Shifty Reads Gladiatrix of the Galaxy, Chapters 3-4

Abethca's dress was a form-fitting tube top with green zebra print on black. In fact, the green seemed to be color matched to her exact gradient of skin so that it would look as though the black dress was shredded and her skin was peeking out from beneath. Sexy and stylish.

Welcome back to Gladiatrix of the Galaxy.

I'd like to open this installment by taking a quick look at Mr Vick's author bio.

Tristan Vick is a multi-genre author who specializes in sci-fi, fantasy, and horror and has dabbled in mystery and suspense as well. He graduated from Montana State University with degrees in English Literature and Asian Cultural Studies and speaks fluent Japanese. He lives with his wife and three children in Japan.

Remember that second degree title, because it's going to come up again later.

When he's not commuting on the train or teaching English, he spends his time reading, writing, blogging, binge-watching his favorite television shows, and eating sara-udon. In addition to being traditionally published, Tristan Vick continues to self-publish under his own imprint, Regolith Productions.

As far as I can tell, all his fiction efforts appear to be under Regolith Productions, including this one, which actually has a paperback release and even an Audible edition. His traditionally published books are all non-fiction and concern atheism and agnosticism, and none of them are mentioned on his personal website (though they're all still on Amazon).

But you didn't come here for atheism. You came here for the further adventures of Jegra, Gladiatrix of the Galaxy, and I shall deliver.

Chapter 3

Jegra's moans seeped out into the hallway and drew the attention of the guards outside her door who looked at each other with stupid grins on their faces.

We zoom in on Jegra, who's lying on her belly while Abethca gives her a... back massage. This joke was a lot funnier in Fawlty Towers.

So Abethca's oiling Jegra up with

birtchkum oil, made from small, edible seeds that smell [sic] like almonds,

This is actually something that annoys me a lot in SFF: we already know that the birtchkum oil, as it's called, is being used for a massage, so, from context, we can probably assume that it's not, like, engine oil. More than that, a hell of a lot of massage oil is actually made from almonds (I'm allergic to nuts and discovered this the hard way), so what do we gain from knowing this? I like detail in worldbuilding, but I'd rather have had it applied to, say, the rules of gladiatorial combat from last time, rather than the provenance of the oil.

In the few hours since the battle, Jegra has almost completely healed from her wounds thanks to her altered biology, but Abethca has not, and is still covered in bruises. We are treated to an odd little exchange where Abethca catches Jegra staring and Jegra looks away bashfully, because

she didn't want Abethca to know that she was sort of "into her".

"So, look, I like you (and you're my pleasure slave after I beat you in the arena), but I don't like like you, okay?"

After an oily makeout session, Abethca runs off to run Jegra a bath and Jegra gets on Space Skype to Dakroth's ship. She's answered, however, by someone else.

The screen flickered and a beautiful, blue skinned woman in Imperial armor and wearing a tight ponytail that pulled the skin of her face tight appeared on the monitor.

As research, I put my own hair in as tight a ponytail as I could manage and my face didn't look any different besides more of it being visible. I can only conclude that this woman's skin is naturally really loose, like a mask, and she needs the ponytail to keep it on properly.

Anyway, this is Vice Admiral Cassera, our third lead alongside Jegra and Dakroth and the blue elf-looking lady from the cover. Jegra and Cassera have met before, and they do not get along at all, but Cassera beams down some fancy clothes for the evening anyway, including the aforementioned zebra print tube top.

But there's no time to get dressed, because Abethca's being murdered. A 'bald, red-skinned female of an unknown alien race', with cool circuit tattoos and armour which Jegra 'could only describe as techno-gothic' (I guess because describing what it actually looked like would take too long), is strangling her in the overflowing bathtub. Jegra rips a towel hanger off the wall and attacks, but the mysterious assassin is as strong as her, throwing her away and teleporting away.

Jegra tries to resuscitate Abethca, but to no avail, and she cries for the first time since being abducted... wait. Hold on a second.

In the year and a half since she was abducted, Jegra has won seventy-two bouts in the arena, and presumably killed every opponent (since her sparing Abethca was such a huge deal). She hasn't seen any of her friends or family from Earth in that time. Meanwhile, she's been on good terms with Abethca for a few hours at most, and before that they were actively hostile - it wasn't like this was an oasis of normalcy in an otherwise fucked-up life. Look, I know everyone deals with grief and trauma differently, but I don't buy that her crush being murdered is what finally breaks Jegra's steely resolve if eighteen months of brutal gladiatorial combat didn't.

Jegra vaporizes Abethca's body with a laser pistol, right there in her bedroom.

Technically, she wasn't supposed to be in possession of such a weapon, but it was given to her by Lord Dakroth, who felt it might come in handy in her new, hostile environment. "Just in case," he'd told her.

Just in case she needed to perform an impromptu cremation, apparently.

She heads back to the arena to be beamed up, past some street urchins who get chased off by security. Oh, and she's got her nips out, apparently:

Jegra sauntered out into the center of the arena in her nearly see-through gossamer dress. Although her dark nipples shone through the fabric, her white silk panties prevented her nether region from being revealed.

I can't speak for everyone, but, in my experience, people mourning the loss of a loved one (or one they were "into") don't do all that much sauntering.

Chapter 4

Jegra gets beamed aboard Dakroth's battlecruiser and immediately throws up all over the floor, and also Cassera. As she wipes herself down, we're treated to whatever the fuck this is:

Nervous that she may have sullied her dress with her own sick, Jegra checked to make sure she didn't accidentally splash any vomit on her borrowed gown. Groping her large chest, she mashed her breasts from side to side, and even hoisted them briefly to check underneath, as she searched for any excess spillage.

Satisfied that she was in the clear, she readjusted her chest, and made sure her girls were presenting themselves well - since it was, after all, a transparent gown. The last thing she wanted was to be seen on her way to meet the emperor with mashed up areolas and wonky nipples pointing in opposite directions.

If your areolas could be accurately described as "mashed up", please consult a medical professional.

Cassera leads Jegra through some corridors, and Jegra gets briefly angry at an officer for staring at her arse before doing exactly the same thing to Cassera.

But, even she had to confess, they [the Dagons] all looked stunning. Like Asians back on her homeworld,

Hold on, I'm trying to think of a single good way this sentence can end.

they all shared certain homogenous traits.

No, that ain't it. Really working that Asian Cultural Studies degree, eh?

Dagons are basically blue elves, but they also treat us to some of that good ol' alien sex anatomy: female Dagons have penises, which 'somehow retracted up into the cervix' when unneeded. Remember, the Amazon summary for this book describes Cassera as 'transsexual' - but if this is a normal trait of females of her species, then... oh well, at least it's better than some of the terms used by hack writers to describe women with penises in fiction. It's speculated, by the way, that they evolved this way because so many of their men were lost in wars over the last three thousand years (ample time, I'm sure, to evolve a whole new sex organ). Dagon males also got a second penis somehow. Equality!

But wait, enough xenobiology, we're not done with analogues to Asia yet:

She suspected the labyrinthine interior of the ship was a deliberate architectural choice. It was much like the roads leading to and from Japanese castles back on Earth, which always twisted and bent around backwards to confound invading armies and lead them away from the main castle.

See? Our esteemed author does understand Asian culture. Well, Japanese culture. Well, feudal Japan. Well, feudal Japanese warfare. Very underexplored field, that.

Jegra excuses Abethca's absence, saying only that she "couldn't make it", and asks Cassera why she doesn't like her. Turns out, it's because Cassera doesn't trust her not to hurt Dakroth (who gets temporarily demoted to Lord Dakroth in this chapter). Also she watches them fuuuuuck. I'm not really sure why Jegra's surprised by this, since Cassera is obviously so tight with Dakroth and concerned for his safety.

They finally arrive in the dining room, pausing only for one more boob adjustment, and there's a goddamn fountain in the middle of it for some reason, with a big statue of a naked Dakroth and further statues of

three Japanese-like koi fish, the size of great white sharks

Alright, three references to Asia is a pattern. This is officially a Thing now.

Dakroth is already there, and invites Jegra to the table. They discuss the war with the Nyctan Empire, which is apparently a 'sore spot' for Dakroth, so naturally Jegra brings it up immediately. And then we learn the reason for her presence.

"Will you, Jessica Hemsworth, do me the honor of becoming my seventeenth wife?"

Jegra asks why, when they're already fucking, and Dakroth announces that he's obsessed with her and wants her at his side. The feeling is not mutual and Jegra suspects shenanigans, but she accepts anyway, because, well, given what we know about Dakroth, turning him down doesn't seem likely to end well. But,

Although the words had slipped out of her mouth without the slightest inkling of forethought,

except for all the forethought we just saw,

she was committed. After all, it wasn't every day the emperor of the entire friggin' galaxy asked you to marry him.

I guess she's over Abethca now?

That's a wrap on chapter four. We've dived a little deeper into the messed-up psyche of our protagonist, but I can't help but feel like Vick missed a trick in not letting them have dinner before the proposal - if he's making a play for the Game of Thrones crowd, he's going to need a bit more lavish description of food to compete.

Next time: wife fights, boar fights, and a stupid, stupid master plan.