by R J Johnson
“Yes goddammit, I can continue. Leave me alone so I can get to my corner,” Meade snapped and held the side of the ring for support as he moved to his chair that Emeline put out for him.
Her eyes were filled with both worry and disgust at his stupidity, as she watched him collapse into his chair. He didn’t even bother removing his mouth guard as Emeline rubbed Vaseline on his face and applied a thin strip of Dermablast to help seal his head wound.
“You take another shot like that from Chau, I’m stopping the match,” Emeline said firmly.
“No!” Meade said desperate. “I can beat him Em. Don’t stop the match. I can beat him!”
“Are you watching the same fight I am Meade?” Emeline demanded, “Chau is going to kill you out there.”
“He’s certainly trying his best,” Meade said, wheezing as he spat another bloody wad of flem into his spit bucket. “But so will the Warlord of the Elites if I lose this match and owe ‘em fifty g’s.”
Emeline’s eyes widened and she slapped him across the face.
“Oww… easy!” Meade said, rubbing his face. “I’m not taking enough of a beating in there?”
“You… You moron!” she spat out at him. “I knew that money was borrowed, but you took money to bet on yourself from Laszlo?”
Meade shrugged, “I have a system.”
“And it’s clearly working out real well for you too,” Emeline said disgusted. “What’s the vig?”
“Seven and a half points a week, nothing I can’t handle.”
“Nothing an employed Coalition man couldn’t handle. A broke-ass Runabout like you couldn’t scrape that kind of cheddar together if your life depended on it, which apparently, it does!”
Meade shrugged, “Either he kills me,” Meade pointed to Chau who was already standing in his corner waiting for the bell to call the fighters back, “or Laszlo does. Either way, I’m dead or retired. Seemed like a decent bet to make to me.”
The bell rang indicating the start of the third round, “I guess we’ll get out which it is…” Emeline said sarcastically. “Best go get ‘em.”
Meade put his mouth guard back in and moved back into the ring.
“You fucking idiot,” she muttered under her breath.
The next two rounds saw Meade and Chau trade devastating blows. At one point, Meade even managed to trap Chau on the top of the ring’s cage, dropping him directly down onto a +3G circle. Chau nearly didn’t get up when the ref was counting him out, but managed to escape just in the nick of time.
Meade on the other hand had been pressed to his limits more than once with Chau. By the beginning of the fourth round, he counted at least four broken ribs and his right eardrum was pouring out blood. His jaw was clicking every time he moved it and he was pretty sure he was missing at least two teeth. The man hit hard, even without his enhancements, but the vicious fight was finally taking its toll on Chau. Meade was pleased to see that his opponent was getting tired.
He moved backwards and accidentally stumbled into a +4G circle he didn’t see and felt the gravity overwhelm him. His legs protested the sudden new weight and he fell to one knee. He cursed himself for being an idiot and not paying attention to where he was standing in the ring. It was a rookie mistake, the type of thing that Chau often used to win his matches.
And he would not let this opportunity pass up either. Meade looked up at his opponent’s massive fist come down on his head and body. They were glancing blows, since Chau was doing his best to stay outside the +4G circle and attack his opponent trapped within.
Meade cried out after the blows rained down on him and felt to both knees. The ref appeared next to the circle and began counting him out.
“One!” the ref cried out.
Meade knew he only had a few more seconds to get back on at least one knee, otherwise, he’d lose everything. Chau wasn’t letting up though, he kicked him in the stomach and he landed belly first on the rough green canvas. He felt blood trickling out of the side of his mouth, and he saw his vision surrounded with a dark circle.
“Four!”
Four? How the hell did he miss two and three? Meade wondered to himself, and he glanced down at the green canvas below him. He smiled. The countdown was nearing the point where it would switch the Zero-G again. It’d be close, but he might have enough time left between the ref’s count and the countdown on his circle.
“Six!”
There was two seconds left on the mat. Chau had taken a step back not wanting to stumble into the +4G circle before he had won. He was a cautious fighter, and that made him incredibly dangerous. Fortunately, Meade wasn’t cautious, and that made him even more dangerous.
“Nine!”
The mat switched from +4G to Zero-G and Meade pushed himself up and off the mat, rocketing up to the top of the ring cage as the auditorium exploded in applause and cheers. Somehow, during the match, Meade’s scrappy fighting style had won the crowd over, and many were now cheering him. He clung to the roof of the cage and glanced through the blood and hair that was blocking his eyes to see the Ambassador staring at him with a quiet smile on her face. She was enjoying this, almost too much. He looked back down at Chau who paced below like a trapped tiger.
The bell rang signifying the end of the fourth round, and the area erupted again in cheers. Meade slowly floated back down to the mat and limped back over to his corner. Fifth and final round, he thought to himself, if Chau’s not tired, I sure as shit am.
Emeline moved over to him, her eyes wide as saucer plates, “That was incredible!” she gushed. “How did you…”
Meade waved her off tiredly, and motioned for his water. She gladly obliged, spraying some into his mouth. He spat out his mouth guard and leaned back, hoping the dull aches and pains in his muscles and bones would just go away. Fortunately, one way or another in a few more minutes he’d be able to get the finest painkillers the Coalition had to offer. Failing that, two or three shots of Emeline’s special blend would do in a pinch.
“He’s not getting tired,” Meade said dejectedly through his heaving chest.
“Can you beat him?” Emeline asked.
He hesitated, “I’m not sure.”
“I don’t think you even need to!” Emeline said, “You’ve proven so much already just lasting the last four rounds with him. Think about it, I can stop the fight and no one would look at you twice. You could even make your money back by touring the circuit. I bet people know who you are now.”
Meade shook his head, “I beat him here and now, or I fail. There’s no playing this off.”
The bell rang, signifying the fifth and final round. She stared at him, the white towel in her hands, her eyes glistening.
“You son of a bitch, I won’t watch you die,” Emeline snapped, and threw the towel at him as she stalked off.
Meade shrugged and shook his head. What the hell got into her?
Chau stood in the center of the ring waiting for him. He moved to the center and they touched gloves for the last time. Chau grabbed his gloves, and Meade looked into Chau’s eyes. What he saw there wasn’t rage, or anger, or even the dispassionate disconnect most fighters had when they were in the ring. Instead, there was only sadness and pain.
Chau drew Meade in gently, holding his wrists and whispered into his ear.
“I won’t be stopped. Greene is mine. I’m sorry it has to be this way.”
Meade stepped back, looking in disbelief at his opponent. Chau sort of smirked, nodded as if he were sorry, and then threw one of the hardest punches Meade ever took.
Meade woke up suddenly on the mat with the ref standing over him counting.
“Seven, eight…!”
Meade shook himself back together and he woozily grabbed the metal post next to where he had landed after Chau’s devastating blow to haul himself back up.
“Nine…” The ref grabbed Meade’s hands and looked at him in the eyes, looking for any indication of brain damage or concussion. He was sure there was at least some brain dam
age - though most of that probably came from things from before this fight. He was probably concussed too, but he wouldn’t let the ref know that.
“Last one of those. Next time you go down, fight’s over, you hear me?”
Meade snapped back to attention and hoped he could sell that he was all right to the ref.
“No!” Meade said “I’m fine! Last round, let’s do this!”
The ref looked at him and up at the arena crowd that had worked themselves into a frenzy. He glanced up at the Ambassador who nodded. The ref let go of Meade’s wrists and moved back to the center of the ring. He reset the fighters, who stood opposing each other, both looking more than a little beat up.
“Fight!”
Meade instantly retreated. He wouldn’t give Chau the satisfaction of catching him off guard like that again. The flashing circles were switching quickly between Zero-G and +5G. Chau was breathing heavily as he chased after him and he knew that this was the moment he had been waiting for.
He turned and moved towards a +5G circle. Chau followed and they cautiously traded blows, neither fighter landing a punch that gave them any sort of advantage. Meade moved as close to the edge of the +5G as he dared, feeling the slight tugs of the enhanced gravity catch at parts of his back.
Chau moved and threw everything he had in a punch towards Meade hoping to finish him off. Meade leapt back, timing it perfectly.
The mat switched from +5G to Zero-G. Meade leaned back and watched in nearly slow motion as Chau’s massive fist moved in front of his face. He grabbed Chau’s fist, stepped back into the Zero-G Circle and jumped, twisting Chau’s arm as he rose, leveraging the man, flipping him heads over tails.
Meade landed on Chau’s back, with most of Chau’s upper chest and head in the circle. He wrenched the arm up and behind Chau’s back as hard as he could to keep Chau down far enough so that the ref could count his opponent out.
The ref began to count as Chau struggled to break Meade’s iron vise grip. Meade’s gloves were slick with sweat and were beginning to slip on Chau’s tawny arms, but he held fast. All he had to do was hold on for a few seconds and the circle would cycle back to +5G.
“Five!” The ref called out.
The crowd was on their feet, even the Ambassador had risen up to get a better look at Meade taking his opponent apart in the ring. They were chanting his name – not that he had noticed, intent as he was keeping Chau down in the enhanced gravity circle.
The circle flashed red and a red five flashed in the middle of the circle. Chau howled in pain as his head and upper chest were crushed by five times the normal gravity he was accustomed to. Meade got up and off of Chau’s back knowing the +5G circle would do the rest for him.
“Nine… ten!!” The ref counted Chau out and the arena exploded in cheers. The ref came up behind Meade and raised his arm up in the air signifying his victory.
Meade was almost too tired to care that he won. He was even too tired to figure out how much money he had just won for himself. After taxes and paying off all his debts, there probably wouldn’t be enough left for him to actually retire, but it might be enough to get him a big enough stake in a producing ORI mine and THAT might be enough to help him retire to one of the Homeworld’s Orbital cities.
“Ladies and Gentlemen!” the booming voice of the announcer blasted out of every speaker in the arena, “It is my pleasure to award tonight’s match to…” Suddenly, his mic was cut off in a sudden squeal of feedback to the consternation of the whole audience.
Meade looked over at the judges’ table where the announcer had been taken aside by three men in dark suits. Meade raised an eyebrow and turned to the ref, who had moved over to Kevin Chau to help him up and off the canvas.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer’s voice was much more subdued. “I’m afraid we’ve had a technical violation, please standby and hold all bets.”
A shiver of fear struck Meade. The crowd was unsure how to react as they murmured to each other, asking what violation the judges could be referring to. No one had any idea. The announcer, looking very pale, stepped away from the conferring judges and men in black suits and got back on the mic.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I’m afraid there has been a technical violation during the fourth round.” The announcer said apologetically. “The Blue Corner has been cited for violating established rules of conduct during a count. Without this violation, the Red Corner would have won the match at the end of the fourth round. With this violation in mind, the judges have deliberated and decided to award the match, its purse and all rewards that entails to Kevin Chau.”
Meade went numb. He didn’t understand. What violation?
The crowd didn’t understand the judge’s decision either and the crowd’s protests grew louder. In fact, things were beginning to deteriorate to the point where it could turn into a riot. Bookies nervously looked at each other, wondering what they should do and began to back away from the angry mob that had begun to form at the rail separating the audience and the bookies. No one knew if they should pay off bets for Chau or Meade. Everyone who had laid money on the match was demanding payment.
Emeline approached him shouting something, but Meade couldn’t hear a thing over the dull roar of the riotous crowd. Instead, he ignored her and kept walking to his dressing room, leaving her behind.
The Ambassador’s security chief leaned into the Ambassador and whispered something. Her entourage rose from their seats in the VIP box far above the arena. The danger and change in the crowd’s mood made it likely that a riot was imminent and the Ambassador needed to be made safe.
Meade moved back to his corner, and removed his mouth guard. He opened the door to the ramp leading back to his dressing room and walked slowly through it, ignoring the riot that was developing around him at the moment.
He had lost everything. He had won, but still, lost everything. He owed more money than he’d ever seen at one time to a man that wasn’t shy about disposing of people in a hole in the Martian desert.
Suddenly a Molotov cocktail flew over his head, striking the wire mesh on the ring’s cage. It burst into flame and the crowd cheered the destruction and chaos. A dozen Coalition MPs rushed into the arena and began spraying the crowd with dispersal foam. Fed from a small attachment to the Coalition MP’s ArmBars, they sprayed it without regard who they were gassing. The foam was designed to irritate the lungs, nose and skin and was very effective at taking the fight out of any rioter.
The crowd quickly gave up their fight as people trampled over each other to exit the arena before the Coalition MPs decided more drastic measures were needed to break up the riot.
Meade ignored the world that was falling apart around him in real time, and focused on his own personal world that was crashing down. Without any credits, or credit to be had, Palmetto was right, Meade was a dead man walking.
It was only a matter of time.
Chapter Two
Meade looked at the bottom of the shot glass he had just emptied and flipped it upside on the bar in front of him. He rested his chin on the redwood bar Emeline had installed in her bar after the last Warlord in charge of E-Block discovered that he didn’t have as many allies as he thought. Another dead soldier, he drunkenly thought to himself.
He looked for Emeline hoping she was nearby so she could pour him a refill, but she was nowhere to be seen. Besides, he didn’t really need another drink – after all, he was already good and plenty drunk by this point. The only reason he could even afford to drink anything was because of Emeline’s good graces. When life as you knew it was over; that tended to drive a man crawling into the bottom of a bottle.
He stood and craned his neck, looking around the bar to see where Emeline had gotten herself to. As he stood, his boot slipped on the barstool and he fell, nearly cracking his head open on the bar. His black cowboy hat, with a braided tail hanging off the back of it, fell to the ground. He drunkenly leaned over to pick it up, but before he could, a mole from the ORI mines kicked
it away as his buddies laughed at Meade. He stood back up, swaying back and forth in front of four miners holding their drinks and smirking at him.
“You cost me fifty credits Runabout,” one mole said, his breath reeking of garlic and stale beer.
He smiled, and twirled his fingers around his temples, “I’m not very good at finding money I’m afraid. Bad eyeballs you know.”
“You ain’t a kidding,” another of his fellow miners pushed his buddy aside and drubbed his chest with his pointer finger. “We saw you in the ring.”
A third stepped forward menacingly, “Because of you, all our bets on Chau were invalidated.”
Meade, still swaying, wasn’t entirely sure how many moles were actually confronting him. He knew he was seeing at least double, but he might’ve just been looking at one guy wrong.
“Can’t help the ZFC judges my friend. All I did was go out there and get pounded into raw hamburger, or didn’t you notice?” Meade said, indicating his right eye where Chau had cut him open. The wound had been sealed with Dermablast – the medical compound wouldn’t leave a scar, but even modern medical science couldn’t do much about the enormous mouse that had formed around his eye.
“Not how I see it,” the first miner said as his crew surrounded him. “Judges say it was you that caused all the confusion in the first place making us lose our bets. If you knew how to follow rules, I’d have my money and all would be as it should be.”
Meade knew there were times when he should keep his big fat mouth shut, but he wasn’t the best at figuring out when those times were.
Meade looked the miner up and down and shrugged, “I dunno if your wife would agree. She sure appreciated being in the arms of a man that didn’t have a face which looked like it was carved by a retarded ORI driller last night...”
“You son of a bit…” The mole lunged at Meade along with his buddies.
Meade’s reflexes had been dulled by the excellent whiskey Emeline brewed in her stockroom, so he wasn’t as fast as he should have been. Fortunately, the moles attacking him were nearly as blotto as he was making it easy enough to step aside and trip the mole lunging for him who landed unceremoniously in a pile next to him.
