The Knockabouts

by DK Williamson

  “You’re shoving your view down our throats.”

  “This is something for the clan to decide. You can have your say at the next Latchup. You know that.”

  “You expect us to pack up and leave as we did decades ago? We won’t.”

  “We are happy to hear that and look forward to hearing your arguments at the next Latchup.”

  “No! Now,” Norman said.

  “That’s not how it works, and you know it.”

  “It does work that way. We invoke for a resolution of the matter in the here and now.”

  “By what article? Unless you—”

  “Dispute. We call for the Rite of Dispute.” The sound of shocked voices carried across the deck.

  “We’ve a Dispute then? How far do you intend to take this?”

  “We’re willing to take it to blood. Today.”

  “Blood? That’s not been done in centuries. It’s not a proper thing to decide such—”

  “It’s still a clan rite. Not tradition, not custom, but rite! I will reiterate, we call for the Rite of Dispute.” The gathering burst into angry shouts. The council chair raised his arms and lowered them, then repeated the gesture numerous times to quiet the crowd.

  “You’d harm and possibly kill kin and clan over this? For greed?”

  “Call it what you will. It’s ours and we’ll prove it by the ancient rites. Old ways be best ways. What say you?”

  “The council will discuss this matter in private. We will return shortly.”

  As the five council members descended from the back of the dais, the angry voices of the crowd grew once again. Norman turned to the old liners and walked toward them with a smile on his face.

  “Dispute?” said Devlin with a glare at the old line gathering, “You know, a thing or two is starting to make sense.”

  “Not again,” Hugh snarled. “Not again.” He pushed through the crowd, followed by those close to him.

  The council stood in the cordoned area some distance behind the dais, a number of men keeping people away as the five spoke to one another.

  Hugh pushed past the cordon. “You’ll not reverse yourselves,” he said sharply. Several men moved to stop him, but realized the futility of it when they saw the size of the group following him.

  “It’s all right, let him be,” said the council chair.

  “You reverse this and I’ll invoke the law of the feud, so help me I will.”

  “The men who wronged you are dead. I know those of us on the council so long ago hurt you. Now the same problem has returned. We thought we had the solution to end this. We may still. Give us time to find a way, Hugh.”

  “You can take all the time in the galaxy if you wish, but you’ll not find a proper solution. You’ll have to compromise if you wish to avoid the rite. This isn’t about just me. You know that. You cave in or appease them, you know what happens next. I’ll feud against any who would continue the bad old ways. It’s time we be rid of them.”

  “The ways or the old line?”

  “They be one and the same. Foul men, foul ways. We all know that.”

  “This is the sort of thing that will tear everything apart if we let it.”

  “I have a solution,” Teller said as he put a hand on Hugh’s shoulder.

  Everyone looked at the spacer.

  “And what might that be?” one of the council members said.

  “Go through with it.”

  There was a long pause as the council members, along with Hugh and Rory, looked at one another in confusion. “The Dispute? We allow a bloodletting on the decks? Or do you think they’re bluffing? I assure you, they are not,” Noggin said.

  “I know they aren’t bluffing. They expect you to give in for the sake of the clan but have a plan in place if you don’t. Devlin knows what they have in mind. I have an idea that will turn their plan on them… and give you the authority to do what’s best. Every Makreury but those old-line holdouts will back you.”

  Noggin looked dubious. “Sounds marvelous. Just how do you intend to perform this miracle? You’ve been absent from us for how long? Absence made you an expert on clan affairs?”

  “Makreury affairs seem to be the same as they’ve always been,” Hugh said.

  Makko nodded. “They are.”

  “Noggin, have you a solution or not?” Rory said.

  Noggin looked at the other four council members. They shook their heads collectively and he nodded in return. “There’s your answer.” He looked at Teller for several seconds. “So, Teller of the Wing, you fly in with a miracle do you? Mind sharing?”

  “If I told you, it would reach old line ears just seconds after I closed my mouth.” Teller flashed his most winning smile. “You’re just going to have to trust me.”

  . . .

  Virtually every attendee of the Latchup gathered around a circular area marked out on the deck in front of the dais. From one side to the other it measured perhaps fifteen paces across, with marks within the circle delineating positions where the combatants were to stand. Hard stares across the Dispute field expressed the feelings the old line faction and the rest of those at the Latchup held.

  Teller led a group through the crowd. He pointed at a spot a few steps from the edge of the circle. “Ord, you know what to do?”

  The big man knelt and nodded.

  “Gus, stand here,” Teller said, indicating a spot at the edge of the outer mark. He leaned close to Makko. “You spread the word about Gus’ experience as a soldier?”

  “I did. Likely everyone knows by now. You think that might scare those boys over there?”

  “No. I imagine the old line is happy about it.”

  “Then why?”

  “Short edition: They’ll think we think we’re pulling a fast one while they think they have a hole card to play while we have a better one. Got me?”

  Makko stared at Teller for a few seconds. “No.”

  Teller smiled. “It’s better that way. They’ll go through with it, trust me.”

  “And we want that? A professional knuckle brawler and all?”

  Teller nodded.

  “Why didn’t you just say so?”

  Hugh and Rory pulled Teller aside, moving a few steps into the Dispute area.

  “Do you honestly know what you’re doing?” Rory said leaning in close, his voice just loud enough to be heard over the din that occupied the Follies’ cargo hold.

  “It’s not a game, lad,” Hugh said.

  Teller nodded. “Yes, I know what I’m doing… and it is a game. I happen to know what’s in their hand. They think they know what’s in ours.”

  Hugh’s eyes narrowed. “High stakes… and not just what I have on the table.”

  “It’s the same stakes you had when you were forced to walk away, Hugh. The difference is, we have a good hand and the opportunity to end this. I had a good teacher. It’s time. Trust me.”

  Hugh put his hand on Teller’s arm. “Don’t ever think I don’t, lad. Luck be with you.”

  Makko joined the group. “Word’s out. Norman’s to be their front man.”

  “Makes sense,” Hugh said.

  Rory nodded. “Rile him, Tell. Get’im mad so he don’t be thinking too much. He’s always had a conniving mind and always had a temper. The two don’t work well together.”

  Makko grinned. “The mad Norman’s not as dangerous as the conniving Norman. He still has a tender spot about you besting him all those years ago. I think that’d give you a leg up in the riling department.”

  . . .

  Norman and Teller stepped into the ring, walking to their marks several steps from a circular area in the middle. The center ring designated where the contest would commence.

  Norman glared as Teller stepped to his mark.

  “Been awhile, Norm,” Teller said in a cordial tone. “You look well.”

  “We’ve heard about Idor. This is no blaster fight, Skellum. This is fists and cudgels.”

  Teller smiled. “I know.”
/>   “And just how did you get selected to represent the wrong side?”

  “Fate, luck, they pulled my name from a hat, I volunteered, pick one. The point is: I’m here.”

  Norman snarled. “Go ahead, be smug.” His snarl became hard-eyed smile. “You’re not as smart as you think, and you’re not the only one who can bring in an outsider. I planned for this months ago… meticulously. Think about it and you might see your error. In a few moments you’ll regret making such a rash decision.”

  Teller rubbed his chin and looked upward and then opened his mouth in mock surprise. “You’re right! I’m quaking in my boots. Soiling my shipsuit. Why it’s all I can do not to run for an airlock. I—”

  Norman spat and lifted his cudgel from the deck. “I’ll see your blood on this, Skellum.”

  “You seem very testy.”

  “You’re mistaken if you think an ex-soldier will—”

  “Call your seconds.” the council chair said over the rumblings of the gathering.

  Norman broke into a grin as he looked away from Teller and toward the dais. “I call Bron Dorn.”

  The crowd noise rose and then quieted as the fighter stepped from the crowd, his gloves creaking as he flexed his hands around the cudgel he held.

  “He is not a Makreury,” came a shout from the crowd.

  “This is true,” the council chair said. “By what means does he have standing to take part in a Makreury rite?”

  “Not by name and not by blood is he a Makreury, but he be brother to me,” Norman said. “By this does he have standing. This I affirm.”

  “A brother to me as well,” shouted a voice from the old line side.

  Noggin cast a worried glance at Teller then looked back to Norman. “Your affirmation makes it so.”

  Norman pointed his cudgel at Teller. “He’s not a second or a Makreury. By what right does he represent the opposing side?”

  “I am Teller Skellum,” the spacer said loudly, quieting those that that might have responded to Norman’s statement. “Called Teller ‘Bandoned, Teller the Wing, and a Makreury by upbringing and deed. What more is there? Makreury’s a doing, not just a name, and if I not be a Makreury, then half those here be not either.”

  A mass of noise arose in support of Teller, silencing those against.

  “You have no issue, Norman. Teller, who be your second?” The council chair said.

  “I call Ord Hawmer.”

  Norman’s expression made apparent his surprise. “But that’s… he’s certainly not a Makreury.”

  Teller looked at his friend as the big man stood. He smiled. “Not by name and not by blood is he a Makreury, but he’s shipped with me ten years and a better knockabout there not be. He be a crewmate, a friend, and a brother to me.”

  “He be a friend to me as well,” Hugh yelled.

  “And me,” Tyrrell shouted.

  Brabham added a, “Me also.”

  “Do you affirm?”

  “My word alone should suffice, but for the record, I affirm.”

  Ord stepped from the crowd, placing his hand on Gus’ shoulder and grunting a “Thanks,” as he passed. He carried no weapon. Dorn swallowed, scowled, and looked at Norman.

  The crowd grew quiet as Ord made his way to stand a step behind and a step to the right of Teller.

  “In accordance with the ancient rites, the combatants shall face one another at the center, without blows, without insult, in effort to resolve the Dispute.”

  The four men closed to the center of the ring.

  “I beseech you. Find a solution other than this barbarity,” Noggin said. “Think of the clan.”

  Norman locked eyes with Teller. The knockabout smiled. “Not quite the way you planned it, Norm? You did prepare for such an eventuality, right? You mentioned being meticulous.”

  “You’re not as smart as—”

  “No, Makreury,” Dorn said loudly enough for everyone to hear him. “You never said a thing about fighting monsters. You said it’d be knocking down drunken louts that stole your money.” He gestured at the angry gathering around them. “This isn’t what I signed on for.”

  Norman’s eyes flared with anger as he jabbed his cudgel in Ord’s direction. “Size means nothing. An unarmed man took him down on Idor Station.”

  “A neuro-to, Makreury. A master at that. I heard the stories. Saw the vid. People don’t survive being taken down by neuro-tos. He did. He ought not to be standing here. He is. This fight won’t be thumping somebody. To beat a man like Mister Hawmer I would have to try to kill him, and I don’t do that. I fight. I don’t fight to kill unless I must. If you take the next step, this will be to the death all right. Ours in all likelihood.”

  “You agreed. We have an arrangement. A contract.”

  “For a price we did, and one misrepresented to me. You said this was a ritual to set things right. It’s not. It’s to keep things wrong. I’ve heard enough to know what you seek. The creds are in my bag over there. They’re yours again and that ends our business arrangement. I’m not going to kill or die for a cause or someone else’s twisted honor, and that’s what you brought me here to do. It will happen if we go through with this. I’m out of here and if anyone has issue with me I’ll be around… at least until I find a ride.”

  Dorn locked eyes with Ord and nodded. “Wish we could have met under better circumstances. I’d like to hear about the neuro warrior sometime.” He turned and walked to his gear. Despite the glares of those around him, no one said a word as he passed through the gathering and out of sight.

  Norman turned to his supporters. “Who will be my second?”

  He received uncomfortable silence as most in his faction avoided looking at him.

  “This not a fistfight. You’ll be armed.”

  One of the older men walked toward him. “This gambit is a losing proposition now. Let us devise a different strategy.”

  Norman’s face grew red. “It all rides on this! Our traditions and observances. Our way of life. Who will stand with me?”

  The same uncomfortable silence held.

  “Norman, please. We’ll find ano—”

  “No!” Norman turned and walked toward the dais. “An alteration. Myself versus Skellum.”

  Noggin shook his head. “There are no provisions for altering the Rite of Dispute.”

  “I request a delay to seek another second.”

  “You have sought and found none. You may withdraw or proceed. We might suggest the former. Your cause is lost.”

  “It was lost when your ringer came to his senses,” Teller said.

  Norman’s face reddened again. “Nothing is lost! NOTHING!” He whirled and stomped to the starting marks. “We shall proceed.”

  Teller leaned toward his friend. “Maybe I riled him a little too well. He has lost it.”

  “Maddened. Will be hard to stop without harm.”

  “Yeah, but let’s see if we can subdue him without hurting him too badly.”

  “Ord can do it.”

  “All right big man. Just don’t accidentally kill him or anything. Let’s not give them an excuse to start a feud.”

  “Will try.”

  The council chair sighed. “Norman Makreury. For the sake of your family, if not—”

  “Proceed!” he spat. “Right gives might! This day shall be ours.”

  The chair looked upward and drew a deep breath before letting it out. He looked to Norman. “Is your side prepared?”

  “Yes. Proceed.”

  The chair looked to Teller. “Is your side prepared?”

  “Yes.”

  “This is the ancient Rite of Dispute. Declared to be Kun Fuil, ‘To the Blood’ in the old terms. A party may not yield until their blood has been spilled by the act of another. The Dispute shall continue until one side yields, is incapacitated, or dies.”

  The chair closed his eyes and shook his head. “Proceed.”

  Norman charged with an enraged expression distorting his face, cudgel held high and rea
dy to strike.

  He closed on Teller and brought a powerful stroke downward at the spacer’s head. The blow landed with a loud slapping sound as it struck the palm of Ord’s extended hand, and in an instant the cudgel was trapped inside the giant’s fist.

  Norman experienced a moment of shock, and then another as a massive hand closed around his neck and lower jaw, lifting him from the deck as the giant wrested the cudgel free and tossed it aside.

  “Yield,” Ord said.

  Norman grabbed Ord’s wrist in both hands and flailed his feet, Ord blocking any kicks that came close to landing with his free hand.

  “There must be blood,” came a dozen cries from the crowd.

  Ord nodded. “Blood then.”

  Ord brought his free hand to Norman’s face, eliciting a scream from the man. A flick of a giant finger across Makreury’s nose was enough. He flinched and flailed as Ord lowered him to the deck, red flowing from both of Norman’s nostrils.

  Ord brought his free arm back and made a fist. “More?”

  Norman swung wildly with both arms, doing little but causing a small breeze.

  “Death, then.” Ord growled.

  Makreury’s already pale face grew even more so. “Yield! I yield!”

  Ord released his grip and turned away, walking to the edge of the crowd and into the throng as they stood aside. Makreury fell to his knees.

  “Nice seeing you again, Norm,” Teller said with a gentle pat on the man’s shoulder. “We should do this again sometime.” He followed in Ord’s wake.

  . . .

  “We be done with ye and yer abuses. We’ll be goin’ and no comin’ back,” a representative of the old line said.

  Ty shrugged. “Well… bye,” he said with a dismissive tone.

  “That don’t mean we be finished. There be debts to be paid and that’s a’comin’.”

  “You be talkin’ vengeance? The black might be bogglin’ big, but you’ll not get far enough if you set down that course.”

  The old liner pointed a finger. “Ye’ll see.” He turned and climbed through the hatch.

  “Tha’s the last of’em,” Devlin said. “I feel for Maggie.”

  She looked at the spacer. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You’ll no know where to set up at the next Latchup.”