Brax: A SciFi Romance

Chapter 1

Brax 

“Brax, Brax, Brax.” 

My name echoes throughout the teeming arena, reaching even deep into my private locker room as I prepare for yet another title defense. I take a look at myself in the mirror and sigh.

It’s not that I’m disappointed with what I see. Even though I’m nearing the middle of my lifespan, I have continued to train myself six hours a day, six days a week. Without resorting to braggadocio, I can honestly say I am the most physically fit Odex in the entire Galaxy. The few scars on my purple furred body only serve to give it character, not disfigurement.

The flared out golden cape draped over my shoulders is covered in more than six thousand gemstones. Its weight is negligible to one of my strength,  yet it seems heavy. I’m not sure when the roar of the crowd and the thrill of defeating my opponent faded. Years ago, I am certain, but I can’t recall the precise moment it happened.

Perhaps that is the way with all change. It arrives not suddenly like a lightning strike but over time, like a river eroding away the sharpness of stone until they are smooth and contoured. I am somewhat more contoured in a spiritual sense than I once was, my apoplexy not withstanding.

I hear a clap at my door, which I ignore. It comes again, and again, and then the door cracks open a miniscule amount.

“Go away.”

“Hey, champ, how you doing?”

I turn around in my seat and frown at the little Shorcu who oozes his way in into my dressing room. It’s the head promoter of the Pit Fighting League, Salus, ostensibly my boss but we both know who wears the pants in this relationship, him signing my checks notwithstanding.

“There is an annoying little reptile in my room, but other than that I am well enough.”

“Your match is up next, and you missed your first seven cues…”

I growl and clench my fists amid a popping of knuckles.

“…which is totally, completely fine. You take all the time you need, champ. I was just wondering if we should put up a little video package to placate the crowd.”

“Let them wait. Ataxia says it’s good for the soul.”

“Yeah, but they paid a lot of credits to get in to see you, champ, and you’ve already kept them waiting for twenty minutes.”

He comes over to my side and shoves his hands in his pockets, rocking back and forth nervously on his heels.

“Hey, is there something wrong? You just don’t have the same, ah, spirit, that you used to.”

“Perhaps if you gave me more skilled opponents, I would not give in to despondency’s embrace.”

“Man, you sound like a poet.”

“And you sound like a greedy ass.”

He shrugs, not even taking offense except that I’m stating the obvious.

“Of course I am, I’m a fight promoter. My greed is what keeps this whole operation running. It’s my job to be a greedy ass, just like it’s your job to get out there and entertain, and move that Brax the Unstoppable merchandise.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be sure to plug the new Brax plush sleepy toys.”

I stand up swiftly, making him start, and then stalk to the exit. After traversing a narrow, dark tunnel, I see the bright patch of light ahead of me that is the arena entrance. When I near its mouth, I pause and slap myself on the cheeks, then punch the stone walls rapidly. A long bellowing roar escapes my throat, and the crowd cheers wildy.

I enter the arena and throw my arms into the air, causing my cape to fall open and reveal my impressive torso. My opponent is a young Odex, an up and comer named Tora. He has a unique striped pattern to his fur which looks good on holo vid, but the fact his he’s been pushed too far, too fast. His fundamentals are lacking, and he makes up for it with raw athletic ability. But this is his first title bout, and his first time ever facing me.

Of course, the promoters expect me to grind through him. They’re just hoping that by being in the same arena with me Tora’s own stock will rise. He has his own line of merchandise, though is sales aren’t nearly as good as my own.

We step to the center of the arena, and he almost falls over himself trying to be gracious. I can’t tell if he’s being sycophantic or is genuinely star struck.

“I just want to say it’s an honor, master Brax. Thank you for this opportunity.”

I grin and bash my fists into his own, the customary display of respect. His eyes go wide, and as he turns around to return to his starting line, he rubs his hands to soothe them. I’ve been punching walls, bags, and people for so long that my bone density is off the scale. Some scientists think we Odex never stop growing and don’t die of old age, that we just keep getting bigger and stronger like some primitive marine life. I don’t know about all of that. All I know is that twenty years into my career and I’m stronger than ever.

The trumpets blare, and the crowd ignites. Tora scoots forward cautiously, presenting only half his body in the pugilist style he favors. I walk toward him facing forward, because I want him to try and strike me. Presenting a great target is the best way to encourage this.

But Tora doesn’t take the bait right away. He circles around  me, looking for an opening even though my arms are hanging at my sides. That’s okay, though. The delay will make the match last longer, and I’ve been getting grief from the promoters for ending the main events too quickly.

They want a show. Well, I’ll give them one.

Tora at last loses his patience and attempts a jab. My hand flies up to intercept it, catching his knuckles in the palm. Tora tries to withdraw his hand from my grasp, and finds that he cannot. Undaunted, he throws a punch with his other hand, a nasty right hook. He pivots on his front leg to add more impetus, but I catch his other fist just as easily as the first.

Tora tries to free himself, and then I smile, squeezing down. He hollers in agony as his knuckles pop under my grip. His leg lashes out toward my midsection with a vicious kick, but I lift my knee and catch it in the crook of my leg. I wait until he heaves backward with all his might, and release all three of his limbs.

Tora tumbles backward a dozen feet but the rolls to a fighting stance, coming in hard a sand spills from his fur. He tries jabs, hooks, and even an uppercut, but I’ve taken his measure, and he has some bad tells. Tora telegraphs every blow he makes, and it’s child’s play to avoid them.

The fans are eating it up, thinking that the challenger is backing me up through skill and ferocity. Really, I’m just letting junior here punch himself out. When I train, I include lots of cardiovascular conditioning excercises. Tora pumps up his muscles to look good, but doesn’t spend nearly enough time working on endurance.

Soon his blows begin to slow, and I stop giving up ground. I turn to my side and amuse the crowd by blocking all of his strikes with just one hand, while not looking. When I wave to the audience and smile, Tora bellows in rage. He leaps forward for a tackle, and actually bowls me over.

I go with the  momentum and plant my foot in his midsection while taking control of his arms. As we tumble over, I use my foot and his own momentum to launch him into the air. Tora spins head over heels. I had intended to bounce him off the wall, but I aimed a little high. He goes right over the retaining wall and lands in the fan’s laps. I think some of them might need medical attention.

Tora’s head cracks against the floor when he lands. When he struggles to his feet, I can tell just by looking the fight is already  over even though he pulls himself over the wall and lands unsteadily in the sand.

“It’s over, boy.” I drop my hands. “Yield.”

Tora holds up his hands as if in surrender, but his eyes have a clever gleam. Suddenly he rushes forward and attempts another tackle. He runs right into my outstretched fist and crumples to the sand.

The crowd goes insane, and I wave to them as they toss down favors. Usually it’s flowers, or the banners with my name they sell for an exorbitant amount, then collect after the match and sell to another poor fool. But I do have my female fans as well, and undergarments rain down in abundance. I take note of one particularly lacy pair. Whoever they belong to must have a most generous rear end…

I’ve done my duty and protected my brand name. Now I want my just rewards. That should include at least one young female to sate my appetites.

When I get back to my dressing room, there’s a female all right. But not the one I was expecting.

“Get your clothes off, and get that sweet pussy in working mode…”

My voice trails off as I behold an Ataxian priestess in full vestments. She doesn’t seem angry. In fact, I think I detect a slight smile trying to form on her face.

“Ataxia forgive me, Priestess.” I kneel down before her. “I had expected someone else.”

“Please, rise good Brax. You should never take a knee before one as wretched as I.”

I get to my feet and quickly pull out my chair for her.

“Please, sit.”

“No thank you. My business is urgent and I cannot tarry long.”

“Then please tell me what this simply fighter can do for the glory of Ataxia.”

She smiles and comes up close. Her intense scrutiny has me a bit nervous, but I try not to let it show.

“I saw your fight. You seemed almost…bored.”

“That’s because I was. Fighting has lost its meaning for me of late, but there are years left on my contract.”

“I see. So, you seek a change?”

“Very much so, priestess.”

“Good. Because I have need of your skills. Have you heard of the intrepid band of rogues known as the Penetrators?”

“The name rings a bell, but I thought it was some sort of Alliance deal.”

“It is. Which is why I’m here. Recent events have demonstrated the value of such a small, crack unit. The Penetrators have done what armies have failed to do. The Coalition needs its own such team.”

“Alas I am under contract.”

“I can take care of that.”

I cock my head to the side and narrow my gaze.

“I am used to a certain lifestyle…”

“You will be well compensated, and of course you merchandise sales will continue to accrue.”

“Priestess, you have your man.” I bow my head and smile.

“Good. You will leave on the morrow, as soon as your Companion arrives.”

“Excellent.” My smile fades. “Did you just say Companion? As in some human woman who’s going to cramp my style? No thanks.”

Arlu’s eyes grow hard.

“You have already agreed, Brax. There are many facets leading to the Penetrator’s success. I have surmised that you need bolstering in certain aspects of you expected duties, and have provided for them accordingly.”

“But, but a Companion, a human female—“

“There is to be no discussion on this champion. I suggest you tie up your loose ends. In the morning, you belong to me.”

I watch as she leaves my dressing room, and I slam my fist down on the vanity.

A Companion. Bah, who needs them?