We are all silent, digesting this. I chew on another bite of jerky.
The moden splice leans forward. “I do not understand.”
I’rec groans. “Which part?”
“The part where we do not fight.”
I nod agreement, and gesture at the sleeping females. “Why send us down with prizes if we are not fighting?”
I’rec shakes his head again. “They are not prizes. They are stranded here, just like you. They have been abandoned, just like you.”
“So you admit we are not wanted,” the moden says slowly.
“Not by those that created you, no.” I’rec gestures at the wristband that each of us wears. “That is why you were sent here to our world. The one that dropped you here has brought others. If this message is correct, you have been brought here to live because you are not wanted on other worlds.”
I rub my chin, considering this. It does not bother me that I am not wanted, according to him. Obviously this is a mistake. I am an excellent, fierce gladiator. It is more likely that they cloned too many from my sire—because he was the best—and I was the unlucky one sent with the other rejects simply due to logistics. That’s fine with me. I can conquer rejected gladiator clones as easily as other gladiators. But this I’rec brings up an interesting point. “So if no one wants the females…we can take them?”
The other males perk up, looking to I’rec.
“No. No one is taking anyone. The females are your equals.”
I burst into laughter. So do the others.
I’rec does not laugh, and it occurs to me that he is serious. “Females are not equals. Females do not fight males. They fight other females, or they are given away as prizes to males that win.”
“You will change that thinking fast,” I’rec tells me. “A female might not be as strong as you, but I have met plenty that are smarter. If you are not wise, you will end up alone and full of regret.”
Bah. Wits. I was not bred for wits. No one is. “Tell me more about the females.” I lean in. “Someone will come and take them away soon, yes? Because they have been accidentally abandoned here with us?”
Again, I’rec shakes his head. “Females live side by side with the males in our encampment. I remember V’dis told me that when he was a glad-tater females were kept from them, but you are no longer gladiators. You will become part of our tribe, and everyone in our tribe is welcome to come and go as they please.”
“We are no longer gladiators,” the praxiian echoes, a blank look on his face.
“There is no need here for such things. Here, you are just a hunter or a tribesmate. There are no battles to be fought or won upon this planet.”
A feeling like grief comes over me, and I rub my chest. I don’t know what I am if I’m not a gladiator. I can tell from the faces of the others that they are thinking the same. All I know—all I have ever known—is the arena. I know how to fight. I know how to eviscerate an enemy.
I do not know anything else. I have not been created to just “exist.” The thought is appalling and strange. “But…we can stay with the females, yes?” I clarify. “We will not be kept away?”
“The females come and go as they please.” I’rec’s mouth quirks. “I cannot tell my mate where to go or who to see. You have met her. She would have my sac in a vise if I tried to tell her what to do.”
I recall his mate—the small bossy one with the golden skin and glowing eyes. She told everyone what to do, and I did not care for that. I cannot imagine any male that does. And yet…he seems pleased by this admittance. Very pleased, as if he wishes for nothing more than a fierce, demanding female.
“I don’t care where they go,” the praxiian declares. “I just want to claim one for myself.”
I’rec holds up a hand. “You can’t do that.”
Now I am really confused. “Why not?”
“The human females are here just like you. They come from a place where they have freedom and were not claimed. They are allowed to do as they wish.”
We exchange a look. “So the females are here but we cannot touch them…are you certain this is not a test of some kind?” the praxiian asks. “An endurance challenge?”
“No challenge. You cannot touch an unwilling female.”
Aha. “But we can touch all the willing ones?” I ask. “How do we make them willing?” I have no experience with such things but I am willing to learn the rules of this particular game.
This, I’rec is confident in. He leans back, a smug look on his face. “Wait for resonance. You will not be disappointed.”
I search my installed memories for this word, but I do not have it. Is it a game of some kind that I do not know the rules for? A law for this particular planet? A medical condition I should expect to attack me shortly?
“I do not know what resonance is,” says the moden.
I’rec taps a finger under his eye. “You see this? That I glow here? That is from my khui. I was born with one, but my mate had to acquire one because the air here would slowly poison her without it. It is a…thing that lives inside you. A khui has another purpose than just keeping you healthy, though. It chooses a mate for you so you can create offspring.”
Offspring? “Then this is a breeding competition.”
“No competition. You may never resonate, or you may resonate the moment you receive your khui.” He shrugs. “It is impossible to predict. I have been around the females for several turns of the seasons now and yet I resonated to F’lor only recently. My khui has decided she is mine and I am hers…and it was worth the wait.”
I am not as patient as him. I don’t care for waiting. Or for offspring, but I am intrigued by the thought of having a female of my own. “How does this work, then? The female’s creature in her chest compels her to mate with me? And I should just lie back and allow it?”
Another speaks up. “Is she taken from me after we mate?”
I’rec shakes his head, frowning. “No one is taking anyone away.”
“I wish to know when we fight,” says another. “There must be a reason there are so many gladiators dropped here with prizes so close nearby.”
“No fighting,” I’rec continues, raising his hands in the air. “You do not need to be glad-taters any longer. Just hunters. We fight to keep our people safe and to protect the others. We hunt animals to feed the tribe. There is no need to fight one another, and no one fights over the females.”
“Even though they wander freely?” asks the moden.
“Perhaps the creature in the chest is a mind-controlling creature,” I suggest. “That is why a female will wish to ride you the moment it activates.”
I’rec dismisses all of this. “Bah. A female is more easily pulled to a male with pleasure than with mind control.”
“Pleasure?” the praxiian asks. “Her pleasure or yours?”
“…hers?”
“Why pleasure a female? Is she not here for our pleasure?” This seems strange to me.
I’rec laughs at my puzzled expression. “You had best be glad it is me you speak with and not my mate. As for why, the answer is obvious. There is no greater satisfaction than pleasuring your female.” He shakes his head slowly, glancing over at the pile of curled up women before turning back to me again. “You think it is all about you, but you have no idea what it is like to tease a female’s body. When you feel her cunt slick with hunger, something changes inside you. Your own pleasure becomes less important, and sometimes you do not even need to come to enjoy. Sometimes it is good to simply bring her to climax.”
“This sounds suspiciously like mind control,” the praxiian mutters.