The Thirteenth Man

by J. L. Doty

  Add calmly approached her, put a hand on Ell’s shoulder, and said, “It’s time we trust that little brother has learned his lessons well.”

  Ell looked dumbfounded; Add, always the critical one, and never satisfied with either of them. Add continued, “Sister, I always knew that one day he’d have to kill this Dieter, and that day has come. But he doesn’t have to go in there unprepared or unarmed.” Her lips curled upward in a very menacing grin.

  Add and Ell both retrieved knives from various places on their own bodies, planted one in each of Charlie’s boots, one up his left sleeve. Ell then rifled through a medic’s kit, retrieved an injector and several vials. “I can see in your face the pain is back. This’ll fix that.”

  She pressed the injector against the side of his throat and pulled the trigger. Mercifully, the pain disappeared. “But any new wounds will hurt, and any exertion will tear open your old wounds, which’ll hurt like hell, and you’ll start bleeding out. So if you do tear them open, you have to finish it soon after that.”

  Add just stood by, nodding her approval. When Ell was finished, she stepped back and looked Charlie up and down. Charlie had a thought and said, “One more thing. Give me a kikker.”

  Everyone there looked at him skeptically, but Ell didn’t question him, again searched through the medic’s kit and found another vial. She loaded it into the injector and shot it into his neck.

  As the flood of combat drugs washed through his system, he took a deep breath and let it out slowly, had to force his own control over the aggression hypes that made him feel like some sort of super human. To the two of them he said, “As soon as that hatch closes with me on the other side, get a plast torch and start cutting your way in. Either I and Del will be dead and you’ll need to cut your way in to kill Dieter, or Dieter’ll be dead and you’ll need to cut your way in to let us out.”

  He turned to the corvette’s captain. “I’m ready.”

  The man spoke to Dieter through his own implants, and moments later the hatch cycled open with a soft hiss. Charlie pushed it open and peered carefully into the cramped confines of the ser­vice bay. The shuttle filled most of the bay, a squat, ugly shape with only a few meters of space around it, the walls lined with tool cabinets. The large access hatch through which the shuttle had passed was at the far end of the bay. Once Charlie was in the ser­vice bay, Dieter could end it quickly by opening that hatch, venting Charlie to space with he and Delilah protected inside the shuttle. But Charlie wasn’t worried about that. Dieter wanted to do this personally. That was Dieter.

  Charlie looked right and left, leery of a possible ambush just inside the hatch, stepped through it and allowed it to cycle shut. The bay was silent, the shuttle’s airlock wide-­open.

  The situation was all wrong. If Dieter just dropped the whole matter, released Del, claimed he was only obeying the orders of his now dead father, the Ten would have no alternative but to let him inherit the de Satarna ducal seat. But provoking this situation, there was only one way this could end: with Dieter dead. The only thing he could hope to gain was to take Charlie with him. Was giving up his own life actually worth that? Charlie feared the de Satarna heir was willing to do exactly that.

  I’m dealing with an unstable personality, he realized, the most dangerous kind.

  He glanced briefly into the shuttle’s open airlock, keeping an eye over his shoulder at all times. Dieter and Del weren’t there, and as he glanced around the shuttle bay again he heard a feminine grunt and footsteps on the other side of the shuttle, so he started edging his way around it, moving slowly and carefully, alert for an attack. He’d just passed behind the tail section when he heard a rustle of fabric up ahead, another muted grunt and what sounded like a brief struggle. He moved toward the commotion, edging along the curved side of the shuttle. Again the sounds of a struggle, then Del shouted, “He’s not alone, Charlie.”

  Charlie ducked and dove to one side just as something hit him between the shoulder blades with an excruciating thud, knocking him to the deck. A heavy wrench clattered to the deck beside him, would have killed him if it had hit him in the back of the head. He tried to ignore the throbbing pain high on his back and struggled to climb to his feet, but a hand gripped his hair, lifted him, and slammed him face-­on against the side of the shuttle, his chest and face pressed heavily against it. He heard the sharp, characteristic hum of a power knife, then his attacker yanked his hair and jerked his head back. The fellow placed the paper-­thin blade a hair’s breadth from his throat. “You know what this is,” the man said.

  Charlie froze. With the cutting edge of the blade enhanced by power, the knife could cut through steel or plast effortlessly. Even a child could cut Charlie in two with no more than the flick of a wrist.

  Dieter called, “Don’t hurt him too much, Thraka.”

  Del growled, “You bastard.”

  He heard them struggling, then Dieter and Del stepped into view, Del held in front of him, a knife at her throat.

  Holding the power knife at Charlie’s throat Thraka searched him thoroughly, found every weapon the twins had given him, and in short order disarmed him completely. Then, holding his left arm in a lock behind his back, Thraka pulled him away from the side of the shuttle and stood him in front of Dieter.

  “Well, well,” Dieter said happily. “I always knew I’d have to kill you, de Lunis.”

  Del struggled against him. He said, “Don’t struggle, my dear betrothed, or I’ll have Thraka cut him up slowly, piece by piece.”

  Del stopped moving, though there was no fear on her face, just anger and fury.

  Dieter’s left hand reached in front of her, gripped the neckline of her dress and ripped it downward, tearing it and exposing one of her breasts. She stood rigidly in his embrace as he massaged it clumsily, like an untalented sculptor crudely trying to shape clay. Dieter smiled at Charlie triumphantly, and there was clearly a bit of madness and hysteria in his eyes. “She’s mine, you son of a whore, always will be. You’ll never touch her. She’s all mine, and I’ll use her as I see fit.”

  Still clutching at her breast with one hand, with the other he lifted the knife high and clubbed her in the side of the head with the hilt. She crumpled to the deck unconscious. He stepped over her and walked toward Charlie saying, “There. We can get to her later.”

  As long as Thraka held the power knife at his throat he could do nothing. Behind Dieter, the first hint of a cherry-­red glow formed near the bottom of the hatch he’d come through. He had to stall, give them time to cut their way through. “Give it up, Dieter,” he said. “You haven’t done anything yet that can’t be undone. Give it up now and you can still inherit the de Satarna ducal seat.”

  Dieter looked him up and down scornfully. “You’re a sorry excuse for nobility.”

  That was ironic, Charlie thought, for he’d have said the same thing about Dieter, but for completely different reasons.

  “You’re favoring your left side, de Lunis,” Dieter said. He reached out, pulled at Charlie’s tunic, and sliced it with a quick slash of his knife, exposing some of the bandage beneath it. “Aha! It appears you’ve been injured. Now where exactly is it under all these bandages?”

  Dieter wanted Charlie to see the blow coming so he took his time curling his fingers into a fist and drawing his arm back. Then he slammed his fist into Charlie’s gut. Charlie grunted and doubled over, but Thraka kept him from falling. “Be careful, Thraka,” Dieter said. “Get rid of that power knife. I’d hate to end this too soon by accident.”

  The hum of the power knife disappeared. Thraka straightened Charlie up and held both his arms behind his back in a painful lock.

  Dieter grinned happily. “Now, I don’t think I hit your wound with that one. How about this one?” Again he broadcast the punch as he hit Charlie in the ribs, and again Charlie grunted with pain.

  “No, I think I still missed. Maybe this one.” />
  He drew his fist back slowly, and this time the blow landed right on the newly repaired wound in Charlie’s chest, and he screamed in agony, nearly blacked out. “Yes,” Dieter said. “I think I’ve found it.”

  Dieter hit Charlie again in the same spot, and again. At some point he blacked out momentarily, awoke lying on his side on the deck curled into a fetal position, his bandages now soaked with blood. Dieter stood over him, Thraka standing behind him, and behind both Charlie thought he caught a glimpse of movement where Del lay in a heap on the deck.

  “Come on, de Lunis,” Dieter said, waving a hand at Charlie impatiently. “Get to your feet. I always knew it would come down to you and me, one-­on-­one, and I expected more of a fight.” He grinned maniacally, his eyes practically devoid of sanity.

  Charlie realized that getting to his feet might be more than he could handle. Blood seeped through his bandages, puddling on the deck. He coughed and spit more blood. Slowly he rolled off his side onto his stomach, and caught another glimpse of movement where Del lay on the deck. He had to keep Dieter and Thraka’s attention away from her and the airlock.

  He took his time, knowing that just before he made it fully upright, Dieter would attack. He lifted himself onto his elbows, then pulled his knees up and struggled to his elbows and knees. He paused there for a moment, buying time, then pushed off his elbows to his hands and knees, and glanced behind them at Del. Her eyes were open, calculating.

  He moved slowly and got one foot on the deck, paused there for a moment, his left foot, right hand, and right knee on the deck, his left hand clutching at his side, sticky with blood. He took several shallow breaths, readying himself for the attack, knowing he could probably ignore the pain for one strike, but that would be it. Then, slowly, he began to rise, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Del climbing quietly to her feet.

  Dieter came in intending to kick him, but Charlie dropped back to the deck in a spin, struck out with a sweeping kick, and caught Dieter in the side of the knee. Dieter went down howling with pain. Charlie crawled over to him as Thraka stepped in to intervene. But behind Thraka, Del rose up holding the wrench Thraka had thrown at Charlie. It was the length of her arm and she could barely lift it, but she swung it high over her head in a long, arcing blow, and with a grunt slammed it into the top of Thraka’s head. The wrench impacted with a sickening, meaty thud. Brains and blood spattered all over Del, Charlie, and Dieter, and Thraka dropped to the deck.

  Dieter scrambled to his feet, favoring his left knee, circling Del carefully. Charlie tried to rise, fell back to his hands and knees as the deck swayed dizzily beneath him, and he coughed up more blood. Del tried to defend herself with the wrench, but it was much too heavy for her to wield easily. She swung it once, but Dieter stepped inside her guard and punched her in the face, knocking her to the deck. She landed in a heap on top of Thraka’s body. Dieter kicked her viciously and she cried out.

  Dieter marched over to Charlie, retrieved his knife from the deck, and hauled Charlie to his feet. “You fucking son of a whore,” he shouted, holding the knife to Charlie’s throat, spittle flying into Charlie’s face. Charlie was helpless as his head spun crazily and pain hammered at the wound in his chest. He coughed up more blood.

  “Wait,” Del shouted. “Wait.”

  Dieter spun to face her, holding the knife at Charlie’s throat.

  She pulled herself slowly to her feet, a plast knife held in her left hand. Her right arm had clearly been injured, because she clutched her right hand painfully to her side in a fold of her dress. Standing there with her dress torn, one breast exposed, the side of her face swollen, covered in bits of Thraka’s brains and blood and bone, she was the oddest, most beautiful creature Charlie had ever seen. “Don’t kill him,” she said to Dieter. She said it in a seductive, almost alluring way. “Don’t hurt him and I’ll come with you willingly.”

  Dieter hooted and laughed. “Why do I care if you come with me willingly, since you’re going to come with me no matter what?”

  She smiled, cocked her head coquettishly and limped toward them. “Because if I’m not willing, then the only way you’ll ever have me is rape. Over and over again, just rape, just the same old thing day after day, and don’t you think that’ll get a little boring?”

  She stopped two paces away. With the knife in her left hand, she reached up and cut her own breast, not a deep cut but enough to draw a little blood. She tossed the knife aside, reached up again and smeared her own blood on the tips of her fingers. Then, oh so seductively, she rubbed the blood on the tip of her tongue, traced it across her lips. “But with my . . . cooperation,” she said in a low and sultry voice, “I could get very inventive, and you might find pleasures you’ve never imagined.”

  Still clutching her right hand in the fold of her dress, she smeared more of her blood on the fingers of her left hand, held it out to Dieter and walked slowly toward him. Dieter dropped Charlie to the deck, completely entranced as she touched the blood delicately to his lips. His tongue darted out, tasted the blood, and he almost swooned.

  Charlie lay on the deck, unable to believe his eyes. But he saw it a second before he heard it, the hilt of Thraka’s power knife in her right hand hidden in the folds of her dress. They all heard the hum as she threw the switch. Dieter’s eyes widened for just an instant, and Del’s face turned into a mask of fury and hatred. She grunted angrily as she jammed the blade up into his chest. She punched it up directly into his spine, then stepped back and slashed upward and out to the side. The blade half severed Dieter’s torso and exited just under his left armpit. The momentum of Del’s slice carried her hand and the blade right through his arm just below the shoulder, severing it completely.

  Dieter’s severed arm thudded to the deck. He stood there for a moment, staring at it stupidly, blood flowing in a massive cascade down his torso. And then he crumpled down into a pathetic heap on the deck. He groaned, gurgled, blood forming a giant pool on the deck around him. He tried to say something, only managed to produce a choking, wet murmur and a froth of blood on his lips. Del ignored him, kicked his knife away, touched the switch on the power knife and it went silent. She tossed it aside.

  She stepped over to Charlie, knelt down beside him. “How bad are you hurt?” she asked, as Dieter continued to gurgle and drown in his own blood.

  “Not good,” he said.

  “Can you wait a minute or two before we get help?”

  “Why?”

  She nodded toward Dieter, who still struggled and gurgled. “If he gets help immediately, they’re good enough, they just might revive him, and I’m not going to let that happen. Let’s give him a few minutes to bleed out, make sure he’s really dead.”

  Charlie looked in her eyes. “Remind me . . . never to . . . piss you off.”

  She grinned, and her eyebrows lifted excitedly. “We could spend the time making out, necking and petting like school kids.” She suddenly remembered her exposed breast, blushed, and lifted the torn fabric of her dress to cover it. She leaned down farther and kissed him, a gentle kiss that promised more.

  When their lips parted she said, “You came and got me. That was stupid. I’m glad you did, but the Realm doesn’t need me. Not as much as it needs you.”

  “But I need you.”

  She smiled. “I know. I like it that you need me. And I need you.”

  She kissed him again. Dieter had been silent for some time. She glanced his way and said, “That should do it.”

  Charlie couldn’t get to his feet on his own. She helped him up and he had to lean heavily on her. “Come on, spacer,” she said. “Let’s go have that dance.”

  EPILOGUE

  THE SPACER GETS HIS DANCE

  Enrik Adsin was never heard from again. It was believed that President Goutain had him done away with, though nothing could ever be proven.

  Goutain’s military forces were badly mauled at th
e battle of Andyne-­Borregga. Of the fifty odd warships he brought to the battle, only eight made it back to the Republic of Syndon, and those all had heavy damage. He made a number of speeches about the injustice of the Realm’s unprovoked attack on the Republic. But he’d lost considerable support among his Syndonese sycophants for his failed attempt to turn the Realm into a puppet kingdom. The Syndonese insurrection gained further momentum, and one year after the battle the military overthrew him in a bloody coup and he was never seen again. His successor, President Tantin—­formerly General Tantin—­gave a number of long-­winded speeches touting peaceful cooperation with Syndon’s neighboring states, though since it was Tantin, his words were viewed with considerable skepticism.

  Gaida and Theode were confined to a small de Maris estate and lived out their days in comfortable, though isolated, imprisonment. But with all her dreams dashed, Gaida finally went mad, murdered Theode, then took her own life.

  The nine dukes reinstated Lord Arthur as His Grace, Duke de Maris, and for centuries the de Maris ducal seat remained one of the strongest in the Realm.

  With the demise of both Nadama and Dieter, the nine dukes found a distant cousin to inherit the de Satarna ducal seat, though he was far from strong. And after the disastrous battle of Andyne-­Borregga, which severely weakened House de Satarna, it never regained its status as the preeminent duchy in the Realm.

  Old Rierma married Lady Sally, made an honest woman out of her—­or perhaps she made a dishonest man out of him, though he’d openly admit he had always been quite dishonest. It “turned out” she wasn’t his niece after all, but a highborn and elegant noblewoman of unquestionable repute, concerning which he was able to produce considerable documentation. In any case, he married her and made her the Duchess de Neptair. Rumors surfaced that he and she frequented a rather disreputable trampsie saloon, and had been seen dancing an undignified, and quite lively, jig. Interestingly enough, she seemed quite happy, and in his later years he always had a smile on his face. After his death at a ripe old age, Duchess Sally proved to be one of the most formidable women in the empire.