Alien Exodus
His gaze held me still for a moment while I forgot what I was supposed to do. He grinned a bit more wickedly, and suddenly I was flailing mid-air. Cherish to my right and Buster at my left had joined forces. One had swept my feet out from under me and both had gripped me under each arm. As my toes reconnected with the ground, they commenced attempting to pull my arms off.
This was a tough trick to pull off. They had to pull hard enough away from each other with me in the middle to make it look real, but not actually injure me. I had to trust them not to get too excited and tear my muscles.
I’m pleased to report they succeeded admirably. We’d stretched me repeatedly in practice in this pose. I grimace in “agony” while the crowd watched my chest and back muscles lengthen, and lengthen, and…
I threw my head back and howled, even though the crowd couldn’t hear me. Out of the corner of my right eye I saw Ravish “coming to”. She put her palms on the mat and pushed herself up, collapsed, and rolled onto her back. She took a few deep breaths, her chest rising and falling. Rolling onto her side, she curled her legs under her, pushed herself onto her shins, and lurched to her feet, pretending to stagger for a few seconds. Buster and Ravish had been kicking at each other for a minute or so, sometimes letting the tension off my arms, which I kept attempting to take advantage of. Then they’d “notice” and pull apart again, only to start kicking at each other again.
Ravish spun around, saw us, grinned maniacally, and charged. Her tackle launched Buster twenty feet in front of me, with Ravish hanging on. They’d begun to inflict blunt-force trauma on each other before they even stopped rolling.
When Buster had let go of me, I was sent hurling into Cherish, who tried to scramble out of my path, but was unsuccessful. I crashed into her and she fell, trapped by my body on her legs. She tried to kick and struggle free. I wrapped my arms around her thighs, with my face ending up in her crotch.
I didn’t think the noise of the crowd could get any louder, but it did!
Cherish pushed herself away using her arms, her sweaty palms leaving streaks on the mat as they slipped toward me. I gripped her thighs with my left arm and grabbed at her left hand a couple of times with my right. We seemed to be in a kind of standoff, or layoff, maybe, but then she began to make a kind of swimming motion with her lower body - like a mermaid’s. She tried to kick me off.
Cherish had done a lot of strengthening of her abs, obliques, and back muscles to enable her to get a lot of motion into this move, and it looked great. Her knees kept bashing my chest though, not so great. As we’d practiced, I lost my grip, and then reattached myself to her shins, and then her knees were beating my face. Under my chest, the soles of her feet planted on the floor, her knees pushed up, she levered herself up on bent arms, and flick! I went flying into the air, not much altitude, but enough to allow her to pull herself out from under me. I landed - oof! - on my face and upper chest, using my palms to cushion the blow.
A little blood was flowing from my nose as I stood up. I used my forearm to wipe it away and stood blinking tears out of my eyes.
While we’d been clinched Buster and Ravish had exhausted themselves as well, so we all stood still, eyeing each other, breathing hard, rubbing bruises and wiping away snot, tears, sweat, and blood.
The crowd didn’t like that much. The stomping began again, here and there at first, then more joined in and it became louder.
Gliton came on the mic again and his voice boomed above us. “Ladies and Gentlemen, stomping is not allowed. Please stop or this fight will be ended.”
We’d choreographed this, too. We’d realized at this point we’d need to rest and catch our breath after the initial excitement, so fifteen plants in the audience - fighters who had the night off - incited the stamping.
As Cherish, Ravish, Buster, and I breathed, sweat, bled, and blew snot out of our noses, Gliton got the crowd under control. It took almost five minutes. By the time the crowd had calmed down, we were feeling chilled. Klon seemed to have left the arena.
Once again we began to circle each other warily. I felt several slippery wet spots under my feet. The mat would get more dangerous for us as the fight continued because of them. I was looking down at the mat and circling toward the outer areas of the ring. The other three were slowly closing in on me across the wet patches in the middle. They were moving closer together as they walked. The arena wall was coming closer to me. Hmmm.
The crowd hummed in anticipation.
Buster, Cherish, and Ravish were glancing at each other, and appeared to come to a decision.
I’d backed up against the wall, and pushed myself off of it, “surprised”, as if I’d forgotten how to fight in this space.
The audience members directly above me were leaning over the barrier, yelling and waving at me.
I moved along the wall to my right. The others changed course to their left. Oh boy! Three on one! The spectators roared as they recognized the dynamic.
I smiled. I pumped my fists in the air. I beckoned my “foes” with my hands. I pounded one fist into the other palm. I curled my arms inward and down, fists toward each other, and pumped up my chest.
They all took off at once and charged. I ran toward them.
Kablam! It could have been suicide in the old days.
Arms flailing, legs kicking, this was a free-for-all. I punched Buster on the cheek. Cherish slugged me in the kidney. I swept Ravish’s feet out from under her, Buster and Cherish piled on me. I went to my knee, Cherish wrapped her arm around my throat.
The crowd berserked.
Ravish, still on the ground, socked the back of Buster’s standing leg, dumping her to her knee. Buster’s arms and kicking leg followed her down. On hand and knees, she made a good prop for me. I placed both hands on her back and pushed myself up and backwards in toward Cherish. She clung to my neck. On my feet, I reached back, grabbed her hair, bent forward, and pulled her over the top of me, dumping her onto Buster, who was trying to stand. They both rolled into Ravish, who had managed to stand, but now fell on her butt.
I jumped into the pile and we rolled around, flailing at each other. After a few minutes, Ravish and Cherish paired off, as Buster and I did the same, punching and kicking, grabbing and rolling to separate our pairs from each other. When we were about eight feet apart, Cherish stood up, hands filled with Ravish’s hair, Ravish’s hand gripping her wrists, and Cherish spun her around, letting go so that her “sister” careened in to Buster and me just as we got our feet under us once again. We three went flying and flopping down the mat. I rolled free of the tangle and stood.
Cherish was running and boof! Her shoulder slammed into my side and we flew apart from the others. This time she landed with her face in my crotch. Ah, the irony! More huge noise erupted from above us.
On my back, I surveyed the crowd: all the beautifully colored clothes, all the lunacy in the faces, all the spilled food, drinks, and containers on the dome. The sprinklers came on and water ran from the middle to the sides above me, washing the mess they’d made into the trough around the ring walls, below the spectators. For a moment, they couldn’t see us clearly. We relaxed, breathed, kept our places, and waited for the sprayers to cease.
When the dome cleared, we were back at it. We performed a mixed martial arts rally that lasted about half an hour. We’d practiced it so long it felt like slow-motion to us, but the crowd seemed to be experiencing something like a very long orgasm. We kicked and punched and slapped and blocked, and tried to apply a variety of holds and locks on each other. Part of the time it was like a class in how to apply and break away, but we were so fast, the audience was mesmerized.
Every so often a hold would last just long enough for the holdee to suck in a few deep breaths and relax some tight muscles. In these instances, we had the breakaways all timed in, but this part of the show was more freeform than choreographed. In the crowd were a lot of fighters and regular watchers, even so, we’d made our movements so complicated and fast, they seemed to res
pond positively to this. They were so engrossed for a while I was able to hear the four of us breathing and grunting, and blows landing.
While we duked it out, I wondered how Jack was doing. Was he enjoying it or having flashbacks? He’d only seen me fight twice, and I recalled that before the first battle of mine that he’d witnessed, he’d lost one of his teammates, Sullivan McTiernan. They’d called him “Sully”, and had encouraged him and cheered him on until a giant orange gelatinous blob had devoured him. The beast then took his victory laps, Sully visibly being digested inside of it.[7]
An elbow was coming in fast at my sore nose and I jerked my head to the left just in time to take the blow on my split cheek.
No worries, we were almost finished with this scuffle and then we’d start our finale.
We’d choreographed a long finale. They’d be talking about us and watching recordings for centuries.
We all pulled apart and breathed while the audience rested as well. This was kind of like halftime, although we were almost fifteen minutes into hour two.
In the old days, I didn’t take breathers. Pretty much whoever ran out of stamina first lost the advantage and was killed by its opponent. In my fights, mine was always better. No killing here today, but no tapping out, either. We’d been able to provide a fast, and for the most part, continuous show.
Our audience was drinking, snacking, talking, and waiting. They seemed satisfied, but we weren’t finished yet.
We’d moved out into four “corners” and were circling the arena. We’d planned to rest and wait until the spectators became restless. They seemed to be giving us plenty of time to recuperate, as if they knew the battle to come would be worth the wait. It sort of reminded me of the kind of lull in fireworks displays before the grand finale during my time on Earth.
They gave us about five minutes, and then the noise level began to rise. Shouts of “Fight!” came from here and there, nothing crucial yet. We let them wait. Pockets of clapping, a few thrown cups, and a little stamping began.
The noise picked up some more; more shouting, clapping and stomping occurred.
Gliton broke in momentarily through the com system and admonished the stampers, which quieted them briefly, but not for long. They were getting impatient.
We circled closer and began to verbally and physically taunt one another.
More audience members were yelling, “Fight!”, and they were starting to coordinate in to a chant.
Our gestures became more insulting, lewd, and lascivious.
The clapping and yelling increased.
We were close enough to run and kick out at each other, but still we didn’t fully engage.
The chanting grew in volume and speed, “Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!”
A scuffle broke out to my left; Buster and Cherish grappling, trying to apply locks and holds on each other, neither succeeding. They got the crowd’s attention, but then they backed off. As I watched, Ravish snuck in on my right. I turned just in time to block and slip away from her flying kick. I pushed her leg away from me to knock her off balance and get a little momentum for my side stepping. She landed awkwardly but managed to roll out of it and stand up. She wobbled for just a second and then walked toward me. I stood my ground and watched Buster grab both of Cherish’s forearms.
Ravish chose to throw a punch, which I squatted under. She continued to spin and attempted to knock me in the head with her elbow. I dropped to the ground to grab both of her legs between mine. She struggle, but fell.
Buster rolled out of the arm bar throw Cherish had performed masterfully on her, and Buster and Ravish managed to collide.
Of course, this “angered’ them both and they began grabbing, kicking and spinning around each other on the floor. Their limbs moved so fast it was hard to see what was going on, and we’d had a challenge during practice coming up with new moves for them, but we had.
I stood and looked at Cherish, who smiled at me and gave me a thumbs-up. Her leotard and tights were darkened by sweat and blood. I looked down at myself and realized I was in the same condition. I looked up and she was nodding and giving me the “come on” hands sign. So I did.
I walked right up to her and threw a punch, which she took on the jaw, and then she threw one at me. My arms didn’t seem to want to respond correctly, so I ended up blocking it with my forehead. Ouch. She was tired, too, so, thankfully, it wasn’t a full strength blow. She jabbed; I jabbed. Suddenly she spun and dropped, sweeping my legs out from under me. As I was falling, she pushed herself upright on the one leg, caught one of my legs, and began to swing me around in a circle.
For a lazy sexer she sure was strong. She and Ravish had kept in shape by sparring every day on the Anything Goes, and they had taught classes, too.
Though we were all pretty amazing, and could do things no human could do, I’d found myself the weakest of the bunch. Still, I was the headliner, and I’d spent decades fighting aliens, so I knew many tricks. But we’d decided to let the others get a few moves in on me, so when she let go, I flew through the air and hit the arena wall with a resounding thud, which presented as a bit of vibration in the wall, to the thrill of the fans sitting in that section. Once again, their cheering was so loud I couldn’t hear a thing.
I’d flown a long way, so the impact wasn’t terrible, and I’d maneuvered myself to hit the wall flat on my back, spreading out the force of impact. Still, I felt some bruising occur at the back of my head and heels, and behind my shoulder blades. I felt some crunching as my low back straightened against the wall. Crepitus. Even the flesh surrounding carbon-fiber spines makes that sound. I flopped to the floor and played unconscious while I watched Cherish and Ravish attack Buster through narrow slits between my eyelids.
They were wailing on each other. It looked like a drunken bar fight that went on and on. Blows really landed; I could see their flesh give. The concentration on their faces was intense. The alertness, the calculations were inhuman. They were all in the moment, slugging away like boxers, when Buster suddenly straightened up like a board and fell backwards.
Uh, oh. That wasn’t part of our program. Shit!
The choreography was broken. We’d have to improvise, now, until we could get back into it.
Cherish and Ravish continued boxing while watching Buster when they could. I watched their eyes sliding around to look at her. I continued to play dead, but began to move slightly - “coming to”.
Their boxing turned into kick boxing, as if their arms had grown tired and needed a break.
I pretended to push myself up on my arms and collapse. Buster still hadn’t moved. She’d really gotten clocked.
I rolled onto my side, stuck my legs out, and pushed myself into a seated position, facing the wall. I pretended not to know where I was. I slowly looked up the wall until I saw the spectators. They were screaming at me.
At this point Ravish was supposed to be coming up behind me but I knew that wasn’t going to happen. She was still engaged with Cherish, and my friends up the wall weren’t pointing. So I moved to my left and onto my shins to stretch my knees, facing the others.
Buster was finally moving. She’d rolled onto her side.
Cherish and Ravish were doing some complicated stuff to each other. I marveled at their stamina, but they were blowing hard.
I stood up and walked, watching Buster. She was on her hands and knees, her head hanging. She sat back and looked around. The other two were behind her. She turned her head to look at me and then she stood up.
She was hardly wobbling at all. She flexed and stretched a bit and then began to dance, giving me the same “come on” hands sign Cherish had a while ago. So we stumbled toward each other and picked up fighting right at the point in the choreography where we should have been at that moment, just in a different place in the ring.
It was magical. Near the end, we were all executing tricky moves in the center of the ring, switching partners and exchanging maneuvers like you see in the best fight movies; a surpri
sing number of which have survived the fall of Earth.
Suddenly the loud, synthetic tone filled the stadium, and our performance ended.
The entire crowd was on its feet, screaming and clapping. We stood in a line, our mouths hanging open, and gasped and sweat and bled.
We slowly rotated so we could face everyone in the audience. We could feel the energy of the shaking ship coming up through the floor into our bare feet. Even the air was vibrating.
Screens above our audience showed creatures on many different ships and planets doing the multitude of things they did to show their appreciation of us. One screen showed a close up of all our faces as we slowly turned. We looked terrible.
As I turned I saw on one screen my three boys, and Klon and Lukan looking down at us. Klon looked satisfied. Lukan, Kek, and Nok looked thrilled and all smiled widely. And Jack, poor Jack, looked proud and scared, and he was crying. So, of course, my stomach clenched, my throat tightened, and then I was crying, too.
Of course, this just made it harder for me to breathe, damnit.
Chapter Seventeen
Return to Earth