
Grizzly held him. “Sons have killed their fathers throughout
history. You’re not alone.”
“I want to die,” Zack said.
208 R. H. Watson

Grizzly patted Zack’s back. “Of course you do. Is that

why you came to see your sister? Do you want Debbie to
kill you?”
“Yes.”

After midnight they floundered back into Jayzen’s private car.

This time the Bonnies took up positions in guard stations for-
ward and aft of the main cabin.
Jayzen handed Lucy another champagne flute. She held it
while he poured, then adjusted her scabbard so she could slump
into the wide seat.
She sipped her champagne and closed her eyes. The seat
picked up the hum of the wheels on the road and transmitted it
into her gluteal muscles; her glutes transmitted it to her pelvic
bones, and her pelvis sent it to her pubic bones which distributed
it into all those happy nerve ends in her genitals. She thought of
the girl on the swing in the painting on the wall of the fairy tale
locker room in the Verbeek Family mansion.
Then she felt Jayzen take the champagne glass from her hand.
She smelled him, just centimeters away. He kissed her. She put
her hands on his shoulders to slip off his blazer. It was already
gone. She slid her hands to the front of his shirt to undo the but-
tons. There weren’t any. Damn molecular zippers.
But she was getting used to them. She reached under the back
of his collar, and just like her fancy panties, she pinched, slid her
fingers around to the front, and the shirt split down the back, like
an insect molting out of its old skin, like some magnificent wasp
arching its body over hers, preparing to thrust its ovipositor into
her belly and lay its eggs―
Wait. The wasp would be female and it would be using my
body to host and feed its nasty parasitical young. Stick to the ba­
sics: muscles, penis, vagina.
“Is something wrong?” Jayzen said.
“Huh? Ah, no,” she said.
 Gladiator Girl 209

She pinched the top seam of his pants and ran her fingers from
back to front. Nothing. She tried front to back, his pants loosened.
She slid them down his legs with her feet. Then wedged her foot
against the seat and pushed his shoulders to heave him onto his
back. She rolled with him and straddled his hips.
She pulled his shirt away and realized he was naked. “No un-
derwear? Or are they built into your fancy pants?”
“The latter,” he said.
Lucy reached around to the back of her neckline and pinched
the pressure points to release her dress. She tried to pull it over
her head and remembered the belt. More pressure points. She
threw the belt to the side and pulled off the dress. “Do you want
to release the magic panties, or should I?”
“You can.”
She stood up, removed them, laid down on his body, and
kissed his lips, then his nipples. She bit the skin covering his ab-
dominal muscles, kissed the soft bulge of his mons pubis. She
pulled back his foreskin and kissed his glans, then twiddled his
testicles in her palm and squeezed them enough to scare him.
She straddled his belly and studied his face. “Who are
you?” she said. He seemed as unknown to her as the girl in the
blue evening gown she had seen in the mirror on the night of
Charlotte’s Duel à Mort soirée.
Jayzen tried to roll her over, but she wouldn’t let him. She slid
her hips down his abdomen and slipped his penis into her vagina.
She closed her eyes and listened to the wet syncopating sounds
as they each hunted for their orgasms. Jayzen came, then the
blood ebbed from his erectile tissue. Lucy reached down and
massaged her clitoris. Jayzen tried to help, but she pushed his
hand away. She leaned forward, grabbed the back of his neck,
and pulled his head close until she could kiss him. She sucked at
his mouth to distract him, and maybe herself. Her contractions
were quick and sharp; she relaxed.
After a little bit, Lucy rolled off Jayzen and lay next to him
210 R. H. Watson

with her head on his arm. She looked up and out of the car’s
skylight. A question tickled her consciousness. “Where are we
going?”
“To the family summer home on Seagull Island. We’re al-
most there.”
“What?”
“Don’t worry, I’ll have you back in time for your morning
practice.”
“It’s not that.” She sat up. “This is too far from the Laughing
Cherub!”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s a safety issue and an obligation to my club. I can’t be this
far away without a refrigerated casket and a prep team. If we had
an accident, if I were killed, emergency services out here aren’t
prepared to handle a rebirth body. We’ve got to go back, now!”
“Relax,” Jayzen said. He spoke up. “The Bonnies are in the
same situation. Isn’t that right?”
“What’s that, sir?” said the voice of one of the Bonnies.
“If anything happened to you or Lucy, the security company
would be here within a half hour and they’ll be prepared to
handle her body along with yours.”
“That’s true, sir,” the Bonnie said. “The girl needn’t worry.”
“See?” he said.
“I still don’t like it. You should have told me before we left
the city.” She stood up and started dressing. “Are you just going
to lie there?”
“I was thinking I would,” he said, but sat up and began pulling
his clothes on. Lucy picked up her sword, pulled it part way out
of its scabbard to inspect the blade, then slid it in, letting it make
a loud clack when the hilt guard hit the scabbard throat.

Two and a half hours after the limousine arrived at the mansion, it
reemerged. Jandeet confirmed the ID. He jogged a street over to the
siding where he had left his exclusive-use car. His public car couldn’t
 Gladiator Girl 211

follow the limousine into the underground transit tunnels, but now
that he had its ID, he could find its exit point and pick it up there.
Twenty minutes later the limousine exited the tunnel. Jandeet
was waiting.
Car pairing was a handy way for large groups to stay together,
but it wasn’t designed for stalking. If he paired with the limousine,
his car would catch up and follow just centimeters behind. Zack
and Neil wouldn’t have noticed the difference between pairing and
a centipede, but the Twin Security bodyguards would. Jandeet had
to constantly give his car new destinations that would trick it into
following the limousine at a discreet distance. This wasn’t easy.
He needed a detailed knowledge of the streets and a subtle feel for
the dynamic routing system used by the autonomous traffic. If he
made a mistake, his car would veer off on an unexpected, but op-
timal route to the latest destination, and he would lose sight of the
limousine. He could have the car find it again with the ID, but that
would risk calling attention to himself.
The limousine worked its way through several lesser road-
ways, then turned onto another unmanaged street. Jandeet
jumped out of his car and sent it to wait in an empty siding. He
peeked around the corner. The limousine stopped halfway down
the street. Several boys exited the cabin, not as many as had
entered earlier―four were missing. The limousine departed.
The sidewalks weren’t lit. Jandeet snuck through the shadows
until he was close enough to look for Zack and Neil―they
weren’t with the other boys.
Now what? He wasn’t sure if it was intentional or bad luck,
but he’d been tricked. He could pick up his car and follow the
limousine again, but he suspected he’d end up waiting back at
the mansion. Instead, he dismissed the car, randomly picked one
of the boys, and followed him.
The boy ended up at a city shelter. Jandeet bribed the clerk to
give him the boy’s name, then headed back to the mansion to
spend the night waiting and watching.
212 R. H. Watson

Several public and private cars arrived and departed during

the next few hours. Jandeet popped their IDs, just in case, then
the garage entrance was quiet until morning.

The Verbeek family summer home was big and empty. Jayzen
made a couple of hot toddies. They sat together in the dark on a
veranda that looked across a wide beach to the ocean. The ver-
anda was sealed and warmed against the cold autumn night, but
there was still comfort in sharing body heat.
“Is there anything that’s yours?” Lucy said. “Everything
seems to belong to your family.”
“Family is everything,” Jayzen said.
“It is?”
“You don’t agree?”
“I don’t talk about it. I’m sure your security service did a
background check on me, read it sometime. Now, let’s change
the subject.”
“To what?”
“Do you really need bodyguards all the time? Is someone out
to get you?”
“Probably. Most likely. I don’t keep up on the threats―they do.”
“Doesn’t seem like a pleasant way to live, having them con-
stantly around. Were they watching us fuck in the car? Are they
listening right now?”
“Yes, they watched us make love. No, they are not listening. If
I raise my voice in a certain way, like in the car, they will hear,
but otherwise, no.” Jayzen shifted to see the side of her face.
“What about you? Your womb-atoriums are guarded against fan-
atics, and don’t you have fans that get over enthusiastic?”
“Your sister seems to be my biggest fan. How over enthusi-
astic is she?”
“I’ll ask when she gets out of her womb.”
“She received rebirth therapy?”
“Along with every Verbeek girl in the extended family.”
 Gladiator Girl 213

“Why is she in a womb? Did something happen?” Lucy faced

Jayzen.
“No, last evening was her regular three month update, or
whatever you call it.”
“Charlotte went in yesterday too. Which womb-atorium do
you use?”
“We have our own in the mansion.”
“Of course you do,” Lucy said. “When France is out, I should
see if she and her friends would like a tour of the club. If she
went in on Sunday evening, she should be out by Wednesday.”
“They say she’ll be in for a couple of weeks this time.”
“What went wrong?”
“Nothing. They said sometimes it takes longer.”
“Who said?”
“The womb-atorium staff, I assume.”
“Bullshit!” Lucy said. “Jay, something’s wrong.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really. Do you care for your sister?”
“Of course. Why would you even ask?”
“I don’t know, I’m sorry. But that’s not important. Something
went wrong, or something serious happened to her before she
went in. Either way, whoever told you this is normal is lying.
You need to find out what happened.”
Jayzen raised his voice. “Bonnie.”
“Yes?” said the disembodied voice of one of the Bonnies.
“I want to check on my sister’s status. I have reason to believe
the womb-atorium staff is hiding something.”
“That seems unlikely, sir.”
“Check anyway.”
A few minutes later, the Bonnie’s voice was back. “They say
she had an accident just previous to her enwombment. She fell
down a flight of stairs and received a severe head injury.”
“Thank you,” Jayzen said. He lowered his voice to normal
conversation. “What do you think?”
214 R. H. Watson

“It could be true, if there was significant brain damage, and

especially if it included memory loss.”
Lucy sat up. “I have to be home by seven and at the club by eight.
I’m going to bed.” She leaned over and kissed Jayzen, then with her
mouth pressed to his ear, she whispered, “They’re still lying.”

Jayzen woke up. It was hours before dawn. He watched Lucy

and listened to her breathing. When he was sure she was sleep-
ing, he slipped out of the bed, then watched her again to see if
his movement had woken her.
He slipped around the foot of the bed and picked up her long-
sword from where she had propped it in the crook between the
night table and the wall. He felt its weight, then slid the blade
out, careful to not make a sound. He set the scabbard on the
night table, held the sword up, and stepped through one of the
handling exercises Hashimoto Sensei had taught him, taking his
time and practicing silence. He held the blade under his nose;
there was a faint oder of oil, but none of blood—disappointing.
He swung the sword over his head in a long, slow arch, bringing
it to a stop millimeters above Lucy’s throat. He held the blade
and watched her breathe. It was the slow consistent rhythm of
someone in deep sleep. She wasn’t even dreaming. He could
bury her body in the dunes—probably wouldn’t be the first one
out there; they wouldn’t dare look, not on Family property. No
wombs, no rebirth, no Lucy.
His wrists began to ache; the blade wavered. He pulled it away,
slid it into its scabbard, and returned it to its place between the
night table and wall. He walked around the bed, eased himself in,
and laid on his side counting her breaths until he fell asleep.

The sun came up glorious and white over the ocean horizon.
Jayzen wanted to make love again.
“Sure,” Lucy said. She let herself drift in the hypnogogic state
between dreaming and waking, not wanting to let go of her last
 Gladiator Girl 215

phantasm. The dream played with Jayzen’s sexual manipulations,

folding them into its scenario. When he penetrated her, she
mumbled, “Oh, it’s back.” He took his time composing and savor-
ing his ejaculation, then he crawled down and cajoled her tissue un-
til it released a quiet orgasm. She breathed out and spoke a name.

This part of the summer home was built like an old vacation
hotel. There were several suites off the veranda, each was self
contained with a bedroom, sitting room, kitchen, and bath.
Jayzen and Lucy occupied one of the suites.
By the time Lucy was fully awake, Jayzen was in the kitchen.
She swung her legs off the bed, sat up, reached for her sword,
and stopped. She had left it propped between the wall and the
night table. It was still there, but it wasn’t sitting the way she had
left it. It was twisted more toward the wall and the scabbard tip
was further out from the night table.
Jayzen came out of the kitchen wearing an apron and nothing
else. “Breakfast?” he said.
“Just coffee,” Lucy said, “and toast. I want to get going.”
“It won’t take long.”
“I want to get going, now.”
She got up and dressed, then picked up her sword and checked
the blade. There was something wrong about the way it was
seated in the scabbard. She pulled it all the way out and looked
over the full length of its edge, then re-sheathed it. “Don’t ever
play with my sword again,” she said. “Let’s go.” She tossed
Jayzen his clothes. “You can dress in the car. Tell your Bonnies
we’re leaving.”
“They’re the Veronicas this morning,” Jayzen said. “They
changed shifts during the night.” He followed her out to the car
and said, “Who’s Chrissy?”
 Chapter 14
A Busy Morning

Jayzen’s car pulled into the Winnebago Graveyard siding at

seven twenty. He stepped out and Lucy followed. She took
his hand, led him over to Charlotte’s canister, and down the
stairs.
Jayzen looked around. “Two of you live in here?”
Lucy waited for the hatch to close. “Yes. I wanted to be out of
earshot of your Veronicas and your car.”
“They can still hear us if I tell them to listen. This buried cot-
tage is no impediment.”
“Are they listening?”
“They shouldn’t be.” He caressed her arm. “What did you
have in mind?”
“I want to make sure you check on France―as soon as you
can. I don’t know how intrigue works for you people, but I’m
worried. Find out what really happened to her and let me know. I
can tell you if it’s bullshit or not.”
“This isn’t what I anticipated when you brought me down here.”
“Fuck, Jay. I’m serious.” She pushed his hand off her arm.
“Alright, I believe you. If anyone has harmed my sister,
they’ll pay.”
“Great, do whatever it is you do. But make sure she’s safe, first.”
“Definitely,” Jayzen said.
 Gladiator Girl 217

“Thanks.” Lucy kissed him on the cheek. “Now, get going. And
don’t forget to have the dress picked up. I’m leaving by eight.”

Lieutenant Samantha Villanueva checked the status board and

saw a request directed to her from Inspector Olia Fournier. She
approved the contact and a minute later Olia said, “Good morn-
ing Lieutenant. I met you at a crime scene last week.”
“I remember,” Samantha said.
“We found four more bodies since then. I was hoping you
could take a look at them.”
“Because of my blood battle background?”
“You’re the closest thing to a sword expert we have on the force.”
“You must have forensics people who know more than me.”
“They have better technical knowledge, but they don’t have
your eye for the skill of the sword work.”
“I appreciate your confidence, but I was only in the BB pro-
gram for two years. That was eight years ago and I was a teen-
ager. You need a real expert. Why aren’t you consulting directly
with the Blood Battle League?”
“We’re trying to keep this quiet, and some members of the in-
vestigative team continue to suspect the killer may be involved
with the League, despite your comments at the crime scene. My
superior supports that view.”
“On what grounds?”
“On the grounds she doesn’t like rebirth and doesn’t trust any-
one involved with it.”
“That would include me, wouldn’t it?” Samantha said.
“Yes, but you’re already on the force. I don’t need to have an
expense voucher approved to bring you in.”
“She’s hobbling your investigation.”
“You see my predicament then?”
“I do, but I’m really not qualified.”
“At risk of sounding desperate,” Olia said, “you’re all I have,
unless you know someone, maybe someone you’ve kept in con-
218 R. H. Watson

tact with from the Academy? Someone who might be willing to

take a look at the bodies, unofficially and off the record?”
Samantha laughed. “I’m sorry. I apologize. But you do sound
desperate.” She composed herself. “Like I said, the Academy
was a long time ago, and by now an insignificant part of my life.
I wish I could help, but . . .”
“Yes?” Olia said.
“All right, this is a long shot. I worked with a sword in-
structor at the Academy who I thought was brilliant. Mind you, I
was sixteen. These days she’s the guardian sword master with
Burning Desire. She still sends notes to her old students on the
anniversaries of our first rebirths. I’m probably just a name on a
list, but I can try contacting her.”
“Thanks Lieutenant. I appreciate your help,” Olia said.
“No problem, Inspector.”

Jayzen took the car to the family estate. He showered, shaved,

dressed in fresh clothes, ate a quick breakfast, and returned to
the garage.
“Leaving again, so soon?” Ned, the security dispatcher, said.
“Indeed I am.”
“Where to?”
“I’ll decide when I’m on the road.” An empty car slid up to
the dock. The Veronicas came out of the standby room, putting
on their jackets of weapons and things.
“I’d like a different pair of guards for a change, I’m sure the
Veronicas have had enough of me for today.”
“These are your assigned guards.”
Jayzen looked in the standby room. “What about those two?”
“They’re your sister’s,” Ned said.
“Why aren’t they at the mansion?”
“While Francine is in her womb, she’s protected by mansion
security. Until she returns, her guards are assigned here to cover
unexpected situations.”
 Gladiator Girl 219

“Well, there you go,” Jayzen said. “I’m presenting you with
just such an unexpected situation. I would like to try my sister’s
guards. Perhaps they can tell me why they allowed France to be
injured on the way to her womb.”
“These guards weren’t covering Francine during that incident.”
“I want them,” Jayzen said. “I insist.”
Ned gestured for the Veronicas to return to the standby room.
“Katrinas, you’re covering Jayzen today. Let’s go.” The Katrinas
were wearing the standard grey armored body suits and jackets.
They followed Jayzen into the car.
“To the mansion,” Jayzen said after the door closed. He turned to
the Katrinas. “Who was guarding my sister on Sunday evening?”
“That’s privileged―”
“Do you know what I could do to ruin your lives? Starting today?”
The Katrinas exchanged a glance. “The Noreens,” the one on
the right said.
“Do you know what really happened?”
“We only know what’s in the report.”
“Which is?”
“As Francine approached the landing on the stairway descend-
ing into the courtyard garden, she turned to speak to the womb-
atorium matron who was escorting her from the car dock. Her
foot slipped off the stair tread, she lost her balance, and fell,
striking the back of her head on the nosing of a step.”
“Do you believe that injury is consistent with a two week stay
in a womb?”
The Katrinas looked at each other. The one on the left said,
“We suspect such a lengthy gestation would require a more
severe injury than the one described in the report, but your
friend, the blood battle guardian, would know more about the ef-
fects of injury on gestation time than we do.”
“My friend agrees with you.”
The Katrinas looked at each other again. “Would you stop do-
ing that?” Jayzen said.
220 R. H. Watson

“Sorry sir,” the right Katrina said. “We like your sister and
have our own suspicions about the truth of the report.”
The left Katrina said, “We normally cover France on the even-
ing shift, but Sunday we were replaced by the Noreens, and as you
see, we remain on the day shift. Last minute schedule changes are
not uncommon, but considering the apparent deceit surrounding
Francine’s injury, we do not currently trust the Noreens.”
“Is my sister safe in her womb?”
“There has never been a report of a catastrophic womb failure,”
the left Katrina said. “There are multiple levels of redundancy and
safeguards built into the system, including bacteriological, viral, and
toxin counter measures. Yet, although difficult, it is possible to sab-
otage a womb. However, in light of their current safety record, such
an act would draw a full investigation by the Health and Safety
Board, and be counter productive to maintaining a coverup.”
“We think your sister is safe,” the right Katrina said.
“As long as the conspirators do not feel forced into a desper-
ate situation,” the left one said.
“I suppose visiting the mansion womb-atorium and asking
questions could make them nervous?”
“That seems likely.”
“Change of destination,” Jayzen said to the car.
“Wait,” the left Katrina said. “We should exit this car at the
next siding, and send it to the summer house as a diversion. Then
use public transport.”

Lucy stripped off the red dress and packed it in its box with the
jewelry and all the other accessories. She considered whether she
should donate the panties without washing them, then tossed
them in the box. The delivery service arrived at seven forty and
took Jayzen’s gift away.
When the dress was gone, Lucy showered, dressed in her real
clothes, and at the kiosk, requested a public car to the Long Life
womb-atorium. Charlotte was due around eight. With such a
 Gladiator Girl 221

short gestation, she should be ready to leave by nine. Lucy had

arranged to skip morning training so she could meet Charlotte
and finish unloading the crap from the last few days.
The Long Life womb-atorium security confirmed her identity
and found her name on Charlotte’s approved visitors list. A mat-
ron’s aid showed her to the waiting room. Charlotte’s parents
were there.
“Lucy, great to see you.” Charlotte’s mother, Kathy, kissed her
on both cheeks.
Charlotte’s father, Paul, wrapped her in a bear hug. “Come,
sit. How have you been?”
“Fine,” Lucy said. “Ah . . . what are you doing here?”
“We came down to the city yesterday and dropped by the
club,” Paul said.
“To take Charlie out for lunch,” Kathy said.
“They told us she was in a womb,” Paul said. “We stayed in a
hotel so we could be here when she revives.”
“I hope she’s alright,” Kathy said.
“Don’t worry, Bugs.” Bugs was Paul’s nickname for his wife.
“They know what they’re doing. She’s done this dozens of
times.” He patted her arm.
“Twenty-eight,” Lucy said. “This will be her twenty-ninth. It’s
not like she’s being discharged from a hospital, it’s more like a spa.”
“Twenty-nine? I didn’t realize it was so many.” Kathy
squeezed Paul’s hand. “How may times have you been in here?”
“We use a different womb-atorium, but anyway, twenty-five.”
Kathy put her hand on Lucy’s arm. “Are you all right?”
They still don’t get it.
“She’s been doing this since she was fifteen,” Lucy said.
“You were there the first time, right? You know this is normal
for us. It’s nice. Like they say, ‘The best thing in life since the
first thing in life.’”
Kathy’s face went pale. Lucy tried again. “It means she’s back
in a womb, the best womb since your own.”
222 R. H. Watson

Kathy burst into tears.

I suck at this.
“It’ll be okay, really,” Lucy said. “She’s been doing it for
seven years. She tells me how great it is, the way you support her
all the way.”
Kathy leaned against Paul and tried to dry her tears. Lucy
watched him hold her shoulder and kiss the top of her head.
He’s as afraid as she is. I don’t understand parents.
Lucy heard the birth alarm go off deep in the womb-atorium.
It was almost inaudible in the waiting room. She started to men-
tion it, then decided to keep her mouth shut. Or they’ll be dead
from grief by the time Charlotte gets out.
At nine twenty-five Charlotte sauntered into the waiting room
with her womb-atorium bag over her shoulder.
Her parents jumped to their feet and hugged her. Charlotte’s
mother ran her fingers through what was left of her daughter’s
hair and started to cry again. “Oh honey! Look what happened to
your long, beautiful hair!”
“Don’t worry Mom, it was a bother to take care of. I cut it be-
fore going in.”
“Oh,” Kathy said. “I thought maybe it happened, inside.”
“I’m fine.” Charlotte had to bend down to hug her mother.
“I’ve never felt better.”
“Not since, according to Lucy, not since . . .”
“Not since I was your little girl,” Charlotte said. Her father
embraced them both in a bear hug while Lucy waited.
“Come on,” Paul said, “let’s get some breakfast.”
“I’ll just have toast and coffee,” Charlotte said. “It’s best to
eat light for a few hours after rebirth.”
“Lucy, come along. I’m buying,” Paul said.
“Thanks, but no, I’ve got to get to practice.” Fuck. Family
gets first dibs, I guess. Lucy picked up her gym bag and sword.
“I’ll talk to you later,” Charlotte said. “OK?”
“Okay.” Lucy headed for the exit.
 Gladiator Girl 223

***
Donna read the tracking report from Esposito & Associates, then
contacted Wilhelmina at the Helping Hand. “Did Zachary and
Neil get back there last night?”
“Shouldn’t you already know?” Wilhelmina said.
“Our tracker followed them to the apparent location of their
class, but couldn’t confirm if they left.”
“Just a minute.” Donna walked to Christopher’s desk in the
outer office and picked up the bed report.
“It doesn’t look like either one slept here. Where are they?”
“Have you heard of the Verbeek family?”
“Yes.” She walked back to her office.
“Zack and Neil rendezvoused with a group of boys. They
were picked up by a limousine and delivered to the Verbeek
Mansion. Three hours later it dropped off the boys at a different
location. Four were missing, including Zack and Neil.”
“What do you think that means?”
“It means we’re at a dead end,” Donna said. “I can’t afford to
keep that mansion under surveillance and the police won’t care if
a couple of your transients have disappeared. The only thing we
can do is wait, see if they show up.”
“What do your instincts tell you?”
“Our tracker followed one of the boys who was dropped off.
He went to a city shelter. The one in Gurney Hills.”
“I know it,” Wilhelmina said. “It’s adequate, keeps them out
of the rain, and fed. No real supervision or support beyond that.”
“My instincts,” Donna said, “wonder what sort of martial
arts class meets in secret at the Verbeek Mansion and caters to
transient boys.”
“What can we do?”
“Nothing, like I said. I’m going to tag Zack and Neil as poten-
tial security risks. That’ll go out to all the local blood sport clubs
and womb-atoriums. Beyond that I can’t do anything unless they
show up.”
224 R. H. Watson

“I have someone I can check with,” Wilhelmina said.

“Who’s that?”
“I can’t say. I know we agreed to share our information,
and I’ll let you know if I find anything out, but I can’t tell
you my source.”
“OK, as soon as you know anything.”
Wilhelmina closed the contact and looked in the outer office;
Christopher hadn’t returned to his desk.
“Does anyone know where I might find Max?” She asked
of everyone.
Kathy, one of their resident clerks, said, “He’s probably at that
tea shop, the one around the corner from the BB club.”
“Thanks,” Wilhelmina said.
“Max is a popular guy today.”
“What do you mean?”
“His nephew was looking for him earlier.”

The doorbell jingled. “Hello William,” Maxton said.

“Hello Max,” Mr. Fredrick said. “How have you been?”
“I’ve been getting old. And you?”
“I’ve been getting by.”
“I tasted one of your personal infusions Sunday evening,”
Maxton said. He sat on a stool at the counter and groaned with
the effort. “It had a sadness about it. It tasted of autumn and
winter. It almost brought a tear to my eye. Such a sad blend for
such a bright young lady.”
“The tea is not always easy to understand.” Mr. Fredrick
handed a cup to Maxton. “Try this; let me know what you
think.”
He took a sip. “You’re trying to trick me. It’s my tea.”
Mr. Fredrick shook his head.
Maxton took another sip. “My brother’s been here?”
Mr. Fredrick nodded toward the back of the room. “Your
brother’s son.”
 Gladiator Girl 225

Maxton looked around. “Jayzen?” He held up the cup.

“This is you?”
“I thought I’d indulge,” Jayzen said. “See what all the fuss
was about.”
“What are you doing here?” Maxton said, then to Mr. Fre-
drick, “Pallet cleanser please.”
Mr. Fredrick poured a shot of cleanser into a glass. “I believe
your nephew knows the same young woman you met, though he
hasn’t tasted her tea.”
“Then make a pot of her blend. Enough for both of us. He
sloshed the pallet cleanser in his mouth and spat it out.
When the infusion was ready, Maxton brought it and two cups
over to Jayzen’s table. He filled the cups. “You changed your
bodyguard style. I didn’t recognize you without the coquettes.”
“These are France’s guards. I have them on loan while she’s
in a womb.”
Maxton studied Jayzen. “Something’s wrong. What happened
to her?”
“I’m trying to find out.” Jayzen picked up his cup and took
a sip. “I have it on good authority―” His eyes flared. “That’s
remarkable!”
“What did you taste?”
“Granite. Then mud―sad mud. Can there be such a thing?
And then clear, pure melt water. I don’t even know what those
things are supposed to taste like, yet there they were. Is that
what you get?”
Maxton took a sip and considered. “No. Today I taste meat,
piss, and the saliva of an angry dog. Tell me why you’re worried
about Francine.”
Jayzen took a minute to collect his thoughts, then explained
everything he knew and everything Lucy had said.
When he was finished, Maxton said, “You’re worried about
Francine and you’re doing something about it because this girl,
Lucy Star, a nobody who plays blood battle, told you to?”
226 R. H. Watson

“She seemed convinced,” Jayzen said.

“Remarkable, she’s actually given you some backbone. I met
the same girl Sunday evening and I’ve now tasted her tea, twice.
If she’s worried about France, then we should assume your sister
is in danger. We have to move her.”
“Can that be done?”
“Those wombs are built to be moved in an emergency, even
when they’re being used. There are risks, but from what you’ve told
me, I suspect your sister’s―my niece’s―life may be in peril.”
“Do you know what’s going on?”
“No, but I know the sort of thing: Verbeek conniving. It’s why
I walked away. I smell your father’s stink all over it.”
“I can’t believe that,” Jayzen said. “He would never harm
France.”
“Not intentionally, but he’s a fool. Until today I assumed you
were no different, but maybe I was wrong.” Maxton looked at
the bodyguards. “Can you trust them?”
“They say I can.”
“Humph.” He spoke directly to the Katrinas. “You realize, if
you help us, you will be breaking your contract with Twin Secur-
ity and putting your continued access to rebirth at risk?”
“We know,” the left Katrina said.
“In that case, I’ll buy out your contract. You’ll be safe. If you
double cross us, you won’t be. Understand?”
“Yes,” both Katrinas said.
“Did you bring a car?”
“No,” the right Katrina said. “We sent the private car on a
long trip as a diversion. We’re using public cars, two or more, to
reach any destination.”
“By the way,” Maxton said to Jayzen, “how did you find me?”
“A clerk at the Helping Hand said you visit this tea shop
most mornings.”
“They shouldn’t be telling strangers my whereabouts.”
“They didn’t,” Jayzen said. “I had to prove I was your nephew.”
 Gladiator Girl 227

“That’s unfortunate. But I won’t be going back there until this

is finished. Let’s be on our way.”
“Where to?” Jayzen said.
“The Laughing Cherub. We need to borrow a womb transport
wagon, and we need to arrange a safe place to keep Francine un-
til she’s reborn.” He topped off both their cups with the Lucy
Star infusion then held his up. “Drink. There’s courage in this
tea. You’re going to need every drop.” They both finished their
teas in one gulp.
On their way out, Maxton said to Mr. Fredrick, “Please tell Lucy
Star how much I appreciated meeting her the other evening, and do
not tell her about Jayzen. I don’t want her getting involved.”
The doorbell jingled, twice.
 Chapter 15
A Complicated Afternoon

Lucy was back at the club earlier than she had planned. Rather
than catch the end of calisthenics, she warmed up on her own in
the locker room. When the team came in to change for practice,
Uvan swaggered over. “Where have you been?”
“I took some personal time.”
“Slept late?”
“Yeah. Is Sandeep back?”
“She’s in Physical Therapy,” Serendipity said.
“Learning to wiggle her fingers again.” Uvan imitated one of
Parisa Cartwright’s dexterity exercises.
“There’s still time to get in on her innie-outie pool,”
Serendipity said.
Everyone changed into shorts and t-shirts, and strapped on
their practice short-sword harnesses, then headed out for sword
practice. Liha and the other two guardians from the reserve
squad were waiting outside the locker room.
“Hey, Liha, what’s up?” Lucy said.
“Don’t know. They sent us over from the Reserve’s Annex to
join your practice today.”
Lucy shot Uvan a quizzical eye.
“Got me,” Uvan said. “Whatever Bimini’s up to, it looks like
she needs more guardians.”
 Gladiator Girl 229

They strode around the curve of the corridor and saw the god-
desses entering the Sword Practice room.
“This can’t be good,” Uvan said.
Chrysanthemum hung back and took Lucy’s hand. “I was
looking for you at Mr. Fredrick’s the last two days.”
“Oh?” Lucy said.
“I was worried about you.”
“I’m fine.” Lucy slipped her hand loose. “I was busy, didn’t
have time for tea.” She tipped her head at the practice room door.
“Looks like you goddesses are joining us today?”
Chrysanthemum tightened her lips, touched Lucy’s elbow for
a moment, then looked away and walked into the practice room.
Uvan shook her head. “You’re such a jerk.” She followed
Chrysanthemum in.
Serendipity walked by. “I warned you about your eyes,” she
said. Lucy was last in, behind the reserve girls.
Bimini was waiting in the room along with the goddess
trainer? coach? wrangler? “We’re going to try something
new,” she said.
“Big surprise,” Uvan said. Bimini waggled a finger at her.
“That’s a Bimini-Uvan thing,” Serendipity said to the god-
desses. “They actually like each other.”
“Thank you for the commentary,” Bimini said. She addressed
the whole group. “First, some introductions. This is Monica
Karanzinski, the goddess supervisor. Ah, supervisor. “I am
Bimini Tanaka, the guardian sword coach. Everyone, please in-
troduce yourselves.” The guardians and goddesses shuffled
around making introductions. Uvan introduced herself with en-
thusiasm: “Uvan Marek, how you doin’?” She repeated all the
goddess’s names as they were told to her. Serendipity had her
impeccable naïve persona in place: “Serendipity Banerjee, and
you are? What a pretty name.” Lucy greeted everyone with, “Hi,
Lucy, nice to meet you.” She avoided Chrysanthemum. They
already knew each other, right?
230 R. H. Watson

“We will be conducting goddesses-guardian exercises,” Bimini

said, “and since there are more goddesses than we presently have
guardians, the reserve squad is joining us. Begin with basic
weapon handling.” She split everyone into guardian-goddess pairs.
Lucy was paired with Chenina. They pulled out altar boxes.
Today, real goddesses sat on them. Bimini had the guardians run
through simple sword handling until everyone, guardians and god-
desses, was comfortable with the new situation.
They cleared away the altar boxes, and the guardians and god-
desses separated. Bimini had the guardians practice advanced
kinesthetic maneuvers while Monica did something with the
goddesses at the back of the room.
After a half hour, Bimini called a break.
Lucy sheathed her swords. The guardians collected at the side
wall racks where they kept their swords when using practice sticks,
or their long-sword scabbards when using real blades, like today.
“What do you think she’s leading up to?” Uvan said.
“Don’t know,” Lucy said.
“I’m sure it will be interesting,” Serendipity said.
The reserve guardians were listening in. “It’s as big a mystery
to us as it is to you,” Lucy said. She looked past the reserves.
The goddesses had collected in the middle of the room, no doubt
for a similar discussion.
Lucy walked over to Chrysanthemum. “Chrissy,” she said. “I
want to apologize, I was an asshole earlier. I guess you saw me
run out of the auditorium the other day?”
“Yes I did,” Chrysanthemum said. “It was frightening.”
“Well, that’s over now. I’m okay.”
“Stop lying!” Chrysanthemum said. “You’re not OK, not at all.”
“What? I’m not . . . What do you mean?”
Chrysanthemum stepped up to Lucy’s face. “You know, and I
know, and everyone who cares about you knows―that wasn’t
something you just get over with a day later!” This wasn’t the
conversation Lucy had expected; this wasn’t even close.
 Gladiator Girl 231

“Who’s the one person you can’t die trying to save?” Chrysan-
themum said.
“Huh?” Lucy said.
“You can’t die― Trying. To save. Yourself!” Chrysanthemum
poked Lucy in the sternum three times as she spoke, harder each
time, until the last poke forced Lucy to take a step back. “You’re
so busy taking care of everybody else, you can’t see that you’re
the one who needs a champion! You can’t fight this alone!”
“Fight what?”
“Back to work,” Bimini said. Lucy backed away from Chrys-
anthemum, then walked to the sword rack, but it felt like won-
dering. She was distracted. This is bad.
She picked up her long-sword and waited a moment to clear
her head, then took a deep breath, let it out, and drew the blade
from its scabbard. Things aligned; they always did. She was now
holding an exposed, deadly weapon. The only way to keep her-
self and those around her safe was to maintain an attitude of re-
spect and confidence. That had been impressed upon her and
every girl in the Academy blood battle program since the first
day of training. She reached around her back, pulled out her
short-sword, and slipped it back into its scabbard to remind her
left arm where it was. She walked to the section of floor that had
informally been designated for Chenina and her.
“Goddesses, please take your starting positions,” Bimini said.
Here it comes. The goddesses stepped into the exercise space
and faced the guardians. “Guardians, you will perform the ad-
vanced improvisation, confining your scope to a rectangle the size
and shape of the temple-top. The goddesses will perform their
own exercise within the same space. They will move in reaction
to, and in anticipation of, your own actions. Yet, neither their ac-
tions nor yours will be predictable. Move at the speed of confid-
ence. Begin when you are ready, and stop in your own time.”
Lucy looked for Chrysanthemum. She was paired with
Serendipity. Good.
232 R. H. Watson

She turned to Chenina. “When you’re ready.”

Chenina closed her eyes. Lucy watched her slow her breathing
and hold her arms out to her sides.
He’s eating his way back into my life, and I don’t know how to
stop him.
Chenina brought her palms together in the prayer position.
But you know what? My whole fucking world can fall apart,
and I’ll still have one unassailable center.
Chenina nodded.
This. Lucy started.
At first Chenina’s movements were contained and slow. Lucy
picked up her pace, and Chenina enlarged her scope of actions. By
the time Lucy had eased up to higher speeds, Chenina had turned
assertive. This wasn’t meditation, not by any definition Lucy under-
stood. Chenina was invading her sword space, threatening her bal-
ance by thrusting her arms, legs, and sometimes her whole body,
directly into the path of the blades, forcing Lucy to compensate with
radical changes that threw off her momentum and balance.
But Lucy was getting to know Chenina, not the person, rather,
this aggressive presence that, until now, had been hidden behind
the goddess mystique, and if there was one thing Lucy could ap-
preciate, it was aggression. She started to have fun. She found
she could screw with Chenina: trick her into reacting to actions
that didn’t materialize, but Chenina would trick right back, seem-
ing to fall for Lucy’s ruse and then dodging toward the real blade
path, sometimes fearlessly, sometimes pulling back at the last
moment. Everything was happening in Bimini’s faster-than-
thought, kinesthetic intelligence space. The goddesses are
trained in kinesthetic intelligence?
Eventually they stopped. Their last move eased from frenzy to
a static pose. They were the last ones to finish.
Lucy felt fantastic! Bimini’s exercises always got her excited,
but this was exceptional. She looked at Chenina; her eyes were
still closed and she was crying. Now what did I do?
 Gladiator Girl 233

She stepped over to Chenina. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”
“You didn’t hurt me at all,” Chenina said. “I’ve never felt so
safe in my whole life, not even in a womb.”
“So, that’s good, right?”
Chenina opened her eyes, wiped them with her hands, and
smiled at Lucy. “Yes, it is.”
Chrysanthemum was watching alongside Serendipity. “That’s
my guardian,” she said under her breath. Serendipity gave her a
shrewd glance.
“Thanks everybody,” Bimini said. “That went well.” She
looked at Monica.
“Yes, very impressive,” Monica said. She began clapping
her hands and the goddesses joined in. The guardians didn’t
know what to do. Serendipity started to clap and the other
guardians followed her example. Lucy grinned at Chenina and
she smiled back. Monica stopped clapping and motioned
everyone to quiet down.
“That is all for today,” Bimini said. “We will be doing more of
these combined exercises. Not every day, of course. We may
even have the guardians learn the goddess tea ceremony.”
Uvan laughed. “That’s a joke, right? Right?”
Lucy and the guardians sheathed their swords. Everyone
filtered into the corridor. Chrysanthemum came over and
squeezed Lucy’s hand again. “How are you feeling?”
“Great . . . and fucked up,” Lucy said. “The thing is, I can’t
tell which one feels better.”
Chrysanthemum kissed her on the cheek, then followed after
the other goddesses.
“How’s that sweater project going?” Lucy said.
“It’s done.” Chrysanthemum turned and walked backwards. “I
gave it to Thad to celebrate his finishing the Human Anatomy
course. He’s taking me to a mystery restaurant tonight for the
sweater’s public debut. I wish you could be there.”
***
234 R. H. Watson

Bimini changed from her informal coaching clothes to a business

suit. She was adjusting its fit in the mirror when there was a
knock on her office door. “Come in, Betty.”
Coach Kai stepped in. “How did it go?”
“No one died. Serendipity continues to hide her true abilities
behind a cloak of misdirection. She is always as good as she
needs to be, but is so deceptive it could hurt her career. We may
never know, and she may never know, her true potential. If you
are offered that job coaching an Alpha League team, I recom-
mend you take her with you.”
“What job is that?”
“The one every Beta League coach wants, of course.”
“If I did get such a job, I’d like you to come along.”
“We will see.” Bimini adjusted her collar in the mirror.
“You’ll go where Lucy goes,” Coach Kai said.
“If I can manage it.”
“How did she do?”
Bimini finished fussing with her suit and faced Coach Kai.
“Lucy is an outstanding guardian. She is more willing than any-
one I have ever worked with to push herself to the absolute limit
of her abilities, both physically and emotionally. Her kinesthetic
intelligence is the best I have ever seen, but she is haunted by her
childhood, terrified it will catch her up. You should not have let
her meet her brother.”
Coach Kai laughed once in astonishment. “That’s not some-
thing I can control. It would be unethical to try.”
“Perhaps . . . Yes, you are correct. Did you read Donna’s report?”
“I have now.”
“It is a thorough, objective assessment of the security implica-
tions posed by her brother. But the subtext suggests Lucy is at
risk of an emotional breakdown. What do you know about
Donna’s past?”
“Nothing, I suppose. It’s not my concern.”
“Donna’s childhood is as hidden as Lucy has kept hers. I sus-
 Gladiator Girl 235

pect she understands Lucy’s situation better than any of us. And
she is worried.
“Lucy has the potential to define the role of guardian for a
generation of players if she doesn’t destroy herself first. Fortu-
nately she has acquired a powerful ally in the Goddess Chrysan-
themum. Was that your intention?”
“No. That was luck. I was trying to win a match.”
“A happy accident,” Bimini said.
“I suppose so,” Coach Kai said. “I hope so.”
“As do I.”
Bimini opened her office door and held it for Coach Kai.
“Now, I have to go. An old student from the Academy, who is
now on the police force, asked me to consult on a matter of
murder by sword.”
“Does it have anything to do with those rumors of blood
boy leagues?”
“I’ll let you know.” Bimini showed Coach Kai out.

Samantha was waiting when Bimini’s car pulled up to the

morgue’s main entrance. “Good afternoon, Bimini. Thanks for
coming. I’m sure this is complicating your schedule.”
Bimini stepped out of the car, put on her suit coat, and adjus-
ted the sleeves and shirt cuffs. “I couldn’t miss a chance to visit
one of my best former students,” she said.
“Thank you, but I don’t deserve such a compliment.” Sam-
antha stepped aside and opened the door. “Please come in. There
are several living people eager to talk to you.”
Samantha led Bimini through the check point and deep into
the building. She pressed her ID against a door labeled, “Active
Investigations,” and pulled it open, releasing a puff of chilly air,
pungent with the smell of preservatives.
The room wasn’t big. The three people waiting inside were al-
most crowded out by fifteen bodies on tables. The bodies were
missing their hands, feet, and heads. The tables were arranged
236 R. H. Watson

side-by-side in three rows with just enough space between them

to walk around.
“Hello everyone,” Samantha said. She let the door ease closed
behind her. “This is Bimini Tanaka, Guardian Sword Coach for
Burning Desire. Bimini, Inspector Olia Fournier, the leading in-
vestigator; Natashia Hannech, Investigative Medicine; and Emil
West, Social Pathology.”
“Thanks for coming.” Olia held out her hand.
Bimini nodded. “I will do what I can. Samantha tells me you
suspect these unfortunates are victims of sword attacks?”
“The depth and thin profile of the cuts along with the exten-
sion from the draw-out suggest a sword or sword like weapon.”
Natashia said.
Bimini leaned in for a close look at a wound on the nearest
body. The left arm had been cut off and placed on the table next
to the body. The amputating cut continued into the torso. Bimini
looked at the cut end of the arm and then at the neck where the
victim’s head had been removed.
“The weapon you described cut off the arm, but not the head.”
“The heads, hands, and feet were likely removed with a
cleaver, after death,” Natashia said. “One chop each for the
hands and feet. Most of the heads required two chops.”
“How inefficient,” Bimini said and walked down a row of bod-
ies. “Olia, could you explain the history of these discoveries?”
“We found the bodies over the last six months. The first eight
over a five month period, the next seven within the last three weeks.
They’re arranged in the order they were found, starting with the old-
est, here.” Olia touched the corner of the table nearest the door.
“The relative putrefaction makes the arrangement clear,”
Bimini said.
“I suppose it does. The fourth most recent showed up yester-
day, and the last three this morning. We’re concerned, alarmed
actually, at the sudden increase in killings.”
“I’m amazed you have been able to keep this quiet.”
 Gladiator Girl 237

“Our killer’s style looks enough like the blood boy urban le-
gends to be dismissed as rumor.”
“Samantha, could you help me?” Bimini said. “I would like to
rearrange the tables.”
The investigation team pressed themselves against the wall.
Bimini and Samantha wheeled three of the tables out of the way
against another wall to make some maneuvering room.
“Please continue,” Bimini said.
Natashia cleared her throat. “The victims are young.” She
sucked in her stomach so Samantha could swing a table past
her. “Approximately sixteen to eighteen years old. The
weapon fits the profile of a blood battle long-sword, and tests
of metal residue from the blade are consistent with a long-
sword’s composition. This led some of us to suspect an indi -
vidual involved with the BB League, but Lieutenant Vil-
lanueva disagreed.”
Bimini and Samantha finished moving the tables. The bodies
were now arranged in four groups of three, one group of two,
and one body by itself.
“Samantha is correct,” Bimini said. “These wounds were not
made with blood battle swords, they were facsimiles. Decent am-
ateur blades made using the proper alloys, but the manufacturing
is hurried, the edges lack precision. You can see here,” she poin-
ted at the end of a cut. “The blade pulled minute bits of bone and
flesh out of the wound when it was removed. A properly made
sword would not have done that.
“These bodies were cut with imitation guardian weapons, both
long and short-swords. See the difference here, and here, and this
stab wound here?”
“The lieutenant pointed that out on a body we found last
week,” said Olia. “Natashia wasn’t convinced.”
Bimini nodded. “Understandable. The differences between
the two types of wounds are easier to discern if you understand
the strategy involved. Samantha always had a sharp eye and a
238 R. H. Watson

keen intellect. She would make an excellent coach.” Bimini

glanced at her.
“I like what I’m doing,” Samantha said. Everyone was look-
ing at her. “I do.”
“You will be aging-out within a year,” Bimini said. She turned
back to the investigation team. “Is there anything else?”
“Obviously we’re dealing with a serial killer,” Emil said.
“He’s―”
“He?” Bimini said.
“The force implied by the depths of the cuts suggest the at-
tacker had the upper body strength of a male,” Natashia said.
“You are probably correct about the sex, but your reasoning is
flawed. Imparting effective energy to a blade requires more than
strength, though it helps—to an extent. That extent is achievable
across the gender spectrum. You may want to inspect the results
of a BB match. Please continue,” she said to Emil.
“Yes, ah, he’s allowing us to find his victims, but not identify
them. He seems to be getting better with practice and wants us to
know it.” Emil looked at Natashia who nodded. “And he’s accel-
erating his murder rate, which suggests he’s building to some cli-
mactic event. I have a copy of my profile if you’d like to read it.”
He held out a bound collection of papers.
“No, thank you. I understand swords and sword wounds, not
the psyche. However, I do need to amend your analysis. These
boys were attacked by four distinct swordsmen.”
“You mean we have four killers?” Olia said.
“Yes, and there are bodies missing. The progress in technique
from one to the next suggests there should be several more incre-
mental improvements in the killers’ skill.”
“How many more victims?”
“At least twice as many, I would think, maybe more.”
“Mother Goddess!” Olia said.
“The wounds not only suggest an improvement in the technique of
the killers, but also an improvement in the technique of the losers.”
 Gladiator Girl 239

“The losers?” Emil said.

“These boys were all participants in sword duels, and the most
recent ones were much improved in their skill over the first few.”
“How can you tell?” Natashia said.
“The angle and placement of the killing cuts indicate the vic-
tims were increasingly skilled at deflecting easy attacks. See how
direct these cuts are compared to these?” Bimini pointed at
wounds on the first and third bodies in a group of three. Olia,
Natashia, and Emil leaned in to look.
“You’re telling us the urban legend might be true and, well,”
Olia spread her arms, “here it is?”
“Not exactly.” Bimini walked over to the body she had left
isolated from any of the groups. “I’m sure you noticed this vic-
tim is older than the others?”
“A bit, yes. Twenty-five to twenty-six,” Natashia said.
“This is one of the killers. And incidentally, clear evidence of
the sex of at least one of them.”
“Wait,” Emil said. “Because he’s older? He doesn’t fit the es-
tablished victim pattern?”
“Victim patterns are within your purview,” Bimini said. “It is
because he killed these two boys.” She pointed at the group of
two bodies. “The direction, angle, and depth of the cuts on these
bodies suggest a forceful right handed opponent of about his
height. He has the muscle development of a right handed
swordsman. These are the three bodies you found this morning,
are they not?”
The investigation team nodded.
“The wounds to the boys in the other groups were delivered
by a left hander, a right hander with more interest in precision
than force, a significantly taller right handed duelist, close to two
meters tall, and of course, the fourth group consists of earlier
victims of our dead killer. Natashia, you look skeptical.”
“It sounds like a lot of speculation. I can’t make claims like
that without empirical evidence.”
240 R. H. Watson

“Of course. I am speculating, but everything I say is based on

examining the wounded and deceased players after every game,
in every match, I have coached. If you like, I can show you the
detailed evidence for my assessment after this meeting.”
“Thanks,” Natashia said. “I’d appreciate that.”
Bimini walked to one of the boys killed by the dead man. “I
think this boy and the gentleman over there killed each other.
This cut was the decisive strike, but it is crude. Whoever de-
livered it was likely dying himself.”
“So we don’t have a league, but we have a sword fighting
club?” Olia said.
“I think you have a small group of men who are training
younger boys and then dueling with them. I think the older group
is dedicated to becoming skilled to a level that can only be
achieved by facing increasingly well trained opponents in death
duels, but they have gotten to the point where, to improve their
skill, they must face opponents who are at least their equal.”
“But they’d be risking their own lives,” Olia said.
Emil stepped forward. “If I may?” Bimini nodded. “These
wouldn’t be typical serial killers. Bimini is describing extrem-
ists, people who crave pushing the edge of their skill, often at
risk to their own lives. In this case the skill is blood battle
swordsmanship.
“I expect they would despise the girls who actually play the
game. They would see them as inferior because they lack the
courage to face real death. These are dangerous men―they’ve
found something, a calling, more important than the social re-
straints against killing.”
“You are excited,” Bimini said.
“I apologize, I didn’t mean to disrespect the victims, but this
is unique, a once-in-a-career case. I got carried away.”
“I understand.”
“What’s next?” Olia said. “They keep getting better and leave
us more progress reports?”
 Gladiator Girl 241

“They’re still working up to a climactic event,” Emil said, “an

ultimate challenge. The accelerated murder rate suggests the event
is imminent.” He looked at Bimini. “If they’re imitating blood
battle guardians, they would be training themselves to fight char-
gers. They’ll want to fight the real thing.”
Bimini shook her head. “No. You said they desire an ulti -
mate challenge. The rules, not to mention the mythos, of
blood battle forbid guardians from fighting each other. Yet,
that hasn’t prevented fans from arguing endlessly over the hy-
pothetical outcomes of such duals. Your killers’ ultimate chal-
lenge is the forbidden challenge. They will want to fight a
guardian.
“Samantha, I know I promised confidentiality, but I must tell
the BB League.”
“But your girls will be safe won’t they?” Natashia said. “Even
if these guys manage to kill one of them?”
“Honestly, you people, especially the police, you should real-
ize our girls are as mortal as you are. Without refrigeration, if
their bodies are kept away from their memory placentas and a
womb for only a few hours after conventional death they will be
dead, as dead as these poor boys.” She looked at Samantha. “Per-
haps you can help them understand?” She spoke to Emil. “These
men will want a duel to the death, yes? Both parties must be at
risk of a true death?”
“I believe so.”
“The womb-atoriums should be warned,” she said to Samantha.
“Wait a minute,” Olia said. “This has to be kept quiet. We
don’t want these guys knowing we’re onto them.”
“Sorry, inspector,” Samantha said. “I’m superseding you’re
authority. They may try to destroy or steal the memory pla-
centas of the guardians they want to challenge. Depending on
how crude their methods are, they could put hundreds of girls
in jeopardy.”
***
242 R. H. Watson

“Show me my niece’s womb.”

The matron jumped at the sudden appearance of Maxton Ver-
beek, the almost mythical black sheep patriarch of the family. She
led them into the Womb Room. It held six wombs. One was in use.
“This is it, sir.”
“Miriam?” Maxton said.
Miriam, the matron’s aid they had picked up at the Laughing
Cherub, made a quick visual inspection. “It looks healthy. I’d
like to see the monitors.”
“Don’t let anyone near this womb,” Maxton said to one of the
Katrinas. “Show us her placenta jar,” he said to the matron. The
Memory Vault was directly off the Womb Room. It held twenty-
three jars. The matron pointed out Francine’s. “Guard this jar,”
Maxton said to the other Katrina. “Now, the monitors.” The mat-
ron took them to the monitoring station.
Miriam sat and studied the data. “Your niece looks to be in ex-
cellent condition,” she said. “Oh my!”
“What?” Maxton said.
“They told you she hit her head?”
“That’s right.”
“Look at this echo picture, your niece is healing nicely, but
she didn’t hit her head. The top half of her skull was nearly
cut off.”
“How?”
“It’s not my position to say, officially, but we service the local
blood battle clubs, and that looks like a long-sword cut. In fact, it
looks like a botched goddess beheading. If I didn’t know better,
I’d say your niece was a blood battle goddess.”
“Thank you. Please prepare to move Francine’s womb and jar.
As soon as the wagon arrives, I want it loaded and on its way.
Jayzen, help her and do whatever she says.” Miriam and Jayzen
left for the Womb Room. Maxton said to the matron, “A womb
transport wagon should be arriving about now. Give it permis-
sion to cross the Mansion security perimeter.”
 Gladiator Girl 243

The matron checked the transport queue. “I see it,” she said,
and signed its access request.
“Thank you,” Maxton said. “Now, You have one chance to
explain this.” He pointed at Francine’s echo picture.
“It was an accident,” she said.
“My niece did not hit her head!”
“I know. It was still an accident, but he wanted it kept quiet.
He didn’t want people getting the wrong idea.”
“Who? The wrong idea about what?”
“Him,” she said, nodding toward the monitoring station door.
“Jayzen.”
Maxton took her by the arm and pushed her through the door,
into the Womb Room. The door to the transport dock was open at
the other end of the room; Maxton could see the wagon. Miriam
and Jayzen had the womb maneuvered onto a transfer pallet.
Miriam was disconnecting the womb from the local circulatory
system and hooking it to the self contained system on the pallet.
“Him?” Maxton said, pointing at Jayzen.
“What?” Jayzen looked up.
“She says you’re behind all this.”
“That’s crazy!”
“We’re ready to move the womb onto the wagon,” Miriam said.
“You help her,” Maxton said to the Katrina guarding the
womb. They pushed the transfer pallet to the wagon.
“Tell me what my nephew wanted kept quiet.”
“I wanted what?”
“Quiet!”
“It’s the charity program for the disadvantaged boys. The one
to build self esteem.”
“How did self esteem lead to my niece being attacked with a sword?”
“They teach boys to be like blood battle girls. They wanted to
demonstrate a goddess beheading. Francine agreed to play the
part since she was due for her synchronization. There was an ac-
cident. The boy who performed the deed missed.”
244 R. H. Watson

“Missed?”
“Yes, they do miss sometimes,” she said.
Miriam was back, pushing a second, smaller transfer pallet. “I
need to move the girl’s placenta jar.”
“Ask the Katrina in the Memory Vault to help you,” Maxton said.
Miriam pushed the pallet into the Vault.
“Jayzen?” Maxton said.
“I don’t know what she’s talking about.”
“You signed the papers,” the matron said. “We, the womb-at-
orium staff, only agreed to help because it was one of your
mother’s projects.”
“Well, I guess, I could have,” Jayzen said. “Mother made me
administrator for some of her funds. She said she wanted me to
learn the virtue of helping others. I signed some papers, ap-
proved some projects. I didn’t pay much attention.”
Miriam and the other Katrina came out of the Memory Vault
pushing the pallet with Francine’s placenta jar.
“It’s a good thing we had our own portable circulatory
system,” Miriam said. “The two Memory Vault standby units are
out for maintenance. That’s pretty irresponsible on their part.”
She nodded at the matron.
“Hmm,” Maxton said, then to the matron, “Who actually ran
this program?”
“Mister Grizzly,” she said.
“Mister Grizzly?”
“Teaching boys to play blood battle could be controversial
with all those rumors about secret boys leagues. They wanted to
keep it quiet until they had some success stories to tell, so they
used code names. The only real name was Jayzen’s”
“Where do they run this program?”
“I don’t know, but Sunday evening they met here in the gym-
nasium so Francine would be close to the womb-atorium. Jayzen
signed the approval.”
“I didn’t know,” Jayzen said.
 Gladiator Girl 245

“To summarize,” Maxton said, “we snuck in here to steal my

niece’s womb because she was accidentally injured while help-
ing out one of my sister-in-law’s charities that is being run by a
mysterious person who calls himself Mister Grizzly and is ad-
ministered by my nephew who doesn’t know anything about it?”
“I lost you somewhere in the middle,” the matron said.
Miriam came back in with the Katrinas. “The transport wagon
is on its way. We should be going, shouldn’t we?”
“Yes, we should,” Maxton said. “Sorry to trouble you,” he said
to the matron. “I will personally return your womb after Francine
is reborn.” He led Jayzen, Miriam, and the Katrinas out of the
mansion and to the nearest public car kiosk. When they were in a
car, he held up two fingers to the Katrinas. They nodded and gave
the car a destination nowhere near the Laughing Cherub.
“Why are we still sneaking?” Jayzen said. “Shouldn’t we be
meeting the wagon when it arrives?”
“The womb-atorium staff will know what to do, and I want
time to think. I don’t trust the mysterious Mister Grizzly.”

The Alice’s Tea Shop doorbell jingled, jingled, and jingled as

Serendipity, Uvan, and Lucy walked through the door. They took
a table at the side of the room.
Mr. Fredrick brought over a round of cinnamon tea. “Maxton
came by and mentioned how much he appreciated meeting you,”
he said to Lucy.
“Who? Oh yeah. Thanks,” Lucy said.
“Who’s Maxton?” Uvan said after Mr. Fredrick retreated to
the counter.
“He’s an old guy I met Sunday night in the Seafront Park.”
“After you ran out of the auditorium?” Serendipity said.
“Ah, yeah,” Lucy said.
“Is he rich?” Uvan said.
“No, he’s a bum. He lives in the Helping Hand shelter.”
“Then he’s a lecher.”
246 R. H. Watson

“He was a lonely old guy who wanted somebody to talk to.”
“He wanted to get in your pants.”
“What did he want to talk about?” Serendipity said.
“He asked me about my tea.”
“He was a lame lecher.”
“It wasn’t just tea. Mr. Fredrick made me one of his special
infusions.”
“That tea that’s supposed to taste like your soul?” Uvan said.
“You don’t believe that bullshit, do you?”
“Mr. Fredrick likes the spiritual nuance of things,” Serendipity
said. “Not everything is what is seems, we’re all part of the God-
dess, that sort of stuff.”
“I once got a part of the Goddess in my eye.” Uvan said. She
mimed digging a piece of meat out of the corner of her eye.
“Not funny,” Serendipity said. “Especially after meeting
them today.”
“Not funny at all. I had an allergic reaction. My eye swelled
shut for two hours!”
“What does your tea taste like?” Serendipity said.
“Why don’t you try it? I gather you can order some if you want.”
“Only if you give me permission or if you’ve had some of mine.”
“Some of yours?” Uvan said.
Serendipity kept speaking to Lucy, “You can have some of
mine, if I can have some of yours.”
“Get a room, you two!” Uvan said. “Hey, Lucy, does the
lecher have a tea?”
“He said he did. He told me I could try it.”
“Sure he did, it’s the best thing since lollipops for picking up
little girls. Are you going to have some?”
“I don’t know . . .”
“You’ve got to.”
“I think you should,” Serendipity said.
Lucy got up and went to the counter. Mr. Fredrick was deliv-
ering tea to a table at the front.
 Gladiator Girl 247

“What can I do for you, my dear?” he said when he returned.

“The other night Maxton said I could try some of his tea.”
“Your friends put you up to this?”
“Yes, but I am interested.”
Mr. Fredrick pulled his tray of ingredients from under the
counter, and began pinching and scooping samples into a pot
from eight jars. “This is just for you. Not them. I’ll bring it over
when it’s ready.”
Lucy returned to the guardians’ table. “It’s on its way.”
“So, what’s up with you and the goddesses?” Uvan said.
“What do you mean?”
“A month ago, if you saw one, you’d run the other way. Then
I spend a week and a half in a womb, and when I pop, you’re
waving to them, holding their hands, and they’re all falling in
love with you.”
“Falling in love with me?”
“That one you were working with today? Chin-in-in . . .”
“Chenina,” Lucy said.
“Whatever. After that last exercise, she was so hot for you, she
was leaving wet little footprints wherever she walked.”
“It wasn’t like that,” Lucy said.
“What was it like then?”
“It wasn’t sexual, at least not like you’re implying. I mean,
sure, I’ve got swords, penetrating weapons, blah-blah-blah and
the exercise wouldn’t have worked unless we were both willing
to share that space in a pretty intimate way, but―”
Uvan had an ear-to-ear smirk.
“So, what was it like for you?” Lucy said.
“This is getting too strange. We sound like teenagers talking
about our first times. ‘It didn’t hurt as much as I thought.’ ‘It
was over so fast.’ ‘I don’t know if I had an orgasm, how can
you tell?’”
“I liked it,” Serendipity said. “The exercise, I mean. And my
first time. I had an orgasm.”
248 R. H. Watson

Mr. Fredrick brought Maxton’s infusion over in a demitasse.

“Thanks,” Lucy said, “and can you bring a cup of my tea for
Serendipity?”
“And one of mine for her,” Serendipity said.
Mr. Fredrick nodded and departed. Lucy looked at the demitasse.
“Going from that last conversation to the old lecher’s tea is
creepy,” Uvan said.
They waited.
“Well?” Uvan and Serendipity said.
Lucy picked up the cup. She poured the tea into her mouth
and stirred it with her tongue. There was a richness about it,
like a soft silk chair, or pipe tobacco, followed by a mild melt -
ing in of dark chocolate. It lingered for several moments, and
was replaced by―
Lucy turned and spit the tea on the floor. “Fuck!” she said.
“What?” Serendipity and Uvan said.
“It tasted like blood!”
Mr. Fredrick came over with a mop to clean the floor.
“Sorry.” Lucy wiped her mouth with her sleeve.
“Don’t worry about it.” Mr. Fredrick took the demitasse.
“Whoa,” Uvan said. “That’s some strange tea.”
“It really tasted like blood. A specific person’s blood, you
know? Like when you get some in your mouth during a fight.”
Uvan laughed. “That lecher did a number on you, kid.”
Mr. Fredrick brought over the new infusions. He also brought
a glass of palette cleanser. Lucy used it and handed the glass
back. He made a show of crossing over his arms to deliver the
personal infusions to Serendipity and Lucy. “Enjoy.”
Lucy and Serendipity picked up and clinked their cups, then
drank. Uvan watched with her elbows on the table and chin in
her hands.
For the longest time, Serendipity’s tea didn’t taste like any-
thing. Finally, the flavor of smoke crept in, then the tea
spiked―like a mouthful of hot peppers―and was gone. “Not
 Gladiator Girl 249

bad,” Lucy said. “Sweet and syrupy, just like you.” She winked
at Serendipity. Serendipity maintained a poker face.
“I don’t need tea to figure that out,” Uvan said.
Serendipity finished swirling Lucy’s tea around and swal-
lowed. She leaned over and whispered in Lucy’s ear, “No child
should ever have to go through that.”
“What? It couldn’t possibly―”
“Lucy’s tea is complicated, but nice,” Serendipity said to Uvan.
“I should get me some of that special tea,” Uvan said.
“Your tea would taste like butt,” Serendipity said.
“Now we’re talking like we’re eight?” Uvan said. “Tea time’s over,
kids. It’s Guardians’ Night Out. How about some bar crawling?”
“Sorry,” Lucy said. “I’ve got a date.” Uvan opened her mouth
to speak. “Not with the old guy,” Lucy said. “With a cute boy I
met during last week’s Guardians’ Night Out.”
“I remember,” Serendipity said. “He was sweet, like a lost
puppy. You took him home.”
Lucy stopped at the counter on her way out. “Maxton’s not a
bum. Who is he?”
“He prefers his anonymity,” Mr. Fredrick said.
“Who’s he hiding from?”
“More ‘what,’ than ‘who.’ Something I think you’re familiar
with . . . his past.”
“Oh Yeah? Mine’s catching up with me lately. How about his?”
“The same.”

It was early evening by the time Francine’s womb was installed

in the Laughing Cherub.
“Her progress looks good,” Rothmira said. She was the even-
ing matron and had come on duty an hour earlier. Maxton
hovered over her shoulder in the Monitoring room.
“It will take a couple of hours until we have enough data to
project the time remaining in her gestation. From what I see, I’d
guess her rebirth is at least a week away. Her placenta jar is in-
250 R. H. Watson

stalled in the Memory Vault. Its environment looks stable. I think

we’re all settled in.”
“Maxton Verbeek?”
“Yes?” Maxton said. He turned to face a sternly uniformed
woman.
“Bristol Roth,” she said. “Head of security. I need you to step
out of the Monitoring Room.”
“I’ll just be a minute,” he said.
“I know who you are, and I understand you’re not used to
following orders, but you will follow mine.” Bristol put her
hand on her electric stunner, then she spoke to Rothmira. “Dis-
connect that womb and the girl’s placenta jar from our infra-
structure, immediately. Support them with a portable system.
Then check our circulation for any contaminants that may have
been introduced, and inspect that womb and the jar they
brought in for any abnormalities.
“Come along Mister Verbeek.” She led him to a waiting
room. Jayzen and the Katrinas were under guard by two police
Special Operations officers. The Katrinas had been stripped of
their jackets and body armor. Someone had given them white
terrycloth robes.
“What’s going on?” Maxton said.
“We’ve received a security alert,” Bristol said. “An unknown
party may try to sabotage one or all of the city’s womb-atoriums.
You understand, this puts you under suspicion.”
“What about my niece?”
“You heard my orders. Her womb and jar will be run off an
isolated system. She will be fine.”
“She better be,” Maxton said. “What now? We haven’t com-
mitted a crime.” He eyed the S.O. officers. “You can’t arrest us.
All you can do is evict us.”
“I, however, can arrest you.” A police inspector walked into
the room. “Mister Verbeek, Jayzen Verbeek, I’m Inspector Olia
Fournier. I would like to ask you some questions.”
 Gladiator Girl 251

“I demand the right to call an advocate,” Jayzen said.

“Calm down,” Maxton said. “Inspector, please ask your
questions.”
 Chapter 16
An Interesting Evening

There was a message from Charlotte:

Jessica and I are going out for a light dinner. We should

be back around twenty-one or so. I don’t know what you
said to my parents this morning but it worked like magic.
Mom says she’s not going to worry any more when I’m in a
womb because you told her they were safe, and Dad says he
always knew they were, which means he didn’t believe it
until now. You’re amazing.

Lucy left a reply:

Really? It seemed like whatever I said today, people

heard the opposite. I thought I was making Kathy and Paul
more upset. Every time I opened my mouth Kathy started
crying. I finally gave up and didn’t say anything.
Then there was Chrissy, the goddess I told you about who,
apparently, you know. I told her I was okay after Sunday—
Wait, you don’t know about Sunday. I kind of went crazy, for
a while, after the game review, but I’m fine now. Fuck, that’s
what I told Chrissy and she accused me of lying.
(The sound of a deep sigh.)
 Gladiator Girl 253

Anyway, I have a date with Felix, remember him? So I

won’t be back until late, unless I tell him he’s handsome, in-
teresting, and smart. He’ll probably get offended and walk
out on me. I’ll play it safe and tell him he’s an ugly, boring
ignoramus.

Lucy stopped at the front desk of Felix’s dorm at the Polytech-

nic. She leaned her sword against the desk while she dug his
room number out of her bag. “Room 504,” she said.
“Huh? Ah, Felix Yassin, room 504. You have a guest. Is that
real?” The student behind the desk was staring at her sword.
Lucy picked it up. “Yes.”
“Is it sharp?”
“Yes, do you want me to show you?”
“No! I was just asking! You don’t have to get so huffy!”
“I didn’t mean . . . I wasn’t threatening to . . . Oh, never mind.”
She walked over to the waiting area. Lucy was used to her sword
drawing notice, but these Polytechnic students were more overt in
their sidelong glances than the normal population. She didn’t mind
the attention, especially from the boys. When Felix arrived she
kissed him on the cheek. “You look good,” she said.
He felt his hair. “Did I forget to comb?”
“Let’s go!”
They walked to the car kiosk. “Tell me about the Potato Bar,”
she said.
“It’s fun, but strange,” Felix said. “They encourage their pat-
rons to extend their social circle beyond the people they came
with. Everyone sits at long tables with a bench on each side:
eight guests per table, no more than four people from the same
party per table. The first two guests, whether they know each
other or not, sit across from each other in one of the center
places. The next two sit at the far end of the table from the first
two. The two after that sit at the other end, and the last two sit in
the remaining center seats.”
254 R. H. Watson

“Sounds like a social philosopher’s kind of place.”

“It is.”
The Potato Bar was built from old-style carved wood and
shaped stone. The atmosphere inside churned with conversation.
It was almost full when they arrived. A waiter showed them to a
table where they would be the last two guests. The people on the
end got up to let them in. The girl sitting on the near side turned.
“Chrissy?” Lucy said.
“Lucy, how wonderful!” Chrysanthemum said. “Thad,” she
said to the boy across the table who was standing to let Lucy in.
“This is Lucy Star, the guardian who saved my head this week-
end. And who is this?”
“Oh, this is Felix. Felix, this is Chrysanthemum, my god-
dess. I mean, during the match this weekend, she was the god-
dess for my game.”
“Call me Chrissy,” Chrysanthemum said.
“Thad,” Thad said. “Please sit.” Lucy sidestepped in, and sat
opposite Felix. She put her scabbard under the table and leaned it
against the bench.
“Have you been here before?” Chrysanthemum said.
“No, Felix picked it. He already had reservations.”
“Same with us,” Thad said. “Chrissy didn’t know we were
coming here. So, is this a coincidence?”
“As the only representative of the Goddess present,” Chrys-
anthemum said, “I must point out, there is no such thing as a
coincidence. There are, however, inscrutable mysteries. This
is one of those.”
“Aren’t they the same thing?” Thad said.
“No,” Chrysanthemum said.
“I have to agree with Goddess Chrysanthemum on that
point,” Felix said. “The former implies a truly random, un-
determinable universe, the latter, a determined, but ultimately
incomprehensible one.”
“Still sounds the same to me,” Thad said.
 Gladiator Girl 255

“Felix is studying philosophy,” Lucy said. She noticed the

waiter was lingering by their table. “Should we be ordering?”
she said to Felix.
“Yes. The menu is on the chalk boards,” he pointed up, “on
the ceiling.”
Lucy leaned back. “What’s ‘La Pomme de Terre?’”
“It’s French for potato,” Chrysanthemum said. “It means,
apple of the earth. Isn’t that a lovely name?”
“But here, it’s a particular potato dish,” Felix said, “with apples.”
“I’ll try it, and a house ale please,” Lucy said to the waiter.
After Felix ordered, he said, “We’re breaking the rules. We
know each other and we’re sitting together in a group of four.”
“I thought four was okay?”
“At a table, but not grouped together. We should rearrange
ourselves.”
“I disagree,” Chrysanthemum said. “Thad and I don’t know
you, and Lucy and you don’t know Thad. It’s true that Lucy and
I know each other, but we’re sitting kitty corner.”
“See? We’re legal,” Lucy said, “but you do have a point.” She
turned to the woman sitting next to her. “Hi, I’m Lucy Star.”
“Samantha Villanueva, call me Sam.”
“Hello Sam. Nice earrings.” Lucy moved her head to see both.
“They fit together.”
“They should,” Chrysanthemum said. “Each one is half a circle.”
“No they’re not,” Lucy said. “It’s subtle, but you can see it in the
way they reflect hi-lights. Each has a slight double curve, not quite
symmetrical, so they fit together, but only one way. That’s neat.”
“Thanks,” Samantha said. “they’re a family heirloom.”
The older man sitting across from her (he was about twice her
age) said, “Carl Moretti. I work with Sam.”
Hanna and Finn on the far end of the table joined in on the
introductions.
“Thad was telling us about his sweater,” Carl said.
Lucy turned back to Thad. “Nice sweater.”
256 R. H. Watson

“Chrissy made it for me.”

“I know, I saw it on our trip to Appalachi City.”
“Thad, you should thank Lucy,” Chrysanthemum said. “If we
had lost our game, I’d be in a womb, and your sweater wouldn’t
be finished.”
“I take it, you two are on the same team?” Carl said.
“We’re members of the same club,” Lucy said. “A team is
an ad hoc collection of the club members who play in a partic -
ular game.”
“What she meant to say was, ‘yes,’” Chrysanthemum said.
Lucy stood up, leaned across the table toward Chrysan-
themum, and motioned for her to do the same. She whispered
into her ear, “Is this okay? I don’t want to intrude on you and
Thad.” She brushed against Chrysanthemum and felt the fine
hairs on their cheeks slide across each other . . . “Sorry, I didn’t
get that,” Lucy said.
“I told you this afternoon, I wished you could be here,” Chrys-
anthemum whispered, “and here you are. Didn’t I say it was
wonderful? What about you and Felix?”
“The same,” Lucy said.
They both sat down.
“What was that about?” Thad said.
“Courtesy conference,” Chrysanthemum said.
“Excuse me,” Samantha said. “You’re a blood battle guardian,
and you’re a goddess? And you’re friends?”
“Our coach likes to screw around with the status quo,” Lucy
said. “She wants her guardians and goddesses to get to know
each other. Do you follow blood battle?”
“I used to, but I haven’t had time lately. What club are you with?”
“Burning Des―”
Samantha received an emergency talk-to request. “Excuse me,
I have to accept this.”
Finn got up to let her out. She walked to the Potato Bar en-
trance. Lucy heard her say, “Yes, Inspector?”
 Gladiator Girl 257

Lucy said to Carl, “You two work together? What do you do?”
“We’re with the police.”
“Special Operations?”
Carl gave her a wary look. “That’s right. How could you tell?”
“Her eyes. She has guardian eyes. It’s what she looks at, what
she notices. The first thing she wants to know when she meets
someone is how to neutralize them. It’s unconscious, but always
there. And she has a kind of confidence that comes with rebirth.
She knows she has an edge, but knows its limitations. She’s not a
guardian though, if she was I’d know her, or at least know of her,
and well, she doesn’t have a sword. That leaves military or po-
lice Special Operations.”
“What about private security?” Carl said.
“I had a chance to meet a couple of those girls recently. They
were highly trained, very capable, but they lacked commitment.
They were in it for the money. Without their jackets full of tricks
they’re not formidable. I’ll bet Sam could take them, easy.”
“What about you?”
“My training is narrow and completely focused on the
sport, but if I had to fight them, I’d try to exploit their lack of
commitment.”
Samantha came back, looking on edge. She motioned to Carl
to join her away from the table. They talked by the bar.

The first course arrived: potato soup.

“This is an interesting place,” Lucy said to Felix, “and the
soup is fantastic.”
Samantha and Carl re-joined the table.
“Carl,” Thad said, “What do you do on the team? Obviously,
you’re not . . .
“Not so easy to rebuild?” he said. “I’m a weapons specialist,
trainer, and supervisor. I support the team, but stay far enough
back to not get shot.” He spoke to Samantha. “They know we’re
Special Operations. Lucy figured it out.”
258 R. H. Watson

Samantha gave Lucy a sharp look.

“See?” Lucy said. “It’s in the eyes.”
Finn spoke up from the other end of the table. “I couldn’t help
but overhear―”
“I think overhearing is the idea in this place,” Lucy said.
Finn gave her a pinched smile and continued. “Carl, how does
that make you feel? Fifteen years ago, you might have been on
the Special Operations team, but now you have to stay back, be-
cause you’re a man.”
“An old man,” Carl said. “but I see your point. Fifteen years
ago I was on the team, and we didn’t like it when the superin-
tendent decided to add these inexperienced girls to the squad.
They brought two of them in and paired them with two senior of-
ficers for field training. Not long after, there was a hostage incid-
ent at the Woods Hotel. Ruth Kozlov and the girl she was train-
ing, Taliba, were ambushed. They were both killed, dead. A week
later we attended Ruth’s memorial service. Everyone in the unit
was there, including Taliba. She was in perfect health.
“The next day we worked out a plan to reorganize the team
around these remarkable young women. They spend their first
three years working with the senior officer they will replace, and
spend their next three years working with the junior officer who
will replace them. Then, if they want, they can move into a su-
pervisory or training role, like mine.
“Sam is in her last year on the front line team. Next year she’s
going to replace me, and I’m going to retire.”
“Yes, but―” Finn said.
Carl leaned over to him. “I know you have issues. Lots of people
do, but none of them are worth risking the lives of good officers.”

The entrees arrived: eight fancy potato dishes.

Lucy said to Chrysanthemum, “On Sunday, after I . . . left the
auditorium. I went to Alice’s Tea Shop and asked Mr. Fredrick to
create a tea for me.”
 Gladiator Girl 259

“I know,” Chrysanthemum said.

“Did he tell you?”
“I followed you there.”
“You did?”
Chrysanthemum reached across the table and took Lucy’s
hand. “Didn’t I just say so? You were sitting at the counter with
Mr. Fredrick, he was composing your tea. You were in good
hands, so I left.”
Chrysanthemum let go and picked up her fork. “What does it
taste like?”
“It’s kind of dull: tree bark, old leaves, winter. Others seem to
get more out of it than I do.”
“I expect your infusion is deep, subtle, complex, and above
all, honest. May I try it?”
“Of course. Everybody seems to get something different. It’s
like it’s drugged.”
“It is,” Chrysanthemum said.
“What?”
“There are several mild, natural hallucinogens in those jars
under Mr. Fredrick’s counter.”
“It’s not magic tea?”
“Are you disappointed?”
“Kind of. I didn’t actually believe it, but I wanted to.”
“Real magic could never be as powerful as the illusion of
magic,” Chrysanthemum said.
“That’s what Maxton said.”
“Who’s Maxton?”
“This old guy I met that evening. I walked over to the Old
Harbor and sat in the park with my new tea. I gave him some
change, and we talked about tea and Mr. Fredrick. He said he
had his own personal infusion, so today I tried it. Hallucino-
gens explain a lot. It explains his tea for sure.” Lucy whispered
across the table to Chrysanthemum, “It tasted like . . .” She
mouthed, “blood.”
260 R. H. Watson

“Mmm. I’m going to have to try it,” Chrysanthemum said.

“You’re weird,” Lucy said.
“Excuse me,” Samantha said. “Would that be Maxton Verbeek?”
“Oh, shit!” Lucy said.
“What is it?” Chrysanthemum said.
“More small world crap. I hate this.”
“Was he Maxton Verbeek?” Samantha said.
“I don’t know, but in my screwed up life, it makes sense. Why
do you want to know?”
“I can’t say.”
“You don’t get to drop this on me and then not say why.”
“I do get to,” Samantha said. “Why are you upset at the pos-
sibility this person could be Maxton Verbeek?”
Lucy looked Samantha in the eye. “I get to not tell you.”
They stared each other down for a few seconds, then Samantha
said, “Maxton Verbeek is a party in a current investigation.” She
waited. Lucy didn’t say anything. “That’s really all I can say.”
“Other than the tea thing I just mentioned,” Lucy said, “I
don’t know anything about a Maxton Verbeek or if this guy is
him, but I do know Jayzen and Francine Verbeek. Wait, does this
have something to do with Francine’s head injury?”
Samantha’s eyes widened.
“It does! Is she alright? Don’t give me that you-can’t-say
bullshit!”
Samantha looked around. “Can we―”
“Have a conference at the bar? Sure,” Lucy said.
“Outside,” Samantha said. Lucy picked up her sword. Thad
stood so they could get by.
When they reached the sidewalk, Samantha said, “Francine
is safe.”
“Safe from what?” Lucy said.
“How do you know about her?”
“Safe from what?”
“Please, you can help by answering my questions.”
 Gladiator Girl 261

Lucy tapped her scabbard against her leg a couple of times.

“Yesterday I went on a date with Jayzen. He said France had
gone in for a synchronization on Sunday, and their womb-at-
orium staff estimated her gestation at two weeks. I told him that
was bullshit. Safe from what?”
“Hello, Lieutenant,” Olia said. Lucy realized Samantha must
have sent a talk-to request on her way out to the sidewalk.
“Hello, Inspector. I have someone here you should meet. This
is Lucy Star, she’s a guardian with Burning Desire. She knows
about Francine Verbeek, and she knows both her and Jayzen.”
“How do you know about Francine?” Olia said.
Lucy glowered at Samantha.
“Please. This is important,” Samantha said.
“Okay,” Lucy said. “Last night, I had a date with Jayzen. He
told me about France, and I told him her estimated gestation was
bullshit, even for the head injury they were claiming.”
“I knew Jayzen wasn’t smart enough to figure it out on his
own,” Olia said. “How well do you know him?”
“I fucked him twice, literally, well three times, if you count
this morning, and once, figuratively.”
“Figuratively?”
“I met him last weekend, he wanted some sword fighting tips.
I think he thought he was pretty good. He wasn’t, and he was be-
ing a jerk, so I . . . put him in his place.”
“What do you mean?”
“I showed him some of the gaps in his training. I made him limp.”
“You assaulted him?”
“It was practice. Sometimes you get banged up. He was being
immature and reckless, so I disarmed him. That involved making
him limp. We were using practice sticks, by the way. I want to
make that clear.”
“Did he mention a charity program? A class in blood battle
technique for disadvantaged boys?”
“No. A what?”
262 R. H. Watson

“How do you know Francine Verbeek?”

“I met her last week, the same night I met Jayzen. She’s a
blood battle fan. She’s actually one of my fans. What
happened to her?”
“That’s confidential.”
“What are you investigating?”
“I can’t reveal the nature of our inquiries.”
“Why is it significant that I’m a guardian?”
“I don’t know what you mean?”
“Don’t lie to me! I heard it in your voices. How am I in-
volved in this?”
“You’re a possible witness, nothing more―”
“Witness to what?”
“I can’t say at this time―”
“If France is safe now, when wasn’t she safe? Yesterday? This
morning? Will she still be safe tomorrow? Did I do something
that put her in danger?”
“We can’t answer those questions,” Samantha said. “You have
to trust us.”
“No, I don’t,” Lucy said. “I’m done!” She turned, pulled the
door open, and went into the Potato Bar. She heard Samantha
say, “Let me handle her. You can’t intimidate these girls.”
“Sorry,” Lucy said to Felix when she sat down. “This is a
pretty crappy date.”
“I think it’s exciting,” he said.
“What’s wrong?” Chrysanthemum said.
Lucy looked at Carl, then back at Chrysanthemum and ges-
tured with her head for them to get away from the table. “Sorry
Thad,” she said when he got up again to let her out. She and
Chrysanthemum went over to the bar.
Lucy closed her eyes for a moment, then faced Chrysan-
themum. “What I told you in the centipede cabin, what I tried to
tell you, about how I used the BB recruitment program to escape
from . . . there. I thought I could pack that away, everything from
 Gladiator Girl 263

then, and not just forget it, but literally, make it never have
happened. The first time I came out of a womb at the Academy, I
wanted to be brand new, with a new name and everything―Lucy
Star, born―not reborn―no past, nothing to tell. And it worked,
for four years, until now.
“You’re right, what happened on Sunday, after the match re-
view, it’s not over. Everything I’ve made, everything I love.
I’m . . .” She looked at the polished, dark wood surface of the
bar. “I’m scared. I’m afraid of losing it. I haven’t felt like this
since . . .” She clenched her teeth. “But he’s not going to win. I
made this life. It’s mine!”
“You’re growling.”
“I’m what?”
“It’s nothing. What happened outside?”
“Fuck, sorry,” Lucy said. Someone opened the Potato Bar
door, and she caught a glimpse of Samantha on the sidewalk, still
in conversation. “I just found out somebody hurt this girl, Fran-
cine, who was naïve enough to be my fan. You saw her Saturday
night after the match, by the security fence.”
“I remember,” Chrysanthemum said.
“The police won’t say shit. But somehow, I’m involved. I
know it. She’s hurt because of me.” Lucy was gripping her
sword hilt.
Chrysanthemum reached toward Lucy’s hand, but hesitated
and pulled back. “You told me there was no chaos on your
temple. What did you mean?”
“I mean I’m ready for anything. I don’t have a plan, that would
be stupid. The other team has plans, they run up the pyramid with
all sorts of clever schemes for killing me, and I take those schemes
apart. I don’t need to know what they are, I don’t want to know. I
attack weaknesses―all plans have them. You don’t need to know
the plan to see the weak spots. In fact, it’s better not to know. It’s
not something I think about. Sensing a weak point and attacking it
are pretty much the same thing.”
264 R. H. Watson

“It’s a different state of consciousness,” Chrysanthemum said.

“All that faster-than-thought kinesthetic intelligence Bimini cul-
tivates in you, it’s a form of meditation, and it isn’t just good for
saving goddesses’ heads.
“Your gut is telling you this girl was hurt because of you.
Maybe that’s true, maybe it’s not, but wouldn’t that be part of a
plan? Didn’t you just say you don’t want to know the plan, you
attack weaknesses?”
“Yes.”
“Then I have to wonder why you’re spending so much time
trying to blame yourself . . .”
“What is it?” Lucy said.
Chrysanthemum put her hand on Lucy’s arm. “I know some-
thing about your background―no details, but I know you were
physically abused, and I understand you desperately want to put
that behind you. I think, however, when you’re off the temple
and in the messy real world, you have to be careful of your gut
feelings. When you’re blaming yourself for what happened to
Francine, it might be that abused girl trying to make sense of the
world by blaming herself for everything bad that’s happening,
both to her and to everyone around her. My heart goes out to that
girl, and someday you might be able to let her back into your
life, but you can’t let her sneak in.
“Do you know what the Beginners Guide to Blood Battle says
about guardians?” Lucy shook her head. “It says, ‘guardians are
confident to the point of arrogance.’ That’s you. Nobody messes
with Lucy Star’s temple. I think, if you let Lucy Star, the guard-
ian, interpret your gut, you’ll find it’s not telling you who’s to
blame, it’s telling you it’s sensing a weakness.”
“But I still don’t know what it is.”
“Weren’t you listening to yourself? You’ll know the weakness
when you attack it.”
“I carry this sword for show. I can’t actually use it off of a
blood battle field.”
 Gladiator Girl 265

“Don’t be so literal. Maybe you can help one of these police

officers figure out who to arrest.”
“Maybe,” Lucy said.
“You’re not growling anymore.”
“What are you talking about?”
Chrysanthemum laughed. “You don’t even realize you’re doing it.”
Lucy gave her a blank stare.
“When you get upset, you growl, like a cougar.”
“I do?”
“Yes, it’s quite frightening. It suits you. Are you ready to
go back?”
Lucy looked at their table. Samantha had returned from the
sidewalk. “Yes,” she said.

Everyone was eating dessert. Lucy side stepped past Thad, sat,
and laid her sword across the table between her and Samantha.
“Whatever your case is,” Lucy said, “I’m involved, and it got
Francine hurt. I like France. I’m going to find out what happened
to her. You can help or not, it’s your decision.” She turned away
to talk to her friends.
Felix was speaking to Thad. “Human Anatomy? Are you
studying medicine?”
“I want to be a surgeon,” Thad said.
Chrysanthemum shifted her attention away from Samantha
and said, “We met at the medical school.”
“Are you studying medicine, too?” Felix said. “When you’re
not being a goddess?”
“No, Thad and I met last winter. We have to synchronize with
our placentas at least once during the BB off season. Some of us
coordinate that with volunteering to be practice patients for the
surgery labs. The students get to cut on living people, and when
they’re done, we go in a womb, and all the incisions and mis-
takes are wiped away. The medical school has to pay the extra
womb-atorium costs since it means a longer gestation, but not by
266 R. H. Watson

much. After all, they are doctors. Their goal is, ‘do no harm,’ or
as little harm as possible, for surgeons.
“You’ll be taking your first surgery lab during the next
quarter,” she said to Thad. “Maybe you’ll get to practice on me.
Wouldn’t that be fun?”
“I never thought . . .” Thad said. “I don’t think I could do
that!”
Chrissy took his hand. “It would be good for your concentra-
tion. It would make you a better surgeon.”
“How?”
“It’s like what Coach Kai is doing with her guardians and god-
desses. We used to avoid each other so guardians could maintain
the illusion that we were abstractions―symbols of the Goddess.
The notion was, this would allow guardians to make better, more
objective decisions if they weren’t emotionally invested in pro-
tecting a real person.
“However, the best guardians,” she glanced at Lucy, “derive
their strength from their ability to empathize, at a deep level,
with those they protect. Asking them to treat a goddess as an ab-
straction forces them to treat themselves as something less than
they are. It creates more emotional dissonance, not less.
“Coach Kai thinks a fully empathic guardian is better at mak-
ing hard decisions because she’s willing to face, and accept, the
consequences her actions have, both for the girl sitting on the al-
tar, and for the whole team.
“Wouldn’t that also be true of the best surgeons? I think, if
you walk into your surgery lab and find me lying on the table,
you’ll perform with a skill that will amaze your instructors and
be the envy of your fellow students.”
“I don’t know,” Thad said, he pulled his hand away. “I think
I’d be too nervous to hold the scalpel steady.” He picked up a
piece of dessert on his fork and it fell off. “See? Even thinking
about it makes me nervous.”
Chrysanthemum watched Thad stab the piece of dessert. She
 Gladiator Girl 267

turned to Samantha. “What about you? Lucy says you have the
eyes of a guardian.”
Samantha’s fork was half way to her mouth. She put it down. “I
actually received my rebirth gene therapy at the Concepción
Academy.” She looked at Lucy’s sword for a moment. “I wanted to
be a blood battle guardian and stand on that temple every two weeks
to save my little part of the world, but the more I trained, the more I
felt boxed in. My friends and I would go into town on the weekend,
and I’d realize, no matter how good I was, the moment I stepped off
the Academy grounds, my skills were worthless.
“Before I turned seventeen, just before I was to receive my
swords, I switched to the Police Academy. By then those swords
had begun to seem like handcuffs. If I had accepted them, I
would have committed myself to an illusion. I’d be a guardian,
but guarding what? It wasn’t real, just a big show. At least in the
police, I’m doing some good for real people. Of course, I spend
most of my time training, cleaning my weapons and filling out
paperwork. Perhaps if I had met your coach back then, I would
have taken the swords and stayed.”
Samantha glanced at Carl, then took a token out of her pocket
and handed it to Lucy. “This will send a priority request directly
to me. Don’t take any unnecessary risks, let me know everything
you find out, and remember, I’m the police―you’re not. Leave
the police work to us. Contact me tomorrow morning; I’ll tell
you what I can, but most of my information has to remain con-
fidential. Agreed?”
Lucy took the token. “Agreed,” she said.
Samantha looked down at Lucy’s sword. “May I?”
“Yes.”
She picked up the sword, weighed it in her hands, then pulled
it part way out of its scabbard and inspected the blade. She
breathed on the polished metal and watched the condensation
from her breath evaporate. She slid the sword back in and set it
down. “It suits you,” she said.
268 R. H. Watson

Lucy pocketed the token and tried her dessert. “This is fant-
astic! What is it?”
“Potato fudge cake,” Felix said.

The back third of the Potato Bar had a dance floor and small
stage. After dessert, a band set up and started to play.
“What’s that?” Lucy said.
“Polka,” Felix said. “It started in Europe, but caught on big in
the African Coalition. It’s just now showing up here. I didn’t
know the Potato Bar was this avant-garde.”
“How do you dance to it?”
“Watch,” Felix said. A few people were moving onto the
dance floor.
“That’s crazy. Show me.”
“I don’t know how,” Felix said. “I didn’t expect a polka band.”
Carl leaned over. “Come on.” Hanna let Carl out and Thad let
Lucy out. She slipped her scabbard behind her belt.”
“I’ll lead to start with,” Carl said. “Put your left hand on my
shoulder, and take my right hand. OK, on the beat, follow me.”
“Where did you learn?” Lucy said as they started sashaying
across the floor.
“My daughter taught me.”
By the third song Lucy was leading and picking up some ad-
vanced steps from the other dancers. After the fourth song Carl
needed a break. They walked over to a couple of empty chairs at
the edge of the dance floor. “Quite a coincidence, you, your girl-
friend, and Sam all showing up here tonight,” Carl said, “and all
sitting at the same table.”
“She’s not my girlfriend, we’re club mates.” Lucy said. “And it’s
not a coincidence, remember?” Lucy pulled her sword out of her belt
and rested it against her thigh. “Do you think someone planned this?”
“No, I think it’s one of your girl― I mean, Chrissy’s inscrut-
able mysteries. Yes, I remember. But I don’t believe in inscrut-
able; all mysteries have answers.”
 Gladiator Girl 269

They listened to the music and watched the dancers. Thad and
Chrysanthemum were getting the hang of the basic steps. Sam-
antha was leading Felix around the dance floor. Hanna and Finn
were still sitting at the table.
“On my date with Jayzen, he said if I were to try attacking
him, his bodyguards could neutralize me so fast that my training
was irrelevant. Do you know what he was talking about?”
“Why do you want to know?”
“I’m not going to attack him, but I’d feel more comfortable if
I knew how to take down his bodyguards. I’ve seen them lose fo-
cus. I know they can be vulnerable, now I need to know how to
take advantage of it. You can understand, right?”
Carl laughed and shook his head. “Of all the dating issues that
came up with my kids, we never covered how to neutralize their
dates’ bodyguards.”
“My life has been pretty crazy lately.”
“OK,” Carl said. “Their means aren’t going to be significantly
different than Sam’s. Their jackets will be loaded with small, light-
weight weapons: guns―the lethal kind, dart pistols with drugged
darts, electric stunners, and knives―some of them will be throw-
ing knives. The key point is, they have stand off weapons and you
don’t. If you were to engage them, you couldn’t give them any
warning until they were within your range of attack.
“Their body suits have an embedded layer of carbon-based ar-
mor that can stop bullets and will certainly stop your sword. The
armor is thinnest over their hands so it won’t adversely affect
their dexterity. You might be able to cut through it there, not that
you would, right?” Lucy shrugged. “You could still twist their
arms, legs, and necks to break bones, but I suspect you don’t
have much hand to hand training.”
“Actually, I do. Bimini, my sword coach, likes to say, ‘Your
body is your third sword.’ Everyone sees the flashing blades, but
next time you watch a game, pay close attention. You’ll be sur-
prised how much punching, kicking, and flipping goes on.
270 R. H. Watson

“The bodyguards’ faces aren’t covered. Are you going to tell

me they’re wearing bulletproof makeup?”
“No. Their faces are vulnerable, but I expect they have ar-
mored masks tucked in those jackets.”
“So, as long as they don’t put on their masks, the best I can do
is get close enough to poke them in the face, try to cut off their
fingers, or break their necks?”
“Or their arms or legs,” Carl said.
“If that was the only way to slow them down, but I’d still have
to break their necks to stop them.”
“You’re a scary young lady.”
“Why? They have memory placentas.”
“I hope I don’t regret telling you this.”
“Don’t worry.” Lucy stood up. “I’ve got to go to la femme
pissoir. Save another dance?”

Like the main room, the washroom had been build out of old
stuff by craftspeople using hand tools. It was all scrubbed tile,
dead wood, and stone. Lucy went into the middle stall, dropped
her pants and underwear, and sat on the toilet. She rested her
sword diagonally across her lap, put her elbows on her thighs,
and rested her chin on the heels of her hands. There was a bou-
quet of flowers painted on the back of the wooden stall door. It
seemed to spin, yet remain upright. “I’m getting drunk.”
Her bladder was filled to aching, but she hesitated to let it go.
A memory swam into her head . . .

She was a little girl sitting on a toilet, looking at wallpaper

glued to the opposite wall. The wallpaper was crisscrossed with
lines that divided it into diamonds. The lines were made up of
eight little flowers that repeated again and again. Each diamond
enclosed a bouquet. There were four bouquets: a blue one, a
pink one, a yellow one, and a purple one. The purple one was
her favorite.
 Gladiator Girl 271

She looked at the hook on the toilet room door. She liked the
way it settled into the eye that was screwed into the door jam. It
was the closest thing to a lock in the house. It made her feel safe.
For a few minutes, she could be alone and happy. She looked
down at her feet swinging above the floor, her underpants were
hanging from her shoes. She tapped her heels against the toilet
bowl and watched them bounce off. She held her pee to make her
time in the toilet room last as long as possible. She imagined her
bladder was a yellow water balloon with a happy face painted on
it, only now it was a grimace because it was ready to burst and it
really, really, wanted to go!
She gave in. Her pee flooded into the toilet. The balloon rolled
its eyes in ecstasy; its mouth opened and a big cartoon dialog
bubble came out saying, “Ahhhhhhhhhhh . . .”
Her pee slowed to a dribble, then a drop, and stopped. Her
balloon bladder had shriveled down to an empty little tongue of
happy, yellow rubber.

Lucy sat in the Potato Bar stall . . .

For the first time since she was a little girl, she imagined that
happy faced balloon inside her. She held her pee, and held it, and
held it, and finally . . . let it go.
She laughed, then started to cry. She put her face in her hands
and sobbed. Her shoulders shook so much her elbows slid off her
thighs; she put them back. Tears ran off her hands and down her
arms. She pulled out some toilet paper and noticed there was a little
flower pot sitting on top of the paper dispenser with an actual, live
flower in it. “I love this place!” she said, still convulsing with sobs.
She wiped herself, then pulled out more paper and wiped her eyes
and cheeks. By then she was laughing again, almost as much as she
was crying. She wiped her hands and arms. Even her thighs were
wet where the tears had run off her elbows onto her legs. She wiped
her scabbard; it was wet from tears that flooded her sinuses and
dripped out her nose. She blew and wiped her nose.
272 R. H. Watson

The crying and laughing dwindled away until she was just
breathing. She leaned back against the toilet cover and accident-
ally pressed the flush lever. The toilet flushed and churned up a
cool breeze that swirled around her butt. “Oh, that feels good.”
She was limp. She felt like she was fresh out of a womb: weak
but clean, inside and out.
She waited a couple of minutes to be sure she was cried out.
She stood, pulled up her underwear and pants, then had to put
her hand on the top of the door because her legs were shaking.
When she felt steady, she opened the stall door, stepped out, and
almost ran into Chrysanthemum who was rushing to the next stall
over. “Don’t go anywhere,” Chrysanthemum said. She turned around
and pointed at Lucy as she backed into the stall. “Stay right there.”
Lucy slipped her sword under her belt, and washed and dried
her hands, pacing herself to the sounds from Chrysanthemum’s
stall. There were two potted flowers on the wash basin counter.
She leaned over, smelled one, and kissed it.
Chrysanthemum came out. While she was washing her hands
she looked at Lucy. “Have you been crying?”
“Yes,” Lucy was still weak. She put her hand on the counter to
steady herself.
“What happened?”
“I’m fine,” Lucy said. “I really am. I’m not lying. I re-
membered something from when I was little. It was a moment
when I was really, genuinely happy.” She felt tears beginning to
puddle in her eyes again. “I tried so hard to forget, I even forgot
that, sometimes, I was happy.” A tear ran out of her eye.
Chrysanthemum picked up a hand towel, and wiped it away.
She folded the towel and hung it back on the towel bar. She put
her hands on Lucy’s shoulders, stepped close and looked in her
eyes. “I’d like to kiss you, if that’s all right.”
“Ah, sure,” Lucy said.
Chrysanthemum cupped Lucy’s cheeks in her hands―they
were still damp from washing and felt cool against her skin―then
 Gladiator Girl 273

Chrysanthemum kissed her. Already slightly drunk, Lucy felt her

head spin even more. She reached back and grabbed the counter
with both hands to steady herself. Chrysanthemum pressed her
against the counter with her hips. Lucy reached under Chrysan-
themum’s arms and held onto her shoulders. She felt Chrysan-
themum’s scapulae slide out as she moved her hands from Lucy’s
cheeks to the back of her head and neck. With every breath, Lucy
drew in more of Chrysanthemum’s scent. It wasn’t perfume, just
her. It made Lucy even more dizzy. She pulled Chrysanthemum
closer, kissed her, and tasted her.
It wasn’t a long kiss. Chrysanthemum shifted her weight back,
just enough to end it. She pressed her forehead against Lucy’s,
then eased back a little more and rested her hands on Lucy’s
chest. She looked into her eyes and caressed her collarbones with
her fingers.
Lucy brought her hands down to Chrysanthemum’s sides, and
with her thumbs, traced the soft curves where her ribs dissolved
into her breasts.
“I couldn’t wait for Mr. Fredrick’s tea,” Chrysanthemum said.
“So, what did you taste?”
“You.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s a lot.” She kissed Lucy, a light touch on the lips, and
stepped back; her gaze lingered along with her fingers. At arm’s
length, she dropped her hands, held Lucy’s eyes for an extra mo-
ment, then turned and left.
Lucy leaned against the wash basin counter until her head
stopped swimming. She tried her balance; it seemed okay. She
walked into the main room.

“Mystery solved?” Carl said.

“Not so much solved as replaced.” Lucy sat next to him.
Carl pointed at the dance floor. “Sam’s been keeping your boy
distracted.”
274 R. H. Watson

“Thanks for waiting,” Lucy said, “but I’ve got to pass on an-
other dance.” She walked over to Samantha and Felix. Samantha
handed him off and walked over to Carl.
Lucy gathered Felix up. They started shuffling around the
floor. She rested her head on his shoulder and wished she could
fall asleep.
The night spun along. Felix picked up the dance steps. Lucy
made two more uneventful trips to the washroom.
Eventually Felix begged to leave due to exhaustion. “Just a
minute,” Lucy said. She worked her way across the dance floor to
Thad and Chrysanthemum, threw her arms over their shoulders,
and yelled above the music, “We’re leaving. It was great meeting
you, Thad!”
“It was nice to meet one of Chrissy’s teammates!” he said.
“Club mates,” Lucy said. “Teammates are―”
“I’ll see you tomorrow at the club,” Chrysanthemum said.
“Yes. See you then!” Lucy patted them on their backs. She
worked her way back to Felix. Samantha and Carl were sitting
together. Lucy waved. Samantha smiled, and Carl gave her a
thumbs up.

It was after midnight and cold on the sidewalk. Their breath was
condensing. Lucy stuffed her hands in her pockets. “When we
started the night, I wanted to invite you back to the Winnebago
Graveyard, but too much has happened. I wouldn’t be a good
partner, I’m sorry. But I’ll take you back to your dorm.”
“You don’t have to,” Felix said. “I’ll catch a cab.”
“I’ll pay for it,” Lucy said. Felix held up his hand to protest;
she cut him off. “I can afford it, you can’t.” She looked up the
street and raised her arm to hail a cab.
Felix turned her around. “You’re a great girl. I can’t believe I
met you, and that I’m with you tonight, but . . .”
“I like you too,” Lucy said. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”
“But I saw what was going on between you and Chrissy.”
 Gladiator Girl 275

“You did? Maybe you can explain it to me, because I can’t

figure her out. She’s―”
“In love with you.”
“Oh, I hope not. I’m way too fucked up for that. I like her, but
I don’t understand her. Not at all.”
A cab turned onto the street. Felix hailed it. The driver
peddled to a stop at the curb.
Lucy kissed Felix on the cheek. He sat in the cab, then she
paid the cabbie generously for the trip to his dorm. “See that he
gets home safe.”

Charlotte heard the hatch open, followed by Lucy’s footsteps on

the stairway. She listened to Lucy put away her sword, drop the
dinette table and make the bed. She heard her go into the shower
room and begin brushing her teeth.
“I’ve got to talk to her.” Charlotte disentangled herself from Jes-
sica. “She’s been having a rough few days.” She put on her robe,
closed the bedroom door behind her, and made tea in the kitchenette.
Lucy came out of the shower room wearing her frog robe.
“Would you like some tea?”
Lucy jumped. “Fuck! You scared the shit out of me! I mean,
sure, thanks.”
Charlotte handed her a cup. They sat on the little sofa built
into the wall of the living room and put their feet on one of the
two swiveling arm chairs bolted to the floor opposite the sofa.
“How was your date?” Charlotte said.
“Complicated, and yours?”
“Jessica was full of questions about rebirth. She was very jeal-
ous when I told her we stop menstruating until we age-out.”
“Yeah, sounds great, but I’m gonna feel stupid asking teenager
questions when I’m twenty-five.”
“She would be very pissed off if you told her that.”
Lucy laughed.
“Your turn,” Charlotte said.
276 R. H. Watson

Lucy sipped her tea, and put her head back against the sofa.
Charlotte put her arm around Lucy’s shoulder. Lucy lifted her
head to accommodate. “What is it?” Charlotte said.
“She’s back.”
Charlotte kissed the top of Lucy’s head. “I know.”
Lucy rolled her head to see Charlotte. “How?”
“I saw her in your face on Sunday. How is she?”
“Fucked up. Lonely. Mad at the world. Frightened.”
Charlotte waited.
“This is going to sound stupid, but can we just sit and drink
our tea, and not talk?”
“Of course.”
After a minute Lucy said, “Do you know any lullabies?”
“Do you want me to sing you one?”
“Not for me, for her.”
Charlotte ran the back of her toes along the sole of Lucy’s
foot. “This is called, The Dream Ocean. My Dad used to sing it
to me, every night.”

Stirring the waters

That hug the cockle
The fish in forever motion
Slip baby ’cross the waves
They gather around to taste the dreams
The dreams that dance in the ocean
And soften sleep with a gentle potion

Extending her hands

To cup the wet brine
Following an old notion
Night drinks the world anew
While the fish swim ’round the dreams
The dreams that dance in the ocean
And soften sleep with a gentle potion
 Gladiator Girl 277

***
They finished their tea. Lucy took the cups. “I’ll wash up.”
“See you in the morning?” Charlotte said.
“Yes. Thanks.”
Back in bed, Jessica said, “How is she?”
“I don’t know. She’s tough, but I don’t know.”
They laid together listening to Lucy wash the tea cups, rustle
her sheets and blanket, and get into bed. A few minutes later she
rifled through her drawer and they heard a muffled, bzzzz.
 Chapter 17
What’s Next?

Lucy turned off her alarm a minute before it was set to nudge her
awake. She listened to Charlotte in the shower, then got up and
put on her blue and orange frog robe. The bedroom door was
open. Jessica was asleep on the bed, wrapped in a sheet. Lucy
closed the door and ground enough coffee to make three cups.
She started the coffee, cut three generous slices of bread, and
made toast, then undressed her bed, raised the dinette table, and
washed and dried the surface.
Charlotte came out, brushing her hair. “Mmm, the coffee
smells good.”
Lucy took her shower, brushed her teeth, and got dressed in
her anime toreador outfit. By then, Jessica was up, and having
coffee and toast with Charlotte.
“How are you feeling?” Jessica said.
“About what?” Lucy took her sword and cleaning kit out of
the broom closet.
“Last night, you―”
“Last night didn’t involve you.” Lucy sat at the dinette,
pulled her sword out of its scabbard and wiped the blade with
a dry cloth.
“I was just―”
“Stop,” Charlotte said. She put down her coffee, pushed Jes-
 Gladiator Girl 279

sica into the bedroom, and closed the door. “Don’t confuse last
night’s emotional stress with a delicate personality,” she said.
“I was just concerned―”
“You were being disingenuous. You don’t know her well
enough to be concerned. She doesn’t just attack with swords;
you’re this close to a verbal disemboweling you may never re-
cover from. Whether it’s swords or words, guardians don’t fence,
they slaughter.”
“I’m sorry,” Jessica said. “I’ll apologize.” She turned to open
the door, but Charlotte pulled her back.
“This house is tiny,” Charlotte said. “It can give you a false
sense of intimacy. It’s an easy mistake to make.”
“I get it,” Jessica said, “It’s just, last night, she seemed so
vulnerable.”
Charlotte laughed. “That’s her secret weapon. It works be-
cause it’s true, but like I said, not to be confused with fragility,
quite the opposite, in fact. Now, let’s go back out there, and don’t
apologize. For your own good, you should either not say any-
thing or stick to small talk.”
Lucy finished wiping her sword with an oiled cloth. She
sighted along the blade and twisted it, using the reflected hi-
lights to check the edge. She slid the sword back into its scab-
bard and picked up her gym bag. “See you this evening,” she
said to Charlotte. “Nice meeting you again,” she said to Jessica.
“Why don’t we go out for dinner?” Charlotte said.
Lucy glanced at Jessica.
“Just you and me.”
“Sure.” Lucy took her coffee and toast, jogged up the stairs,
and out the hatch.

Frank held open the player entrance door. “You’re to go directly

to the auditorium.”
“What’s up?” Lucy said.
“Don’t know, seems hush-hush.”
280 R. H. Watson

“Is it a club meeting?”

“Nope. Only guardians, all the guardians, including the
reserves.”
Bimini and Donna were standing in front of the stage. Donna
motioned Lucy to come down to the front where everyone was sit-
ting. They were still waiting for Uvan and one of the reserve girls.
“Hey, Sandeep,” Lucy said. “Look who’s back from the dead.”
“I hear you’ve been freaking people out.” Sandeep held up her
hand. Lucy slapped it and sat next to her.
Uvan and the reserve girl arrived. Donna stepped forward
and waited a moment until she had everyone’s attention. “The
Blood Battle League has received a security alert from the po-
lice. They have evidence of a possible threat directed, spe-
cifically, at guardians.
“Since it’s an active investigation, they have asked us to keep
this meeting confidential. That means everything we’re about to
discuss stays only among those of us in this room. You don’t tell
club mates, friends, family, or anyone else. Understood?”
Everyone mumbled in agreement.
“Right then. There may be a small group intent on injuring, or
even attempting to kill, BB guardians―that’s kill, as in, really
dead―got it?” She had their attention. “As you know, the blood
sports, and blood battle in particular, attract controversy and the
protestors that go along with it, some of whom can get overly
zealous. That’s why my staff and I are here. We usually handle
security issues quietly so you don’t need to be concerned, but in
this case the police have deemed the risk serious enough to in-
volve you directly in more overt safety measures.”
Lucy raised her hand. “Does this have anything to do with re-
ports of boys being taught blood battle sword fighting techniques?”
Bimini was standing with her arms folded. She looked at Lucy
and tapped her finger against her arm.
“I don’t know the details of the threat,” Donna said, “but I
doubt it has to do with those urban legends.”
 Gladiator Girl 281

Lucy nodded. She had her answer in the subtle surprise

Bimini had shown.
Donna picked up a box from the stage. “We’re going to go
over methods for avoiding being followed and for avoiding put-
ting yourselves in vulnerable situations, but first, the police have
issued these contact tokens. They will connect you directly to a
dispatcher prepared to deal with this threat. If you contact them,
give them your location first, then if possible, your name and a
description of the situation. They’ll send both the nearest avail-
able patrol officer and a Special Operations officer to your aid.
Let that sink in for a minute. The police are committing consid-
erable resources to protect your asses. Don’t play with these
tokens, but if you feel threatened, don’t hesitate to use them.
Everyone got that?”
Donna spent the next half hour demonstrating some nifty trade
secrets and explaining the new security procedures, “. . . that all
of you will follow―no exceptions,” she said.
“Yes ma’am,” all the guardians said.
“All right then, sorry to keep you for so long. Get back to win-
ning your games.”
Lucy walked out to the car siding by the player entrance and
toggled Samantha’s token. The air was chilly. Broken clouds cast
the world in alternating moods of grey gloom and bright sun.
There were more fans standing behind the security fence than
two weeks ago. Several called her name. She waived, but stayed
away. One of Donna’s new rules was to avoid close contact with
fans. Then something caught her eye. “No fucking way!” Lucy
walked over to the fence for a better look.
A girl held up a poster; unauthorized, Lucy hoped. It was a pic-
ture, obviously amateur quality, of her standing on the temple next
to Chrysanthemum after their Beauty Incarnate game. Lucy’s
bloody hand was on Chrysanthemum’s shoulder, staining her white
vestment with a dripping red hand print. Lucy was looking down
with a benevolent smile and Chrysanthemum was looking up into
282 R. H. Watson

her eyes with open mouthed wonder. Bold letters proclaimed, “The
Guardian and the Goddess: A Love Bound by Blood.”
“Oh, Lucy, this is so romantic!” The girl rolled up the poster
to stick it through the fence for Lucy to sign. Lucy stepped back.
“Good morning,” Samantha said.
“I’m sorry,” Lucy said to the girl. “I have to take this contact.”
She walked away from the fence.
“What’s that noise?” Samantha said.
“Fans.”
“You shouldn’t be near them. You’ve been briefed on the se-
curity situation by now, haven’t you?”
“Yes, and after last night, it’s not a surprise. Some mystery
group wants to kill guardians, your inspector asked me if Jayzen
mentioned a class that teaches blood battle techniques to boys,
and Jayzen’s sister, Francine, a sweet, romantic BB fan is in a
womb with a head injury. That injury wouldn’t look like a god-
dess decapitation would it?”
“I can’t discuss the details of the case,” Samantha said,
“but Francine is safe. She’s at the Laughing Cherub, and for
now, all the womb-atoriums are operating under enhanced se-
curity protocols.”
“She wasn’t safe at the Verbeek mansion? You can’t tell me
the Laughing Cherub has better security. Is Jayzen behind this?
Should I go kick his fucking ass?”
“We don’t know the source of the threat. I doubt it’s Jayzen.
Don’t kick anybody’s ass.”
“What about Maxton?”
“Same answer.”
“You’re not telling me much,” Lucy said. “Why did you
bother giving me your token?”
“Because I once wanted to be you, remember?” Samantha
said. “I know your type: headstrong and arrogant. I don’t want
you running around like some junior police patrol mucking up
six months of Inspector Fournier’s work. I expect you to go live
 Gladiator Girl 283

your normal life, but since that life seems to be tangled up with
some of the subjects of our inquiries, I am asking you to let me
know if you hear or see anything suspicious, and I am telling you
to not take any action. Leave that to us.”
“At our security meeting, I asked about the BB boy’s class. Donna
Quinn, our head of security, didn’t know anything about it, but my
sword coach, Bimini Tanaka, was surprised by the question. I think
she knows more than Donna. Did you know she used to teach at the
Academy? It might even have been when you were there.”
Lucy heard Samantha sigh.
“Yes,” Samantha said. “I asked Bimini to consult, unofficially,
on the investigation. Do not ask her about it. She’s under a confid-
entiality agreement.” Samantha lowered her voice. “But between
you and me, she spent ten minutes looking at the bodies and told
us more than we learned in the last six months.”
“Bodies?” Lucy said.
“Oh shit! I didn’t say that.”
“They’ve already murdered someone? Who was it?”
“No one you know. They haven’t tried attacking a guardian,
yet. But we found several bodies, boys―late teens. They look
like practice killings. So you see, this is very serious. Will you
promise to leave the police work to us?”
“Yes,” Lucy said.
“And please. Don’t take any chances.”
“Okay.” Lucy closed the contact and looked at the fans. She
was glad they were on the other side of the security fence.

Sword practice started at mid-morning. It was just the four re-

birthed club guardians.
“No goddesses?” Uvan said.
“Sorry I missed yesterday,” Sandeep said. “It sounded like a
good time.”
“I had mine so scared, she pooped out three butt nuggets.
Here, here, and here.” Uvan tapped three spots on the floor with
284 R. H. Watson

her scabbard. “Guess she forgot to put on her goddess diapers or

whatever they wear under that bed sheet.”
“Don’t let her mess with you,” Lucy said. “Uvan was very nice
to her goddess, and they were dressed for a workout, just like us.”
Bimini came into the room. “Welcome back Sandeep,” she
said. “Everyone equip yourselves and warm up.” Bimini worked
with Sandeep to revive her dormant muscle memory. The other
guardians ran advanced exercises on their own.
After an hour, Bimini called a halt. “Sandeep, I’d like you to
join the next exercise. Everyone, please put on your padding and
switch to practice sticks, then pair up: Serendipity and Uvan,
Lucy and Sandeep.”
The padded suit pushed the short-sword scabbard a centimeter
out from its normal position on Lucy’s back. She pulled and
sheathed the short-stick a few times on her way out to the floor.
When everyone was ready Bimini said, “I thought we might
try to answer that favorite fan question: what would happen if
two guardians fought each other?”
“But that’s specifically forbidden by the rules,” Uvan said.
“What’s the point?”
“The point is to stress your skill. By adopting to the inconceiv-
able, you will be less likely to take the conceivable for granted.”
“Huh?” Uvan said.
“This will be fun,” Serendipity said.
Sandeep shrugged her shoulders.
Lucy watched Bimini. Or less likely to take the inconceivable
as inconceivable?
“Let’s start with attack-block-attack exercises,” Bimini said.
“Feel free to improvise. How would you attack? What role does
your short-sword play when you each have one?”
Lucy and Sandeep faced off.
“What do you think?” Sandeep said.
“Both opponents armed with two swords isn’t new,” Lucy
said. “It’s just new to blood battle. You want to go first?”
 Gladiator Girl 285

Sandeep attacked with her long-stick and pulled out her short-
stick as she moved in. It was a classic guardian maneuver: dis-
tract with the long-sword, then move in and disembowel with the
short-sword. It can work great against a charger. Lucy pulled out
her own short-stick and hit Sandeep’s wrist. Sandeep dropped
her short-stick acknowledging that her hand had just been cut
off. Lucy followed through and disemboweled her.
Next, Lucy attacked. Sandeep had learned a lesson. Guardians
like to move in as they counter to bring their short-swords into
play, but that doesn’t work so well if your opponent also has a
short-sword. Sandeep countered Lucy’s attack but stayed back.
Before she could even think about it, Lucy performed one of
Charlotte’s graceful and aggressive forward leaps: arms and legs
spread wide, long-stick aimed at Sandeep’s heart. She crossed
the space so fast and hit so hard, that Sandeep couldn’t react and
was knocked on her ass.
“You okay?” Lucy said.
“Fuck you.” Sandeep took Lucy’s offered hand to get up.
This time, when Sandeep attacked, Lucy stayed back and
blocked the attack with her short-stick while cutting up through
Sandeep’s abdomen with her long-stick. “I think I’m getting the
hang of this,” Lucy said. “Having fun yet?”
Sandeep was smoldering. She blocked Lucy’s next attack and
twisted her short-stick out of play just long enough to close in
and stab her in the side with her own short-stick. “Now, I’m hav-
ing fun,” Sandeep said.
“Switch partners,” Bimini said.
Lucy worked with Serendipity and experienced her inscrut-
able presence from an opponent’s point of view. She found there
was no value watching for subtle emotional cues, or trying to
pick up unconscious anticipatory gestures; they weren’t there. At
first Lucy tried to match her detachment and misdirection, but
Serendipity took her apart whether she was attacking or defend-
ing. Enough of this shit. Lucy stopped trying to disguise her ac-
286 R. H. Watson

tions. She let her emotions loose and went after Serendipity head
on, and relentlessly, no matter which of them was initiating the
attack. She started winning.
Once, for an instant, Lucy was sure she saw the real Serendip-
ity flash with anger. “Yeah! You’re in there! I saw you!” Lucy
said, trying to shake her, but it didn’t work; Serendipity’s per-
sona went back up, intact.
“Good work,” Bimini said at the end of the session.

Uvan sat at the guardian’s table in the cafeteria. “Would you look
at that?” She said. “They’re eating with the rest of us now.” Sev-
eral goddesses sat at a table across the room.
“I’ll be right back.” Lucy got up and walked over to them.
“Hi, Lucy,” a goddess said.
“Hi, ah―”
“Winona,” she said.
“Hi, Winona. Is Chrissy going to be eating with you today?”
Winona shrugged. “She’s not here.”
“Is she sick?”
“We don’t know. Monica sent her a request, but she hasn’t
responded.”
“What about Thad, her boyfriend?”
“Sorry,” Winona said.
“If she shows up, can you tell her I’d like to talk to her?”
“Sure.” The goddesses exchanged smiles and a couple of
mouth-covered giggles.
“Thanks.” Lucy rejoined the guardians.
“Looking for your lover?” Uvan said.
“Would you leave it alone?” Lucy said.
“A love bound in blood? Sorry, can’t.”
“Oh, crap. You’ve seen those?”
“They showed up late yesterday,” Uvan said. “You’re lucky.
The guy across the street was sold out this morning or they
would’ve been stuck up all over the locker room.”
 Gladiator Girl 287

“I think they’re sweet,” Serendipity said.

“Don’t even start your cute bullshit!” Lucy said. She looked at the
goddesses’ table. “I’ll bet that’s what they were snickering about.”
“So, where is she?” Serendipity said.
“Who?”
“Your lover,” Uvan said.
“She’s not my― Fuck you!”
Donna stepped through the cafeteria door and scanned the
room until she saw Lucy. She walked over to the guardian table.
Lucy’s stomach twisted up. Nothing good came from the last
time Donna approached her during practice. “I need to talk to
you,” she said. “Outside.” The tone of her voice killed the con-
versation at the table. Lucy followed her out.
“In my office,” Donna said and led the way. There was a
stranger in the Security outer office. He wore a suit and was
looking at the notices on the bulletin board. Donna closed her of-
fice door. “Please sit,” she offered the standard wooden armchair,
and sat behind her desk.
“That’s Inspector Malaki.” She pointed through her office
window at the guy in the suit. “He’s going to ask you some ques-
tions, but I insisted he let me talk to you first.”
“Has something happened to Francine?” Lucy said.
“I don’t know who that is.”
“She’s part of this case, the guardian case.”
“I’m sorry,” Donna said, “This is something else. It may be
why your brother came to see you.”
Lucy felt the back of her neck tense up; she tried to control
her breathing. “If my parents are here looking for him, I don’t
want to see them.” She sat forward and grabbed the edge of
Donna’s desk. “Please!”
“Lucy,” Donna said, “your parents are dead.”
“Huh?”
“The Cliffside police found them yesterday, they had been
dead for a while, probably since before your brother left. The
288 R. H. Watson

neighbors thought your family had gone away on a fishing trip.

Apparently they did that every year in the fall?”
“Yes,” Lucy said. Her heart was pumping like mad; her finger
nails, which she compulsively trimmed short, dug into the sur-
face of Donna’s desk. Her sympathetic nervous system was
buzzing, but all of a sudden, there was no one to fight, and no
one to flee. “Did Zack . . . ?”
“They suspect he killed your father. Your mother’s death may
have been an accident.”
“No it wasn’t! It never is! He killed her!”
“Zack?”
“No, him!”
Donna finally heard the growl. “The inspector has a warrant
for Zack’s arrest,” she said.
The growl stopped. “He was just a little kid. I treated him like
shit. He was the only one I could get back at.” She let go of the
desk and slumped in her chair. Her body was purging the adren-
alin rush and taking all her energy with it.
“I understand,” Donna said, “but . . . he’s not little any more.”
“I suppose we’re not.”
“The inspector is going to ask if you know where he is.”
“Don’t you know? Weren’t you supposed to watch him for
me?”
“We did. He was staying at the Helping Hand shelter, but
now he’s missing.”
“I don’t know where he is.”
“I know that,” Donna said, “but the inspector doesn’t. He’ll
want to know if you’re hiding him.”
“Why would I fucking do that? I didn’t want to see him. I told
him to go away, forever.”
“He has to ask. You’re Zack’s sister. He has to suspect you
would protect him.”
Lucy crossed her arms and stuck her hands in her armpits.
“Answer his questions. Be honest, don’t embellish, and try to
 Gladiator Girl 289

stay calm. He’s going to ask why you changed your name. To
him, you’re still Deborah Knole living under an assumed name.
Are you ready?”
Lucy nodded.
“Stay here.” Donna left the office and Inspector Malaki came
in. He didn’t sit behind Donna’s desk. He pulled up another
wooden armchair to face her.
“Hello, Lucinda, may I call you Lucy?”
“Yes.”
“My name is Jonas Malaki, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” He
waited for a reply. When he didn’t get one, he crossed one leg
over the other and held his notebook on his knee. “You were
once known as Deborah Knole?”
“Yes.”
“You have a brother named, Zachary?”
“Yes.”
“He visited you exactly two weeks ago to the day.” Lucy said
nothing. “Well?” he said.
“You didn’t ask a question,” Lucy said. He started tapping his
foot in the air. “Yes,” she said. “Next time, if you want an an-
swer, ask a question.”
“What did you talk about?”
“Nothing.”
Malaki frowned. “There’s no need to make this difficult.”
“I’m not. He sat in his chair, like a lump, and didn’t tell me
anything.”
He continued tapping his foot in the air. Lucy slid her scab-
bard back to bring the sword hilt in position to draw. She didn’t
move, but mentally she walked her muscles through a finessed
attack: draw, fan the blade around its center of gravity while
twisting the edge to bear, and strike his tibia with just enough
force to cleanly cut off that fucking tapping foot at mid calf, yet
stop before touching his other leg. She was sure she could do it,
without even getting out of her chair.
290 R. H. Watson

“I know my parents are dead,” she said. “Donna told me. You
think Zack did it, so let’s get this over with. I left that house and
those people when I was fourteen. I legally changed my name
because I didn’t want anything to do with them, ever again. I
could show you why, but the scars are gone. I never saw Zack
again until two weeks ago. I told him to go away and I haven’t
seen him since. Do you have any more questions?”
“You’re a feisty one, aren’t you?” Malaki cracked a condes-
cending grin.
“Feisty doesn’t begin to describe me,” Lucy said.
“Yes, well.” He lost his grin. “Do you know your brother’s
friend, Neil?”
“I don’t know him. Why would I know his friends?”
“Your head of security had Zack followed when he went to
some sort of a class with this boy.”
“What sort of class?”
Malaki flipped note pages. “A self-defense class?”
“What kind?”
He shifted to sit a little straighter in his chair, “I can’t divulge that.”
“Because you don’t know.”
“I told you, I can’t―”
“That wasn’t a question,” Lucy said. “Are we done?”
“I have a few more―”
“You already know I don’t know anything.”
Malaki stopped tapping the air. He uncrossed his leg, put his
notebook away, and stood up. “I may be questioning you again.”
Lucy watched him through the window in Donna’s office. He
talked to Donna, they shook hands, he looked back for a moment
and saw Lucy watching him, then he left the outer office. Lucy
hustled out to Donna. “Back in your office,” she said.
Donna sat behind her desk; Lucy remained standing. She laid
her sword across the desk and leaned in. “Tell me about this class
Zack went to.”
“How do you know?”
 Gladiator Girl 291

“He told me.”

“I shouldn’t talk about it now that the police are involved.”
“How about I tell you something I shouldn’t talk about and
then you tell me about the class?” She didn’t wait for an answer.
“This morning’s security alert has something to do with a charity
that teaches blood battle style sword handling to street kids. The
police have found bodies, teenage boys, practice killings they
call them. If that’s where Zack went―”
“How do you know all that?”
“In a minute,” Lucy said. “Tell me about that class.”
“Zack told his counselor this kid, Neil, was pressuring him to
go because the instructor wanted to know about . . . you. Oh
Mother!” Donna said. “Mina, his counselor, was suspicious and
asked me to have them followed. We tracked them to a secure
location. They never came out. Lucy, I’m sorry.”
“Was it the Verbeek Mansion?”
“Yes.” Donna got up. “I might be able to catch Malaki before
he’s out of the building.”
“Don’t bother.” Lucy pulled out Samantha’s token and toggled it.
“What is it?” Samantha said.
“I have someone here you need to talk to.”

“What’s next?” Lucy said after Donna finished her story.

“Like I told you earlier,” Samantha said, “you go live your
life. I’ll pass this on to Inspector Fournier. Donna, I’m sure she’ll
want to talk to you and Wilhelmina. We’ll apply for a search
warrant for the Verbeek Mansion, but it won’t be granted.”
“Even with this?” Lucy said.
“It’s still speculation. Short of an immediate and obvious
emergency, we’re not getting in there.”
“You’ve got dead bodies!”
“And no evidence showing where they came from. We’ll put
the mansion under surveillance, but for now, that’s it.”
“My brother’s in there!”
292 R. H. Watson

“We don’t know that,” Samantha said. “Lucy, the last two vic-
tims were found the morning after your brother disappeared. You
need to be prepared―”
“No I don’t,” Lucy said. She looked down at her sword. “He
was just a little kid.”
“What was that?” Samantha said.
“Nothing. Don’t worry about me.”
“OK, thanks, both of you. Lucy, remember what I said. Let us
handle this.”
Lucy wiped her eyes quickly and then looked up. “I’ve got to
go,” she said to Donna. “I’m late for field practice. I’m late for
everything.”

At the end of the day, one of the ‘Bound by Blood’ posters was
stuck to Lucy’s locker door.
Uvan started to say something, but before she could speak,
Lucy reached over and pressed a finger against her lips. “Don’t,”
she said. Uvan closed her mouth. Lucy turned back to the poster.
Look at that naïve, stupid girl. She took it down (careful not to
tear the corners), rolled it up, and put it in her locker.
She took a long shower. By the time she was dressed, she
was one of the last girls in the locker room. She picked up her
long-sword and was ready to leave, but didn’t. She set her long-
sword on the bench and took off her shirt. She applied an ad -
hesive pad to the saddle of her short-sword harness, reached
around, pressed, and held it against her back until the glue set.
She put her shirt on and slipped her short-sword behind her
belt; for now, it would be easier to manage there. She put on
her jacket, picked up her long-sword, and walked out to the
player entrance.
“Nice evening,” Frank said. The sky had cleared and dusk was
closing in.
“Yes it is,” Lucy said. “Can you call a car please?”
“Sure thing.”
 Gladiator Girl 293

Lucy stepped over to the car siding. This was another new rule:
no walking to the public car kiosk. She sent a request to Jayzen
with an attached message. “I need your help. My brother is miss-
ing. I think he’s in that family club house of yours, and I’ll bet you
know why I think that. I need you to get me inside. Tonight. Keep
it quiet, don’t tell anyone. Leave your bodyguards behind.”
A public car slid through the security gate and pulled up to the
siding; she got in and directed it to the Winnebago Graveyard.
She had a dinner date with Charlotte and needed to go over a few
things with her.
 Chapter 18
Back to the Mansion

Lucy’s car pulled into the Winnebago Graveyard siding. She

stepped out with her sword and bag. The sky was slipping
from deep dusk into night. A black figure with red lipstick
stepped in front of her. Lucy moved to the side to check her
back without losing sight of the first bodyguard. The second
one was behind her.
“Where’s Jayzen?” she said.
“He’s not here,” the first bodyguard said. “We’re to bring
you to him.”
“Did he get my message?”
The girl hesitated. “Yes.”
“Then why are you here? I told him, no bodyguards.”
“He didn’t think that was wise,” the second bodyguard said.
“Can you give me a minute?” Lucy walked backward into the
Graveyard. “I want to let my friend know I’ll be late.”
“Stop,” the first bodyguard said. She pulled something from
her jacket. “This is a dart pistol. The drug will knock you out
within seconds. Please drop your sword and bag.”
“That could damage the blade, even in the scabbard. I’d rather
hand it to you.” Lucy stepped toward the first bodyguard.
They both backed away. “No,” the second one said.
“Okay,” Lucy said. “But I’m going to put it on the ground, not
 Gladiator Girl 295

drop it.” She crouched down. Her eyes were on the first body-
guard. She kept the second in her field of view.
“She has both swords!” the second bodyguard said. “Put both
of them on the ground. Now!”
Lucy set her long-sword and gym bag on the pavement. “I’ve
got to stand up to take the other one out of my belt.” She stood,
pulled her short-sword scabbard out from behind her belt, then
placed it next to her long-sword.
“What’s going on?” She stood up.
A private car rolled into the siding; its door slid open. “No
questions,” the first bodyguard said. She backed into the car.
“Please get in. Keep your hands visible at all times.”
Lucy followed her in. She glanced back and saw the second
bodyguard pick up her swords and bag.
“Sit there.” The first body guard pointed to the seat farthest from
the door. The second one sat in the seat farthest from Lucy. She
wedged the swords between herself and the side of the cabin. The
bag was gone, probably stowed in the luggage compartment. The
door closed, and the car accelerated. The windows were opaqued.
“Slide off your seat and onto your knees,” the first bodyguard
said. “Turn around, knees and ankles together, hips against the
seat. Lean forward and put your hands on the seat back.” Lucy
did so. The guard reached forward. Lucy felt an electric shock.
“What was that?”
“I shorted out your talk-to. You can sit again, slowly. Hands
always visible, remember?”
Lucy sat and put her hands in her lap. “How many different
pairs of bodyguards does Jay have? I’ve met the Bonnies and the
Veronicas.”
“We move around, we don’t always protect the same subject.”
“The people you protect are subjects, not people?”
“It preserves objectivity and avoids the complications of per-
sonal entanglement.”
“What are your names?”
296 R. H. Watson

They looked at each other for a moment. “We’re the Noreens,”

they both said.
“Where are we going?”
The first Noreen glanced at the second Noreen, then said, “To
the mansion.”
“The Club House,” Lucy said.
“Pardon?”
“That’s what Jay called it, ‘the Verbeek Family Club House.’
Is he resorting to kidnapping to get dates?”
“Sit and be quiet,” the first Noreen said. Lucy shifted her posi-
tion slightly. The second Noreen extended her pistol. Lucy
settled into her seat and crossed her arms.
“Hands always visible!” the first Noreen said.
“I’m crossing my arms. You’re safer with them crossed.” Lucy
watched the Noreens and felt the car maneuver through traffic.
“You wouldn’t last two seconds in a blood battle temple fight. You
know that, don’t you? Less than one second for each of you.”
“We’re not on a temple,” the second Noreen said.
Lucy shrugged a quick, little shrug. They both blinked.
“Maybe you’re not, but in a sense, I always am.” She wasn’t sure
what that meant, but it made the Noreens nervous.

Charlotte’s cab trundled up to the Winnebago Graveyard. She got

out, handed the peddler the fare plus tip, and walked to her canister.
Some of the inside air swirled up when the hatch lifted open. It
smelled different since Lucy had moved in. The perfume of clean-
ing supplies had been suppressed by the lingering odor of coffee,
food, and another person. Sometime during the last two weeks, her
little buried house had become a home. She went down the stairs.
There were several messages waiting, all for Lucy. One was
from the head of Burning Desire’s security office, one was from
Bimini Tanaka, one was from a Lieutenant Samantha Villanueva of
the police Special Operations unit, and one was from Jayzen Ver-
beek, it had just come in. They were all locked except for Jayzen’s.
 Gladiator Girl 297

Charlotte played his message:

I received your request, but you’re not showing up when I

reply. I’m on my way to your friend’s little underground cot-
tage to see if you’re there. Uncle Max is not happy about
your plan, but says I’m a fool if I think you can be dissuaded.
Contrary to your instructions, he insisted I bring bodyguards.
We can trust them, Uncle Max bought their contract.

Charlotte sent Lucy an emergency request. It was returned—

her talk-to didn’t exist. She made two cups of tea, and sat on the
sofa with one of them to wait for Jayzen.
A few minutes later he requested entry. Charlotte gave him
permission. A bodyguard slinked down the steps, crouching to
see under the ceiling.
“It’s safe,” Charlotte said. “You can send your master down.”
The bodyguard looked around, slipped up the stairs, and
Jayzen sauntered down. “Sorry to bother you,” he said.
“Please come in. Have a seat.” She used her foot to turn the
nearest of the pedestal mounted arm chairs toward Jayzen.
“There’s a cup of tea on the counter.”
He picked up the tea and gingerly sat in the chair.
“My home is small,” Charlotte said, “not fragile. You won’t
break it.”
“Yes, it’s quaint,” he said. “Jayzen Verbeek, at your service.
We haven’t formally met.” He half rose, bobbed his head and sat
back down.
Charlotte held up her tea cup. “Charlotte Marceau, I killed
someone in your ballroom two Saturdays ago.”
“Ah, yes,” Jayzen said.
“Let’s not waste time,” Charlotte said. “I’ve never seen Lucy
as―lost―as last night. She’s in trouble, and I gather from your
message, she thinks you can help.”
“She asked me not to talk about it,” Jayzen said.
298 R. H. Watson

“That doesn’t include me.”

“She was quite clear―”
Charlotte leaned forward and spoke with precise enunciation.
“That doesn’t include me.”
Jayzen adjusted himself in the chair. “She thinks her brother is
being held at the family mansion, where you committed your
murder. She wants to rescue him and needs me to let her in. She
sent me a contact, but I haven’t been able to reply.”
“You mentioned your Uncle Max. Is Maxton Verbeek involved?”
“He’s at the estate, ‘sniffing around the money,’ he says.”
“When did she send you the request?”
“About a half hour ago.”
“And now her talk-to has gone missing. It seems like she
trusts you. Are you still ready to help?”
“Yes,” Jayzen said. “Why would you think otherwise?”
“Is she correct? Whatever is going on, it’s at your mansion?”
“Yes. Uncle Max thinks she’s taking the initiative because we
won’t let the police in.”
“She’s going to try and do what you won’t let the police do?
What the police should be doing?”
“It’s more complicated than that.”
“No it’s not,” Charlotte said. “It’s hubris. The worst kind of
hubris.” Jayzen looked puzzled. “The kind that could get my
friend hurt. Here’s what we’re going to do. You are going to get
me into that mansion, and while we’re on our way, you will ex-
plain everything that has led up to this. Ready? Let’s go.”

The car stopped. The door opened. They were in a garage, but not the
one used by the limousine on the night of Charlotte’s fencing bout.
“Keep your hands above your head,” the first Noreen said.
The second Noreen picked up Lucy’s swords and stepped out.
“Please exit the car.”
The first Noreen followed Lucy out. She gestured with her
pistol to keep walking. Lucy crabbed sideways so she could
 Gladiator Girl 299

watch both bodyguards. When she was ten meters from the car,
the second Noreen put her swords back in. The door closed.
Lucy heard the whisper of its lock engaging. The car stayed at
the dock. With her swords locked away, the Noreens relaxed.
Lucy lowered her arms.
“Stop!” the first Noreen said.
“I don’t have my swords,” Lucy said, “and I don’t think Jay
will be very happy if you shoot me. He likes my banter.”
The Noreens glanced at each other. “You can lower your
hands, but keep them visible.”
The first Noreen walked around Lucy, keeping her distance.
“This way.” She led them deep into the mansion. They climbed two
flights of stairs, walked along unadorned hallways meant for staff
use, and ended up in a familiar room: the fairy tale locker room
where Lucy had helped Charlotte prepare for her fencing bout.
The ecstatic girl on the swing was still frozen on the far wall.
Lucy turned around. The mural above the door they had just
come through was of a hunting party armed with old muskets.
Each hunter was followed by a servant holding dead pheasants.
Several dogs milled around, attentive and uncomprehending.
Lucy found herself able to identify with everyone in the picture,
human and animal, alive and dead.
The second Noreen was standing under the hunting mural
pointing her dart gun at Lucy. “Get changed.” She tipped her
head toward the dressing table. A short-sword harness and a pair
of guardian shoes sat on its mostly-empty top.
“Where’s the helmet?”
“You won’t need it.”
“And my swords?”
“You’ll find out. Change, now.”
“No. That’s amateur junk. A real harness has a saddle custom
made for each guardian, and the shoes look too big.”
Neither Noreen spoke. They looked at each other for a mo-
ment. The first Noreen opened the door under the girl on the
300 R. H. Watson

swing. She had a whispered conversation with someone standing

outside, then she closed the door and moved back into position.
Lucy put her hands in her pockets.
“Hands!” the second Noreen said. Lucy looked at her, but said
nothing. She felt the tokens in her pocket: one to contact Sam-
antha, one to contact the police dispatcher, both useless with her
talk-to burned out.
“You’re not going to shoot me just because my hands are in
my pockets,” Lucy said. “You’re not going to shoot me unless I
try to escape.”
“Or if you try to attack us,” the first Noreen said.
Lucy laughed. “If you give me an opening to attack, you’ll
be dead before you can shoot.” She looked at the Noreen’s
dart pistol.
“It won’t work,” the second Noreen said. “Our guns only
shoot for us, unless we give you authorization.”
Lucy pulled her hands out of her pockets. The Noreens
flinched. She reached up and stretched back, looking up at the
ceiling. There were more murals up there. The ceiling was di-
vided into quarters with a painting in each.
Someone knocked on the girl-on-swing door. The first Noreen
opened it enough for another conference, then pulled it all the way
open. She waggled her pistol out the door. Lucy didn’t move.
“This is a shootable situation,” the second Noreen said.
Lucy stepped through the door. A naked man stood to the side.
He was in excellent condition and wore guardian style shoes.
After they were out of the fairy tale locker room, he went in, and
retrieved the short-sword harness and shoes meant for her. An
amateur quality short-sword harness was stuck to his back.
They approached the familiar gilded double doors. The naked
man ran ahead and knocked on one of them. “We’re here!” The
door opened. A second man―no, a boy―held it. He wore jeans
and a t-shirt.
***
 Gladiator Girl 301

The ballroom was even more fairy tale than the night of the fen-
cing bout soirée. Unicorn piñatas hung from the ceiling. Other
party decorations had been pushed against one side of the room:
balloon trees anchored by fake rocks, tables and chairs shaped
like mushrooms, and foam hills covered in fake grass and decor-
ated with hundreds of pinwheel flowers. The pinwheels waved
back and forth on thin wire stems; some slowly spinning in vent-
ilation driven air currents.
The decorations weren’t finished. A pile of pinwheels lay on
the floor next to a nude fake hill, and something was hidden un-
der a tarp.
A soda fountain had been set up on the opposite side of the
room, complete with counter, stools, soda dispensers, and an ice
cream cooler.
A second naked man stood in the middle of the floor, nearer
the opposite set of double doors.
Lucy walked toward the middle of the room and stopped
when she felt a comfortable buffer of space all around. “Who’s
having a party?”
“Eustace Verbeek,” the other man said. He was muscular and
nearly two meters tall. “Tomorrow is her birthday; she’ll be eight
years old. Six years from now, if all goes well, she’ll receive her
gene therapy and get to play at being immortal for the next el-
even years.”
“You’re not Jayzen,” Lucy said.
“Call me Grizzly. The boy who let you in is Fox, and the
guardian who escorted you from the dressing room is Walrus.”
“The what?”
“I’m back,” someone yelled from the other side of the double
doors behind Lucy. “Hurry up!”
Fox opened the door; a new guy ran in. He was wearing an
athletic suit and carrying Lucy’s swords. “There’s someone com-
ing!” He jogged across the room toward Grizzly.
Grizzly motioned him to the side. “Keep those away from her!”
302 R. H. Watson

“Sorry,” the new guy said and jogged through a long arc
around Lucy. “Another car came into the garage just as I was
leaving,” he said.
“Who was it?” Grizzly said.
“I don’t know. I saw a couple of your bodyguards get out, then
I ran here as fast as I could.”
Grizzly was angry. He nodded to the Noreens. The first
Noreen signed Walrus’s palm with her finger, handed her dart
pistol to him, and pointed at Lucy; the second Noreen put hers in
her jacket. They both pulled out small, real guns and slipped
through the doors, not making a sound.
These have to be the people the police warned us about, but
they’re kind of incompetent.
“Is there anything happening?” Grizzly said.
Walrus listened at the door while aiming his pistol roughly in
Lucy’s direction. He shook his head, then they heard two
muffled shots. Walrus jumped away from the doors. A minute
later there was a knock, “Open up! It’s us!” Walrus and the kid,
Fox, opened the doors. The Noreens pushed Jayzen and Char-
lotte into the fairy tale ballroom. “He had the Katrinas working
for him. Did you know that?” one of the Noreens said. Lucy
didn’t know which was which anymore.
“No I didn’t,” Grizzly said. “Where are they?”
“Down the hall―dead―for now. We shorted out their death
alarms so there shouldn’t be a recovery team response.”
“Who’s that?” Grizzly pointed at Charlotte.
“Hi, Jayzen,” Lucy said, “I see you’ve gone back to pretty, but
stupid for your girlfriends.”
“Huh? what?” Jayzen said.
Charlotte collected his arm in hers. “What’s going on?”
“Ned?” Jayzen stared at Grizzly.
“Who’s Ned?” Lucy said.
“He’s one of the security dispatchers at the estate.”
“Hello, Jayzen,” Grizzly, now Ned, said. “Why are you here?”
 Gladiator Girl 303

“I wanted to see the decorations,” Charlotte said.

“Ah, yes,” Jayzen said. “We were going to bust open one of
the piñatas and make love on the candy.”
Walrus trotted over to Ned, keeping his distance from Lucy.
They had a heated, whispered argument that Ned seemed to win.
“Jayzen,” he said, “we have some important business here. Un-
fortunately, we can’t risk you alerting anyone, so I must insist
you stay. I prefer to not drug you, but if you try to interfere, you
and your friend will be shot with knockout darts.”
He motioned to the fake grassy hills. “Over there.” The Noreens
nudged Jayzen and Charlotte to walk. One Noreen had her dart pis-
tol out, the other, her gun. When they passed Walrus, he handed
over the dart pistol and the Noreen put away her real gun.
“I take it, despite their appearance, those aren’t Jay’s body-
guards?” Lucy said.
“No. They’re working for me.”
“Why the black body armor and red lipstick? Did you want to
make Jay the bad guy if someone got suspicious?”
“That, and to help legitimize our actions within these walls. It
helped reassure the mansion staff and security that we were
working with the Verbeek Family blessing.”
“I don’t get it,” Lucy said. “Why are they helping you? They
should be protecting Jay, not holding him at gun point.”
“Oh come on, little girl,” one of the Noreens said. “It’s the
money. We’re twenty-five. Twin Security’s stipend is more than
generous, but Ned can make us rich, thanks to Jayzen’s mother’s
charity fund.”
“So, what should I call you?” Lucy said to Ned.
“I prefer Grizzly.”
“Okay, Ned, I’ll keep that in mind.” She turned to Walrus.
“Who are you when you’re not looking ridiculous? Wally? Wil-
ber?” Walrus clenched his jaw, making his beard flair out. She
pointed at the guy who was still holding her swords. “How about
I call you Marvin.”
304 R. H. Watson

“And you.” She turned around to the kid who was standing
by the double doors. He was frightened and shaking. “You’re
not a part of this . . .” His eyes darted back and forth. “Are
you Neil? Are you Zack’s friend?” She turned on Ned.
“Where’s my brother!” She took a step forward, a gun fired
and the bullet ricocheted off the floor in front of her foot,
splintering the wood tile. She stopped. One of the Noreens
was pointing a real gun at her.
“Be careful,” Ned said. “You don’t know the stakes. Do some-
thing reckless and people you know will die.
“Catamount, give me her long-sword.” Catamount handed
it over. “Give Walrus the short-sword and then get ready.”
Catamount handed over Lucy’s short-sword, then jogged over
to a portable wardrobe that was against the wall, behind the
soda fountain. He pulled off his athletic suit, tied on guardian
shoes, and mounted one of the amateur short-sword harnesses
to his back.
Ned made a show of admiring Lucy’s sword. He went through
all the proper motions: weighing it in his hands, rolling the scab-
bard from palm to fingertips and back. He pulled the blade out,
handed the scabbard to Walrus, then sighted along the edge. He
stepped through a warmup maneuver, manipulating the blade
with confidence.
He knew what he was doing, but wasn’t used to her sword.
The League contracted one bladesmith to custom build guard-
ian swords. Each was handmade and balanced specifically for
the girl who would wield it. He’d never held a real guardian
sword.
Catamount came back from the wardrobe carrying an un-
sheathed, look-alike long-sword. A short-sword was in his
harness.
Ned slid Lucy’s sword back in its scabbard. He stopped to look
at the symbol Lucy had had etched into the blade collar. “The
Northern Guide Star. How quaint. Just the sort of thing an abused
 Gladiator Girl 305

little girl might dream up to go along with her make-believe

name.” He flicked the sword all the way in with a solid, clack, and
handed it to Walrus.
“Put Debbie’s swords and gear on the soda counter, and bring
our weapons. Walrus ran off on his errand and returned with two
more sets of guardian swords.
“Where’s my brother?”
“Why do you care? You never did before.”
“What do you mean?”
“Zachary told me all about you,” Ned said. “Debbie Knole. His
mean big sister, all full of hate, taking out her frustrations on the
only family member weaker than herself. You even threatened to
break his fingers if he told. It just goes to show, the children of ab-
users turn into abusers themselves.”
“Did you kill him?”
“I’m leaving that for you. That’s why he came to see you. He
killed your father, did you know that?”
“Yes,” Lucy said in a low voice.
“The father kills the mother, then the son kills the father. It’s
an old story, and a son’s duty, to avenge his mother when there’s
no one else to protect her. He came to see you because he wants
you to kill him. He knows you have it in you.”
“I don’t,” Lucy said, “and I won’t.”
“Don’t be so sure.”
“You’re the murderer. You killed innocent kids.”
“We trained worthy opponents and challenged them. They
might well have killed us. In fact, one did. Wolf fell in a chal-
lenge just three days ago. He died honorably, as did his oppon-
ents. He understood an important truth. You can’t fight with
deadly weapons and achieve true mastery without facing the ulti-
mate consequence of losing. You said so yourself.”
“You’re crazy,” Lucy said.
“A little less than two weeks ago, right in this mansion. Down
in the gym. You gave the same advice to Jayzen over there: Mod-
306 R. H. Watson

ern senseis have lost their edge because they no longer under-
stand what it takes to kill. I thought you were just another silly
blood battle girl playing warrior dress up, but when I read
Jayzen’s security transcript for that night, I knew you were a
kindred spirit.”
“Kindred spirit? Jay was being an asshole. I was messing
with him.”
“I think the heart of a true warrior beats in your breast, and it
yearns to test its mettle in a real death match. If I’m wrong,
you’ll die, if I’m right, you may live.
“Fox!” Ned yelled. “Let’s get started!”
Neil was startled. He ran the length of the ballroom from one
set of double doors to the other, staying far away from Lucy. He
went out and a minute later came in with Zack. They were carry-
ing something―no―someone between them.
“Zack!” Lucy called. “Are you alright?” Then she realized
who they were carrying. “Chrissy?”
Chrysanthemum’s feet and knees were bound together, and
her wrists were strapped together behind her back. She was
dressed in a goddess vestment, but the straps binding her
made it look like a sack. Zack and Neil carried her to the very
center of the ballroom, between Lucy and Ned. They set her
on the floor so she was sitting on her heels in a distorted cari -
cature of the goddess sitting position. “Out of the way, Fox,”
Ned said. Neil backed away, then ran to the far corner of the
room behind the soda fountain. Zack knelt on one knee behind
Chrysanthemum.
“I’m sorry,” Chrysanthemum said. “Those bodyguards
took me this morning, on my way to the club. They think
they can use me to force you to fight. I told them it wouldn’t
work.”
“Did they hurt you?”
“No.”
“Zack,” Lucy said. “What’s going on?”
 Gladiator Girl 307

“Haven’t you figured it out yet?” Ned said. “You’re going to

fight us to a real death―kill or be killed. Not one of your make-
believe rebirth deaths.”
“You want me to kill you?” Lucy said. This isn’t what the po­
lice warned us about―not at all.
“No. We want you to try to kill us.”
“I won’t,” Lucy said. “I don’t kill. I play a game.”
“Show her our little secret!” Ned called to the Noreens.
The Noreen with the gun stepped over to the thing covered by
the tarp and pulled it off. Two placenta jars sat on the floor, each
hooked to a portable environment unit.
“How did you get those?” Lucy said.
“The Laughing Cherub’s security isn’t designed to counter a
stealth intrusion,” the Noreen said. “The jars of a couple of Ver-
beek nieces are taking their places in the Cherub’s Memory
Vault.” She looked at Jayzen. “Your own womb-atorium has no
internal security at all.”
“If you harmed them―” Jayzen said.
“They’re being looked after by the Laughing Cherub staff, the
best in the business. Your own staff is being tricked by a simple
cross feed of data from other jars in their vault, a technique that
would not have fooled the Cherub.”
“Stop bragging,” Ned said. “The point is, do you recognize
them? They’re yours and your lover’s.”
“My what?”
“Me,” Chrysanthemum said. “They saw those posters yester-
day. They think we’re lovers.”
“We followed you and watched you last night,” the Noreen
with the gun said. “We know you are.”
“Lucy, remember what we talked about? About plans and
weaknesses? About empathy and the decisions guardians have to
make? I trust you. I trust you with my whole life.”
“Be quiet!” Ned said. “Zack. It’s time.”
Zack didn’t look at anybody. He put his hand under Chrysan-
308 R. H. Watson

themum’s jaw and bent her head back; he was shaking but held
tight. He pulled out a knife from the back of his jeans.
“Don’t Zack! Please!” Lucy took a step. Out of the corner of
her eye, she saw the Noreen raise her gun. She stopped and
spoke quietly. “I know what happened . . . back at the house. It
wasn’t your fault. It was his.”
Zack looked up at her.
“Zack!” Ned said. “Don’t listen to her! Do it! Like I showed
you.”
Zack looked away from Lucy. He put the knife against Chrys-
anthemum’s neck, and cut her throat. Her body spasmed from the
shock. Blood soaked into her vestment and pumped onto the
floor. Lucy watched Chrysanthemum’s eyes until the blood
stopped, and the tension went out of her body. She watched until
Chrysanthemum’s eyes stopped looking back.
Her body slumped. Zack lost his grip, and she collapsed into
the puddle of her own blood. Zack sat on his heels, transfixed by
the dull red pool spreading around his knees.
“You shouldn’t have made him do that,” Lucy said.
“It looks like a tragic death,” Ned said, “but she’s just another
humpty-dumptied rebirth girl who can be put back together
again, as good as new.” Ned pointed at the placenta jars. “You
will fight us for her life and yours. If you lose, both placentas
will be destroyed. You and your lover will be dead, for real,
forever.” Ned was trying to be dramatic, but he seemed distrac-
ted. “What’s that noise?” he said.
“I think it’s her,” Walrus said. “She’s growling!”
“You want me to kill you?” Lucy said. “Fine, let’s do it. In the
flesh, like it’s supposed to be.” She undressed and carefully fol-
ded her anime toreador clothes into a neat stack.
“Spread out,” Ned said. Catamount moved toward the fake
hills and Walrus toward the soda fountain.
“I like these clothes.” Lucy held them up. “Mind if I put them
in your wardrobe so they don’t get bloody?” Walrus was stand-
 Gladiator Girl 309

ing between her and the wardrobe. Ned hesitated. “I’m

unarmed,” Lucy said.
“Walrus, collect her clothes.”
Walrus gave Ned a frustrated look, then started forward.
“Leave your swords behind!” Ned said.
Walrus put his swords on the floor, then walked toward Lucy.
Lucy scanned the room. Everyone was watching except the
Noreen guarding Charlotte and Jayzen. Lucy and Charlotte
locked eyes for a moment. I’ll always have your back, too.
Walrus had almost reached her. “You might know how to take
people apart with your swords,” he said, “but without them,
you’re just a naked girl.”
Lucy held out her clothes with both her hands. Walrus came
just close enough to reach out and take them. When his arms
were fully extended, she flipped the clothes into his face and
grabbed his right hand with both of hers. She leapt up, leading
with her left knee, and bent his arm back. She hit the outside
of his elbow. It broke across her knee with a sharp snap. The
shattered end of his radius bone poked through his arm. She
held onto his hand and let her momentum turn her upside
down. She pulled on his arm and hooked her left leg around
his neck. Using it as a pivot, she swung around his back like a
trapeze artist. He reached back for her with his left hand. Lucy
took hold of his thumb and little finger, one in each hand, and
broke them.
She let go with her leg and flipped over onto her feet, carrying
her landing into a crouch behind his back. She jammed her
shoulder into his groin and stood up, lifting and toppling him for-
ward. His arms were too damaged to break his fall. His face
smacked the floor with the full force of his weight. She grabbed
his left foot and twisted it inward, flinging her body around his
leg to add torsion. His ankle shattered. She continued around,
sliding between his legs. She planted her left foot against the side
of his right knee, grabbed his foot, pulled and twisted until his
310 R. H. Watson

knee snapped. She crabbed around his torso, keeping his bulk
between her and the Noreen’s gun. She pressed her mouth next
to his ear. “It’s not that I know how to take people apart with
swords, it’s that I know how to take people apart.”
Walrus bared his teeth.
“Don’t even think about trying to bite me. You really don’t
want to know what I could do to your jaw.”
Lucy looked up ready to dodge and distract the Noreens, Ned,
and what’s-his-name. She was counting on Ned not wanting the
Noreen to actually shoot her, but what she saw stopped her cold.

When the bodyguards moved Jayzen and Charlotte over to the

foam hills with the fake grass and pinwheel flowers, Charlotte
saw a stack of unused pinwheels. The stems were straight wires
with no safety fittings on the ends, they were meant to be stuck
directly into the foam―nothing fancy―a dangerous thing to
have at a children’s party. She couldn’t believe the Verbeeks
were so careless.
When Lucy looked around the room, Charlotte made eye
contact. Don’t worry little sister; I’ve got your back. Then Lucy
attacked the guy foolish enough to get close to her, and every-
one was suddenly, seriously, distracted. Both bodyguards
glanced at the commotion. Charlotte reached behind her, took
hold of two of the pinwheel flowers, and stepped forward,
pulling them out of the foam hill. Both bodyguards caught her
movement and started to react. She came in low at the closest
one, the one holding the dart pistol, and jammed the end of the
pinwheel stem up into her nose.
Blood gushed from her nostrils, and she began to collapse.
Charlotte launched herself into a broad, fast leap toward the
other guard. The guard raised her gun to shoot and brought up
her other hand to cover her nose. It didn’t matter, Charlotte
couldn’t reach the second bodyguard with a low strike; she had
to go for the superior orbital fissure at the back of her eye socket.
 Gladiator Girl 311

The best way in was along the inside edge of the socket, and the
best angle was achieved if your opponent was looking a little
away from your attack. As she leapt toward the second guard,
Charlotte reached to the side with her right arm, and wiggling
her hand with fingers spread. This was one of the first tricks be-
ginners discovered and one of the first tricks beginners learned to
not be fooled by. The guard turned her head toward Charlotte’s
hand. Amateur! She reached out with the end of the pinwheel
stem, and let her leap carry it into the guard’s eye, along the in-
side of her eye socket, through the superior orbital fissure and
into her brain.
Charlotte stirred the wire once for good measure, then side
stepped into a run over to the guy called Catamount. She stuck
the end of the pinwheel stem against his neck. “Don’t move,” she
said. “If you even twitch without my permission, you’re dead.
Drop your swords.” He hesitated. Charlotte poked his neck
enough to make him bleed. He threw both swords away.
Charlotte took a quick look past Catamount toward Lucy.
Walrus’s body was obviously broken and useless. Lucy was
crouched behind him.

Lucy looked up from dismantling Walrus, and couldn’t believe

what she saw, then she could. Of course, what else did she ex-
pect? Both Noreens were dead, and Charlotte, her best friend in
every possible, nontrivial way, was holding what’s-his-name at
bay with a pinwheel flower.
She stood up. Ned was in shock. Zack was still kneeling
behind Chrysanthemum’s body, looking at the floor. She
walked forward and crouched in front of Zack with Chrysan-
themum between them. She stroked Chrysanthemum’s cheek
with the back of her hand. She was still warm, almost body
temperature. She touched Zack’s arm. “It’s okay,” she said.
“You didn’t kill her. She’ll be fine.” She combed her fingers
through his hair and rested her hand on the side of his neck.
312 R. H. Watson

“I can’t take back what I did when we were children in that

house, but we’re not there anymore, and we’re not children.
We’re going to take care of each other.” She leaned forward
and kissed the top of his head.
“I’m sorry,” he said and looked up.
“Me too,” Lucy said. She realized he had beautiful eyes.
I never paid attention to his eyes before, except to make sure
there was fear in them.
“Give me your knife,” she said. “Please?”
Zack handed it over. Lucy twisted around and threw it into the
corner farthest from anyone else in the ballroom.
She turned back. “I need your help. Are there more of these
straps, like the ones Chrissy is tied up with?”
“Yes.”
“Can you get them?”
“They’re just down the hall, in a closet.”
“Good, take your friend, Neil, and both of you get the straps.”
“How many do you need?”
“I’m not sure,” Lucy said. “Get a lot, just in case.”
“Are you going to fight him?”
“He seems kind of stupid, so I expect I will have to.”
“He’s strong, and he’s good,” Fear was back in Zack’s eyes.
At least it’s fear for me, not of me.
“Strength is over rated,” Lucy said, “and he might be good,
but I’m great.” She squeezed his shoulder.
They stood up. Zack looked at her feet. “You’re standing in
her blood! Your feet are going to be slippery!”
“It’ll be okay. The blood will dry fast, and when it does, I’ll
have even better traction. Now, get going.”
Zack ran over to Neil, staying clear of Ned. They talked and
headed for the doors. Lucy heard Neil say, “Your sister is fuck-
ing amazing, and did you see what the other one did?”
“I guess it’s just you and me,” Lucy said to Ned. His face was
a kaleidoscope of conflicting emotions: anger, fear, disbelief, de-
 Gladiator Girl 313

termination. Take your pick. “You brought Chrissy into this be-
cause you think that poster has some deep meaning?”
Ned watched her.
“It does.” Lucy crouched and placed her left palm in Chrysan-
themum’s blood, then stood and held it up. Blood ran down her
forearm. “It means I killed four chargers in less than two seconds.
Four girls who were a lot better trained than you.”
Lucy walked over to the soda fountain. She leaned over the
counter, found a towel, and wiped the blood off her hand. Zack
was right, Chrysanthemum’s blood was making her feet slippery.
The shoes Ned had provided were too big, they would be worse
than no shoes. She elected to go barefoot, but took her time
while waiting for her feet to dry. She didn’t wipe them off. She
was leaving bloody foot prints everywhere she walked, and she
wanted Ned to notice, to think about them, and be distracted. She
attached her short-sword scabbard to the harness in the middle of
her back, then unsheathed her long-sword and walked back to
the center of the room.
She stepped through the same warmup maneuver Ned had
used, but performed it with elegance and flow beyond his skill.
Then she pulled her short-sword and segued into one of Bimini’s
advanced exercises. She picked a short one, but one that made
the air around her shimmer with death. She stopped and sheathed
her short-sword. “I’m ready. How about you?”
“She’s your friend, the fencer, isn’t she?” Ned said.
“Yes she is. Next time you hold a champion foil fencer host-
age I recommend you don’t back her up to a whole forest of long
bendy pieces of sharp metal.”
“I don’t think she’ll kill Catamount. None of you girls know
what it’s like to really kill. We do. You had a chance to kill Wal-
rus―you could have broken his neck and been done with
him―but you didn’t. You took extra time to maim and humiliate
him. You should have killed him, and let him die with some
honor. I thought you had a warrior in you; I guess I was wrong.
314 R. H. Watson

“Pick up your swords!” he called to Catamount. Charlotte

twisted the pinwheel wire a little further into his neck. “Call their
bluff!” Catamount tried looking at the floor for his swords, but
he was afraid to move his neck.
“Jayzen,” Lucy said. “If anything happens to me, you pro-
tect my brother and his friend. This guy’s not stupid enough to
hurt a Verbeek.”
Jayzen didn’t look entirely convinced.
“You can do it. You can be real scary, if you put your heart
into it. Think of your Uncle Maxton.”
“What about Charlotte?” Jayzen said.
“If I die, she’s going to defend the placenta jars. Nothing you
or I can say will stop her. If she’s killed, protect her body and get
it to the Long Life womb-atorium.”
The double doors behind Ned opened. Zack and Neil came in,
each holding two fistfuls of straps. “Stay there!” Lucy said.
“Let him go,” Lucy said to Charlotte, “and get away.”
Charlotte hesitated. “Do it. Run!” Charlotte pulled the pin-
wheel away from Catamount’s neck and jogged several meters
away while looking over her shoulder.
Lucy charged Catamount. He hadn’t just dropped his swords;
he had thrown them away. Lucy had farther to go, but it took
Catamount a moment to realize what was happening. He jumped
forward and reached for his swords. Lucy swept by at a full run
and with a two handed grip on her long-sword, cut off his hands.
She flattened out into a skid: right leg extended, left leg
tucked in tight, left hand on the floor. Her feet and hand
squeaked on the polished wood tiles. Her soles and palm got hot
enough to blister. She ran back at Catamount. He was standing
up and looking at the blood squirting out of his stumps. She
came in low, cut off his left foot above the ankle, and nearly cut
off his right foot.
She kept running and curved toward Ned. He had time to react
and was waiting for her.
 Gladiator Girl 315

She didn’t want to run into his defense; it would reduce her
options. She slowed to a walk, kept her eyes on him, and pointed
her long-sword back at Catamount. “Zack and Neil, bring your
straps to Charlotte. Stay clear of Ned. Charlotte―”
“Tourniquets,” Charlotte said.
“When I’m done with Ned, whatever happens, throw that
guy’s hands and his foot in the ice cream cooler. We’re not here
for vengeance. They should be able to put him back together, al­
most as good as new.”
Lucy stopped three meters in front of Ned. “Are you still go-
ing to do this?”
“You arrogant little bitch!” he said. “We practiced for this,
guardian on guardian. It’s not the same, you know, fighting
an opponent armed just like you. You don’t know what
you’re in for.”
Lucy shook her head and let out a short laugh.
“What’s so funny?” Ned said.
“You’ve never had a sword coach like Bimini Tanaka.” Lucy
watched him get ready for the fight of his life. “You’re no guard-
ian,” she said. “Guardians protect. You’re nothing but a fucking
murderer.” She took up her relaxed temple waiting stance with
the tip of her long-sword resting on the floor ahead of her feet.
Ned held his long-sword up, ready to fend off her attack.
“Guardians don’t attack,” Lucy said. “We defend. It’s your move.”
He adjusted his grip, then attacked. It was an all-power two
handed attack taking full advantage of his strength and mass. He
swung at her laterally, aiming for the soft muscle above her pel-
vis. He meant to cut her in two.
Lucy’s instincts took over. She brought her short-sword out
and braced the collar of her long-sword against the back of it’s
blade. She would take the force of his strike between her hands.
Just as his blade connected, she hopped to take most of her
weight off her feet, and she bent her arms to absorb the impact.
He pushed her, but she was in control. She spread her feet apart
316 R. H. Watson

and bent her knees as she slid, turning her block into a push up
with her short-sword.
Ned reached around for his own short-sword, but with his
long-sword pushed up and out of the way, he was wide open for
Lucy to slash through his ribcage with her long-sword. His eyes
were wide with fear, but her faster than thought kinesthetic in-
stincts wouldn’t do it. Instead, she pulled her long-sword up and
across the inside of his right forearm, cutting the flexor muscles
that allowed his fingers to grip. He dropped his long-sword, but he
was bringing his short-sword around to stab through her chest.
Wounding, rather than killing, had left her right side exposed. She
couldn’t avoid his attack. She jumped, making him hit her low and
miss her heart. She felt his blade stab into her lower ribcage. He
struck with so much force, he buried his short-sword up to its hilt
guard. The point came out between her ribs on her left side.
She was still alive. To kill her instantly, he had to pull the
point of the blade out from between her ribs and jam it up
through her viscera, into her heart. She dropped her long-sword,
grabbed his forearm, and used her elbow to press his hand and
his short-sword hilt guard against her ribs, preventing him from
backing it out. She brought her own short-sword around and cut
through his bicep. He lost control of his arm. Lucy’s weight
turned his blade down and she started to slide off onto the floor.
He still had some control of the sword with his forearm muscles.
She felt him trying to twist it. She hacked at his elbow joint. It
took two strikes to cut off his forearm. She fell on the floor and
pulled his sword out of her torso.
Ned looked at the blood spraying out of his elbow, then down
at her. He grinned. “You’re dying!” He turned and ran for the
placenta jars.
His arms were disabled, but he could still kick. Lucy saw
Charlotte pick up Catamount’s long-sword and start running, but
Ned would get to the pumps first. Lucy scrambled up, grabbed
her long-sword and ran after him. He had made a mess of her in-
 Gladiator Girl 317

sides, including probably nicking her descending aorta; she

could feel her abdomen distending as it filled with blood. She
tried to breathe, but coughed blood. Her lungs and chest cavity
had been punctured; she was drowning in her own blood, and her
lungs were collapsing.
Ned had a back tattoo. Lucy ran and focused on it to keep her
concentration. It was an image of a grizzly bear biting off the
head of a horse. It looked familiar. The guy from Pete’s Tattoo!
Ned reached Chrysanthemum’s pump. He kicked the attach-
ment for the tubes returning filtered amniotic fluid to her pla-
centa. It didn’t come off, but it started to leak. Lucy was losing
her balance; her vision was closing down. Ned raised his foot to
stomp on the fitting. Lucy stumbled and swung her long-sword
with both hands; it cut through his gluteal muscles. She collided
with him, and they both toppled over next to the pump.
Lucy saw feet arrive. She looked up and tried to say, “Save
her,” but all that came out was a gargle of blood. Then she died.
Part III
 Chapter 19
Aftermath

Lucy was bleeding all over the ringleader, Ned. Her mouth was
moving, but all that came out was blood and spittle. There wasn’t
enough air left in her lungs to cough. She looked up at Charlotte,
made eye contact, and died.
Ned’s glutei maximi were cut so deep he couldn’t control his
hip joints, but he was still kicking at Chrysanthemum’s pump
with his forelegs and pushing himself closer with what was left
of his arms. Charlotte rolled Lucy’s body off of Ned, then used
Catamount’s sword to cut his hamstrings.
“Jayzen! Contact your womb-atorium and get a recovery team
up here. Tell them to bring a portable placenta pump. And tell
them it’s an emergency.”
She crouched down next to Ned and pulled a strap from the
collection she had tucked behind her belt.
“What are you doing?” Ned said.
“I’m going to put tourniquets on your arms.”
“Leave me alone!” He started jerking his shoulders and flail-
ing his right elbow joint.
Charlotte held her sword in front of his face. “If you don’t
settle down, I’ll keep cutting muscles and tendons until you do.”
He stopped. She cinched up his arms with the tourniquets,
then pulled him away from the placenta jars.
322 R. H. Watson

“The womb-atorium people are on their way,” Jayzen said.

“Now call the police and tell them they can come in. Tell them
to bring ambulance teams for three trauma cases, two with
severed limbs. An S.O. officer, Samantha Villanueva, was trying
to contact Lucy. Try her first.”
“Why?”
“Because if the mansion doors give the police a hard time
about entering, her unit will be able to blow them off their
hinges. Make sure you tell her it’s OK to do so.
“After you call the police, do as Lucy said: put that fellow’s
hands and his foot in the ice cream cooler, and also this one’s
forearm. It’s over there.” She pointed to where Ned and Lucy
had had their sword fight.
The womb-atorium team rushed in through the double doors
at the back of the ballroom. They stared gap mouthed at the
broken and dead bodies spread around the floor.
“Quick,” Charlotte said, “Over here.” She waved and pointed
at Chrysanthemum’s jar. Its display was flagging emphatic warn-
ings. “Where’s your portable pump?”
“They’re both out for maintenance,” the matron’s aid leading
the team said. “Wait, these are them.” She reached Chrysan-
themum’s pump and switched it off. “This is bad, it’s been
pumping amniotic fluid onto the floor, not back into the jar. The
placenta is dying.”
“Then you have to put it in a womb, right?” Charlotte said.
“Yes, of course.” The aid spoke to another girl on her team.
“Take it to the Womb Room, as fast as you can. Let them know
you’re on your way and to start preparing a womb. Go.” The girl
picked up the jar, turned, and ran.
The team had one casket with them. “Put her in it,” Charlotte
pointed at Chrysanthemum’s body. “That’s her placenta you just
sent to a womb. How many more caskets do you have?”
“Five.”
“Good, you’ll need three more. Next load her.” She pointed at
 Gladiator Girl 323

Lucy’s body. “These two bodies and that placenta over there,”
she pointed at Lucy’s placenta jar, “ship them to the Laughing
Cherub as fast as you can, and make arrangements to transfer the
injured placenta to the Cherub as soon as possible.”
“We’re not authorized―”
“Jayzen,” Charlotte said.
“Do what she says,” Jayzen said.
“I want them on their way, or at least out of this room, before
the police arrive to arrest everyone and bog everything down
with paperwork. Once that’s accomplished, you’ll find two dead
bodyguards in the gallery out those doors.” She pointed at the
doors at the other end of the ballroom. “Pack them in the other
two caskets. I don’t know where they go. They work for Maxton
Verbeek, so you better do a good job.”
“And those two?” The matron’s aid pointed at the Noreens.
“They’re Twin Security’s problem.”
There was a distant boom from somewhere beyond the double
doors Charlotte and Jayzen had originally entered through.
“Sounds like the police. Hurry up.”
Charlotte looked around. That should do it.

Four weeks later, Lucy touched the stitches that held together the
cut across the bridge of her nose. “Ouch!” She was standing in
front of a mirror in Burning Desire’s locker room. She had
pealed the bandage back to look at the stitches. Both her eyes
were black and blue with a bruise that spread from her nose,
across the top of her cheeks, and up into her eye sockets.
“That’s too superficial for a womb stay,” Dita Hwang, the
club nurse, had said when she examined Lucy after her game in
Saturday’s match. She had snapped on her rubber gloves and dug
out her suture kit. “Do you want a local anesthetic?”
“No,” Lucy had said. A minute later she regretted her de-
cision, but not as much as Dita did.
“Stop whining,” Dita had said as she stitched up Lucy’s nose.
324 R. H. Watson

Samantha had confiscated Lucy’s swords as evidence. They

were the swords she had been given at the Academy on her sev-
enteenth birthday. They had been balanced just for her; the hilts
fit her hands and no one else’s. She had had the symbol of the
Northern Guide Star etched into their blade collars. Now they
were gone. The court would hold them for fifteen years along
with the other evidence in the Blood Boys Case.
She wanted to blame the loaner swords for losing her game,
but it was a lie. She didn’t trust herself any more. She shouldn’t
have been playing. The Auspicious Day charger had made a
quick flick at the side of her head and surprised her with a longer
reach than she had expected. Lucy jerked back and only received
a nick across her nose, but she lost her balance and fell against
the Goddess Temira, causing a foul. Play was stopped, and she
had to watch the charger, the one who had nicked her nose, stand
in the sweet spot and lop off Temira’s head.
I’m your center, with a fucking bloody nose, and you’re dead.
Back on the sideline Lucy had wiped the blood off her long-
sword, slipped it into its scabbard, and then thrown it against the
retaining wall. Bimini had actually gotten mad at her.
Serendipity had taken the field for the third game and won,
putting Burning Desire in the championship.
In the mirror, Lucy saw the reflection of Fausta walking be-
hind her. “Hey, Fausta, you got stitched up once. How long does
it take these fucking things to heal?”
“Forever,” Fausta said. “Didn’t you ever get sewn up when
you were a kid?”
I’m not going there. Not now that I have to be a real big sister,
instead of the one from hell.

The day after Lucy was reborn, thirteen days after the incident in
the Verbeek Mansion, she took a car from Pete’s Tattoo to the
Magistrate’s jail.
The jail was almost as cheery as a womb-atorium. The visita-
 Gladiator Girl 325

tion lounge was filled with comfortable chairs and sofas ar-
ranged around low tables. Lucy was shown to an armchair sitting
across a table from another armchair. A guard brought in Zack.
He didn’t seem as reserved as when he had shown up at the club.
“You’re all better.” He sat in the other chair.
“That’s the way rebirth works.”
“They’re worried I’m going to kill myself. They took my belt
and my shoe laces. They watch me eat so I don’t steal the knife
and fork.”
“Are you going to kill yourself?”
“If I was like you I couldn’t. If I tried, they’d stick me in one
of those wombs, whether I wanted them to or not.”
“You’re not like me,” Lucy said. “I don’t want to die.”
“You didn’t have to fight Grizzly, you could have run away.” He
started tapping his foot. “When you did fight, you could have killed
him, but you didn’t. Instead, he almost killed you, for good.”
“I don’t remember. We never remember the last minute or two
before we die.”
“You said you weren’t a killer,” Zack said. “I am.”
“No, you are not.”
“Yes I am. I killed Dad. You would have broken his arms and
legs and then called the police, but you weren’t there. You ran
away.” His foot stopped. “How come you ran away and left us,
but you didn’t run away from Grizzly?”
“It wasn’t the same. I wasn’t the same.”
“I know. You really are Lucy Star. You’re not my sister,
not anymore.”
“She’s not gone. I want her to come back, it’s just . . . I
can’t trust her.”
Zack laughed. “You’re crazier than me.”
“I guess I am. Zack, you are my brother.”
“No I’m not. I’m Debbie’s brother. If I’m going to be yours, I
need a new name, just like you. I want to be Ace.”
“What?”
326 R. H. Watson

“Ace Star.”
“That sounds kind of cornball.”
“So says Lucy Star.”
“I was ten years old when I made up my name. I guess it shows.”
Lucy could see Zack’s jaw muscles bulging and relaxing. He
was nervous. “Are you serious about this?” she said.
“Yes.”
She leaned forward. “Does Ace want to kill himself?”
“No.”
She glanced at the guard, then spoke quietly. “You’re going to
have to impersonate Zack for a while.”
“I can do that.”
“Crazy Zack.”
“That’s the only kind there is.”
Lucy stood up. “Can we hug?” she said to the guard. He
nodded. She stepped around the table. Zack stood up, and she
wrapped her arms around him and pulled him tight. She
stretched up on her tip-toes and kissed his cheek. “This isn’t
going to be easy. You’re either going to be in prison or an in-
stitution for a long time.”
“I can do it.”
“We can do it,” Lucy said. “I have to go and meet with
your advocate, but I’ll be back in a couple of days. See you
then, Ace Star.”
“See you,” Ace said.

Earlier that day, Lucy took a public car to Burning Desire to

meet with Coach Kai.
“Welcome back,” Coach Kai said. “Please, sit.”
“Thanks.” Lucy sat in the familiar, old chair in front of Coach
Kai’s desk.
“It must have been difficult,” Coach Kai said. “I’m sorry you
had to go through that, but we’re all impressed with how you
handled yourself.”
 Gladiator Girl 327

“I wanted to save my brother since the police couldn’t. That’s all.”

“How is he?”
“I’m going to the jail to visit him this afternoon, and then I’m
meeting with his advocate.”
“Don’t worry about your commitment to the club. We’ll give
you the time you need.”
“Thanks,” Lucy said. “The police took my swords.”
“Bimini has some you can use for now. The League is com-
missioning a new set. They’re planning a ceremony after the end
of the season to present them to you, and to honor your bravery
and poise.”
“Honor? Ned killed kids for honor. He believed Gunda’s
blood battle mystique. He wanted to be a warrior and die with
honor. He despised us because we didn’t. And guess what? He’s
right. We’re just a bunch of girls playing a game until we age-out
and finally have to grow up. Honor is bullshit. I’ll keep the new
swords in my locker.”
“The League won’t like that.”
“I’m not required to carry a sword off the field, just
strongly encouraged. I read my contract, even when I was
fourteen. One Ned is enough. I don’t want to ‘strongly en-
courage’ any more. Can we talk about something else? We lost
Saturday’s match, right?”
Coach Kai picked up a pencil, tapped her desk top a couple
of times, and set it down. She frowned. “Yes, we lost. Winning
would have put us in the championship. If we had won, I was
going to save you until then, but now our only chance is to win
the last match of the season, in two weeks. I’d like you to be
ready to play.”
“Got it. When’s my appointment at Pete’s?”
“As quickly as you can get there.”
They both stood. “I’m glad to have you back.” Coach Kai held
out her hand, and Lucy shook it. “And we’re all hoping for the
best for Chrissy.”
328 R. H. Watson

“Thanks,” Lucy said, then stopped halfway to the door. “Your

bio doesn’t make a big deal of it, but you used to be in the army.
Were you with the military rebirth program?”
“I can’t discuss that.”
“Do you know anything, things you can’t discuss, that could
have helped her?”
“I’m sorry,” Coach Kai said.
Lucy nodded. “I’ll be here at eight tomorrow.”

Seedy looking on the outside; spotless on the inside. Pete’s Tat-

too was always the same.
“Hey, Second Pete.”
“Hey, Lucy.”
“Hi, Todd.”
“Hi, Lucy.”
Todd had a client in his chair. The client started wiggling.
“Settle down, kid,” Todd said.
“Lucy! Hey, Lucy,” the client said. “It’s me, Neil.”
“Oh, crap,” Lucy said.
Neil sat up. “Look, I’m getting rid of my fox. I got it because
of that fucker, Grizzly. I don’t want to look at it any more.” He
twisted around to show her his shoulder. The fox was being ob-
literated by her portrait. She was smiling, and looking down and
to the side. Her signature was underneath, the way she signed it
for fans: with a five pointed star replacing the ‘t’ in ‘Star.’
“That’s my face from that fucking poster!”
“I tried to talk him out of it,” Todd said.
“I thought the League got those off the street.”
“Not before I bought one,” Neil said.
Lucy turned to Second Pete. “This is all your fault. You cursed
me when you bet on my outie. You said, ‘this time was going to
be different.’ No shit. It nearly got me and that kid killed.” She
pointed at Neil.
“I’m sorry,” Second Pete said, “but, I can’t curse.”
 Gladiator Girl 329

Lucy tightened her grip on her scabbard, but it wasn’t there.

She wasn’t carrying a sword. All she did was dig her fingers into
her palm. “He was here when you called my outie,” she said.
“Do you remember? Todd was tattooing his back.”
“Oh sweetie, I forgot about that. Come here.” Second Pete
held out his arms. Lucy bent down. He hugged her as best he
could from his chair. “I won’t make any bets on you, ever
again.”
She felt the weird hairs on his shoulder tickle her nose. “You
can bet, as long as you bet things will be better.”
“That’s a deal. Now, let’s see what you’ve got.”
Lucy straightened up, lifted her shirt, and quickly wiped her
eyes with her sleeve. Second Pete took a close look at her umbil-
ical stub. “I say outie again, but this time, a much better outie.”
“It better be,” Lucy said.

She went out the front entrance of the club. It was deep autumn,
and the evenings were cold. The first hit of chilly air usually
cleared her head, but this evening it made her cut nose and
bruised eye sockets ache. She walked to Alice’s Tea Shop.
At the counter, Mr. Fredrick nodded toward the back table.
Lucy looked and saw Maxton.
“He’s been waiting for you.”
“Why?”
Mr. Fredrick shrugged.
Lucy tapped the counter. “Cook up a demitasse of his infu-
sion, please.”
Lucy walked over to Maxton’s table and sat across from him.
“Hello,” she said. “Guess who’s not who they seem to be?”
“It’s a pleasure to see you again,” Maxton said. He pointed at
her nose and raised his eyebrows.
“I screwed up in my last game. The nurse wants it to heal the
old fashioned way.”
“It looks painful.”
330 R. H. Watson

“It feels a lot more painful than it looks.” She folded her arms
and studied him. “Where have you been?”
“I’ve had to temporarily take over management of some Ver-
beek interests. As you know, it’s impossible to completely walk
away from your family.”
“Do you want my sympathy?”
“Some understanding, perhaps.”
“Sorry, I don’t understand you people at all.” Lucy spilled
sugar onto the table from the shaker, then drew a five pointed
star in it, messed it up, and drew a smiley face. She brushed the
sugar off the table into her hand, unfolded a napkin from the dis-
penser, and brushed the sugar from her hand onto the napkin.
She folded it up, tight. “The news calls them, ‘the Blood Boys
Club.’ What really happened?”
“The police are still investigating.”
“But they’re not going to find anything more, are they? Ned
conned Madam Verbeek and tricked Jayzen. With Jayzen’s signa-
ture, he had access to the mansion, use of its facilities, and best
of all, anything he did fell under the Verbeek ‘no peeking al-
lowed’ blanket of protection. Ned is a sociopathic mastermind
with a death wish. Case closed.”
“That’s where the evidence points.”
“He wasn’t smart enough to pull it off.”
“He was convincing and dedicated. Often, that is enough.”
“Enough to be manipulated,” Lucy said. “Was Jayzen as inno-
cent as he claims?”
“He’s a naïve, self-centered boy, but thanks to you, he may fi-
nally be growing up.”
“I’m not sure growing up as a Verbeek is a good thing.”
“He was innocent, but none of us are ever as innocent as we
claim. Except you.”
“Fuck you,” Lucy said. “Who was pulling Ned’s strings?”
Maxton shrugged his shoulders.
“Was it you?”
 Gladiator Girl 331

“How would you know if I’m telling the truth?”

Mr. Fredrick brought over the demitasse of Maxton’s infusion;
Lucy picked it up. “I tried your tea once before. It tasted like
blood.” She took a sip, held it in her mouth for several seconds,
then swallowed. “It still does. Whose is it?”
“Not mine. It was from a long time ago.”
“Do you know I can taste the difference between people’s bloods?
It’s one of the perks of getting the occasional splatter in my mouth.
You wouldn’t believe how much money I make on bar bets.”
Maxton took a penknife out of his pocket, opened the blade
and poked his thumb with the tip. “Hold out your tongue.”
“What’s the wager?”
“The truth, as far as it goes.”
“As far as it goes?”
“Take it or leave it.”
Lucy tipped her head back and extended her tongue.
“How much do you need?” Maxton said.
“Jutht a few dropths.”
Maxton squeezed four drops of his blood onto her tongue,
then one more.
Lucy closed her mouth and considered the flavor. She moved
her tongue around to mix in some saliva, then stuck out her
tongue and used the napkin with the sugar folded into it to dab
the blood off. “You weren’t lying. It’s not your blood in the tea.
Who was pulling Ned’s strings?”
“It wasn’t me and it wasn’t Jayzen.”
“But you know who it was?”
“Yes.”
“Is that the family business you were managing?”
“Yes, it won’t happen again.”
“And that’s as far as the truth goes?”
“For now.”
Lucy turned around and waived to get Mr. Fredrick’s atten-
tion. She opened her mouth and made a wiping motion with her
332 R. H. Watson

hand. Mr. Fredrick brought over a glass of pallet cleanser. She

used it, dropped the sugar napkin into the glass, and handed it
back. “Thank you,” she said. “I’ll have a cup of tea, please―reg-
ular tea. I’ve had enough of myself for a while. And put it in a
take-away cup. I won’t be staying.” She turned back to Maxton.
“How’s Francine?”
“She’s fine. You girls always emerge from your wombs in per-
fect health.”
“Not always,” Lucy said.
“Ah, yes. I heard about your friend. You have my sympathy.”
Lucy stood up. “I’ve got to go. I need to spend time with real
people.”
“Francine has adopted you as her role model,” Maxton said.
“I hope you tried to talk her out of it.”
“She’s too headstrong to be talked out of anything she has set
her mind to, just like her role model.”
“Goodbye, Maxton,” Lucy said.
“Be seeing you,” Maxton said.
Lucy picked up her tea at the counter. The little bell above the
door jingled, once. On the sidewalk, she sent a request for a
peddle cab. She was meeting Charlotte for dinner and didn’t
want to be late.

Lucy drifted awake. She was wrapped in the soft terrycloth

towel. Her eyes began to focus on the familiar Recovery Ward.
Memories collected and condensed. “Chrissy!”
She fumbled with the latch for the recovery bed until the side
fell open. The bed was raised to standing height. She rolled onto
her belly, slipped off, pulled the towel around her, and tried to
walk. Her head swam; she held herself up with a hand on the bed.
Esther, the day shift matron, came in. “What are you doing?”
She rushed over and wrapped her arm around Lucy’s back.
“Take me to the Memory Vault,” Lucy said. “I’ve got to check
Chrissy’s placenta.”
 Gladiator Girl 333

“It’s not there,” Esther said.

Lucy grabbed two handfuls of her smock. “What about Chrissy?”
“They’re both in a womb.”
“For how long?”
“So far, eight days, nineteen hours.”
“But she just had her throat cut.”
“Lucy, please sit on the bed. You need to calm down.”
Esther lowered the bed so Lucy could sit, then raised it until
she was at eye level.
“Chrissy seems to be healing, but it’s taking longer than usual.
Her placenta nearly died when that crazy man damaged its
pump. We stored her in a refrigerated casket for three days to
give her placenta time to heal itself. It was making progress, but
after seventy-two hours we had to rejoin them. We’d used up all
of Chrissy’s safety margin.”
“Do you know when she’ll be out?”
Esther shook her head. “Her placenta has been severely comprom-
ised. We don’t know how long it will take, or if it can succeed.”
“I want to see her womb,” Lucy said.
“When you’ve recovered enough to be discharged.” Esther
handed her a glass of rebirth formula. “Drink up.” Lucy took a
sip. “Drink it all.” Lucy took another swallow.
“Your friend, Charlotte, is in the waiting room. Would you
like to see her?”
“Yes.”
The glass was empty when Charlotte came in. “I want to see
Chrissy’s womb, now,” Lucy said to her.
“It’s a long walk,” Ester said. “She should rest and give her
body time to absorb the formula.”
“Come on.” Charlotte helped her off the bed.
“You girls can be so stubborn,” Esther said. She took a robe
and slippers from a closet. “Put these on.”
They shuffled to the Womb Room. Charlotte helped steady
Lucy. Esther brought them to a womb near the far end.
334 R. H. Watson

Lucy shrugged out of Charlotte’s grip and rested her hands on

the womb. She leaned against it and pressed her cheek to its
corse flesh. “I put her here.”
Charlotte held Lucy’s shoulders and rested her cheek on top of
her head.
“What happened?” Lucy said. “The last thing I remember is
waiting for Ned to attack.”
“He attacked, and you took away his arms, but not before he
mortally wounded you. He tried to kick apart Chrissy’s pump,
you took away his legs. Then you died.”
“Could I have killed him?”
“You’re not a killer.”
“But if I had killed him, Chrissy’s placenta would have been
safe, and she would have been reborn by now?”
Charlotte squeezed her shoulders.
“I should have. I didn’t want to kill anyone, not even him. I
thought I could do it. What an arrogant bitch. And this is the result.”
Lucy pushed herself away from Chrysanthemum’s womb, for-
cing Charlotte to step back. “I’ve got to get out of here.” Char-
lotte tried to put her arm around Lucy, but she shrugged it off. “I
can walk on my own.”
 Chapter 20
Championship

Year Day was less than a week away. Heritage City was hosting
the North Coast Championships: The Beta League match in the
morning, and the Alpha League match in the afternoon.
On Tuesday, Coach Kai watched the guardian sword practice
from the safety of the Observation Theater. She called Bimini in
when the session ended.
“Can she play?”
“Her rote sword handling is as good as it has ever been,”
Bimini said, “but she has lost her instincts. She attempts to think
through everything. Her blades are always where they should
have been, never where they need to be. I won’t allow her to per-
form complex improvisations with a partner, or even alone. She
would likely kill her partner or injure herself. She is not capable
of playing a match game.”
Betty Kai looked into the empty Sword Practice room. “Did
we lose her?”
“I recommended you not play her in the last match. The res-
ults were disastrous.”
“You think it’s my fault?”
“We have to accept the consequences of our decisions,”
Bimini said. “I should have resigned in protest, but I held out
hope I was wrong.”
336 R. H. Watson

During lunch Coach Kai announced a change to the match

roster for the championship against Sublime Harmony: Serendip-
ity would still play the first game and Sandeep the third, if
needed, but Frankie would replace Lucy in the second. Lucy
would be the standby guardian and play if one of the others
couldn’t.
The North Coast Beta Championship had sold out faster than
the Alpha Championship. Everyone wanted to see the guardian
who had taken down the Blood Boys Club. Coach Kai knew the
fans were not going to like her decision.

At one thirty-six Saturday morning an alarm howled through the

Laughing Cherub. In the Monitor Room, Chrysanthemum’s dis-
plays were flagging alerts: Her placenta’s heart had stopped
pumping. Its brain was failing. It was hemorrhaging and dump-
ing Chrysanthemum’s blood into the amniotic sac.
“No,” Mary said, “we’re so close.” Chrysanthemum’s body
had finished healing almost two weeks ago. Since then the pla-
centa maintained her health while it audited and synchronized
memories, and updated its reservoir of everything Chrysan-
themum to include her newest experiences. The process was al-
most complete. The placenta was dismantling the nervous con-
nections it had made with Chrysanthemum’s spinal cord and
brain stem, while performing its final memory tweaks. The latest
guess for this agonizing gestation put Chrysanthemum’s rebirth
at about thirty-six hours away.
Mary jumped out of her chair and ran to the Womb Room.
The big red ‘Off’ pad for the alarm was on the monitor console
next to the womb. She pressed it with her open hand.
Chrysanthemum’s placenta was inert, her blood pressure was
dropping, and her oxygenation levels were crashing.
“We have to cut her out,” Mary said to the matron’s aids who
were arriving. Two aids brought over a birth basin, another
pushed in a gurney, a third charged the resuscitator. Vesper ar-
 Gladiator Girl 337

rived with the placenta jar. Mary broke the sterilization seal on
an excision knife and opened the large blade; its shape allowed
her to cut through the fleshy wall of the womb without harming
Chrysanthemum’s amniotic sac. She cut the womb wide open
with three quick incisions, then flipped open the small blade and
cut the sac. Chrysanthemum spilled into her arms. Mary lowered
her to the birth basin and clamped off her umbilical to stop the
blood loss. She stuck a rubber gasket between her teeth to pre-
vent her from biting, then reached into her mouth and cleared the
mucous plug out of the back of her throat.
Everyone held their breath . . .
Mary was about to call for resuscitation when Chrysan-
themum sucked in air and coughed.

“I’m very dizzy!” The matron helped her sit up on the recovery
bed. “Oh!” she started to tip over despite trying to hold herself
up with her arms. “And weak. Did something go wrong?”
The matron held her up. “Do you remember what happened
before you died?”
“Yes. I think I do. There was a big room. The most beautiful
room I’ve ever seen. It was like something out of a fairy tale. I re-
member those men who wanted to use me to force her to fight them.
I told them it would never work. And there were unicorns―”
“Unicorns?”
“Papier mâché unicorns. One of the last things I remember is
looking up at them, they were hanging from the ceiling. And I re-
member her eyes.”
“Who’s eyes?”
“My guardian’s. She must have saved me. Did she? I’m here,
so she must have. What happened to her? Is she all right?”
“Lucy’s fine. She was reborn three weeks ago.”
“Who?”
“Lucy, Lucy Star. That’s who you’re talking about, isn’t it?”
“I . . . Yes, Lucy.”
338 R. H. Watson

The matron moved in front of her. “Do you know who I am?”
“Of course I do.”
“Do you know my name?”
“No, should I?”
“I’m Mary. Do you know my name now?”
“You just told me.”
“What’s my name?” Mary said and got back a playful smirk.
“Humor me.”
“Mary.”
“Now tell me your name,” Mary said.
“Why would I need a name?”
“Your name is Chrysanthemum. Your friends call you Chrissy.”
“Now that you mention it, why wouldn’t I have a name?”
Chrysanthemum said. “Wait, something did go wrong. You think
my memory is damaged. You said my guardian, Lucy, was re-
born almost a month ago? How long was I gestating?”
“Thirty-four days, five hours, forty-eight minutes.”
“What happened to me?”
“It’s not what happened to you, it’s what happened to your
placenta. The night you died, it was badly injured.”
“How is it now?”
“It wasn’t able to heal both you and itself,” Mary said. “It
failed this morning. Your memory synchronization was almost
complete. We had to pull you out of the womb or you would
have died. We put your placenta back in a womb to give it a
chance to revive, but it was too late.”
“That’s it then?” Chrysanthemum said. “This was my last re-
birth? I have damaged memories, and my poor little dopple-girl
is dead?”
“There are experts here from The Rebirth Institute.”
“To see what they can learn from the holes in my mind and
from my dead placenta? I think I need you to give me a hug.”
Mary enveloped her. “Lucy did everything she could to save
you both.”
 Gladiator Girl 339

“I expect she did everything she could to save everybody. I

might not have remembered her name, but I remember her.”
Chrysanthemum held onto Mary for a while, then let go and
sat up straight. “Enough of this,” she said. “I need to talk to
Lucy’s friend. You know, her roommate, the fencer.”
“Charlotte Marceau?”
“Yes, Charlotte. Wait, did anything happen to her?”
“Not as far as I know.”
“Thank goodness. Can you put through a request to her for
me? It’s urgent. Then let’s get those experts in here and figure
out what’s missing from my head.”

Saturday, the day before the championship match, was all about man-
aging the players’ emotions so they peaked on the field the next day.
The butterfly bruise across Lucy’s nose and eyes had disap-
peared; the stitches were gone, and a thin pink line of scar tissue
was all that was left of the cut across the bridge of her nose.
The guardians walked to the cafeteria after sword practice.
Chenina was lingering by the swinging doors. She intercepted
Lucy. “She’ll catch up in a minute,” she said to the other guardi-
ans and pulled her around the corner.
“Chrissy was reborn this morning, early,” Chenina said.
“How is she?” That should have been a dumb question. The
only answer ought to be, “Fine.”
“No one knows. There are all kinds of rumors. You shouldn’t
believe any of them.”
“What are they saying?”
“That her placenta died. That she had to be cut out of her
womb. That she was born with only part of her memory, or with
none at all. That the scientists from the Rebirth Institute want to
take her back to their laboratories.”
“Is any of it true?”
“I can’t say for sure, but this morning, before practice, I over-
heard Monica, our supervisor. She was talking to Coach Kai. She
340 R. H. Watson

said they would have to treat Chrissy like any other goddess who
aged-out.”
“It’s not much to go on,” Lucy said.
“I know. The main thing is, don’t get upset about the talk.”
“Thanks. You know, when I walk in that cafeteria, they’ll all
be watching to see if I’m finally going to crack. One of these
days I should, just to watch them squeal and run.”
“I wouldn’t run,” Chenina said.
“I know you wouldn’t.”

Lucy put the loaner swords in her locker. After the throwing in-
cident, she decided to treat them with respect. After all, they had
been made for a guardian and bore a personal mark etched into
their blade collars.
Lucy left through the front lobby to avoid fans, or so she told her-
self, but really, to avoid her club mates. It was dark out and cold. She
pushed open the door and almost collided with Chrysanthemum.
“Howdy stranger,” Chrysanthemum said. She was dressed in a
combination of colorful handmade knitwear and second hand
frump. She acknowledged the season with a warm coat that had
an unkempt wool collar and with rainbow colored knit mittens
instead of gloves. She held out a cup of tea from Alice’s Tea
Shop. “Here.”
Lucy took the cup.
“That’s my infusion,” Chrysanthemum said. She lifted another
cup, “and this is yours. I still haven’t tried it. I wanted to look
into your eyes when I did.” She took a drink and watched Lucy
while she held the tea in her mouth, then she closed her eyes and
swallowed. She opened her eyes wide. “What have you been do-
ing to yourself?”
“You’re okay!” Lucy wanted to grab Chrysanthemum, but she
had this fucking cup of Chrissy tea in her hand. “They said your
memory was gone, your placenta was dead, you had to be cut out
of your womb!”
 Gladiator Girl 341

“Most of that’s true,” Chrysanthemum said. “My placenta

died, early this morning. Mary did have to cut me out.”
“I’m sorry,” Lucy said.
“And my memory is a bit screwy.”
“What do you mean?”
“So far, I can’t remember peoples’ names. Not until I’m told
what they are.”
“Do you know who I am?” Lucy said.
“I’m talking to you, aren’t I? Yours was the first name I was told.”
“You remember everyone, but not their names?”
“A cognitive psychiatrist from the Rebirth Institute spent all
day asking me questions to start mapping the missing parts. She
said I actually know everyone’s name, but the pointers to the in-
formation have been randomized.
“She asked me to write down facts about my friends and fam-
ily. I could write their birthdays, ages, sex, height, hair and eye
color . . . but not their names. As soon as she told me the correct
name, I could remember. I can’t be tricked by a wrong name; I
know it’s wrong. That’s why she thinks I haven’t actually forgot-
ten the names.”
Chrysanthemum looked at the lid of her cup.
“What’s wrong?” Lucy said.
“The doctors on the Institute team know how to hide their
concerns, but the scientists are pathetic; they’re excited. They ex-
pect there’s more . . . missing.” She looked up. “We talk about
memories, but you know there’s so much more to it. Our girls
preserve us, all of us. If she wasn’t finished, I may not just be
missing names and facts, I may be missing part of who I am.”
“But they let you leave, so it can’t be that bad, right?”
“They couldn’t make me stay. Thad was there; he made sure
they understood that. Sometimes I think he’d make a better ad-
vocate than surgeon.
“I’ll go back, but I had to see you. You must know that.”
Chrysanthemum tapped the cup Lucy was holding. “Drink me.”
342 R. H. Watson

“Huh? Oh.” Lucy took a drink. The flavor didn’t sneak up like
the first time. It was immediate, tasting exactly like Chrissy, just
like the scent Lucy had inhaled in the washroom of the Potato
Bar. She was about to swallow, when the taste shifted to a dark
unsweetened licorice. It was bitter, but compelling. She was sure
this was what Chrissy’s vagina would taste like, at this very mo-
ment. A coppery flavor of blood slid in. Not the bloody metaphor
of power and violence that dominated Maxton’s tea. This was
something else, a difficult flavor to accept, an important one to
cultivate a taste for. Chrissy had lost her ability to be reborn.
Within six months her menstrual cycle would return. Lucy rolled
her tongue around in the tea and wanted to be there when it
happened. She swallowed.
“Well?”
“Not at all like the first time I tried it,” Lucy said. “I really
want to give you a hug.”
“Please.”
She took Chrysanthemum’s cup, set it and hers on the pave-
ment, and held her close. Some of the wool from Chrysan-
themum’s coat got in Lucy’s mouth; she didn’t care.
“We’ll be burying her next week, in the orchard at the
Academy,” Chrysanthemum said. “I’d like you to be there.”
“Of course.” Lucy hugged her tighter. “I’m sorry I let this
happen to you.”
Chrysanthemum pushed back and took Lucy’s face in her hands.
“Stop that. This isn’t your fault. And look at me—there are issues,
yes—but I’m mostly healed.” She wrapped her arms around Lucy’s
neck and spoke into her ear. “However, you’re not.”
“Huh?”
“I talked to Charlotte. You’re fucked up.”
“I’m off, a bit, sure,” Lucy said. “The police confiscated my
swords, and the loaners Bimini gave me don’t feel right, but . . .
Did Charlotte really say that?”
“No, she never would. I could hear the worry in her voice.
 Gladiator Girl 343

She’s afraid you’ve been broken. She’s a remarkable friend.

She’ll do everything she can to protect you and keep you safe,
but that’s exactly what you don’t need.”
Chrysanthemum stepped back. “Come on.” She grabbed
Lucy’s hand and pulled on the front door. It was locked. “I don’t
have my key.”
Lucy rubbed her key against the door frame. Chrysanthemum
was still pulling on the handle. It opened. She dragged Lucy in.
“What about the teas?” Lucy said.
“We’ll get them on the way out.” Chrysanthemum pulled
Lucy down the hall, into the locker room, and up to her locker.
“Get changed, light sword practice clothing: shorts, t-shirt and
short-sword harness. Do you have any extras? I don’t want to run
up to the goddess suite.”
“What are we doing?” Lucy said. She handed Chrysanthemum
a pair of shorts and a t-shirt.
“Do you remember the guardian-goddess exercise? We’re go-
ing to do it again.”
“No! You’re not protected any more. I could kill you. If I even
nicked you, you could end up with a permanent scar.”
“You’re not going to hurt me.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do, because I expect you to go very slow, and not take any
chances. I don’t want to see any of your arrogant self-confid-
ence. I want you to be so afraid of hurting me that you’re crap-
ping in your shorts.”
They finished changing. “Are those the loaner swords?”
Chrysanthemum lifted the long-sword out of Lucy’s locker.
“They look like good weapons.”
“They were custom made for a guardian,” Lucy said. “I don’t
know for who, or why Bimini had them.”
Chrysanthemum looked at the symbol etched in the blade col-
lar. “I know whose they are.” She held up the sword and pointed
at the symbol. “Don’t you recognize this?”
344 R. H. Watson

Lucy shook her head.

“The earrings that police officer was wearing at the Potato Bar?”
“Samantha?” Lucy said.
“Yes, Samantha. Each earring was a half circle. You’re the one
who saw the trick, how their dividing lines were slightly curved so
they could only fit together one way to form the full circle. Well,
here it is.” Chrysanthemum tapped the blade collar. “She said she
refused to accept her guardian swords when she switched to police
Special Operations. Bimini’s been holding them ever since.”
Lucy took the sword and ran her finger down the not quite
straight lines that bisected the circle.

Everyone was gone. The Burning Desire training facility was si-
lent except for the whisper of ventilation and the random, ‘ting,’
of the building adjusting to the dropping outside temperature.
Bimini always stayed late to attend to her own skills; a cham-
pionship match the next day didn’t make any difference. She
walked around the curve of the corridor and saw the door to the
Sword Practice room close. She opened it enough to see in.
Chrysanthemum was standing face-to-face with Lucy: eyes
closed, hands pressed together. Lucy was holding her swords,
unsheathed. She held her short-sword to the side and tapped
Chrysanthemum’s shoulder with her long-sword. They began the
guardian-goddess improvisation.
This was incredibly dangerous. The morning report from the
Laughing Cherub had said Chrysanthemum’s placenta was dead.
Bimini hesitated, then backed out of the door, closing it without
a sound. She walked around to the Observation Theater and
watched through the oneway window.

Lucy pulled the practice room door closed. “This is crazy,” she
said. “You’re womb weak. Your reflexes will be off.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Chrysanthemum said. She walked to the
center of the wooden floor. “The guardian-goddess exercise is
 Gladiator Girl 345

about trust in the guardian. For it to work, we both need to trust

that you can perform the exercise with all its inherent aggression
and not harm me. Your reflexes are important, not mine.”
Chrysanthemum stood with her feet parallel. She closed her
eyes, pressed the palms of her hands together, and breathed out,
relaxing as the air left her lungs. Lucy unsheathed her long-
sword and walked onto the floor to face Chrysanthemum. She
drew her short-sword and lifted it out to the side. She brought
her long-sword up, touched Chrysanthemum’s shoulder, and lif-
ted it away. They began to move: Lucy with her eyes open,
Chrysanthemum with her eyes closed.
Lucy wasn’t surprised how much a trained goddess could
sense with her eyes closed. On the temple, her own senses were
acutely tuned to approaching threats. She could feel the air
shifting as it was displaced by bodies and blades. The temple
pyramid was solid, but she could feel it vibrate with the move-
ments of her opponents. She could smell their sweat and if they
were wounded, taste their blood. She knew she was smelling
the blood, but it came to her as taste. As the blood spilled in a
game, her mouth would water. Even before hearing or feeling a
bleeding charger trying to sneak up from behind, she could
taste her.
“Oh, fuck!” Lucy said. Her sword had swung too close to
Chrysanthemum’s hand.
“What?” Chrysanthemum said.
“I was daydreaming.”
“You were doing fine until just now, maybe you should day-
dream more. What were you thinking about?”
They continued the exercise as they talked.
“About how alive I feel on the temple. All my senses are hot
and feel like they’re working way beyond the range they’re sup-
posed to. It’s like they’re merging into some sort of super sense.”
“A synesthetic perfect storm,” Chrysanthemum said. “That
must be how Bimini’s kinesthetic intelligence senses the world.
346 R. H. Watson

Sensing is knowing is doing. It’s all one thing, like not recogniz-
ing a weakness until you attack it.”
They were moving fast enough to play with the tempo. They
slowed down, sped up, came to a stop, and then picked up again
with a burst of activity. With only two of them in the room, they
used the whole space. Sometimes running; sometimes spiraling
around each other, and moving in and out of sword range.
Chrysanthemum slipped between Lucy’s blades and around to
her back. She opened her eyes and spoke over Lucy’s shoulder,
next to her ear. “Charlotte told me what happened after I died.”
“I almost got you killed is what happened. You said you trus-
ted me with your life, and I almost got you really killed.”
“You almost got yourself ‘really’ killed too. If you had col-
lapsed a second earlier, you wouldn’t have stopped Ned, and he
would have destroyed both our placentas.”
“I should have killed him. I do it all the time. He didn’t have
anywhere near the skill he thought he had. He’s a serial killer. He
deserved to die.”
Chrysanthemum circled back into the fury of Lucy’s swords.
“You don’t do anything of the sort all the time. You’ve never
killed anyone, ever.”
“I should have,” Lucy said. She wasn’t looking at Chrysan-
themum. Her swords sped up. They made the surrounding air
deadly, while carving a safe space around Chrysanthemum.
“Who should you have killed?”
“Him,” Lucy said.
“Your father?”
“Yes.” Lucy swung her long-sword horizontally just above
Chrysanthemum’s head while cutting the air in the opposite dir-
ection with her short-sword just in front of her belly. The sword
nicked a loose fold of her t-shirt. “Instead, I ran away and made
my brother do it.”
“That’s not what you told him―your brother. You told him it
was your father’s fault. I’m sorry, what’s your brother’s name?”
 Gladiator Girl 347

“Ace.”
“No it’s not.”
Lucy laughed. “It is now. He says if he’s going to be my
brother, he wants to change his name to Ace Star.”
“Ace Star. I like it,” Chrysanthemum said. “His name was Zack,
huh. Telling me his new name fixed my memory of his old name.
My cognitive psych will want to hear about that. Where was I?”
“I think you were going to tell me to stop feeling guilty. That’s
what the shrinks always say. We try to do the best we can, but
everything we do has consequences, right?
“Those consequences are the scars we live with for the rest of
our lives. Wombs don’t heal them. Guilt is a kind of wishful
thinking―if only we had done something different, things would
have turned out better, but we didn’t, and they didn’t. You trusted
me and I fucked up. I can’t wish that away.”
“Charlotte remembers me saying I trusted you with my
whole life.”
“I don’t see the difference,” Lucy said.
Chrysanthemum walked up to Lucy through the swirl of her
swords. “It means I knew my whole life might have ended that
night.” She pushed Lucy, forcing her to step back. “It means I
knew you were going to do everything you could, including dy-
ing, to try and save me and everyone else―which you did.” She
pushed Lucy again. “It means I understood you might not suc-
ceed, because you’re not some fantasy fucking super girl. You’re
Lucy Star―an amazing girl, but still, a girl, and not a killer.” She
pushed Lucy so hard she nearly lost her footing. “You couldn’t
bring yourself to kill Ned. Because of that, I almost died.” She
pushed Lucy again. “And you almost died.” She pushed her
again, then stepped right up to Lucy’s face. “You almost screwed
everything up!” She hooked her foot behind Lucy’s leg and
pushed, tripping her so they both fell. Chrysanthemum landed on
top of Lucy. “I don’t know about you, but I can live with that,
because I’m still alive, you’re still alive, and I want my life to
348 R. H. Watson

have you in it.” She kissed Lucy, then stopped and looked at her.
Lucy nodded. Chrysanthemum undid the buckles on Lucy’s
sword harness, then pushed her t-shirt over her head and along
her arms. “This is where you either lose the swords or use them
to cut off our clothes.”

Bimini watched Lucy and Chrysanthemum develop the exercise.

They started slow and picked up speed as they learned to trust
each other. They used the full room, giving the exercise the feel
of choreography.
Bimini realized they were talking. As the exercise became
more complex, requiring full concentration, their conversation
became more animated. They had become caught up in what
they were talking about even as their bodies drove the exercise at
a life-threatening pace. She wanted to stop them, but it was too
late, by now any distraction would be more dangerous than let-
ting them continue.
Chrysanthemum walked up to Lucy and pushed her, then she
did it again, and again, even as Lucy continued lacerating the
surrounding space. Finally, Chrysanthemum tripped Lucy, and
the exercise was over. But it wasn’t . . . Bimini left the Observa-
tion Theater and made sure the door was locked.
She walked down the corridor and sent an emergency request
to Coach Kai.
“What is it?” Betty Kai said.
“Keep your voice down,” Bimini said.
“What’s wrong?” Betty spoke in a half whisper.
“You need to put Lucy back in the game.”
“Did something happen to Frankie?”
“No, something happened to Lucy. Chrysanthemum is here, at
the club―”
“How is she?”
“She appears to be in excellent health despite her extended gesta-
tion. I just watched them perform the guardian-goddess exercise.”
 Gladiator Girl 349

“With practice sticks, I hope.”

“With real blades.”
“How could you―”
“They had already started when I found them.” Bimini
reached the equipment storeroom. She unlocked the door and
went in. “I watched from the Observation Theater. They reached
a level of execution beyond anything I have seen.” Bimini came
out of the storeroom, locked the door, and walked back toward
the practice room.
“Frankie’s not going to like getting bumped to standby,”
Betty said.
“That’s not a reason to leave her in the game.”
“I know, I’m just thinking about how to break it to her.”
“With your permission, I’ll tell Lucy, as soon as she and
Chrysanthemum are finished.”
“They’re still performing the exercise?”
“They have moved on to a more intimate version.”
“Ah,” Betty said. “Well, good for them.” She closed the
contact.
Bimini waited a discrete distance from the practice room.
Eventually Lucy peeked out. She was holding a bundle of shred-
ded clothing under her arm. Bimini walked over and handed her
the two athletic suits she had gotten from the storeroom. “I’d like
to speak to you both when you’re dressed,” she said.

Lucy cut off their clothes with her short-sword, then pushed both
weapons as far away as she could reach. Chrysanthemum kissed
her forehead, the tip of her nose, and her mouth.
“Oh, wow,” Lucy said.
“What is it?”
“Do you remember that dream I had, on the overnight return
from the Beauty Incarnate match?”
“Of course, it only seems like a few days ago to me.”
“This is it.”
350 R. H. Watson

“Yes, you told us all about it,” Chrysanthemum shifted to the

side and slid her hand across Lucy’s hip, “but you left out the most
important part. You didn’t tell us it was a dream about love.”
Lucy touched Chrysanthemum’s cheek and neck. “It was com-
plicated, crazy. We had a daughter.”
“I know. Despite everything that happened to you, you
dreamed about nurturing a child.” Chrysanthemum ran her fin-
gers around the curve of Lucy’s ear, then massaged her earlobe
between her thumb and middle finger. “I was besotted with you
the first time we were in a game together. You were singular
among the other guardians, and you didn’t see me at all because
of the goddess-guardian embargo. I tried to subvert it, but you
were impenetrable, then on the trip to Appalachi City, Coach Kai
virtually handed you to me. At first, I was so little-girl excited
that I felt foolish. Then we talked. And then you seduced me on
the temple.” She pinched Lucy’s earlobe.
“Ow!” Lucy said.
“By the time you told me about your dream, I was in love.”
“In the dream, you killed a monster,” Lucy said. “If you
hadn’t, it would have swallowed Toshi, me, everything.”
“You don’t have to fight your monsters alone; I told you that.
Send them to me. We’ll kill them together.”
Lucy’s throat tightened; she felt herself choke, then something
that had been there forever let go and was replaced by the giddy
delirium from the temple. “Okay,” she said, “you’ve got a deal.”
Lucy kissed Chrysanthemum and drifted her fingers down to
her genitals, brought them up to her mouth, and tasted them.
“There’s got to be more to Mr. Fredrick’s tea than hallucinogens.”
Chrysanthemum tasted her own fingers. “I think you’re right.”
She pressed them into Lucy’s mouth.

After a while, Lucy crawled up, rested her hands on Chrysan-

themum’s breasts, and propped herself on her elbows to look in
her eyes.
 Gladiator Girl 351

“What is it?” Chrysanthemum said.

“I’ve been thinking some more about my dream . . .”
“Yes?”
Lucy grinned. “I am so glad I don’t have to pee.”
“Too bad, because if you did, I’d be triply honored―”
Lucy put her hand over Chrysanthemum’s mouth. “No. Don’t
you dare!” They broke into a giggle fit.
“Oh. Ow,” Chrysanthemum tried to choke off her giggles.
“That’s making my umbilical stump hurt.”
Lucy crawled down and kissed the fresh stub. She kept going,
chewed on the ends of some of Chrysanthemum’s pubic hairs,
then sucked on the soft tissue below her pubis.
“Ahh . . .” Chrysanthemum said, then, “Ah!” Her back
arched. Her buttocks clenched. The muscles in her legs and feet
quivered, then contracted. “Anuugh!” She slapped her leg.
“Cramp!”
Lucy put her hand on Chrysanthemum’s thigh. “Here?”
“Uh-uh. Lower.” Lucy put her hand on her calf. “Uh-huh.”
She pressed down on Chrysanthemum’s knee and flexed her foot
to stretch the muscle. Chrysanthemum’s back arched again.
“Anuugh!” Lucy held her knee to prevent another cramp.
After a few more spasms Lucy said, “How’s your leg?”
Chrysanthemum nodded. “Better. Anuugh! Is this one of those
rebirth orgasms?”
“I think so,” Lucy said.
“They’re real?”
“What do you think?”
“We get beheaded with such clean cuts, we’re never in a
womb for more than five or six days. I’ve wondered about some
especially good orgasms after rebirth, but this . . . this is frighten-
ing. Anuugh! How long does it go on?”
“I don’t know, everybody’s different, and you were in a womb
for five weeks. I’ve got nothing to compare to that. Maybe it’ll
be like one of those cases of hiccups that never go away.”
352 R. H. Watson

“That’s not funny. I think it’s―ugh―mostly over.”

Lucy crawled up and pressed the back of her hand against
Chrysanthemum’s cheek. “You’re hot. That really revved up
your metabolism.” She pulled Chrysanthemum’s hair off her wet
forehead. “I think we should move to the Winnebago Graveyard
while you’re recovering.”
“Charlotte won’t mind?”
“No, we have a deal. Do you think you can walk?”
“I think so,” Chrysanthemum said.
Lucy collected their shredded clothes and used them to wipe
up the floor, then tucked them under her arm. “I’ll see if any-
one’s out there.”

She shut off her alarm a minute before it was scheduled to shake
her awake, then rolled out of the dinette bed and went into the
shower room. When she came out, she put on her blue and or-
ange frog robe and knocked on the bedroom door. There was no
response. She opened the door and whispered, “Are you awake?”
“Um, Yes,” Charlotte said.
“Alone?”
“Yes.”
Lucy went in and sat on the bed.
“Did you see who’s out there?”
“More heard than saw.” Charlotte was waking up.
“Sorry about that. So, what do you think?”
“About what?”
“About her.” Lucy looked at the bedroom wall in the direction
of the dinette bed. “She says she’s in love with me.”
“That’s wonderful!”
“Is it?”
“Yes, it is.”
“But what do I do about it?”
Charlotte laughed.
“This isn’t funny,” Lucy said.
 Gladiator Girl 353

“I don’t think it’s something you do something about,”

Charlotte said. “Tell me about her.”
“I don’t know that much. You probably know her better than I
do. From your Xen Center.”
“Tell me anyway.”
Lucy held up her hands, curled over her fingers, and looked at
her fingernails. “I like her hands.” She grinned at Charlotte. “I
really like her hands.”
“There, you see? I didn’t know that.”
“She’s the most exciting person I know―completely unpre-
dictable. I don’t know what she’s going to do next, and I can’t
wait to find out.”
Charlotte sat up. “So, who’s in love with who?”
“Aw, crap.” Lucy flopped backward onto the bed. “Yes,” She said.
“That wasn’t a yes-or-no question.”
“It kind of was. Well, maybe it was a maybe question.”
“Let’s stick with, yes,” Charlotte said. “You’ve never been in
love before, have you?”
Lucy hiked herself up on her elbows. “Yeah, sure, well . . .”
“That was a no question.”
She flopped back down. “Fuck. What do I do about that?”
“Now you find out what it’s like.”
“That’s it? With all your lovers? That’s the best advice
you’ve got?”
“You’re on your own with this one. I’ve never been in love.”
“But, your supposed to be my rock, for this sort of thing.”
Lucy got up and paced the two steps across the bedroom, and the
two steps back. She stood in front of Charlotte.
“Well,” Charlotte said. “I could give you the oldest, corniest
advice in the world . . .”
“Yes, please. Anything.”
“Follow your heart.”
Lucy blinked, then crawled onto the bed and hugged her.
“That is so corny,” she said. “Thank you.” She hopped off the
354 R. H. Watson

bed and opened the door, but stopped and turned. “Oh, guess
what? I’m playing in the championship today.”
“That’s fantastic. What happened?”
Lucy looked out the door at Chrysanthemum. She was
asleep, wrapped in the bed sheet and blanket; her leg was
twitching in sympathy to a dream. “I thought I’d lost her. I
thought I’d lost everything. I gave up. I tried not to, but I
couldn’t fight it.” She blinked, and a tear edged its way down
her cheek, around the corner of her mouth, and hung on tena-
ciously at her jaw line. “And then, last night . . . She made me
want to live again.”
Charlotte slipped off the bed and put her arm around Lucy’s
shoulder. “He almost won,” Lucy said.
“Ned?”
She shook her head. “My father. Octavius. Octavius Butler
Knole. What a dopey name.” Lucy looked up at Charlotte, hugged
her, then left the bedroom. Charlotte closed the door.

Lucy rolled onto the dinette bed and rested on her elbow.
“What time is it?” Chrysanthemum stretched herself awake.
“Seven fifteen.” There was a bit of dried crust in the corner of
Chrysanthemum’s eye. Lucy bent down and licked it out.
Chrysanthemum squinted up. “Can anyone see in through
that?” She pointed at the skylight.
“Nope, it’s one-way. Frosted on the outside.”
“Mmm, one-way frosting, sounds yummy.”
Lucy lay back and looked out the skylight. Chrysanthemum
pulled Lucy’s robe open and rested her head on her shoulder. She
licked her finger and drew a slick of saliva around Lucy’s nipple
making the areola shiny for a few seconds.
“I’ve been thinking,” Lucy said, “about how our girls work.
How they absorb all our memories, keep them safe, and put them
back if we lose some of them. It’s beyond amazing that they can
do that, but all those memories—they’re not us. They’re our
 Gladiator Girl 355

stuff. We can loose a lot of stuff and still be us. Your poor dam-
aged girl lost some of your stuff, and you’re worried she may
have lost some of who you are along with it. I don’t think that’s
possible, because I don’t think she ever had . . . you.
“I think, when we’re with them, they learn who we are, and
when they fix us, they remind us who that is and help us find the
person they remember us to be.
“Our girls are in love with us, and while we’re in a womb
with them, we’re lovers. Like that thing you said. ‘We’re their
center and they’re our existence.’”
“I said that?” Chrysanthemum said.
“It was in a book you read. Ask Bethany about it. She’s a
charger who was in our cabin for the outbound trip to Appala-
chi City. The thing is, your girl must have known she was dy-
ing. I think she made sure you could finish fixing yourself, if
she couldn’t.” Lucy licked her finger and drew her own shiny
circle around the stub of Chrysanthemum’s umbilical. “Believe
in your girl, and if some of you is lost, you’ll get it back. It’s
spread among everyone who knows you.”
Chrysanthemum reached up and cupped Lucy’s cheek. “How
do you do that?”
“Do what?”
“You hand out courage like it’s the most common thing.”
“I don’t know what―”
Chrysanthemum put her finger on Lucy’s lips. “Shh,” she
whispered.

Not too much later, Lucy sat up. “I’ve got to go,” she said.
“Championship match, you know?”
Chrysanthemum sat up, too. “I’d like to see it. I’ve never actu-
ally watched a whole match.”
“Really?”
“We were encouraged to remain aloof and not become in-
volved in the fortunes of the club; sound familiar?”
356 R. H. Watson

“That’s changed. Chenina even bought a souvenir guard’s

breast plate.” Chrysanthemum didn’t react. “She’s is one of the
goddesses. You know her.” Lucy said.
“Oh, yes,” Chrysanthemum said. “She did?”
“No, but she and two of the other goddesses will be in the
stands watching from the club seats. You’re still a member of
Burning Desire. You can join them.”
Chrysanthemum took Lucy’s hand. “I’d like Thad to be there.
We talked about you the other night―I mean five weeks
ago―after the Potato Bar, and he was at the Cherub yesterday.
He knows how I feel about you.”
Lucy combed through Chrysanthemum’s hair, slid her hand
down to her hip, and back up to her arm. “He can’t sit with the
club. Club seats are just for club members, but I get four family
and friends tickets, one of the perks of being a guardian. I always
give two to Charlotte and throw the other two away. You can use
them. Charlotte can tell you how to collect them at the stadium.”
Lucy put her free hand on top of Chrysanthemum’s. “But if I sur-
vive the match, I don’t want to meet him again―not yet, not
today. Is that okay?”
“Yes, I understand,” Chrysanthemum said.
“Thanks.” Lucy squeezed her hand. “Now, I’ve really got to get
to the club.”
She started to crawl off the bed, but Chrysanthemum pulled her
back and got up on her knees. She kissed Lucy, then squeezed her
butt and slapped it. “For good luck, right?”
“Yeah.” Lucy grinned. “For great luck.”

The players and staff were gathering at Burning Desire’s

training complex to board cars to the Heritage City BB sta -
dium. Excitement was spreading through the second game
team with the word that Lucy was back as their guardian.
The question was, was Lucy still crazy? Well, the question
was, was she still ‘fucked up’ crazy, or was she ‘fucking’
 Gladiator Girl 357

crazy, as in, “Did you see her take those chargers apart?
She’s fucking crazy!”
Lucy stepped out of the public car and walked over to her
team. She was carrying her swords―both of them.
“I thought you weren’t going to carry those off the field any-
more,” Kelcie said.
“I didn’t have a choice. The locker equipment had already
been sent to the stadium by the time I was put back on the team,
so I’ve got bring everything with me, like I was still on standby.”
She patted her stuffed gym bag.
“Did you get your new swords?” Esmerelda said.
“No. I told Coach Kai to cancel the order.” She held up her
long-sword. “These are good weapons. They were made for a
guardian and deserve to be used.”
“Those are Bimini’s blades,” Frankie said. She was travel-
ing with the club, but as standby guardian, she couldn’t enter
the locker room. She would be sitting in the club’s stadium
seats waiting for Lucy to trip and accidentally stab herself to
death, or something. Lucy could see Frankie wishing for just
that.
“I talked to Bimini,” Lucy said. “She officially handed them
to me last night, with the blessing of the guardian they were ori-
ginally commissioned for.”
“Oh yeah? Just what happened last night?” Frankie said.
Lucy leaned close. “I got laid. Turns out, that’s all I needed.”
Serendipity walked over from the first game team. “I heard
Chrysanthemum was here yesterday, after practice. How is she?”
“Apparently, pretty fucking good,” Frankie said.
“She’s doing well,” Lucy said.
The team was moving in to listen for details.
“Have you looked at Sublime Harmony’s game roster?”
Serendipity said.
“Nope. I never do. It doesn’t make any difference to me who
I’m playing against.”
358 R. H. Watson

“Do you remember Emily Stone, the Bright Savanna charger

who tried to get you kicked out of the League?”
“Yes. I remember Emily ‘Fucking’ Stone.”
“She was traded to Sublime Harmony while you were in the
womb, after that Blood Boy thing. She’s charging against you in
the second game. I thought you’d like to know.”
Lucy smiled, then grinned. “I do like knowing that. Thanks.”
And the team knew ‘fucking’ crazy Lucy Star was back.
Epilogue
 How Charlotte Met Lucy

Charlotte’s eyes wouldn’t focus. Her arms and legs felt limp.
When she tried to move, she heard wet slapping and sucking
sounds. A fuzzy outline came into view, leaning over her. Who?
Matron? A hard rubber something was pushed into her mouth,
forcing her jaw open. A finger dug down into her throat. She
gagged. The finger and rubber thing were pulled out, and she
breathed. She hadn’t realized she wasn’t breathing, and she
hadn’t realized she was beginning to suffocate. Once she started
breathing in, she didn’t want to stop. She filled her lungs until
she couldn’t get another milliliter of air in, then she forced the air
out so she could breathe in again. The air was rich and cool. It
made her dizzy.
There was a sharp tug at her belly, then a chewy rubber nipple
was pressed into her mouth. She bit down and sucked. The flesh
under her tongue erupted in an ecstatic rush, filling her mouth
with a slurry of saliva and the milky liquid from the nipple. She
swallowed. Her stomach convulsed and secreted. Her whole
body shuddered.
Yes! I remember! This is being alive!

She woke up from her postnatal nap wrapped in the big terrycloth
towel and surrounded by the soft padded sides of the postnatal
362 R. H. Watson

bed. She rolled her head to the side. There was a girl on the bed
next to her. She had lowered the side of her bed and was sitting up,
dangling her feet above the floor.
“Hi, I’m Charlotte.”
The girl looked at her, but didn’t say anything.
“What’s your name?” Charlotte said.
“Lucy,” the girl said. “Ah, Lucy Star.”
“How many rebirths have you had?” Charlotte said. “This is
my tenth.”
“Why do you want to know?” Lucy said.
“It’s just one of those things people ask each other, like,
‘How old are you?’”
“I’m fifteen. This is my first.”
“Really? Congratulations!” Charlotte lifted her head to look
around. “Who’s here with you?”
“No one.”
“What about your parents?”
Lucy looked away.
Matron came in with one of the Academy’s tutelary proctors.
“You’re up,” Matron said to Lucy, with disapproval, “and you
found the latch for the bed side. You should have pressed the
call button before sitting up. We want to be here, just in case.
Oh, but look at you; your first rebirth! Congratulations!” Mat-
ron hugged her. “Proctor, what do you say?”
“Yes, congratulations, Deborah.” Lucy flinched when the
proctor said “Deborah.”
Matron saw that Charlotte was awake. “Welcome back,
Charlotte,” she said. “Have you met our new girl, Debbie?”
Lucy winced again at the name.
“Yes,” Charlotte said, “Lucy and I have, indeed, met.”
“You and that silly name,” Matron said. “I guess we had better
get used to it.”
The proctor cleared her throat. “Yes, that’s why I’m here.
There was a delay in submitting the application to change your
 Gladiator Girl 363

name. The Magistrate’s Office didn’t receive a copy of your

emancipation certificate, so they attempted to contact your par-
ents.” Lucy’s eyes widened. Charlotte saw panic on her face. “It
took a week to straighten the mess out. Now you have to sign
one additional affidavit, and it needs to be signed and submitted
today. It says you are indeed the Deborah Knole who was gran-
ted emancipation; and you do indeed wish to legally change your
name. It sounds silly, but it has to be done.”
The proctor held out a pen and clipboard. Lucy took them.
“Which name do I sign?”
“Deb— Your old name.” Lucy signed, and the proctor took
back the pen and clipboard. “I’ll get this delivered immediately.”
She hurried out of the room.
“Would you like to sit up?” Matron said to Charlotte.
“Yes please, this side,” she tapped the side of the bed facing Lucy.
Matron lowered the side wall and helped Charlotte sit up.
“Call before trying anything. Both of you. Use the call button
when you’re ready to try walking.” She left the Recovery Ward.
Lucy was working her jaw from side to side, and up and
down. Charlotte thought she was grinding her teeth, but then de-
cided it was more like she was feeling how her jaws fit together.
She stopped and looked at her left hand. One after the other, she
touched her fingers to her palm, then repeated the action several
times with just her little finger. She stretched her right arm over
her head. With her left hand, she felt the ribs on her right side.
“Can you do me a favor?” Lucy said.
“Sure.”
She slid off her bed.
“Careful!” Charlotte said.
Lucy turned around and slipped the towel off her back. “What
do you see?”
“Ah, I see your back.”
“Would you touch it?”
“What’s going on?” Charlotte said.
364 R. H. Watson

“Please, just do it.”

Charlotte reached out and touched the middle of her back.
“Now run your fingers all the way down. Start at the top.”
Charlotte put her fingers on Lucy’s shoulder and slid them
down to her hip.
“Was it smooth?” Lucy said. “It felt like it was smooth.”
“Yes,” Charlotte said, feeling embarrassed. “It was very smooth.”
“Thanks,” Lucy wrapped herself back in the towel and hiked
up onto the bed. She was shaking with the effort. When she
turned around she was grinning.
A deep grin. Whatever is making her happy, it’s profound.
“I don’t remember the dreams,” Lucy said, “but my memory
placenta remembers my whole life now, right?”
“Yes. The memory dreams are supposed to be like that old,
your whole life passing before your eyes, thing, but you don’t re-
member because, like most regular dreams, you forget them be-
fore you wake up.”
“Good,” Lucy said.

Four hours later they were both discharged from the Academy’s
womb-atorium.
“Goodbye,” Lucy said. “It was nice meeting you.”
“Wait. This was your first rebirth. That’s a big deal. What are
you going to do about it?”
“I don’t know. I was gonna go to the dorm. Study. I’m starting
almost six months behind most of the girls, I’ve got to catch up.”
“No. You can study later. Now, we’re going to the commons
to celebrate. You were just reborn. That’s a gift and a privilege.
There are only a handful of girls in the whole world who get
this ability.”
“I don’t want a party,” Lucy said.
“Just you and me then. Come on. You can’t go and study. This is
an occasion. Throw down a marker. You want to remember this day.”
“Okay,” Lucy said.
 Gladiator Girl 365

In the cafeteria they sat at a table with their trays. Lucy

looked at her food. It was watered down lemonade with electro-
lytes, pureed bean, and tofu soup; and for dessert, walnut pud-
ding with apple bits.
“It’s not the greatest party cuisine,” Charlotte said. “Our G.I.
tracts have been out of the digesting business for a while, especially
yours; first rebirth gestation is about two weeks. What was yours?”
“Twelve days, three hours, fifty-two minutes.”
Charlotte ate a spoonful of soup and washed it down with a
swallow of lemonade. “Lucy Star, huh? You weren’t just reborn
today, you were REBORN, in capital letters, weren’t you?”
“What do you mean?” Lucy said. She tasted the soup with
trepidation and decided it wasn’t so bad.
“Twelve days ago somebody named Debbie went into that
womb, and today, out pops you—Lucy Star—a whole new person.”
A smile curled into Lucy’s lips, spread across her face, and lit
up her eyes. It wasn’t a normal smile, Charlotte was sure she saw
victory and huge relief in her face.
I have a feeling ‘normal,’ is never going to describe this kid.
“So, who was Debbie?”
Lucy’s face clouded over. “I don’t want to talk about her.”
“She’s gone, isn’t she?” Charlotte said. “It’s only right that we
should raise a glass to her passing.” She held up her glass of lem-
onade. “Who was she? It’s OK. She’s not here anymore.”
Lucy raised her own glass and planted her elbow on the table.
She looked at the glass.
“Here’s to the passing of Deborah Knole,” she said. “Her teeth
didn’t line up quite right because—so it was said—she fell down
the stairs and broke her jaw on the bottom step.
“She used to get a stitch in her side when she was out of breath
because—so the doctors were told—she fell out of the tree in the
back yard, twice. The first time she broke two ribs, and the second
time, three ribs. One of the ribs she broke the second time was one
of the same ribs she broke the first time.
366 R. H. Watson

“She once—so her parents explained to the social worker—

slammed the kitchen door on her hand, breaking these three fin-
gers.” Lucy held up the middle, ring, and little fingers of her left
hand. “Ever since then she couldn’t touch her palm with her little
finger.” Lucy bent her little finger down and touched her palm.
“And she had scars on her back. The police were told she put
them there herself. They were told she pounded nails through a
board, scraped her back with it, and tried to blame her little
brother for hurting her. She was supposed to have done this be-
cause she was an evil little bitch.”
Lucy looked from her glass to Charlotte. Charlotte reached her
glass forward and clinked it against Lucy’s. Looking Lucy straight
in the eye, she said, “To Deborah Knole, may she—finally—rest
in peace.”
“And never be spoken of again,” Lucy said, fixing Charlotte
with a hard look. Charlotte nodded, and Lucy clinked her glass
against Charlotte’s. They drank.
Charlotte put her glass down and tried the walnut pudding; not
bad. “What program are you in?” she said, partly because she
wanted to know, but also to signal Lucy that she would keep her
promise to leave Debbie in the past.
“Blood battle”
“What position?”
“I’m going to be a guardian.”
Charlotte saw her brace for the usual come back: Only the
best of the best qualify, are you sure you want to set your goal so
high? Charlotte tapped her spoon against the rim of her pudding
cup. “I think you’ll be a good guardian,” she said.
Lucy smiled back. “You bet!”
What a punk. I love it.
“What about you?” Lucy said.
“I’m a foil fencer.”
“I could never do that.” At first Charlotte thought she was being
patronized, then Lucy said, “It’s too picky and precise, I’d get bored.”
 Gladiator Girl 367

What an arrogant little bitch!

“I take it back,” Charlotte said, “You won’t be a good guard-
ian, you’ll be a great guardian.”
Lucy finished her pudding. “This is good. Do you think
they’ll let me have some more?”
“Maybe, if you come back in a couple of hours. They don’t
want you to eat very much so soon after rebirth. You might
throw up.”
They talked blood sports for another half hour, then Lucy said
she had to go study.
“You know,” Charlotte said, “I could help. I’ve been here for
three years. I know how this place works, I can show you how to
make it work for you. Want to get together tomorrow, back here
at say, fifteen o’clock?”
“Sure.”
Lucy headed to her dorm, and Charlotte contacted her parents
to let them know she was out of her womb.
They never mentioned Deborah Knole’s name again.
 Gladiator Girl 369

About the Author

R. H. Watson wrote this book. He hopes you like it.

Before that—way before that—he was born and raised in
Kaukauna, Wisconsin. (That’s caw-caw like the crows say it, fol-
lowed by na, as in, not gonna.) He studied mime in Paris, drove
a cab in New York City, and lived almost under the Brooklyn
Bridge for seventeen years while plying a trade as a graphic
artist.
More recently he designed websites, and worried about usabil-
ity, accessibility and how to test for those properties.
Now he is writing, writing, writing, and hoping some of you
will be so kind as to buy one of his books.