Just One More Fight

by Craig Martelle

  “Not for a while. You lost a great deal of ichor. We are slowly replacing it. You feel tired, don’t you?” He nodded. “Your organs are struggling to work. I’m surprised they haven’t failed completely.”

  He laughed. At least he was out of the case.

  It was four days before they released him, but he felt well as long as he didn’t twist or turn. With the ichor replaced, he wasn’t tired, and he was less sore than last time, although they told him he had been much closer to death. The first attack had hurt him. Outside of that, he would have been mostly unscathed. Maybe he was losing his edge. And it cost him the time he needed to talk with Aletha. Damn his weakness!

  His secondary mind shouted for an audience with the almighty Aspen. He told the other he wasn’t making any appointments at present and to call back tomorrow. The annoying voice silenced, leaving him alone with his own thoughts as he walked from the hospital, studiously turning left toward his home, walking past it and continuing to the cemetery where the great Dhanesh was interred. He wanted to talk with the monument. Aspen understood that he had one fight left to reach the top. This was the championship, fought once every three months between the rising newcomer and the reigning champion. He’d learned that no one had ever retired from the ring. They always fought until they died.

  Poor fighters at the lowest levels lived the longest. Their bouts rarely ended in death, but the beatings they suffered and for minimal pay? Was that a life worth living?

  Aspen had thought not, but then he met Aletha. And now he wanted to live as long as possible. One more fight. The bank told him he was wealthy, but there was a mysterious lock on his account. He couldn’t access his money. His bills were paid automatically from his funds, but he was prohibited from withdrawing any of it.

  We live so our survivors can enjoy a better life. That’s kind of screwed up, he thought.

  He reached the cemetery and took his place on the short wall surrounding the monument to Dhanesh. He leaned back a little and slowly sawed his lower legs, letting the bass set the tone. He added his upper arms, enjoying the rhythm between as it wove within itself. People stopped and listened. He didn’t notice. His eyes were closed as he became one with the sound, feeling how the rhythm should dance. When he finished, the observers clicked their joy, some sawed their arms, singing their appreciation.

  Aspen was taken aback. He’d never been musical. He wondered what changed. Maybe the ichor he’d received had been from a renowned musician. He imagined his human self, laughing out loud.

  And then he imagined that Aletha was finally proud of him for something other than hurting people and getting hurt. He carefully stood, bowed just a little as his segments didn’t move like they were supposed to, yet. He didn’t want to start leaking again.

  For the first time, he noticed that the people weren’t shying away from him. He clicked his joy, unintentionally, but it was there, his Insectoid smile. He gathered himself for a slow walk home. When he looked up, he had a visitor. He let out an exasperated sigh.

  Bodhana.

  “What was that all about?” she asked sarcastically, six arms crossed in her usual pose of disgust for whoever she was talking to at the moment.

  “Just something I’ve been working on. I enjoy music, but live alone, as you well know. I’m always alone so if I don’t make it myself, well then, I don’t get to hear anything. As I get more and more time between bouts, I wanted to do something constructive, something that mattered to me. It doesn’t affect how I fight so it doesn’t affect you. Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to return home. I’m tired,” he ended as he tried to push past her.

  “You don’t have to ask my permission to go home,” she enunciated clearly while continuing to block his way. Those who had been listening to Aspen’s song were finding ways to give him and the interloper room. He was too tired and sore to play her game. He pushed forward, his segments rubbing against hers.

  He heard the vibration from her antennae, quickly silenced as she stepped aside and looked away. Joy? At touching him?

  He continued on his way. He must not have heard correctly. He was weak and tired. He continued out of the cemetery, looking back to see her focused on her father’s monument. Her bodyguard was there, discretely to the side. Why hadn’t that beast of an Insectoid accosted him when Aspen touched his master?

  Too many questions and not enough ichor coursing through his body. He needed sleep.

  Chitters. He was no closer to understanding what that was, which meant he was no closer to discovering who she really was.

  He needed to take a full day or two and walk the new road, see what there was to see.

  Six days later he did just that. He walked quickly, stretching the healing cartilage between his segments until they hurt, only enough to let him know he was still alive, but not enough to ruin his day. He sawed his upper arms as he walked, thinking of Aletha’s beautiful hazel eyes, in her round face, framed by blond curls against a cerulean sky. He daydreamed as he walked and for once, his secondary mind remained silent.

  He walked the old road and along the trail until he came to the new road. He hadn’t thought about which way to go. To the left, the road disappeared quickly over a rise. To the right, the road continued as far as the eye could see. He tried the left first, although that was coming from the direction of the city. He hoped something would be there, but when he topped the rise, the road casually curved to the north, away from the city and disappeared into the distance. He turned around and picked up his pace as he jogged downhill. Right was right, he reasoned.

  The road cut through the swamp and bordering forest, having been built on a raised bed of gravel and clay. It looked like modern construction, but it was a road from nowhere to nowhere. At least, nowhere that he knew of.

  He covered ground quickly. Insectoids were three meters tall and when all their legs engaged, they moved at a pace no human could match. He wondered why he compared himself to humans, but that was more and more how he saw himself. His replicant was more him than the Insectoid. He wondered if he would lose himself to his human persona.

  He wondered if he kept going, would anyone come after him. He wouldn’t find out.

  Just one more fight. He knew he could win. The current champion had probably held the title for a couple bouts and was tired. There wouldn’t be another Dhanesh, because the promoters wouldn’t allow it. Maybe they didn’t want him to survive, and that’s why he had to fight at such a disadvantage in his last bout.

  He thought he held the upper hand until he lost his leverage. But he lost it in his mind. The handholds had always been there, it was only his to find them. The delay almost cost him his life.

  Aspen finally understood the fear that incapacitated lesser Insectoids, those who came to camp, then left shaking after one fight. He realized that even if he won, he couldn’t win. Death was inevitable, but if he could discover who Aletha was, then at least he would have that peace of mind. And his name in the archives of champions. People chanting his name. Aletha calling to him, there for him at the end of the fight. He lived for those moments.

  The only way he could learn her identity was to fight and survive long enough for her to give him a clue that meant something to him.

  He continued running along the roadway as the sun warmed him. It felt good to be outside. He’d been indoors too much. Insectoids were meant to be in the open.

  He stopped for a drink and looked back, seeing that he’d arrived at the place that he considered to be as far his eyes could see. There was a great deal of empty road before him, but twinkles in the distance suggested something was there.

  So he ran on, slowing as he approached buildings that looked like something from old earth, construction not designed for larger Insectoid bodies. He turned and entered the ditch along the road, thinking it better that he not be observed by whoever might be there. He hoped that he hadn’t been seen already.

  He moved closer to the buildings, finding them to be the outskirts of a town,
maybe even a city. He couldn’t get far as he’d be exposed. He wasn’t a real-world fighter and he was still injured. If only he had his human body, he could walk through unnoticed, because there were humans here. He didn’t know if they were replicants, bred by the promoters and nurtured solely for the sport, so people like him could occupy their bodies and make them fight.

  He watched from the safety of the ditch as the humans went about their business as if they belonged there.

  There hadn’t been humans on earth in generations. They were told that they’d been exterminated.

  There was a sign on the first building at the town’s entrance. “Chitters.”

  Was it the name of the town or that building? He edged closer, trying to hear the humans as they talked. Aspen only caught one word here or there, hoping that he would understand more. He preferred being human, but the VR must have continually translated for him. Maybe it was the VR that made him feel human so he’d fight better.

  He wanted to go in, but too many people were walking around. He’d wait until the darkest time of night, then he’d retreat. He found more than he ever imagined and needed time to think about it.

  What if Aletha was a real human? No. She couldn’t be as she had appeared as one of the creatures on the dark side of the moon. How had she known about this place? He wanted to walk in and let them know that they were safe from him because he was one of them. But he couldn’t speak their language. He waited and talked with himself, watching the humans do what humans do when they aren’t controlled by Insectoids. It was fascinating. It didn’t take long and they drifted away, back to their homes. When the streets were empty, he strolled in, staying in the shadows as he thought what it would be like to live as a human.

  With Aletha by his side.

  Chapter 8

  Run For Your Life

  Aspen left the town as they extinguished their lights, bedding down for the night. As humans did.

  Such a place should not exist. The humans were exterminated. If these were replicants, then they’d be under Insectoid control. They weren’t. They were living their own lives as free people.

  Maybe the extermination was a lie. Maybe the humans found a way to survive. Maybe the Insectoid leaders decided to bring them back, letting them live as long as they stayed away from Aspen’s people.

  Humans! Alive. It was mind boggling, but he’d seen it, and he’d never tell another soul besides Aletha. What was her link to the human colony? And how could that help him find her?

  He contemplated these things as he ran along the road in the darkness. He tired quickly and found a spot in the ditch. It had been a long time since he’d slept in the open. He welcomed the fresh air and the night sky. He wondered if Aletha liked camping. He drifted off to sleep with thoughts of sitting around a campfire, holding their human hands and looking at the stars.

  Aspen was shocked awake as a convoy of trucks rumbled by. He opened his eyes to the brightness of their headlights racing toward him. He stayed in the cover of the ditch, waiting until the last truck passed. These were human trucks, but where were they coming from? And how did they exist? He climbed from the ditch and started running with renewed vigor. It was dark, the middle of night, and he didn’t want to be out there anymore.

  He ran until he thought his lungs would explode. He ached all over from the pounding he’d given the healing cartilage between his segments. He hoped he wasn’t leaking his precious ichor.

  Bone tired. He crawled beyond the ditch and into nearby trees where he slept like the dead. He didn’t wake as the empty trucks returned from where they’d gone. They drove by and continued into the distance.

  If Aspen had woken in his own bed, he would have sworn it was a dream. But he didn’t. The sun shone on him from the morning sky. He was covered with dew and leaves. Bugs crawled on him. He scooped a few into his mouth for a quick breakfast. He wished he had more. He wished he was home.

  He looked out carefully before leaving the safety of the woods. He made it to the road and started running again, aching from the pain of the night’s efforts. It turned out that he wasn’t far from the trail, then the old road, and finally the walk to his house. He cleaned out the rest of his food when he made it home.

  Groceries and the mundane things from life seemed so insignificant.

  He lay down, his mind racing, his secondary mind prompting him to think about the next fight. Aspen placated his trainer by committing to learn the nature of the title bout, where and what form it would take. Then he fell asleep, this time in his own bed, exhausted.

  Aspen awoke to a hammering on his door. He crawled out of bed, not as sore as he knew he should be. He was too tired to be sore. He staggered to the door, blinking his eyes to clear them. When he saw the massive bodyguard, he winced and sighed, hesitating before letting them in. This time, the bodyguard stayed outside as Bodhana entered, casually closing the door behind her. He offered his chair, although he really wanted to sit down.

  She took it without hesitation. He squatted and then sat on the floor, leaning heavily against the door so he wouldn’t have to look at the bodyguard.

  “Your next fight,” she started without preamble. Aspen nodded, committing to nothing. “Human against human, with weapons, the same ones you used last time.” He wondered how she knew. He’d never seen her at one of his fights, but she was the promoter. She probably had a hand in deciding how they’d fight. She probably received personal three-dimensional playback views while munching snacks in the comfort of her own bedroom. He hated her for what she did. Promoters exploited others for their own gain.

  He wondered if she made more from the fight than he did. Probably. He was too tired to care about her reaction, and he was in the title bout, so he felt he had the right to know. “How much do you make on my fights? And since we’re talking money, why is mine locked up? Why can’t I have access to my own money? I earned it, with my flesh and ichor, I earned it,” he emphasized, glaring at her. His human face would have done the expression justice. He would have to make do with what he had, a tired head and a bandaged body.

  “Make some music for me,” she encouraged him without bothering to answer his question.

  “I’m too tired,” he answered. He didn’t think he could saw with any rhythm. He needed sleep.

  “Why are you so tired?” she prodded. He watched her intently, not wanting to share his secrets with her.

  “I went for a walk, then a run. It got late. I had to sleep outside, and it wasn’t very comfortable. I just got back home and would love to be in my bed.”

  Her eyes sparkled with the iridescence of the Insectoid’s multi-faceted orbs. “I do okay with the fights. I’m thinking of moving on. The life of a promoter isn’t what you think.”

  Aspen considered that. “What do I think it is?” he asked.

  “Throw others into the ring, no matter what. Your ichor. My profit.” He nodded. That is what he thought.

  “Can I move on, too?” She laughed, clicking her antennae, but she didn’t answer. “I guess not. I go into the case one last time and never come back out.”

  She stopped clicking and sat, unmoving, watching Aspen as he hung his head.

  “You must win the next fight and you must not get hurt doing it. If you remember nothing else from today, you remember that!” she hissed. She stood, knocking the chair over and beckoned him to move. He crawled to the side, and she stormed out. He pushed the door closed as he stood and returned to his bed. She didn’t need to tell him what he already knew. Win. Don’t get hurt. Easier said than done, but that was his goal every time he entered the ring. And now this woman insisted on it, her cash cow.

  He’d get mad later. He had to recover and then train for the next bout – humans with weapons. He was comfortable with that. After the fight, he’d confront Bodhana about the finances and all of it. He was fed up, but to have his moment with the promoter, he needed to survive, and that meant winning. How dare she think about leaving, abandoning him to someone new, probab
ly even more ruthless than she was.

  He lay in bed, sawing his upper legs creating a simple rhythm to relax his mind. Before he knew it, he was out. When he awoke, groceries were piled on his table. He no longer cared about the invasion of his privacy. He’d realized that he had none. His entire life was open to the public, a public that shunned him in this world and chanted his name in the other one. Maybe he could just live there. It’s where he felt like he fit in.

  It’s where Aletha lived.

  Just one more fight.

  Chapter 9

  One Last Battle

  Aspen had no more uninvited guests. He avoided walking along the old road, settling for his daily trips to the cemetery, to the monument, where he’d saw away, sometimes joined by others, sometimes alone. He didn’t care. It was the only thing he did for himself.

  He never saw Bodhana again and for that, he was thankful. Maybe leaving her life as a promoter was as risky as him trying to leave the ring. Risky. As in, someone would have you killed. He never knew who these all-powerful creatures were, but they were there, in the everyday lives of the Insectoids. Aspen was used to fighting what he could see in a way that suited him. He saved his hatred for Bodhana as she represented the physical presence of those he couldn’t see, didn’t know. She was everything he hated about his life as a fighter.

  And everything he loved, too. He was a winner. Even if he lost the next match. He’d won more bouts than nearly every other fighter. If he could win this one, then he’d be among the elite. He wanted to not care, but he couldn’t. A childhood dream was about to come true. All the pain he suffered. He refused to let it be for nothing.

  So he recovered, and he trained as he’d never trained before. The second the lights came up in the ring, he studied it. What could he use to his advantage? What would help his opponent? He learned how to best study the environment surrounding him, how to ignore the spectators. His goal, despite Bodhana’s demand, was to finish the fight, standing over his defeated opponent, intact so that he could go after Aletha, spend time with her. The fight was to be in Old Chicago on his favorite stage.