Realizing what he was looking at, he was suddenly wide awake. “Collin . . .”
“Hmf . . .”
“Wake up!”
Hayden began kicking the top bunk.
“What?” Collin asked irritably.
“You don’t want to miss this, Jonathan is—”
Tam’s voice boomed again over the speakers. “The challenger, maybe you’ve heard of him, maybe not, but our enemies know his name. Our fearless leader, Jonathan Tibbs.
“He will be participating in a full contact match with the reigning champion. The guy with one name, The Borealis Madonna, Mr. Fedora himself . . .”
“No way,” Collin said as Tam went on and on with creative titles for Heyer. Finally, Tam paused, cleared his throat, then attempted his best Michael Buffer impression. “Let’s get ready to RUMBLE.”
As every eye inside Mr. Clean became glued to a screen, the black void of a loading projection scenario made it appear that Jonathan and Heyer faced off in an empty abyss. In the space of a few breaths contours and shapes began to form in the void.
Collin stared up at the screen that had formed on his ceiling. “Is that supposed to be . . .”
“Welcome to the Coliseum,” Jonathan said.
Heyer looked about and gave an approving nod. “And are you ready?”
“Wouldn’t worry about me, Old Man.” Jonathan said.
“Good, do not hold back,” Heyer said, then shot forward.
Seconds later, Heyer rolled onto his back with a groan. He looked up at the few scattered clouds slowly moving west in an otherwise clear sky.
A somewhat delighted smile formed on his face. “Well now.”
Footsteps approached. Jonathan’s face replacing the sun as he looked down at Heyer curiously. “You playing at something, Old Man?”
Jonathan wasn’t mocking him. He suspected Heyer was as surprised as he to find himself looking down at the alien after an exchange that had lasted less than three seconds. Their shared confusion was because Jonathan hadn’t done anything of any martial prowess. Even if he did have something up his sleeve, the exchange hadn’t gone on long enough to get elaborate.
No, what happened was Heyer had miscalculated so comically he was on the brink of laughing at his own expense.
“I do apologize,” Heyer said, finding he had a good deal of sand in his mouth as he rose and dusted himself off.
“What happened?” Jonathan asked.
What had happened was clear to everyone. They had come into close quarters, when Heyer had thrown a punch, Jonathan had grabbed his wrist, pulled him along and slammed him headfirst into the ground. He’d then kicked the alien and sent him tumbling through the sands.
What he was really asking was how it happened.
That was more nuanced.
On the surface, Heyer had gone on the offensive. Launched forward and thrown a strike he knew Jonathan would dodge. He hadn’t been trying to hit the man, just force him into evading. Jonathan had not disappointed, he had stepped to the side of the fist—exactly as Heyer assumed he would—just as his father had a thousand times before.
What surprised him was when Jonathan took hold of his wrist.
Douglas would have known better. The father had seen how easily Heyer could break such a hold a thousand times over. The father would have known it would end with him off balance and nothing to show for it.
So, reflexively—Heyer had done just that. Moved to break the hold on his wrist. That was when the shock came—Jonathan’s grip didn’t break. That was the miscalculation. The son possessed all of Douglas’s hard-won grace, but also possessed a strength the father never had.
So, Heyer found himself off balance, his elbow locked as he lost control of his shoulder. In a heartbeat his face was rushing toward the sands. The rest pretty much went as everyone else had witnessed.
“What happened,” Heyer said, as he began to smile. “Is that I have never been in a fight with a man that was this close to fair.”
“You look kind of excited about it,” Jonathan said.
Heyer’s feet slipped into the sand and he lowered into a balanced stance. “I am.”
Jonathan frowned and readied himself again as well. “You’re . . . uh . . . welcome?”
Heyer never lost sight of his opponent, even as his back collided with the tall wall of limestone that rimmed the coliseum. Jonathan was already capitalizing, coming at Heyer’s knees first like a missile intent on putting him in the wall permanently.
Heyer waited until the last moment to move, but Jonathan didn’t fall for the delay. As Heyer leapt to safety, Tibbs was already pivoting and readying his legs to absorb his momentum.
Heyer only gained an instant as he rolled out of his dive and Jonathan ricocheted off the wall after him.
Heyer had a slight advantage with Jonathan coming at him headfirst. He let the man reach him just as he rolled onto his back. They hit the coliseum floor, toppling over one another, but Heyer had the control and the leverage. He planted a foot into Jonathan’s gut and thrust him away.
Tibbs didn’t fight the trajectory forced on him. He focused on sticking his landing with his eyes turned on the real danger. Heyer already running toward him, as Jonathan’s bare feet tore a line through the sand. The ball of his foot gently touched the opposite wall. He came to a stop, and then broke into a run to meet the alien.
This had gone on for some time now. Their exchanges sometimes came to throwing each other at walls, or the close quarters hand to hand that was more like chess. They blocked and dodged, maneuvered through an elegant dance of reflexive counters.
Yet, Heyer was noticing strange moments. Some more elegant than Douglas ever used, others drastically less. As Heyer drew into close range and Jonathan got up from his knees, he pushed a strike of the fist off course with a block to Jonathan’s forearm. Then one of those strange moments of grace came. Jonathan swept forward with a half jump, half crawl, that turned into an unexpected move to sweep the alien’s legs. The way the man had swept across the ground surprised the alien, such that he hadn’t known what it was building toward. As Heyer finally saw the sweep coming he was forced to jump, cartwheeling over Jonathan, with the intent of finding the man’s back exposed.
He only realized the sweep had never been meant to succeed a second early. Jonathan whipped around, following through the spin. Knowing exactly where Heyer would try to put himself, and his fist was already on a collision course with the alien’s chest. Heyer barely got his arms crossed into a block as his feet touched ground.
Had the punch succeeded, it would have been devastating to a man. Would have landed hard in the solar plexus. Heyer took it on the arms and the force sent him back, throwing sand in both directions as his feet brought him to a stop.
Heyer tilted his head at his opponent. He’d never studied Capoeira, but he knew what it looked like when it was used. He also had a pretty good idea where Jonathan had learned a maneuver like that—as it had Rylee’s signature all over it.
Jonathan’s momentary flourish of style was followed by a complete abandonment of grace. He came at Heyer like a linebacker—his shoulder ramming into Heyer at the stomach and driving him into the limestone.
This time the alien was caught off guard because it wasn’t Douglas’ or Rylee’s style. No, this felt more like a Jonathan original. Something one might try in a fight because he had the strength and power to risk it. Yet, it paid off; Heyer felt the wall give as he crashed into it once again.
Heyer took the damage, bringing his elbow down into Jonathan’s shoulder blade with enough force to put the man in the sands. Jonathan rolled clear as Heyer tried to follow it with a crushing foot. Only then did he notice, once again, what Jonathan had really been up to.
This wall had been weakened several times already. Heyer looked up just in time to see it crumbling down on him.
At first, the sounds of those outside the projection chamber had been like a stadium watching a title fight. But a few minutes in, the o
nly sound came from inside the chamber itself.
Tam watched the faces of the others.
He began to understand why Heyer had volunteered for this to be seen by everyone. Why he’d known that anyone who doubted Jonathan should be leading them would find themselves questioning that doubt.
Heyer was stronger, faster, wiser—had more experience than any twenty of their lifetimes combined, everyone knew this, and yet . . .
It showed itself in the alien’s concentration.
It dripped down his skin as he sweat.
It whispered to all who watched seconds become minutes and every advantage the alien possessed failing to bring the fight to a close.
Tam had sparred with the alien. Any man who had, knew it was like trying to grapple with an ocean wave. Had anyone else amongst them been in that coliseum, there would be no uncertainty as to who was student and who was teacher.
Jonathan was impervious to all of it. Nothing Heyer did seemed to matter. No matter how many times the alien landed a blow, or momentarily outmaneuvered him, he was unfazed.
Jonathan respected the danger Heyer presented, but it didn’t invoke the fear it should have. This man looked like he would walk up to a god, knock him on his ass, and walk away as though nothing the slightest bit miraculous had happened.
This was all to say, that as Tam watched, he felt a growing fear.
He was afraid for Heyer.
It was in Jonathan’s eyes—something was coming.
Jonathan’s fist caught Heyer in the face. When the next blow came, the alien knocked it away, and grappled Jonathan’s arm. He used the leverage to back him into the wall.
Knowing Heyer would only lock out his limb or knock him off balance, Jonathan moved accordingly. What he didn’t plan for was Heyer running up and cartwheeling off the coliseum wall with a powerful push of his legs. Jonathan was forced to go along for the ride, at his mercy the moment his feet were yanked off the ground.
When Heyer loosed his grip, he put as much heat as he could into throwing the man. Tibbs shot across the coliseum like a dagger flipping blade over handle. There was no graceful landing in such circumstances. At the final moment, he managed to tighten himself into a cannonball, protecting his neck and limbs, and crashed through the opposite wall. This time the wall wasn’t enough to stop him completely. And a moment later, the limestone, stacked by the ancient Romans for seating, collapsed as well.
Dust shot up into the air around the giant wound that had been placed in the amphitheater.
A moment later, Heyer walked into the rubble, hardly able to see in the cloud that had erupted. He wondered if Jonathan was buried, digging his way out. If he’d managed to avoid that fate he may be lying in wait.
Sounds of settling debris drew the alien’s attention, until he heard something more substantial move behind him. He ducked and swiveled, only to find nothing. Something was moving in the cloud around him.
Heyer heard a grunt of effort and dove toward the least obstructed spot he could manage to reach. A stir of the air swept overhead—he’d just made a mistake.
He collided head on with the second, much larger, block of stone.
While he was relatively unharmed, he’d still been hit by a boulder. It crumbled around him to a pile of shattered rock as it crushed him against the ground.
The boulder hadn’t truly harmed him, but he was staggered and more blinded than the moment before. Jonathan did not let the opportunity slip by. He came launching out of the dust cloud. At first it was as though he meant to put Heyer on the ground, catch him in a particularly nasty clothesline but when his arm got close, he tightened it into a noose around the alien’s neck.
Sensing Jonathan would try to end their bout by forcing a submission, he grappled enough to keep his feet, which would have been more difficult if he weren’t the taller man. When Jonathan’s grip tightened further, Heyer thrust them both through what wall remained standing, Jonathan taking the brunt of it.
A moment later they shot back onto the coliseum’s sands, and rolled to a stop in a pile of limbs.
But Jonathan had not let go.
Heyer’s hand clapped down on his forearm with such force it made a sound like thunder. Slowly, his superior strength became clear, as he was able to inch the man’s choke hold away by simply overpowering him.
They were both growling with the effort, until Heyer thrust Jonathan off and sent him rolling through the sands.
They were panting now, Heyer more so, having been unable to breathe for a few moments. As Jonathan stood and looked back at him his chest was heaving with the effort of pitting his strength against Heyer’s. Still, he couldn’t fault the man for trying. Douglas knew it could not be managed, because he had tried, but Jonathan was far stronger—so it had deserved revisiting.
Heyer stood, held his hand up, and the room returned to the void as Mr. Clean ended the projection. Unbeknownst to Jonathan, it also ended the viewing going on outside.
“Did you get what you were looking for?” Jonathan asked.
“I did,” Heyer said.
“Care to share?”
Heyer considered for a moment, then said, “Mr. Clean, Jonathan no longer needs his implant activated.”
Jonathan had enough time to look annoyed before the light of the implant began to retreat. He staggered to a knee, then dropped to the floor.
A visage of Mr. Clean appeared, standing beside Heyer in the projection chamber. “Suffice it to say, everyone was quieted by the outcome.”
Heyer nodded thoughtfully.
“Were you letting him win?” Mr. Clean asked.
“Point of fact, I was not,” Heyer replied. “But, had we truly been fighting for our lives, he most definitely would have lost.”
He looked down at Jonathan, the man unable to hear him as his device deactivated. “He will not be able to hurt my brother. Not enough to matter.”
“We know Malkier’s weakness,” Mr. Clean said.
“He will take steps to shield himself from vulnerability.”
“Cede will offer him the same possible solution that I would, therefore it is conceivable that we may know more about how he will go about protecting himself. But this should be a last resort, there are too many ways our best guess could be wrong,” Mr. Clean said.
Heyer nodded. “I gave Jonathan his chance. Leah cannot allow him to go into battle without reestablishing the bond.”
“Won’t that betray the trust he asked of you?” Mr. Clean asked.
On the floor of the projection chamber, Jonathan began to stir as his consciousness returned.
Heyer sighed. “A discussion for another time.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
OCT 23, 2005 | 7 AM | HANGMAN’S TREE
COLLIN COULD TELL something was up the moment he stepped out of his quarters. Anthony was already headed his way and didn’t look willing to wait for him to finish his coffee.
“What is it?” Collin asked.
“Jonathan says it’s time for the intercept,” Anthony said.
“What?” Collin exclaimed, tossing the rest of his coffee in the trash—he was wide awake now anyway. “We aren’t done planning it.”
“We lost three men last night,” Anthony said.
The grave expression Anthony was wearing was warranted. Each time a man was activated, he didn’t leave Mr. Clean alone, but backed up by twelve civilian soldiers outfitted in Mech suits. The outer shell of the Mechs had all been replaced with alien steel.
If three men had died in The Never last night, it meant the Ferox had managed to kill them despite more than enough backup. One Ferox getting lucky they could have accepted, but as the old rule goes: one is chance, two is coincidence, three is a pattern.
“Were they fresh implants?” Collin asked as they walked.
Tony shook his head. “Only one was untested. The second was fairly green, had his implant less than a month. But the last, Pettinger, my understanding from Perth and Mito is that he was no easy target.”
“Sixteen,” Anthony said. “And that number is up from what we’ve been seeing of late.”
The news was troubling. Their war council had expected that they would be seeing a drop-off of soldiers being drawn into The Never. Malkier knew as well as his brother that if they were in open war, no previous rules would govern single combat. He’d be stupid to keep letting his people enter the gates until he was ready to lead a coordinated invasion.
The Ferox who were still coming through were those who entered the queue before war had been declared. So far, as would be expected, the number was going down. The fact that this number had surged on the day that three of their people were killed meant that their assumptions were wrong—or something had changed.
“Alright then,” Collin said. “Let’s hope we’re ready.”
He’d been following Anthony as he listened. He realized then that they weren’t headed for Jonathan’s quarters. “Wait, where are we going?”
“Jonathan wants us to bring one more,” Anthony said.
Collin frowned. “Why?”
He noticed what particular block of the barracks they were headed for. “Oh, right. Makes sense, two birds, one stone, and all that.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
“I CALLED THEM Tar-frogs and Tar-manders,” Sam said. “So far, everyone else just calls them Greens and Reds. Which—fine, it’s simple—but it’s not very inspired.”
“You think Tar-mander is inspired?” Bodhi asked. “Sounds like a Pokémon.”
Sam’s shrug conceded that Bodhi had a point.
“What did you call them?”
“Greens were Oscars, Reds were Elmos,” Bodhi said. “I didn’t know Alphas existed until I got here.”
A few tables away, Leah hid a smile as she overheard the minutia of the conversation. Sydney had been right—Jonathan may trust her—no one else did. She ate alone, tried to get breakfast as early as possible—avoid everyone so they didn’t have to avoid her.
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