The Combat Codes

by Alexander Darwin

  “Knees… thanks for the roll,” Cego managed to say, though he was caught off guard.

  Knees and Cego squared off.

  The Venturian attacked with a ferocity Cego had never seen before—his expressionless demeanor shattered the second the buzzer sounded. Knees leapt at Cego, growling like a beast, trying to pass his guard in every direction. Cego tried to stay calm, but it was difficult at the frantic pace. This wasn’t part of the plan.

  Cego wanted to tell his friend about Operation Recovery—about all they were doing to get him back. He wanted to tell Knees they hadn’t abandoned him—he wasn’t alone. But he couldn’t say anything. It was too dangerous. He didn’t know how indoctrinated Knees was as a member of the Jackals.

  Though striking was prohibited during free rolling, Knees caught Cego with several cutting elbows to the face as he tried to smash past his guard. Cego didn’t want to believe the strikes were on purpose—but looking into Knees’s wild eyes, he wasn’t so sure.

  Cego panted on the floor after the roll was over. Knees didn’t meet his eyes or clasp his hand; he got up and looked for his next partner. What had happened to his friend? Was it the Trials that had changed him, or was it the semester spent with Shiar and the Jackals?

  Shiar. Cego had completely forgotten why he was here, rolling on Jackal mat turf. He looked around desperately. If Shiar already had a partner for the fifth and final round, the plan would fall apart.

  Luckily, Sol, Mateus, and Abel had interloped and taken some of Shiar’s potential picks. Shiar was about to match up with Andrew Antonius from the Burning Fists.

  “Shiar!” Cego shouted from his spot on the ground.

  Shiar swiveled and met Cego’s eyes. The Jackal smirked when he saw Cego on the floor, panting from his heated bout with Knees. Cego didn’t need to pretend he was tired at this point.

  “Looking for someone to put you out of your misery, lacklight?” Shiar said as he walked over to stand above Cego.

  Cego didn’t say anything. He couldn’t look into the boy’s eyes without seeing Weep in their reflection. The two did not bump fists as the round began.

  Shiar attacked furiously from the top, swiveling around to pass Cego’s guard just as Knees had done. He tried to take hold of Cego’s foot and yank it upward into a leg drag, but Cego swiveled his leg to break the grip, recovering his defense.

  Shiar drove in for a double-under pass, attempting to stack both of Cego’s legs onto his shoulders, but Cego pushed backward to recover with his feet hooked in the crooks of Shiar’s knees. Cego pushed one of Shiar’s knees out from under him and looped his hand around his neck, attacking the guillotine choke.

  Cego felt it immediately—that buzz he got when he knew he could finish the fight. He had just the right angle; the blade of his hand was just deep enough. He could finish Shiar right now. He could tighten the guillotine, and even as Shiar tapped in submission, he could keep squeezing until those jackal eyes were shut for good.

  This fight wasn’t about his revenge, though. Or even about avenging Weep. This was about getting Knees back. Cego needed to do something far more difficult than showing strength or fighting through the fatigue. He needed to show weakness. He needed to let Shiar win.

  Cego loosened his grip on the choke, barely—he couldn’t let Shiar know he wasn’t going for the finish. The jackal now had just enough room to get his fingers beneath his chin and push his head to the ground. Taking the opportunity for survival, Shiar threw his legs over Cego’s guard and passed to his side.

  Snarling and savoring his newfound advantageous position, Shiar glanced over to make sure Professor Sapao wasn’t watching, and then drove two quick knees into Cego’s rib cage.

  Cego could hear Shiar’s voice, bubbling up from his memories of the Deep. It’s only about being strong and winning.

  Shiar ground the point of his elbow into Cego’s face, forcing him to turn away, and then sharply rode his knee along Cego’s ribs as he swung his foot over into mount. Cego looked up into Shiar’s eyes. The jackal was out for blood.

  Shiar squeezed down from mount, applying pressure as he slid an arm beneath Cego’s head. Even though he was weary, Cego could predict Shiar’s moves several steps ahead. The jackal was going for an arm triangle, and when Cego defended it, he would pivot to an arm bar.

  Just as expected, Shiar started using his head to push Cego’s arm across his face. Cego gave him adequate resistance. Shiar didn’t like that. The jackal snaked one hand over Cego’s face and started to dig his thumb into his eye socket. Cego protected his eye, quickly pushing Shiar’s hand away. The jackal took the opportunity—swinging around into the arm bar.

  Cego tapped quickly; the lock was tight. Shiar didn’t stop, though; he thrust his hips forward into the elbow joint. Cego heard several loud pops and then Shiar’s cackle.

  *

  The Whelps met on the common ground after their last class of the day, their eyes peeled to the big lightboard in the center of the room. Any challenges would be posted on the board in the next few minutes and they were all eager to see if their plan had worked.

  The Whelps really did look broken. Even if Xenalia had been accurate in her predictions on each of their recovery times, his team’s current state worried Cego.

  Joba sat hunched forward in his chair, the rest of the team giving him a wide berth after the mess in the dining hall. The normal color had returned to his face, though the huge boy still didn’t look quite right, as if he was making an effort to make sure everything stayed down.

  Cego had taken a quick trip to the medward after Shiar had dislocated his elbow. Xenalia had muttered something about her job being pointless and Grievar always re-breaking themselves as she stuck a needle into Cego’s arm. Whatever it was, it had numbed the pain, but Cego knew that his left arm would be useless for a few days.

  Dozer was in good spirits after returning from his medward stay. He kept reassuring the team that he was OK, though whenever he tried to speak, it was nearly indecipherable. Cego couldn’t tell if it was due to Dozer’s jaw or some of the meds they’d pumped into him.

  “Awl I know is dat darkin’ dackal… eel be oming fer us soon,” Dozer slurred, wincing in pain as his jaw cracked.

  “What did you say, Dozer?” Mateus asked, smiling slyly. “I couldn’t quite hear you.”

  “Dat darkin’ dackal Shiar! Ee’ll be oming for us—soon!” Dozer tried to raise his voice.

  “Stop messing with him.” Sol glared at Mateus. “You’re trying too hard. And look, it’s smudged your makeup.”

  Mateus inadvertently placed a hand up to his face and then glared back at Sol as the rest of the Whelps laughed at him.

  “Hahah-agh!” Dozer tried valiantly to join in the laughter.

  A crowd of students had gathered around the challenge lightboard, chattering about the new matchups that had just been posted. The Whelps hurried over.

  Cego scanned the screen, looking past the higher level challenges to the bottom of the board. There were three Level One challenges posted:

  team jab mantis (lv. 1) challenges team whelp (lv. 1)

  team burning fist (lv 1) challenges team whelp (lv. 1)

  team jackal (lv. 1) challenges team whelp (lv. 1)

  Cego’s stomach sank. All three Level One teams had challenged them. Their plan had worked—they’d appeared weak and Shiar’s Jackals had taken the bait. But so had the rest of the class.

  *

  Cego paced Quarter D, shaking his left elbow out, as if it would somehow magically heal within the next forty-eight hours.

  “I ay we akem all on! Bring em!” Dozer was attempting to shout as he boxed the air emphatically.

  “The odds are formidable,” Sol said, level-headed as always. “Accepting all the challenges means nine fights in one day, back to back. We do have the option of just accepting the Jackals’ challenge—isn’t that the point of this whole plan?”

  “Yes, it is,” Cego said. “Though if we decline the other two challen
ges, it will hurt our score. Even if we do pull it off against the Jackals, we’ll be near to last place. We wouldn’t have time to recover from that by end of cycle.”

  Sol nodded, swiping at her lightdeck to check on Cego’s calculations.

  “You’re right. But we wouldn’t be in last place. We’d be solidly in the third spot. Which means we’d be safe from getting held back,” Sol said.

  Mateus chimed in, “That settles it, then. Stick to the plan. We decline the first two challenges, accept Team Jackal’s, win your boy back, and I get traded back to some more cultured Grievar for the next cycle.”

  “This is very good for you, no, Mateus?” Abel said. “We win, you be trade to Jackals, and then you in first-place team. But we drop down, third place for us.”

  “Er… no. That’s not I was saying,” Mateus said defensively. “I’m just saying we can’t take the risk fighting more than one team. That’s lunacy. We’re broken as it is.”

  “As much as I hate to agree with him,” Sol said. “Mateus is right. We are broken. Look at us. We hardly have three fully healthy Whelps right now.”

  Cego nodded slowly in agreement.

  “Joba, what do you think?” Cego asked. He wanted everyone to have their say before the team made a decision.

  Joba smiled good-naturedly and shrugged his big shoulders. Cego looked to Abel for translation.

  “Joba say he in for whatever,” Abel replied quickly, smiling up at his huge friend.

  Cego nodded. “OK, then, let’s take it to a vote. I don’t want to make the decision for everybody else. We’re part of a team here. We need to make decisions as a team.”

  “Wait,” Sol said, eyeing Cego suspiciously. “You haven’t said what you thought yet. Don’t think we can take a vote before hearing what everyone thinks.”

  “I don’t know if people want to hear what I think,” Cego replied softly.

  “Well, I do,” Sol said emphatically. “In fact, I’m not voting until I hear it.”

  “Ee too!” Dozer yelled.

  “Now we’re in for it…” Mateus sighed.

  Cego took a deep breath. “I think what you’ve said is completely true. Our goal was to get Knees back and accept the Jackals’ challenge. And it’s true that if we decline the first two challenges, we take far less risk—we’ll be in better shape for our challenge against the Jackals and we also won’t risk last place and getting held back.

  “But if we decline the first two challenges, we’ve lost it all anyways,” Cego said. “Yes, we might get Knees back onto our team—but what sort of team will it be? We’ll have that mark on our back forever—backing down from those challenges. Without honor. Knees will be forced on a team of cowards. If it were me in Knees’s place, I’d rather stay where I was, despite the horrible company.”

  “But—but,” Mateus started to interject, but Cego continued, his voice strong and steady.

  “From where I stand, that’s what separates us from them. From Shiar and the Jackals. From the Daimyos. From everyone trying to use the Grievar for their own selfish purposes.” Cego thought about the many innocent kids, just like Weep, still fighting for their life in the Deep.

  “From where I stand, it’s not even about winning. It’s about following the Codes. The other teams think we’re cowering and ready to be crushed. If we decline their challenges, we’re agreeing with them. We’re telling them that we’re afraid, that we don’t have what it takes to stand in front of them. We’re telling them that we have no choice but to concede.”

  Cego was silent for a moment as his team waited for his conclusion.

  “If it were my choice alone—and I know it isn’t—I’d accept all three challenges. I’d have us decisively win the first two, then I’d stare Shiar in the eyes and watch him cower as we take the third challenge. I’d have Knees back on a team with honor. A team in first place.” Cego finished, his eyes burning.

  Dozer bellowed, “Ats what I’ve been sayin’ da ole time! I’m in!”

  Sol stared into Cego’s eyes. He did not avert his gaze this time. Cego meant everything he’d said. Farmer would do the same. Murray would do the same.

  “I’m in,” Sol said quietly.

  “Oh, blasted lacklights,” Mateus screamed. “I can’t believe you fools are actually—”

  “In Keeroth, we Grievar say something,” Abel interrupted the furious purelight boy. “If you need to cross field, and step in arnyx dung, no use in trying to clean off. Better to continue to step in dung until you cross field. Clean off later.”

  The team looked at Abel with wide yes. “I in too,” Abel said as he looked up to Joba, who was smiling as usual and nodding his head. “And Joba in. Joba likes Cego’s plan.”

  14

  Into the Darkness

  A Grievar shall not burden themselves with the society around them. Whether the squawks of merchants, the goading of politicians or the coos of sirens, a Grievar must stand apart. In doing so, one can enter the Circle with a clear mind.

  Sixteenth Precept of the Combat Codes

  Murray always got stares when he entered the Daimyo districts. He hated it.

  Not only was he at least two heads taller than most Daimyos, which naturally drew their gaze to him, but some still recognized Murray from his fighting days. Though combat was a Grievar lightpath, spectating fights was a Daimyo pastime—cheering and jeering, betting, criticizing, sitting idly and watching SystemView.

  Already today, two of them had stopped Murray on the street, one trying to hire him for merc work and the other berating him for a fight he’d lost twenty years ago.

  Murray walked beneath the shadows of a clump of towering skyscrapers in Mercuri’s Tendrum District—Daimyo territory. Not many traveled the lower street levels anymore, mostly Grunts and sweepers set on picking up refuse. The Daimyos preferred mech transport—having forgone walking or any sort of physical activity long ago.

  Murray glanced up as one of the mechs briefly hovered above him. Images flashed across the pod’s translucent windshield, giving the operator access to various information feeds, probably displaying Murray’s complete history on the translucent surface.

  Murray shook his head in disgust.

  Mechs sped back and forth between the tall buildings that surrounded Murray, crisscrossing lanes of aerial traffic and merging with docks set along each floor of the skyscrapers. The Daimyos were always speeding from one place to another to do so-called business, making things: goods, products, and tools to enhance their lives. They were never happy with what they already had.

  Another Daimyo broke from the aerial traffic to get a better look at Murray, gazing down from its mech like a floating deity. It was rare for a Grievar to enter the Tendrum, dangerous even—but Murray had business to handle.

  Murray stopped at an intersection as a wide-mouthed sweeper mech methodically sucked up the debris on the street, picking up piles of refuse cast down from the pod traffic above.

  Daimyos weren’t all bad folk, naturally—Murray knew that. Coach had taught him to keep an open mind. The Codes called for it.

  They sometimes approached him with good intentions, wanting to reminisce about one of his fights that they recalled from their childhood. It always ended with them wanting something, though. They were always trying to use a Grievar to get ahead in their petty games.

  Murray crossed the intersection just as an enforcement unit appeared from around the corner. Three egg-shaped solo pods, floating with purpose toward Murray. Of course they would know he was here—a Grievar couldn’t walk into a Daimyo district without having enforcement called on him.

  They were imposing coming from a distance, but as they closed in, Murray could see that they were small like most of their kind. Even within their mechs, they appeared to be fragile creatures.

  Each of the enforcers wore a helmet with a light visor that fell across his face. Even with the layer of glass and the helmet between them, Murray suspected he could easily crush the creature’s skull with his f
ist. They were armed, though—stunners planted at the exterior of the mech and the men carrying auralite rods on the inside—that was all that mattered.

  “Grievar, state your purpose in Mercuri Tendrum, designated Daimyo housing and mercantile district,” the little man said with authority, though his voice wavered when Murray’s hard yellow eyes locked onto him.

  Murray brought out his Citadel badge. Though it certainly didn’t give him free rein in the Daimyo district, it would at least ensure the man he was here on official business.

  “Citadel Scout, Murray Pearson,” Murray growled under his breath.

  “Scout, you say? Aren’t you a bit far from the Lift?” the enforcer asked suspiciously.

  “I’m not heading Deep today. I have a meeting at the Codex.”

  The enforcer lifted his eyebrow. “A Grievar with a meeting at the Codex? What business do you have with the bit-minders?”

  “What darkin’ business is it of yours?” Murray growled.

  “You’re no longer within the Citadel’s walls or in one of your slums, beast,” the enforcer spat. “It is my business to ask you whatever I want.”

  Murray felt his blood vessels constricting and expanding, the adrenaline pumping into his veins. How easy it would be to put all three of these creatures down. They believed themselves to be protected with these layers that they put in front of them. Steel and glass and cloth. A mere illusion that Murray could dispel with a well-placed fist.

  That’s not what he was here for, though. He was here for Cego. Murray exhaled quickly to steady himself.

  “Citadel Commander Callen gave me direct orders to report to the Codex,” Murray said. “If you want to check back with him, go ahead. Course, I’ll need to tell him you’ve held me back here.”

  At the mention of Callen, the enforcer backed down. The Scout Commander had a direct line to Mercuri’s Daimyo governor.

  “Uh, no need for that,” the enforcer said. “Just make sure you stay off these main streets. You’re making the citizens uneasy.”

  Murray nodded. “I’ll be sure to do that. Wouldn’t want the citizens to get uneasy,” he said.