He strode to where Titan waited in the center of the room.
“Titan, what is this?”
The big man smiled and pointed his chin toward Patahbay.
“Dindin,” was his only reply.
Gee’s mouth dropped open. He could not believe Titan would allow this to happen. He of all people knew what the Telgorans were capable of when they fought.
He was opening his mouth to object when Titan cut him off.
“Don’t say it, Gee.” Titan pointed to the Telgoran. “I’ve spoken with Patahbay. He knows not to hurt Grant… at least, not too much.”
Gee shook his head. He had seen the Telgorans when they were absorbed in dindin. In a society that shared a mass mind, the physical matches were the primary method for establishing a ranking system or pecking order. When a dindin match began, the punches, kicks, and throws did not stop until one of the contestants hit the ground. The first fighter to put his opponent down three times was the victor.
It was serious business that often resulted in serious injury. And that was between Telgorans. “It’s a bad idea, Titan.”
The smile on Titan’s face said it all. He could not wait to see Grant get beaten down. Gee knew what had happened inside Violent’s Prison between the two men. This was Titan’s way of evening the score.
“A very bad idea.”
* * *
As he loosened up, Grant went over the rules of the match. There were few. Pretty much anything went. Put the other fighter on the ground three times and you win.
The soldiers around the perimeter of the room seemed anxious. As former inmates of Violent’s Prison, they were not strangers to these types of physical contests—many had participated in similar bouts. Most had observed Grant in hand-to-hand training and some had gone against him in sparring matches. They knew he could hold his own with any human alive, but the intrigue of fighting a Telgoran was new and exciting. They did not know what to expect. Several shouted words of encouragement.
Grant did a mental run-through of what he knew about the Telgorans. He had learned a lot from Titan and Gee over the past month. He knew some of their key strengths: power, speed, absolute commitment to the goal at hand. He also knew a couple of their weaknesses: indecisiveness and an inability to adapt.
Those were things he could use.
The inability to adapt meant the Telgoran would enter the fray with a predetermined plan of attack and defense. It also meant the alien was unlikely to change his strategy from one round to the next. Whatever Patahbay revealed during the first round would continue throughout the contest. The horror stories Titan told about the Telgorans’ relentless, but doomed attacks on the Minith reinforced the belief.
Grant’s plan was to survive the Telgoran’s strengths long enough to take advantage of his weaknesses.
Regardless of how the contest ended, Grant made a mental note to use only the amount of force needed to win the contest. The Telgoran was a guest and an emissary of his people. It would not look good if the emissary arrived back on his planet with a broken bone or other injury.
Grant nodded to Titan. He was ready.
* * *
Patahbay waited patiently for the signal from Titan to begin. The need for a signal reminded him that he was not linked to the Family. Visual signals were never needed when Telgorans attempted dindin.
Titan looked his way as if expecting something. Patahbay did not know what was expected, so remained motionless.
When the signal arrived, he took three long strides across the open space that separated him from the general and stopped. He raised his hands in preparation for delivering a strike and watched as the general approached slowly. Patahbay wondered why the human would come slowly. Speed was required for success in dindin.
The general raised his hands and approached.
Good. That is the way.
When the general came within striking distance, Patahbay flicked out his right arm. At the last moment, he remembered that this dindin was not for rank and held back. On his world, the strike would have been considered a lazy attempt.
Here, on this ship, the strike sent the general flying backward. The human exhaled noisily as he landed roughly on his back.
Weak, Patahbay thought.
* * *
Strong, Grant thought.
He stared up into the overhead lights as he fought to suck in air. A bright lance of pain coursed through his chest. He felt as if he had been hit by a bus.
And fast. The right fist had come straight at him, leaving no time to react. Grant was fast, but Patahbay’s reaction was crazy quick.
Titan laughed somewhere across the room. The rest of the assembled soldiers were silent.
Grant knew he would have to stay out of the Telgoran’s range if he wanted to win this fight.
* * *
Patahbay watched with concern as the general rolled to his knees and pushed himself from the ground. He had not meant to hurt the human. He was glad he was able to withhold the full power of the strike. The decision to do so was a surprise. Before leaving Telgora, it was unlikely that he could have made such a decision without approval of the Family.
Was this a good thing or a bad thing?
He did not know.
The general was making strange body movements again. This time, Patahbay thought it was to relieve pain instead of a pre-dindin ritual. Regardless, he waited patiently for the human to initiate the second round.
A few seconds later, the human raised his hands and began another slow approach. Patahbay wondered why the human believed that slow was correct, when speed was required.
He decided to withhold more power from the next strike and waited for his chance.
Patahbay was preparing to launch his strike when the general paused just out of range. The human seemed to know how close he could come approach without getting hit. But it did not matter.
Patahbay took a step toward his opponent and lashed out.
The general was quick.
He almost avoided the strike.
* * *
Grant turned his body slightly as the Telgoran stepped inside his range and flicked out his right hand again. The punch caught him on the left side of his rib cage and sent him flying. Grant had time to be thankful the punch missed his already bruised sternum before he hit the ground.
The awkward landing hurt, but he managed to keep breath in his lungs.
A tide of muttered exclamations circled the soldiers in the room. Titan laughed again.
The former leader of Violent’s Prison was getting a real kick out of the action.
Most importantly, Grant had just learned something vital about his opponent. The Telgoran’s attack seemed to rely solely on speed. There was no attempt at a feint or any type of secondary move. It was a quick, straightforward approach designed to hit the opponent before the opponent could hit back.
Let’s see you deal with a bit of misinformation, Patahbay.
Grant lifted himself off the ground and faced the Telgoran. The pounding in his chest caused him to flinch and he wondered how many ribs the Telgoran had cracked.
Not that it mattered. He had a job to do.
* * *
Patahbay watched the slow approach a third time. The general again stopped advancing just outside his reach.
Would the human never learn?
He stepped forward quickly and delivered a third strike that—
—missed.
The general had been standing there, but now was gone.
Patahbay had only a moment to wonder where the human went when he felt the blow to his chest and his feet left the floor. The next moment, he was staring at the glaring lights of ceiling.
He was unhurt, but he was on his back.
It was the first time he had ever been knocked down during dindin.
* * *
He timed the move perfectly.
When Patahbay moved forward, Grant stepped with his left foot and ducked smartly under the Telgoran’s punch.
He continued moving and hooked his right leg behind the alien’s knees while delivering a solid clothesline blow across his chest.
Although it felt as if he were hitting a tree, the move knocked Patahbay backward. Grant continued pushing through the move and succeeded in knocking the Telgoran off his feet and onto the floor.
The soldiers in the dining hall went crazy.
* * *
Patahbay did not know how he wound up on the ground. One second, his opponent was there in front of him. The next, he was gone.
He regained his feet and resolved to be quicker.
But the fourth round ended with the same results.
* * *
Grant briefly considered changing up his attack after putting Patahbay down with the same move in the fourth round. But he decided to stick with the proven approach for several reasons.
First, he wanted to see if the Telgoran would revise his strategy to account for the change in the tactics being used against him. If what Titan told him was true about the Telgoran attacks on the Minith, Patahbay should continue making the same straightforward move, even though it had failed twice in a row.
Second, the move he was executing almost guaranteed the Telgoran emissary would not be seriously harmed. And as much as he wanted to win the dindin, Patahbay’s safety was his primary concern.
And finally, Grant had at least one cracked rib to consider. He could not afford to take another punch like either of the first two.
* * *
Patahbay struck with a quickness he rarely needed during dindin. He abandoned the decision to withhold the power from his strikes. Instead, he concentrated only on speed.
The result of his effort was that he found himself looking up the ceiling for the third time in a row.
The dindin master of Telgora had just lost.
To a human.
* * *
Gee poked Titan in the ribs with an elbow.
“I told you this was a bad idea.”
The glint in the engineer’s eye told a different tale. It was apparent he had enjoyed the show. The excited murmurings and back slaps that surrounded the room told Titan that Grant’s soldiers had enjoyed it as well.
As for himself, well… he was no longer laughing over Grant getting his butt kicked.
It had been an impressive performance.
Titan shook his head. In his only dindin match, he had been knocked down in three straight rounds by a relatively young and inexperienced fighter. Grant, on the other hand, had found a way to prevail over the best dindin warrior on Telgora.
Again Titan was forced to admit that Grant Justice, a six-hundred-year-old warrior, was like no one he had ever met.
He hoped the old soldier was good enough to win when they reached Telgora.
Chapter 35
As he waited for Rala to join him, General Soo wondered why his brother’s mate had not selected another male. Seven years of separation was long enough to justify the action. She was powerful and attractive. She could have her choice.
Yet she waited for a lowly lieutenant who was likely dead or stranded on a faraway planet.
It made no sense.
Soo was seated on an ugly metal stool in the center of Rala’s inner courtyard. It was one of a dozen similar stools clustered about the yard. The ugly scattering of seats was a creation of the Waa. For some reason that Soo could not fathom, those pitiful creatures were obsessed by the random groupings of the knee-high stools. The planet was liberally spotted with similar clusters.
He was considering how difficult it would be to tear out all the stools on the planet when he was struck from behind.
The blow that landed on the right side of his head stung, and he rolled with it. He came to a crouch next to the stool just in time to catch the next swing of the staff in his left hand. He deftly twisted the wooden stick and jerked. The move left him with the weapon in his grasp and his attacker face down on the ground.
He spied a second assailant approaching quickly from the right and swung the staff in a low, sweeping arc. The swift strike landed perfectly. The aggressor flailed wildly and fell backward.
Soo stood up and spied his handiwork.
“Not bad, little warriors,” he said. His two nephews slowly picked themselves up. From the looks on their faces, Soo knew they hadn’t expected to be dusting dirt from their knees and backsides.
“I didn’t hear you approach, which is excellent,” he continued. “But you need to plan your attack better. You should both be in position when you deliver the first blow.”
“That’s what I told Teng,” complained Arok, the older of the two brothers. “But he always wants to be the first to strike.”
“And I did strike first,” Teng shot back. “At least I got a hit on him.”
“Yes, you did,” Soo agreed, rubbing the side of his head. “But you also doomed the attack to failure.”
“It was going to fail anyway,” the eight-year-old countered confidently. “I wanted to get in at least one good shot.”
“I’ll show you one good shot,” Arok replied. He swung his staff at his brother and connected with the younger boy’s thigh. To his credit, Teng did not cry out. He skipped backward, out of range of a second swing, and shot a look at his uncle.
Soo tossed the staff back to the boy and Teng caught it deftly.
The two brothers stepped into a sudden dance of offense and defense. Soo silently critiqued the pair as they lashed and parried. They were remarkably advanced for not having a father to help them.
Soo was pleased. They had obviously been practicing the drills and techniques he had taught them. Their time with the school’s trainers, while required of all young males, was insufficient for warriors of their lineage. While other families fought for politics and wealth, the males in their ancestry were well known for their ability in combat.
These two seemed anxious to keep that proud heritage going into the next generation. Both had good aggression and sufficient tactical skill for their ages.
As Soo knew he would, Arok, the older of the two, soon had Teng in a slow retreat. The vicious blows the older brother rained upon the younger were expertly parried, but the speed and strength of an additional two years of growth served Arok well.
Teng was tiring, and fatigue caused carelessness. Soo watched as Teng backed into one of the metal stools. Arok pressed the advantage. An overhand feint turned into a quick jab to the younger brother’s gut.
Teng dropped to the ground.
“Bravo!”
Soo had been so engrossed in the match, he had not noticed that the boys’ mother was standing beside him until she called out her approval. Rala clapped and smiled as Arok took a bow. Teng struggled to his feet and also bowed to his mother.
Soo suddenly wondered how much of Rala’s influence had led to the boys’ amazing progress. Although Soo had never seen her fight, Treel had often remarked on her abilities with the martial arts. It was a side of this woman that he had forgotten until now.
Perhaps she might consider me an acceptable match.
The thought arose without warning, but once the notion raised its head, Soo turned it over in his mind. Examined it. Enjoyed the warmth of the thought.
We would make an excellent pair.
“Continue sparring,” Rala ordered. “But do it on the other side of the house.”
The boys bowed again and left without further word. They were well-behaved as well as well-trained, Soo noted. His brother’s mate—Rala, he corrected—had done a good job with the two.
“Sit, General Soo,” Rala ordered. She pointed to one of the stools that surrounded them.
Soo hesitated briefly, then took a stool. The metal contraptions were short and uncomfortable, but when a potential female partner told you to sit, you sat.
Rala took a seat on a nearby stool.
“You wonder why I asked you to meet me here, yes?”
Soo was pleased that she got straight to the point. She offered no pretense or formal postur
ing. Everyone on Waa had an agenda these days; a plan to advance their personal standing in the new Minith society. Her decision to eliminate the acting or stage-setting that so often preceded any meaningful dialogue was refreshing.
“Yes,” the general answered simply. If she was willing to cut through the idiocy of Minith protocol, he would gladly meet her halfway.
She got right to the point.
“The Zrthns are not a threat,” she said simply.
“Interesting.” Soo had spent the last few years building up his forces to protect what was left of their race and their empire. To be informed that his primary adversary was not a threat could not be accepted without question. “And you determined this how?”
“Please, Soo,” Rala dismissed his concerns with a wave of her hand. “I meet with the Zrthns regarding trade weekly. Whatever I find, I pass along to you.”
“And you’ve found something that leads you to believe we have nothing to fear,” Soo stated. He was unconvinced. “Interesting, Rala.”
“Soo, the Zrthns do not care what happens here in our tiny little corner of the universe.”
Soo stared. He, like every other Minith, firmly believed that their “tiny little corner of the universe” was an immense empire—or at least, had been, until their planet was erased from the galactic maps. While Truk was convinced rogue Minith were responsible for the deed, Soo was not so sure. He had developed his own theory. And that theory had the Zrthns at its core.
“General,” she began, “you are not stupid. We control fourteen worlds. We have not had communications with four of those worlds, including Earth, since Minith was destroyed. Do you really think we are a major force within the larger sphere of interplanetary trade? Or politics?”
Peace Army Page 19
