Spectator sports

The Captain's voice came clear through the intercom:

"We are twelve hours from Novaya Zemlya. All hands meeting at Captain's quarters in two hours, including those on watch duty. Make sure your stations can survive a bit on their own. And in entertainment news, Aslög and I will be sparring in the gym shortly. That is all."

Pinga had listened intently, but once the announcement ended, she went back to folding and sorting the laundry. The girls' dorm had a sleepy atmosphere; the music was off for once, and the lights were dim. Amaterasu was asleep in her bunk.

Or she was, until Metzli shook her shoulder.

"Wake up! We have a show to spectate!"

Despite her groggy state, Amaterasu got up without a grumble and threw on her silk robe—this time tying the sash, though it did little to hide her generous curves. Both women slipped on heels and were already at the door before Pinga could ask,

"What's going on?"

The duo looked at her incredulously. Metzli shrugged; Amaterasu giggled.

"Sorry, chica, forgot you don’t know yet. Aslög and the Captain are sparring, which is a show you don’t want to miss! Get up, let’s go already!"

They pulled Pinga with them, heels clicking on the stairs as they made their way down. On the galley deck, Macha joined them with a platter loaded with treats.

"Is today the day our Nordic goddess of war finally wins?" the redhead speculated excitedly.

Metzli agreed, but Amaterasu shook her head.

"She’s good, but the Captain is better. She’ll eat her pride again," came her verdict.

Keeping the snack platter balanced while climbing down the ladders was a challenge, but the foursome managed. They were the last to arrive—Nepthys was still holding down the bridge, and May was on duty in engineering.

Aslög and Luke were already stretching on the mats in the middle of the gym. Metzli grabbed her lawn chair from hydroponics, while the others sat on the floor. Macha passed out snacks, and the crowd settled in for the show.

Pinga wasn’t sure what to expect. She hadn’t really seen the two of them in action at the asteroid mine. She had witnessed brawls before, and once even a knife fight, but those were messy, drunken affairs—or a group of thugs executing some poor sap.

This was something entirely different.

The two just stared at each other for a long, tense moment. Then they nodded—and exploded into motion. With the ship decelerating, the steady 1g gravity held firm, but both fighters moved like lightning, too fast for Pinga to follow. The others whooped and hollered as Luke and Aslög punched and blocked, kicked and dodged. Then, suddenly, Aslög was on the mat, gasping for breath.

The peanut gallery groaned in sympathy.

"Again?" Luke asked, breathing hard.

Aslög nodded and rose. They squared off once more. The spar resumed—Aslög more cautious now, trying to bait Luke into overextending. But the older man kept his distance, playing to his strengths: reach, power, patience.

The girls went wild when Aslög seemingly landed a side kick—then gasped when Luke, instead of falling, turned her momentum against her and sent her tumbling to the floor.

"Metzli, knives," Luke barked, strain in his voice.

The blonde payload master scurried to a storage box and retrieved two ceramic blades, handing them to the fighters.

Pinga gasped—were they really going to cut each other?

"They’re dull practice ones," Metzli whispered, easing back into her seat.

Round three began, slower now. A tense dance. Aslög and Luke circled each other like sharks, gauging reactions, testing reach. The silver-haired woman kept her distance, her blade flicking in the air, trying to draw Luke into a mistake.

Everyone was quiet. The only sound was Macha nervously nibbling.

The bladed duel continued—feints and baiting, each testing the other’s guard in a silent, lethal rhythm. Then, Luke switched hands. Aslög saw her opening and rushed in. But Luke sidestepped smoothly and, almost playful, slid his blade across her neck.

Aslög slumped down, defeated. Her breath came hard, pride still simmering in her eyes.

Luke pulled her up and kissed her hard.

"Always getting better," he said, loud enough for all to hear.

"Let’s hit the showers. Macha and Pinga, take care of Aslög. Metzli and June—you’re with me."

Amaterasu winked at Pinga.

"Keep your eyes open. The real show starts when you hit the showers."

Pinga swallowed. She had a fair idea what was coming next.

The thrill of the fight still crackled in her blood—but now it was melting into the heat of anticipation.

A different kind of dance awaited her on the hygiene deck.