The Godking Conspiracy

  Rise of the Gladiator

  Book 3- The Godking Conspiracy

  By Cheree Alsop

  Copyright © 2020 by Cheree L. Alsop

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN

  Cover Design by Avdal Designs

  Editing by Sue Player

  www.ChereeAlsop.com

  To my dad-

  Thank you for editing my first manuscripts.

  Who would have thought my over-active imagination

  Would lead to these new worlds?

  I love you.

  To my children-

  Thank you for adventures on our bikes,

  For trips to the park, for movies at home,

  And for making all of our time together such a blast.

  To my husband-

  Thank you for making our home such a great place

  To be even when we’re not under coronavirus quarantine.

  Toilet paper shortages, masking up for work, and

  Singing together through all the craziness

  Truly makes the world a better place.

  Chapter One

  KOVE

  “You didn’t say there would be this much shooting!” Lord Fay shouted over his shoulder.

  “We’re on a rescue mission. What did you expect?” I demanded.

  I ducked back as a half dozen bullets smashed into the bricks where my head had been.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” the four-armed Quarian replied, “some tea, maybe a piece of brinn or two. Maybe not fighting every mercenary in the ‘Verse?”

  “Where would the fun be in that?” I asked with a grin.

  More bullets sent shrapnel from the bricks flying into our faces. I waited for a lull, then jumped up and aimed. Two, three, four, five mercenaries fell beneath my bullets. I ducked back down and leaned against the low wall when those who reloaded answered. I switched out my magazines, letting the empty ones fall to the floor.

  “Stop smiling,” Lord Fay said.

  I glanced at him. “You need to loosen up, Redden. Stress is bad for your health.”

  He stared at me. “Stress is bad for my health? What about being shot full of bullet holes?”

  “That, too,” I said. “But you can also avoid it.”

  “How?” he asked incredulously.

  I had been stalling, waiting for the next lull. As soon as the bullets stopped, I stood and shot again. The last two mercenaries took matching bullets to the chest.

  “By killing them first,” I said.

  Redden glared at me. When I met his gaze, he shook his head. “You’re ridiculous.”

  “What?” I asked.

  He gestured toward the carnage. “You enjoy this, don’t you?”

  I followed his gaze. The sight of the bodies littering the walkway chased away the humor I had kept up for the Quarian’s sake.

  “No,” I replied quietly. “But it’s either them or us. I prefer not to be the one lying on the floor with my lifeblood spilling across the hall.” I glanced at him. “I’m guessing you can appreciate that.”

  Lord Fay followed me in silence as I checked each body for life and then continued down the hall.

  “Does this feel a little too easy to you?” I asked the Quarian.

  He let out a sound of disbelief. “You mean the war we just fought to get in here? Not to mention the four ships we downed on the way in. It’s pretty hot in my opinion for a mission that is supposed to be stealth. It feels like they want us dead.”

  I fought down a smile at the Lord’s wry tone, but couldn’t shake the voice in the back of my mind that kept whispering something was wrong. We were infiltrating the lair of the Godking, the home base of Malivok himself, the brainwashing, destructive scuz who was attempting to overtake the entire Accord Systems for himself.

  Yes, we were on a super-secret mission from the House of Lords and Ladies to clear my name of certain law-breaking acts, so you could say our presence in the Blavar Star System was my fault, but to be fair, they didn’t exactly give us a choice in the matter. It was hard to say no with a gun pointed at my head by an ancient Cray who looked as though ending the life of the Smiren gladiator for whom he was holding court would be the cherry on top of a long life as a Lord in Parliament.

  “You could have stayed home,” I reminded Redden.

  He rolled his eyes. “And let you get yourself shot up without me? I’d never hear the end of it.”

  “From whom? I’d be dead,” I pointed out.

  We rounded the next corner and stopped short at the sight of rows upon rows of armed Blavarian soldiers with their guns pointed directly at us. Their black uniforms, complete with full helmets, gloves, and boots, made it impossible to tell them apart besides varying red strips on the shoulders.

  Footsteps sounded behind us. My heart slowed at the sight of another regiment running up to box us in.

  “Now that you mention it, the thought is appealing,” Lord Fay whispered.

  “Drop your weapons,” a soldier in front with three red strips on his shoulders barked.

  We did so immediately.

  “And the other ones,” the soldier commanded.

  The Quarian and I glanced at each other, then began to systematically remove the guns, knives, and grenades we had only moments before been thrilled to stock up on from the SevenWolf’s amazingly supplied weapons’ stash.

  A small arsenal had accrued at our feet by the time Lord Fay and I put up all of our hands again.

  My only hope was that Nova and McKy were having better luck on their route. The documents from the House had been sadly limited as to the best way to reach the Blavarians’ political prisoner internment facility. The blueprints we had received of the moon that had been turned into Malivok’s base for his incursions into the Accord Systems were only half-complete. We had decided on the two best routes and split up to try our luck during the late hours in which had I hoped all guards would be on low alert. Instead, it appeared they were hanging out in the wide hallway directly in our path. Go figure.

  “Happy now?” I asked.

  “We’ll be happier when you’re dead,” the soldier with the three stripes replied. He walked up to me with his gun pointed directly at my chest.

  “Hold on,” I protested. “Can’t we talk over dinner? I know a place that serves great yaken steaks.”

  “Kneel,” he growled.

  Fear spiked through me. There was no give in the man’s tone. I lowered to my knees and saw Redden do the same out of the corner of my eye. The soldier pressed the barrel against my forehead.

  It’s colder than I remember.

  Isn’t the fact that you have something to compare it to a concern?

  It won’t be for long.

  “I’d like nothing more than to put a slug through your skull and end the headache you’ve caused us,” the soldier said. He tipped his head to the side. “Care to beg for your life?”

  I had done things in my life I was not proud of; I had killed in the name of sport, I had taken lives to end a war, and I had sacrificed everything to save a woman who even now I hoped was safely doing what I had failed to do. I hoped that if she rescued my sister from Malivok’s clutches she would tell Anaya that I had never given up searching for her.

  And there was one thing for sure. I would never, ever go out of this life begging for mercy.

  I glared up at the man who h
eld the gun and repeated something I had read long ago and that had always stayed with me. “Take my hands, take my ship, or take my life, but do so knowing my soul will haunt you to the end of your days.”

  Silence fell across the hall, and then a voice started to laugh. “They may say Smiren are dumb, brawling brutes, but you get points for bravery,” a woman said.

  The guard lowered his gun and stepped to the side to reveal my sister.

  Shock flooded my system. Anaya looked down at me with her arms crossed in front of her chest. She wore the same black uniform as the others, but a red star colored her shoulders. Her short, dark hair that matched my own had been shaved on the sides and a red stripe had been dyed through it. Her brown eyes studied me with a detached expression that didn’t reveal her thoughts.

  “An—” I began to say her name, but she cut me off.

  “Throw them in a cell and report back to me,” she commanded.

  “Can I just shoot him now?” the soldier asked. “If he’s the one who’s been stirring up trouble, it’ll save us a lot of difficulty.”

  Anaya merely looked at him without saying anything.

  The officer lowered his gaze. “Yes, Sergeant.” He jerked his head toward Lord Fay and me. “You heard her; get them to the prison!”

  The last glimpse I saw of my sister was of her leading the rest of the soldiers down the hall. She didn’t look back.

  “Was that her?” Lord Fay demanded.

  I didn’t answer. We were led through several other hallways, down a steep set of stairs, and then past rows upon rows of empty cells. The air felt thicker here and dank; I visualized thousands of feet of moonrock above our heads. The thought was demoralizing. I knew that was exactly what they wanted. The Godking had chosen his political prison with as much precision as his current stealthy, lethal warfare against the Accord Systems. The thought that we were dealing with someone far smarter than we had previously given him credit for pressed against me.

  Chains hung in several of the cells. The small kixon who inexplicably appeared at the smell of blood no matter where one was in the ‘Verse scurried away when the lights above flickered on dimly to light our passage. The familiar smells of decay, death, and refuse lingered here as it had on Roan Seven. If the Godking wanted to intimidate his prisoners as Lord Fay had implied, he had set it up well.

  “Cheery,” the Quarian noted in a low tone.

  “Silence,” the Corporal shouted.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him raise his gun to strike Redden. I shoved Lord Fay out of the way and caught the gun before it could connect with my friend’s skull. A twist of my hand broke the soldier’s grip on the weapon and then it was in my hand.

  Everyone froze. Several guns lifted and I realized the precariousness of my situation. Even if I did manage to get off a shot or two, Redden and I would be peppered full of holes. It was harder to escape when one was dead.

  I flipped the gun and held it back out to the soldier.

  “These things are slippery. You’d better hold onto them,” I told him.

  The Corporal lifted his hand slowly as if afraid it was a trap. When I didn’t move, he yanked the weapon from my hand.

  “Move!” he barked.

  We were shoved into a cell near the end of the row. At the last instant when I was being pushed behind Lord Fay, something slammed into the back of my head. I stumbled forward with a hand on my skull. Lord Fay caught me. I glanced back in time to see the Corporal replace his gun in his holster. When I met his gaze, a glint of satisfaction showed in his dark eyes before he turned his back on us.

  I pulled my hand away and grimaced at the blood on my palm from being pistol whipped.

  “Coward,” Redden shouted.

  The Corporal walked off without appearing to hear him.

  “Kovak, are you alright?”

  I looked up at the sound of Nova’s voice. Relief filled me at the sight of her unharmed. She crossed the cell to me and looked as though she was about to hug me, but a glance back at her disapproving brother slowed her steps.

  I gave her an understanding smile and lowered my hand. “I’m fine. How did things go for you?”

  “Oh, you know, we got thrown in a cell.” She looked at Lord Fay. “But we’re not alone.”

  The lilt to her voice made everyone look in direction she indicated. The Quarian’s face paled.

  “Father?” he said just above a whisper.

  A portly Quarian who had Redden’s same blonde hair stepped from the shadows. He had a rough beard and the sallow face of someone who had been imprisoned for a long while. Behind him followed a man I recognized immediately.

  “Farlon!” I said in shock.

  The Quarian tipped his head and he peered at me through the dimness. “Do I know you?”

  There was a wary wildness in his eyes that I recognized. I glanced at his father. The man gave me a small shrug with a hint off sadness in his gaze. I returned my focus to his son.

  “I’m Kovak Sunder,” I reminded him gently. “We fought together in the Wars.”

  He blinked and awareness dawned in his gaze. “Captain?”

  My cheeks heated at the title, but it was the only one he knew. I nodded. “Good to see you again, Corporal.”

  He ran a hand over his eyes. “I don’t know if it is or not.”

  I nodded reassuringly. “It is, trust me.” I made a show of glancing around. “Though I wish it was under better circumstances.”

  He gave a half-hearted chuckle. “Different war, same accommodations, right, Cap?”

  I nodded, but my attention strayed to the conversation between Redden and his father.

  “I thought for sure you’d joined the Godking,” Redden was saying.

  His father sniffed. “I’d never throw the fate of the Daytian Star System in with Malivok’s insane plans.”

  “Do you know what his plans are?” Nova asked.

  He shook his head. “Sadly, no. When we refused to join his cause, they tossed us in here.”

  Redden’s face paled further. “Are you saying you’ve been here since the takeover?”

  His father nodded and glanced around. “It hasn’t been too bad; I think that’s because they consider us political prisoners. Some of the others that have come and gone didn’t fare so well.”

  A haunted tone colored Farlon’s voice when he said quietly, “They’ve a heavy hand for torture, Captain. We’ve seen our fair share of those who haven’t survived.”

  Redden put his hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Did they torture you?”

  Farlon shook his head and glanced away from the other Quarian’s searching gaze. “I wish they would have.”

  Redden shot me a questioning look. I gave a shake of my head to tell him not to go there right now. He turned back to his father. “I can’t believe you’ve been here this whole time! I had no idea.” The regret was heavy in his voice.

  “I’m just glad you’re alright,” his father replied tightly. “I thought when you didn’t show up, they’d killed you.” The man hesitated, then pulled his son in for a tight hug with all four arms. “It’s good to see you again.”

  Redden’s surprise was clear, but he hugged his father back. Farlon looked on with a blank expression.

  “Guess it pays to be a Lord,” McKy noted.

  As if on cue, the door swung open again.

  “Smiren, come with us.”

  Everyone looked at me.

  “Already?” Lord Regalus Fay protested. “Give them a break. They just got here!”

  “Sergeant’s orders,” one of the soldiers replied.

  Nova took a step closer to my side as if she would protest, but I gave a small shake of my head.

  “It’ll be fine,” I said quietly. “Don’t worry.”

  Redden held out his hand. I shook it on my way past. “Take care of Nova.”

  “I will,” he promised.

  I walked past him to the door.

  Redden cleared his throat. “Better take
care of Lord Sunder,” he called out.

  McKy snorted, then said, “Ow!”

  I looked back to see him rubbing his ribs where Nova had elbowed him. My last glimpse was of her worry-filled eyes.

  “Hurry up,” the soldier commanded.

  I fell in between two rows of heavily armed and armored soldiers who kept their weapons trained on me. They definitely didn’t underestimate my fighting abilities. At least the trigger-happy corporal wasn’t with them.

  I was escorted to a plain room with plastic spread across the floor.

  “This is a good sign, right?” I asked.

  A variety of torture implements covered a table that lined one wall. I thought at first it may have been a scare tactic, but the sight of dried brownish material along one of the blades made me think otherwise.

  My heart fell when the Corporal from earlier walked into the room. He grinned when his gaze met mine.

  “Remember me?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” I replied dryly. “That was about ten minutes ago. Do you have a short-term memory problem? You should get that checked out.”

  “Over there,” the soldier directed.

  He pointed to a chain that dangled from the ceiling about halfway across the room. I walked to it without a word and a feigned nonchalant expression. The first shards of concern began to pulse through me when he slapped a pair of handcuffs onto my wrists and hooked them to the chain.

  Maybe I should have killed them all.

  Now you think of that?

  A grunt escaped me when the Corporal yanked on the other end of the chain and my arms were pulled up above my head. He secured the chain around a hook on the wall, then grabbed a knife from the table.

  “I prefer my torture in the evening,” I said. “It helps me sleep.”

  “Shut your mouth,” he replied.

  He stepped behind me and slid the knife through my shirt. Two slices later, the cloth fell to the floor.

  “That was my favorite shirt,” I said.

  “Too bad,” he replied.

  He set the knife on the table and picked up a coiled whip. I was familiar with the type; I had used one myself in the arena a few times. The leather rope split at the end into three thinner strands and each was usually bound with pieces of glass, sharp metal, beads, or, in the arena’s case, Bacarian thistle. That stuff left thorns that took months to work their way back out.