Exile to the Stars (The Alarai Chronicles)

by Dale B. Mattheis

  “What do you call this scene?”

  “You’ve got a point.” Carl glanced at the rearview image suspended in the holograph unit. “Okay, I think we’re clear. So the sword has been handed down in your family. How old do you think it is?”

  “It’s been in the family for a long time but Grandad didn’t know a lot about it. He thought maybe 200 years or so. It’s not a classic cavalry saber—simply not heavy enough—and it never rusts. Can’t figure it out.”

  “Has to be carbon steel.”

  “Given its age, what else could it be?”

  “Beautiful workmanship. Bugwit’s saber looks like cardboard in comparison.”

  “Hathwaite’s saber? I think he picked it up in a costume store.”

  Carl turned left and they continued north, a high stone wall set with razor wire on top bordering one side of the street. He eased the Ford as far as he could to the opposite side of the street when they approached a gate set in the wall.

  “Haven’t been this way in a long time. Don’t like this place anymore now than I did then.”

  “San Quentin.”

  “Yeah.”

  The gate was protected by concrete abutments and by three guards in a blockhouse. “Man, I think those suckers are packing military rifles,” Carl pressed down on the accelerator, “but they aren’t military.”

  As they passed the gate, a red dot suddenly appeared on the side of Jeff’s head. Carl caught it out of the corner of his eye, floored the accelerator and the Ford shot away.

  “Had you pegged solid, boy. That was just a warning, but you only got one head to lose. Wouldn’t you just love to live there?”

  “On our salary? Those residential enclaves take real money to get into.” Jeff shook his head. “Even if I had the money, not a chance. More like a warren of terrified rats than a community. When it hits the fan, they won’t last an hour.”

  Carl tapped the brakes. “Here we go.”

  After rattling across the ancient Montlake Bridge, thankful as always that it had not collapsed, Carl pulled into a secure parking area next to the university gym. On their way across the lot, Jeff counted vehicles.

  “The rumor mill was right on, Carl. Will you look at all the cars!”

  Entering a smaller annex near the cavernous main building, the ring of steel on steel greeted their ears. Once through the vestibule, the musty smell of sweating bodies past and present intermingled with echoing profanity and laughter. They took in the scene and looked at each other with delighted grins. It really was a packed house.

  “Tell you what, Jeff,” Carl observed with a big grin, “I think Bugwit is going to have his hands full tonight. I mean, how is he going to impress everyone at the same time? This is going to be fun.”

  “For sure, but I keep hoping just once he won’t brag about that fellowship of his in Warsaw.”

  Carl halted abruptly and looked at Jeff with mock horror. “Are you questioning his pilgrimage to the mecca? Tell me it isn’t true! Why, everyone knows that makes him the resident saber expert.”

  “Well, it’s a dirty job,” Jeff said with an appreciative snicker. “I guess it does take a dickhead like Hathwaite to fill the slot.”

  Dodging around a man and woman fencing with intent concentration, they entered the main throng. Along the way, Carl threw Justin Hathwaite a derisive grin. A willowy man with patrician features, Hathwaite wore snug breeches tucked into cavalry boots complete with spurs. Surrounded by a coterie of men and women, he sneered briefly in return.

  Chuckling at Hathwaite’s response, Carl said, “And Jorgenson scores ten points. It’s good start to the evening, ladies and gentlemen.”

  “Yeah, maybe,” Jeff replied. “You and Mike have been needling him pretty hard the last couple of weeks, buddy. With a crowd like this, it might not be a good idea to push him.”

  “Pretty hard to do, my man,” Carl said. “You’re holed up with George for a good share of the evening and miss the crap that jerk hands out. Not sure why, but your name seems to come up a lot when he’s holding court on everyone’s shortcomings. Probably because you won the regional competition and he barely made the cut.” Carl laughed explosively. “And those spurs! God save me, I can’t resist it!”

  They exchanged greetings with members they hadn’t seen in awhile, and made a point of saying hello to the new faces as they moved around. Jeff turned to speak with Carl but his eyes never got there. Facing him was a slender, black-haired woman holding an epee.

  “Sarah.”

  “Jeffrey.”

  Other than an upwelling of residual pain, he felt empty of emotion. Two years, endless fights with bitter words that accomplished nothing, but fights that over time became an emotional killing ground. Neither spoke. Every word had finally been expended during the death throes of their relationship. Although several months had passed since the final parting, strings of attachment that owed nothing to intellect had not entirely dissolved, and their eyes conveyed volumes of condemnation.

  “Don’t waste your time with losers, Sarah.” Hathwaite sauntered over and tugged her toward his crowd. “Let’s get some action going.”

  “Why him, Sarah?” Jeff felt like a partially healed wound had been ripped open with fingernails. Of all the men on campus, or even in the club, she had wound up with Hathwaite.

  “He knows where he’s going, Jeffrey. He’s going to be someone and wants me to go with him. It’s a refreshing change.”

  “Are you dating him to get back at me?”

  Sarah turned her back to Jeff and took Hathwaite’s hand. Looking over his shoulder, he winked at Jeff.

  A hand came to rest on Jeff’s arm. “Let it go. They make a pair.”

  “Thanks, Carl. Took me by surprise.”

  “Doesn’t it always?”

  “Too many times.”

  “Yeah. Aren’t you supposed to meet George?”

  “I’m late. Thanks again.”

  Jeff changed into sweats and hurried to meet his instructor, a saber master. The confrontation with Sarah had faded by the time they decided to take a break and cool down. While fencing they had been talking about more than the fine points of technique. George Greely couldn’t remember feeling so frustrated.

  “All right, all right! You won’t compete in the nationals! But let me tell you something, Jeff. If you want to take your skill farther, at some point you’re going to have to go up against other real talent. You’re good, real good, but you’ll never know—hell, I’ll never know—just how good you are until your backs to the wall and some boyo’s trying to make you look like an idiot. I think you could go all the way—doesn’t that mean something?”

  “I’m not interested in the nationals, George. You knew that when I agreed to compete in the regionals.”

  George eyed Jeff silently for a few moments. “No argument there, but where do you go from here? I don’t have much more to teach you. Ask yourself this: why have you been working with me? What’s the point if you don’t intend to take it as far as you can go? You need to find out what you’re made of, Jeff. That means competing in the nationals.”

  The noise level out in the gym abruptly dropped to nothing. They jumped to their feet and hurried from the room.

  “Shit, I’ll bet that asshole Bugwit is at it again,” George spit out in a disgusted snarl. “He’s going to destroy this club yet.”

  Once onto the main floor they immediately noticed a crowd surrounding Hathwaite and Carl. They were standing nose to nose. Even from a distance Jeff could see that Carl’s face was flushed with anger.

  “You’ve been a loudmouth jerk as long as I’ve known you, Hathwaite. Jeff Friedrick happens to be a friend of mine, and this crap you’re spouting is more than I am willing to tolerate. You, sir, have gone too far.”

  Elbowing his way to the center of the ring, Jeff stopped by Carl. “Hathwaite, this matter appears to concern me directly. Since I have not been privy to its origins, I must have the opportunity to review the circumstances wit
h Mr. Jorgenson. By your leave, sir?”

  Favoring Jeff with a mocking smile, Hathwaite bowed. Accompanied by George, Jeff guided Carl to an area of relative privacy.

  “What in hell is going on?”

  Carl’s usual response to stress was cynical humor. On this occasion his expression simmered with anger.

  “As you might expect, Bugwit was really laying it on thick with his toadies in full attendance....” Carl paused and shrugged. “You may as well hear it all. I think Sarah was egging him on, or at least her presence was, and he pulled out all the stops with that crap about Warsaw.”

  “Let me guess. Mike sort of helped things along.”

  “Yeah, you could put it that way, George.”

  “Al and Harold are here, why didn’t they step in? They’ve been around long enough to know the score. That’s why we elected them.”

  “Damn it, they tried, Jeff, but you know Mike. He just wouldn’t shut up! Then he really got cute and asked Hathwaite how often he tripped over his spurs.”

  “That would do it,” George stated. “Someone needs to pound some sense into Mike’s head.”

  “It was more than enough,” Carl shot back. “Hathwaite really came unglued. I thought he was going to challenge Mike, but instead he started tearing you apart, Jeff.”

  “Sarah.”

  “Maybe that was part of it,” Carl replied doubtfully, “but don’t forget the regionals. Whatever, I was trying to get out of earshot when he implied that, unlike him, you were avoiding competing in the nationals. He did everything but call you a coward.” Carl looked directly into Jeff’s eyes. “Do you really think I would stand still for that?”

  Jeff tasted bile, and thought, Why do they single me out? Is it just because I’m good with a saber? Or because they can get away with it. The last thought made him pause. Jeff recalled his confrontation with Gado; his repeated attempts to provoke a duel. Somewhere in his mind Jeff made a decision, crossed a line he didn't know was there. His features went icy calm and golden-green eyes glinted like polished stainless steel.

  “No, I do not. Thank you for intervening. This is now my affair.” He turned to George before Carl could protest. “Do you concur?”

  “I see no alternative,” George replied with a fatalistic shrug. “The insults, expressed as they were in public and in the presence of a close friend, leave no option that I am aware of. I have no doubt you could take him, Carl, but that’s not the issue.”

  “No, it isn’t,” Jeff said in a flat tone of voice. He exchanged a level gaze with George. “It isn’t the nationals, but do you think Hathwaite will do?”

  George did not respond for some time. There was something in Jeff’s gaze, in his voice, that he had never witnessed before. It made his skin prickle.

  “This is a matter of true honor. Not make believe. There is no more worthwhile arena.”

  Jeff nodded curtly. “Yes, it is a matter of honor. Let’s do it.”

  Hathwaite saw Jeff coming and turned away from Sarah with an expression of smug satisfaction.

  “Can’t find a way out, Friedrick?”

  Anger tried to break free but Jeff shoved it aside. “Hathwaite, you’ve seen fit to make statements that question my courage. Mr. Jorgenson has fully related their content, and I find them offensive. Before this goes any farther, I must know if you wish to withdraw from your position. The future of this club may be at stake.”

  “What I said earlier stands, Friedrick. I don’t think you have the guts to face real competition.” Hathwaite paused dramatically and swept his eyes around the circle of intent faces. “As to the club, that’s just an excuse. The dean isn’t going to shut it down. You’re going to have to run.”

  The cynical challenge in Sarah’s eyes and Hathwaite’s comment stoked cold anger to a bright flame.

  “Mr. Jorgenson is correct. You’re a braggart and incompetent fool. I will have satisfaction tonight, Hathwaite—sabers to first blood.”

  “Sure you’re up to it?”

  “Either give me a civil answer or it’s all the way.”

  Hathwaite looked around the crowd again. “Do we see a touch of courage? Marvelous! I accept. A contest with sabers, no limit except resignation.”

  “Agreed.” Jeff stared at Sarah. “Make sure you bring the bitch. I want her to see you get cut.”

  The city park Carl and Hathwaite’s second settled on had been maintained better than most. It still had a few lights that worked. Jeff, Carl and George rode together to the designated area.

  “Dueling is out of hand,” George reflected quietly. “What? Eight or ten a month on the news? And that’s just the tip of the iceberg. But that idiot simply left no option.”

  “He didn’t intend to. He’s an asshole. That aside, what do you know about Hathwaite’s ability, George? I’ve never seen him do much except talk.”

  “I watched a few of his matches during the regionals, Carl. Decent talent, no discipline and poor conditioning.” George glanced over at Jeff. “Besides those factors, Hathwaite’s major weakness is his temper. He barely qualified for the nationals because of it. It’ll work in your favor, Jeff, but never forget it might also lead him to try and kill you. Don’t count on him following any conventions.” Jeff had dropped into a black mood and just shrugged

  “The only redeeming factor is the timing,” Carl observed after a period of silence. “Scheduling it this evening, any publicity will be limited to rumor.”

  No one spoke the rest of the way, each reflecting on how the media would hype the duel given a moment’s notice. Carl groaned when he turned into the park entrance.

  “The damn thing’s full! There weren’t that many cars at the gym!”

  “The boys and girls have certainly been using their ‘magephones,” George concurred, “but I don’t see any news floaters. Park on the grass.”

  Al Grady emerged from the crowd and walked toward them. At thirty-seven, he was the oldest club member and widely respected. He had also agreed to act as monitor. George hurried on ahead to meet him. They chose a location to speak that offered privacy as well as an overview. Two groups were pitching open beer cans back and forth, prompting bursts of laughter.

  “Looks like a party, Al.”

  “It’s not a good scene. Hathwaite’s boyos are milking it, but no peripheral challenges to this point.”

  “Let us only hope.”

  “Amen, brother. What’s the situation with Jeff? Any room to move?”

  “I doubt it. Hathwaite didn’t leave him much.”

  Al nodded and examined George’s expression. “No, he didn’t. You know Hathwaite’s likely to go for the kill, don’t you?”

  “Figured he would.”

  “Just needed to make sure you were up to speed. I don’t want Jeff to be unprepared.”

  “We’ve talked about it. Thanks for the time, Al, but I don’t want to compromise your position. This needs to be very clean.”

  “You can count on it.” Al clapped George on the shoulder and moved off.

  A good share of the crowd surrounded Hathwaite when they walked up. He had an arm around Sarah’s shoulders.

  “Glad to see you could make it, Friedrick. Thought you would be halfway to Portland by now.”

  Picking up trash from the area he had selected for the duel, Grady abruptly stood up and hurried over to Hathwaite.

  “This is a troubling affair. Your behavior in forcing this issue has discredited our club. We will soon understand where courage resides.” He motioned Jeff over. “I must ask you both to reconsider your positions and attempt to seek a solution that exempts combat.”

  Ignoring Sarah’s presence, Jeff stared fixedly at Hathwaite and said nothing. Meeting Jeff’s gaze with a contemptuous smile, Hathwaite turned away to share a witticism with his cronies. Grady had expected nothing more and went in search of a baton. Jeff stripped down to sweat bottoms and tee shirt before kneeling to re-lace his gym shoes. Carl watched with a concerned frown.

  “You still warm?
”

  Testing his sword arm with a few passes, Jeff replied, “Loose enough.”

  “Stay centered, Jeff. He won’t give you the time of day, and he’s sloppy on his thrusts.”

  “I hear you. Don’t worry, Hathwaite had his show back at the gym.”

  Grady caught Carl’s attention with a sweep of his arm. “Let’s do it, buddy. Clean cuts, and a lot of ‘em.”

  Jeff gripped Carl’s hand and walked toward Grady. Hathwaite strode to meet him, spurs clinking.

  “Gentlemen, are you ready?”

  At their nods, Grady held a stick out at shoulder height. When their swords crossed over the stick, he flicked it away. The rain had stopped briefly, but once again drifted down in fine drops that showed as a yellow-orange mist in the harsh lighting.

  Holding guard position, Jeff made no move to attack. Hathwaite stepped back, pointed his sword at Jeff and sighed dramatically.

  “This simply isn’t going to do, Jeffrey. You’re going to have to fight.”

  Hathwaite waved his sword in an elaborate chicane and stamped forward. Their swords met with a metallic ring then slithered and chimed in a series of parries and feints. Hathwaite picked up the pace but only succeeded in notching his blade. Breath pluming in jagged bursts, he disengaged and retreated. Jeff crouched slightly and advanced, saber extended.

  The crowd of fifty or so spectators that surrounded the men changed shape as one or the other advanced with quick steps, swords disappearing into blurs only to come together in a deadly song. Just as quickly, they separated and resumed maneuvering for the advantage.

  Some minutes into the duel Hathwaite fell back breathing hard. Jeff suddenly skipped forward, saber winking with speed as he came in high. A staccato clashing of steel and Hathwaite jumped out of harms way with a startled curse. There was no missing the worried look on his face.

  Shifting position to follow the match, Carl said, “I think Bugwit wishes he were home in bed.”

  “Or anywhere but here.” George stepped forward to get a better view. “Hathwaite knows he’s in way over his head by now. He’s spooked and getting tired. Just watch—it’s about to go down and dirty.”