The Rhodeshi have many death games. It is the only kind of sport that is sacred to them, however, their favorite is a board game known as Pa’Zac. Translated into galactic basic, it roughly means, “He Who Desires the Galaxy.” The game mimics the rise and fall of civilizations with the board being a three spiral representation of the galaxy. Individual star systems are represented on a three dimensional map, with FTL restricted by Ibis Drives until Relays can be constructed. The game is separated into three distinct phases, being exploration, conquest, and finally, collapse. This is marked by some sort of catastrophe which sweeps across the galaxy.

  Even though there are winners and losers at the gambling tables, the goal of Pa’Zac is not victory, a calcified end-state meaningless to the universe the game is designed to emulate. Rather, the end conditions are used to seed the board of the next game. But what makes Rhodeshi games unique, what separates them from much of the galaxy, is that players are expected to bring their own resources onto the table. Real money is invested into digital economies, real technology is traded for research bonuses, and real weapons of war are used as units.

  I admit, it took me by surprise that Amon Russ would not be considered a player, but rather another piece on the board.

  “So you’re the Game Master,” Amon spoke flatly, drinking from a bottle of Rhodeshi wine. “I’ve had time to do a little research. What’s your GLA Rating again?”

  “Point Eight Three,” Oberyn puffed from a long pipe he held with his three fingers. “If you have any doubts of my credentials, I was sent to the academies when I was five solar cycles old. My first memories were learning the fundamentals. I assure you, your money cannot buy better talent.”

  We sat in a cushioned, round booth on a Rhodeshi pleasure yacht. Evidently this Oberyn was considered of very high station in Rhodeshi society. As a matter of fact, the Game Masters were considered just one rung below the ruling class of Rhodon.

  I just wish what was comfortable for a Rhodeshi had been comfortable for a human. The booth was two sizes too large. Amon reclined while my feet couldn’t reach the end the cushion.

  It never gets easier, being a visitor in some alien’s ship.

  Unlike the Aphelion, the pleasure yacht’s ceilings and halls were disconcertingly large for humans. Everything felt more difficult than it ought to be. I hated the bright lights inset into the equally glaring plasteel walls. They gave me a headache just a few minutes after I stepped aboard. I hated how the air had a sweet taste in my mouth, like the scent of a nauseating perfume that wouldn’t go away. Even the artificial gravity, it was just low enough that it made me trip and stumble.

  However, despite all of this, I still marveled at the ship. The floors were made of a scarlet, polished wood—the first I had ever seen of such a substance in real life. And at every corner there was some new piece of furniture or luxury, like couches made of rare bone or dispensaries that could replicate matter. The windows—holoscreens—were set to make the vessel appear it was in orbit around some garden world.

  What drew my eye the most were the ornamented collection. I did not know if this was a penchant of the species or perhaps the tastes of this individual Rhodeshi, but there were full rooms in the yacht dedicated to the ornamentation of various games played across the galaxy. Board games, card games, holo-games, each one in a glass case and displayed as some trophy.

  Amon crossed his arms, drawing my attention back to the conversation. “What do you mean ‘your money’?”

  Oberyn puffed again. “I’m not sure there is a word in your language for the concept. Perhaps an Eremite? There’s a spiritual caste in our society who volunteer for brain surgery. They remap their neurons for Pa’Zac, trading the ability to speak, see, and hear. They dedicate themselves totally to the game. But neither you nor the Dalfaen would not be able to purchase their services. They demand far more… unusual currencies.”

  “And are you good enough to beat them?”

  Oberyn laughed, coughing on sweet-smelling smoke. “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”

  As equally new as the ship, Oberyn too was a new creature. He had mottled, silver skin with an oblong head. The alien was tall—extremely so. Wearing golden robes, his vestments were held together with long clips at foot-long intervals. Their bodies are so tall and frail that it is easier to strap on cloth in horizontal bands than like how a human might put on clothes. His two sets of eyes which moved in independent pairs perturbed me even as he smiled with blocky teeth.

  “Which brings us to the next topic of conversation,” Nira, the representative of Laerad, said. “When will you be ready for the surgery?” The Nekomata looked at Amon, expectantly.

  This Nekomata was patterned after a Rhodeshi female, that is to say, a slimmer, shorter version of Oberyn with two pheromone slits running along her cheeks. Much like Maia, she was left to provoke the eye.

  I was confused about what she said and leaned over to ask Kybit to explain.

  “Carapace Suits take a week of intensive body and brain modification to wear,” she whispered back. “Among other things, they must remove every drop of blood in Amon’s body. His heart will be replaced with a nano-fabricator, and his neural tissue will be extended and diffused along his spine. It’s an early generation of armor, comparatively speaking.”

  Looking back, I laugh now. Had I proper understanding of what a brain was and how a heart is not so easily removed… but as it stood I had no proper sense of the things. I do wonder what went through Kybit’s mind as I shrugged my shoulders, content with her answer.

  “I can do the operation whenever,” Amon replied, “but it’s Tut who is going to do the surgery.”

  Nira pursed her lips. “The Suit is an incredibly advanced—”

  “Which is why Tut is going to do it. Do your surgeons have firsthand experience with Corpse Armor?”

  Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

  Nira hesitated. “We’ve run the best simulations.”

  “Forgive me if I prefer a doctor with actual experience with this technology. Run it up with Laerad if you want. Unless you want to risk something going wrong, that is.”

  The tips of Nira’s fingers opened and a holoscreen appeared in front of her. She tabbed a message and unhappily swiped it closed.

  “I want to hear more about your strategy,” Amon asked. “As a piece on your board, I think I have a right to know what you’re planning.”

  Oberyn grinned. “Of course. I’m not sure how familiar you are with Pa’Zac, but there’s a cap on the amount you can bring forward on any game. This is based on the skill level and rule set the game is being played at. And as this is a tournament opened up to the length and breadth of the spiral arm, the amount is commensurate.”

  “So what else are we working with?”

  The Rhodeshi laughed. “You’re it.”

  Amon stared at the alien.

  “What do you want me to say?” Oberyn held out his hands helplessly. “In any other game, you would be a banned unit. Illegal. I couldn’t run humans in the simulations back in the academy. Even starting on one world with no resources and population, you break Pa’Zac’s single-combat mechanics. It doesn’t matter what combination or force multiplier they give, you win. Hands down. Every known permutation in the galaxy has you overwhelmingly coming up on top. The only way to lose is for the other player to deploy another human, or if you were so exceedingly stupid that you get yourself killed wearing one of the most powerful suits of armor in existence. The zero-sword only finishes the deal.”

  “And what if there are other humans? Do you have knowledge of any of the other players yet—their units? Am I going to have to kill my own kind for your game?”

  Kybit was not Ingrish, and I so desperately wished she were here right now. Above all, Ingrish could explain things that Kybit couldn’t. She could pick up on things that Kybit wouldn’t even notice.

  But my… my mother was not permitted on the pleasure yacht—not without a phonic-collar which caused her a great deal of pain. And so I had to guess at the obvious signals in the room. Amon seemed utterly repelled by the death game, though for the life of me, I could not place the reason why.

  “Now you’re asking about the pre-round.” Oberyn leaned forward. “That’s a bit more complicated. Legally, of course, no one has to disclose anything. Practically, however, let’s just say the betting tables have their methods of obtaining information. You’ll be happy to know that there’s no word of other human units—at least not yet. However, there is another one of your species entering as a player.”

  Oberyn tapped a few keys on the table and another human’s face appeared in a hologram. I don’t know why, but the breath always seemed to steal from my lungs on the rarest occasion that I saw another human face. Even one so marred and disfigured as the one that was shown before me now.

  I suppose it always was a reminder. That no matter how terrible the circumstances of my species, that I wasn’t alone. That is not to say I have ever held strangers above Ingrish. In fact, there have only been three humans in my entire life who I have loved as much as her—Amon being one of them. However, I could never learn what it was to be human from Ingrish. Even though she tried her best, she naturally hid things that a human wouldn’t. And that which she knew, humans concealed.

  As I stand now, having suffered for nearly a thousand years, I can only think of the mother I lost before I was thirty. That is what it means for us humans, something no alien in the entire universe can ever understand—we outlive everyone we love.

  Amon sucked in a deep breath. “I know that man.”

  “Quentin Tyrell, I’m informed he’s a connoisseur. Impressive net-worth, but he’s an unremarkable Pa’Zac player.”

  “He’s a traitor who made his fortune on selling humans.”

  Oberyn shrugged. “Everything bought has its price.”

  I turned to examine the holo-image. The old man looked like he had undergone radical reconstruction surgery, but even so, it looked like they weren’t able to piece him back together again. Or rather, he didn’t want to be put back together again. Half his face was terribly sunken in with an artificial eye poking out of a collapsed socket. His thinning hair and splotched features did nothing to improve his appearance.

  “May I remind you that murdering other players will get us disqualified,” Nira spoke, seeing Amon’s expression. “Adjudicator Laerad wanted it quite clear he only wants your talents employed within the arena.”

  “Fine.” Amon turned to Oberyn. “Do you control where you start on the board? I want Tyrell out of the game as soon as possible.”

  Evidently something Amon said was hilariously funny to Oberyn. The Rhodeshi burst out laughing. Oberyn did not have tear ducts to cry, but he was howling uncontrollably. We sat in awkward silence for a minute until he finally calmed himself down.

  “I apologize, I mean no offense,” Oberyn said between bursts of titters. “It is an old joke among Game Masters—that the pieces play the game and not the players. But I will make an appeal to the Wardens. A blood feud between two of the last humans in the galaxy? That is what our entertainment is for.”

  …

  I ran up to Ingrish as I saw her again in the airlock. She had crossed her arms, unhappy with Amon again because he had decided to include me when it wasn’t necessary. Only she was aware of Amon’s deepest reason for why he demanded I attend everything, for why he never once showed caution. Only she had known him long enough to guess at his secret confession, the one he told me when I thought Ingrish had died, the one whose every syllable I remember and yet not recalling one word.

  I stopped just before I could reach out to her, glancing between her and Amon as they stood opposing one another. A second passed. Ingrish slowly—silently let her arms fall to her sides, and she meekly stepped out of the way to let Amon pass.

  “No, I want to hear what you have to say,” Amon gruffly told her.

  “I just don’t want to see you in such horrible pain is all.” She thumbed her fingers. “I would do anything to make it stop.”

  I looked at Amon, confused. As I write this now, there were probably a hundred conversations I was not privy to, a hundred moments that I had been absent from since we departed Ghiza VI. Or knowing Amon, maybe there had been none at all. Either way, there was much between them that I did not know. Some of that was normal for a child, but there was also the fact that Amon Russ was Amon Russ.

  He was not a man to share his burdens lightly.

  “You already know my every thought, my every word, everything I would say. And you know you can’t help me. So the only reason you want this conversation is because you want Vas to hear it.”

  “I won’t speak a word.” Ingrish bowed her head.

  A moment of indecision crossed Amon’s face. He nodded his head down at me, pondering some thought I couldn’t possibly guess at. I looked over to Ingrish with a pleading expression, hoping she would explain what she was talking about. But true to her word, she kept her silence.

  Amon put a hand on my shoulder. “When you’re older,” he said.

  He left back into the Aphelion without saying another word. I was left dumbfounded by the inscrutable interaction. Again, staring helplessly at Ingrish, she did not hint at the meaning of Amon’s words.

  “I don’t understand why,” I said.

  “It’s for him to say.”

  “Why?”

  Ingrish sighed. “We may speak the same language, use the same sentences to express the same ideas, but there are certain words only a single person can say. Otherwise, it won’t mean the same thing. If I tell you, it would be nothing more than going behind Amon’s back.”

  I thought about this for a moment. “What do you want him to say?”

  Ingrish glanced at me, about to say something, and then she simply gave a tired smile. “I don’t think Amon quite sees it yet. Just how clever you really are.” She patted me on the head.

  I winced at the gesture, but I didn’t try to stop her.