by Reiter
“Another fight for another day, babe,” Hennix said as he stood up, looking back at Llaz. “We’re with you, Boss, and I think I speak for everyone when I say we’ll take that fight if you give the word.”
“Fine, tell Cilrus that I order him to fight Cilrus,” Llaz joked to the laughter of many. “Not that it would make this any simpler. And for what it’s worth, Siekor… thanks.”
“Anytime!”
Llaz nodded before walking out of the room with everyone else following behind him. Even Roc put down his apron to make his way to the Rec Room.
** b *** t *** o *** r **
Touching the side of the face, she was amazed with how soft the skin of the sleeping woman felt. For days she had thought her assignment had been administrative overreaching; the need to demonstrate authority over the need to exercise logic and precision. It was typical among Imperial Officers, but Felantri had grown use to the abuse of power, and it was more likely that her superiors were unaware of the things she would discover.
“I wonder how they will work it so that they’re the ones to get medals for this,” Felantri thought as she took scans of the JoJo Starblazer doppelganger. Her initial reading took her by surprise.
“That can’t be!” she gasped, looking at the readout. “It’s not a clone!”
The door to the room opened and Felantri nearly dropped her scanner.
“Captain?” she could hear the voice of one of the techs calling from down the corridor.
“Whaddaya need, Scamps?” Jocasta replied. She was at the door, but not yet in the room.
Felantri closed the lid of the sleep unit and pushed it back into its hiding place in the wall. “Just an inquiry from the crew,” Obanyo stated as he drew closer to the woman standing just outside her personal chambers. “We were wondering if you could give a length of time that you intend on staying in the Garnet Barony.” Felantri allowed the partition to lower into place quietly and secured it.
“How does she not know about this thing?” she wondered. “… or does her so-called First Mate have her that star-blind?!”
“Really can’t say at this moment,” Jocasta replied, feeling something in her quarters. It was then she remembered there was no Satithe watching over the Captain and her crew. She had let her guard down and she was out of position, vulnerable, screwed! No move had been made yet and Jocasta made no sign she felt anything was amiss. “You guys hatching somethin’ I don’t want to know about?”
“Something like that, Captain,” Obanyo replied, chuckling.
“And they send the brainy thief to do the talking,” Jocasta surmised. “Smart.”
“Well, we are the Brain Trust.”
“How much time do you need?” Jocasta asked before quickly putting her hand to Obanyo’s chest, realizing what she had just said. The movement was quick, but her touch was very light. “No, scratch that. That question was not posed! I can give you a solid thirty hours,” Jocasta decided. “After that, I’ll be sure to channel you guys up.”
Obanyo laughed, knowing there had to be a very funny and entertaining story behind the Captain’s words and actions. With any luck, he might be able to pry it out of the First Mate or Satithe upon their return. “That should be more than enough time, Captain. Thanks!”
“Anytime, Scamps,” she said smiling before catching herself again; this time she took hold of Obanyo’s shirt. “No, not that either. I am glad to have been of help on this occasion! Yeah, that’s what I’m goin’ with. Now get out of here, you’re botherin’ me!”
Jocasta stepped into her room as she steadied herself. Her eyebrows shot up when she saw a female lying in her bed. Long, straight black hair fell over her pillows, though the head the hair hung from was propped up on a smooth-skinned shoulder.
“Didn’t know you made house calls, Culshee,” Jocasta said as she put down her cane.
“I thought it best to maintain a certain level of discretion,” she replied, giving her Captain a warm smile. The Mistress of the Xara-Mansura nodded in agreement and removed her weapons belt.
“You might want to use the brace-coms next time,” Jocasta suggested. “There’s a very short list of the people who can enter my room without my knowledge or permission, and all three of them would never do it. You see where this is going?”
“I believe I do, Captain,” the woman said as she moved quickly to get out of the bed and gather her clothes. “I’ll be out of your way in just a moment.”
“And you brought a med-scanner?” Jocasta said as she saw the small machine tucked away in the crumpled shirt.
“Damn, this bitch is good!” Felantri thought as she turned to look at JoJo.
“Looks like I’m busted,” the woman admitted with an awkward smile. “Truth is, I was going to get your readings afterwards… you know, during the afterglow.”
“Then busted you are,” Jocasta agreed. “Don’t get me wrong, I like assertive people, but anything out of moderation can get a little–” the partially hushed laughter of her med-tech cut Jocasta’s speech short. “Something funny?”
“You, talking about things out of moderation,” she giggled as she continued to dress, losing the fight of holding back her laughter.
“Just leave, Culshee,” Jocasta ordered, pointing her thumb over her shoulder toward the door. The woman put her hand to her mouth and giggled as she staggered out of the room, into the hallway. The doors closed behind her and Jocasta looked around her room. Nothing seemed to be missing… nothing, save her bed linens, was out of place.
“So why do I have an itch?!” Jocasta thought. She took hold of her weapons belt and turned for the door. Culshee was there, fully dressed, armed, and poised to strike.
“How the hell–” Jocasta’s belt had just unfastened and fell from around her waist, hanging from her left hand as her right blocked a lightning fast hand thrust meant for her neck. She ducked an inside crescent kick and pushed Culshee into the door. With a quick and practiced motion, she threw the belt around her waist and the buckle locked.
Felantri stepped forward and spat the gas she had been holding in her mouth. A green misty cloud flew out over Jocasta’s face and she squinted from the burning sensation in her eyes. Jocasta’s left cross hammered against Felantri’s chin and she was sent back into the door, stunned.
“Sahteef,” Jocasta stammered, feeling weak and dizzy.
“Offline, Captain!” Felantri hissed as she lunged forward. Her attack was received and Jocasta spun, pulling her attacker off balance. Felantri came around Jocasta’s body and her face was driven into the wall. Her vision was blurred for a moment and there was a slight choking sensation.
“Yor offwine, bish!” Jocasta whispered as she collapsed. Both women fell to the floor, unable to move properly. Felantri, however, could still speak.
“Administer Stage Three stimulant,” she commanded and her brace-com complied. She gasped as the Gwarthine hit her system. The bleeding from her nose stopped and she felt reinvigorated. She looked at her opponent who looked to be struggling against the effects of the toxin. “Incredible!” she huffed as she got up. “I’ve seen men three times your size drop like stones from this stuff! I’ve got the antidote in me already and I still can’t feel my tongue!” A swift kick to the face ended Jocasta’s effort to remain conscious.
Felantri took out her scanner and rest its reading parameters. “Now, let’s see what’s under your skin. And don’t worry about the real Culshee. I left her with Slavers in the Bowels of Black Gate. So, after some thought, I guess maybe you should worry about her.
“This is impossible!” Felantri said, looking at her findings. “Not even twin sisters have these kinds of reading… only clones. Clones that don’t register as clones?! And talk about a high level of functionality! Your maker has you posing as the Captain of this ship!”
“Dungias is many things,” Tuitonn said as he appeared in front of the woman. “But he is certainly not her maker! And not only are your thoughts registering with me, my dear, as I am
sure that was the Captain’s intent,” the orb pointed out, “… you are also no longer protected from me!”
Felantri looked back at Jocasta. The necklace that had been given to her, when everyone thought she was Culshee, lay in the palm of the captain’s left hand. Felantri lunged for the jewelry, knowing that all she needed was physical contact with it for her mind to be protected. Her feet had not left the floor when everything fell dark.
Tuitonn floated over the body, blasting it twice, just to be thorough… and slightly menacing! With little effort he telekinetically lifted Jocasta from the floor, disrobed her, put her to bed and made sure her room was in the condition it should have been. He then removed the effects of the gas and wiped Jocasta’s mind of the entire encounter, leaving her interchange with Obanyo intact.
A drone entered the room and picked up the body of the Imperial Operative. It was then told to take the body to one of Dungias’ restricted labs, as they had all been made sound-proof. He then went to Jocasta’s computer console and verified their estimated time of arrival to the Garnet Barony. The thirty-hour window she had given Obanyo would be more than sufficient time for Tuitonn’s purposes and Dungias’ aims. Wanting to waste no more time, and sensing that Jocasta was about to wake up, the orb took its leave.
Jocasta sat up in bed three seconds after the doors to her room had closed. She reached under her pillows and found her projectile pistol and her boot knife… just where they should have been, though she could not remember putting them away.
“Man, I needed some shut-eye more than I thought,” Jocasta said as she put her hand to the back of her head. She hand-brushed her hair and looked at the communications console at the door. “Computer, where is Llaz?”
“Crewman Llaz is currently in the Rec Room.” Jocasta smiled at the thought of seeing his body covered with sweat.
“How long is he scheduled to exercise?”
“He is not currently exercising per se,” the computer explained. “He is engaged in a ‘to the hilt’ challenge with Cilrus.”
“Cilrus!” Jocasta gasped as she got out of her bed and quickly dressed. She was fastening her weapons belt when she stepped out into the corridor, walking at what was nearly a jogging pace. “What the hell is he doing mixing it up with a damn gladiator?!”
Change does not roll in on the wheels of inevitability, but comes through continuous struggle. And so we must straighten our backs and work for our freedom. A man can’t ride you unless your back is bent.
Martin Luther King, Jr.
(Rims Time: XII-4203.12)
“The Witch didn’t say anything about this,” Llaz thought as he circled to his left. “You would think she could have given some mention that I would have to face a man who looked like he could eat me just as easily as he could beat me!” Cilrus’ jab was just barely dodged and Llaz countered, landing a hook to the ribs. It felt like he was hitting a column of stone more than another living, breathing soul. “And that was a reminder to keep your head in the game!”
“Was that supposed to hurt?” Cilrus chuckled.
“You’re lucky we’re not allowed weapons in this,” Llaz shot back as he started to move around on the balls of his feet. “One mirror is all I would need to wipe you out!” Cilrus frowned as many of the others laughed. He lunged forward to get a hold of Llaz, but his hands were slapped away, followed by three slaps to his face. They were rapid and stinging; the acting First Mate smirked at his opponent as he flexed his hands. “You keep being a bad boy and I’ll keep spanking your ass,” Llaz warned.
“But being bad is the only thing I do good!” Cilrus said as he marched toward Llaz with his guard up and set.
“Bad grammar and a frontal assault,” Llaz thought as he stepped forward, throwing his body weight into a fierce straight punch. It was a punch that the ship’s First Mate had taught him how to use and how effective it could be when employed correctly. Cilrus’ head snapped back from the surprising power of the punch, but both of Cilrus’ hands had taken hold of Llaz’s arm.
Cilrus had been caught unawares and his vision was blurred, but he did not need not to see things clearly for what he had to do next. Blinking his eyes rapidly, Cilrus set himself and bent at the knees.
“Oh, we’re about to go for a ride!” Llaz anticipated when he saw Cilrus lower his stature and his center of gravity. The young man was throwing his bodyweight forward as Cilrus pulled on his arm. He could see Cilrus moving toward him, lifting his arm to stretch across Llaz’s chest.
With the extra momentum that Cilrus had provided, Llaz was able to jump and use the gladiator’s shoulder as a vault. Llaz knew he was not Ephaliun, but he was quite agile and vaulted the man easily, landing squarely behind Cilrus. He opted not to try and stand, but stayed low. Cilrus spun around swinging furiously, but hitting nothing, still blinking his eyes.
Llaz spun around, sweeping Cilrus’ legs out from under him. As Cilrus fell to the floor, the younger man jumped up and came down, driving his elbow into the former gladiator’s sternum. Cilrus screamed out in pain, sitting up from the floor. Llaz drove his fist into Cilrus’ left eye before rolling down the man’s body and landing a downward right hook to the crotch. Everyone watching the fight winced in sympathetic pain.
“This one’s over,” Deolun said as he turned to leave. Hennix took hold of Deolun’s shoulder.
“Do you remember why you didn’t shoot ol’ Klaro with your brand new shotgun?” Hennix asked.
“All it was going to do…” Deolun remembered the event and turned back to the challenge. “… was piss him off!”
Llaz had gotten up to his feet and set himself for another attack. Cilrus did not appear to be in any condition to receive it. Llaz lunged forward, landing a driving sidekick to the face. Cilrus fell to the ground, but his eyes were wide open and he looked enraged.
“Oh dear God,” Deolun whispered. He stepped forward and lifted his arm to get Llaz’s attention. The heel of Bruveia’s boot applied to his instep kept him from speaking.
“Mind our business, cousin,” Bruveia said softly. “He’s a big boy and he accepted the challenge. He either has what it takes or Cilrus needs to be Cutter.”
Llaz came forward with another kick, this one a jumping front kick, and he gasped in horror when his body caught in mid-air by the wounded gladiator. Though he was surprised, he was still able to send out his hands to slap the ground before his back slammed down on the surface. According to Dungias, such measures supposedly took away some of the force of a long or hard fall. If that were true, Llaz knew he did not want to feel the unadulterated power of the throw. His entire body was in pain and it was hard to breathe.
“You got him now, Rus!” Olreye cried out. “Kick his brown ass!”
“Come here, my pretty-pretty,” Cilrus growled as he reached down for Llaz. He took hold of his shoulders and lifted the young man from the floor with ease. His hands were knocked away by sharp, chopping strikes going up; they came down on either side of Cilrus’ neck.
“Fight smart, not hard,” Llaz’s mind recalled a mantra he had learned from Annsura.
“You’re quick, Llaz, use it!” she had told him during one of their sparring sessions. “The hand can do so much more than simply punch,” she had advised. “… and the body can attack with more than just the hands and feet. Trust me, Llaz, for your style of movement, you want your enemies to get close. Keep your strikes short and punishing. Forget the wannabe pugilist and embrace the technician!”
“Well, he’s damn close,” Llaz thought as he turned his left shoulder toward Cilrus, thrusting the heel of his left hand into the man’s sternum. Cilrus’ head came forward and Llaz stepped to his left, lifting his elbow up into Cilrus’ face. The gladiator’s head snapped back and Llaz stepped toward his opponent, landing another heel strike, this time to the open throat. “I guess I have him right where I want him.”
Cilrus choked as his body started to weaken. He was dizzy and in pain, reeling from more fight than he thought the young man
could bring. A right-handed chop landed on the side of his neck again and it hurt more than the first two combined. It was also more than a simple strike, as Llaz took hold of the back of his neck and brought Cilrus’ face forward into a left forearm butt. Before the sting of the strike could register, Llaz had set and leaned into a left-handed back fist. The first forced blood from Cilrus’ mouth, the subsequent two strikes chipped away at the gladiator’s resolve and consciousness.
“No!” Cilrus yelled, swinging a wild right-handed hook that Llaz ducked, landing a ridge hand to the sternum as he stepped under the blow. Cilrus doubled over and Llaz came around the back of the man, jumping up and coming down with a winding elbow strike to the back of the head. Cilrus’ knee met with the floor, triggering a mantra of his own.
“Pain!” the taskmaster had shouted as he brought his chain whip down on the stone of their proving grounds. “It is the food of choice here. Don’t botha lookin’ at tha menu. Around here, de cook only make one dish! You will eat it, mornin’, noon, n’ night! Tha only choice you have, tha only choice you evah gon have, is whether you eatin’ or servin’!
“You have to take all of the skill, all of the speed, all of the power, and all the anguish in your body… take what you’ve eaten and serve it up!”
A well-placed knee-lift brought Cilrus out of his recollections, but instead of falling down, the momentum of the blow was used to get up on both feet, and it was a glaring pair of brown eyes that were set on Llaz.
“Serve!” Cilrus yelled just as Llaz landed an uppercut to the sternum. The boy knew how to punish, that was for certain, but the blow did not register on Cilrus’ face. His head came forward, but as an attack. Llaz was able to raise his arm to receive the head butt, but Cilrus took hold of his shirt.
“Serve!” he yelled again as he swung his free hand, punching Llaz in the face. He brought the hand back hard across the young man’s face, and suddenly it was only by Cilrus’ power that Llaz was standing.
