“He didn’t do anything!” said Regina angrily. “Or at least he didn’t do anything new. Just calm down Eric and listen.”
Briggs began an angry reply, but Beatrice Innes cut him off. “Yes, do calm down, Mr. Briggs and let’s find out the facts, shall we?” Briggs subsided and Crawford sat in silence while Regina explained the mess. Meanwhile, Tad and the guard were huddled with the other locals. Outraged snorts came from Briggs periodically, but Crawford ignored them. He could scarcely believe this was happening. He looked up as the locals approached him. He slowly got to his feet.
“Mr. Crawford?” said the one he recognized as Vanit Gorin, the leader of the Seyotahs.
“Yes.”
“I sincerely regret what has happened, but we are constrained by our own laws. The Clorindans are within their rights in what they demand. What will you do?” Crawford fumbled with his translator and Regina came over to help. Eventually he had it figured out.
“Do? Well, what sort of options do I have?”
“You can fight or you can flee.”
“Flee!” said Crawford emphatically. He was echoed by Regina, Eric Briggs, and several of their assistants an instant later. Gorin nodded his head.
“You may do so, but by our laws you must then leave immediately and not return.”
“I can live with that… uh, what exactly do you mean by ‘leave’? Just from here or from the whole star system? That could be a bit awkward at the moment.”
“In theory, you should leave the star system, but for now just returning to where you fleet is orbiting would be sufficient.”
“All right, I’ll be on my way.” Gorin nodded again but did not look happy.
“As you wish. What is the name of your second in command?”
“Well, I suppose it would be Captain Frichette, here. Why do you ask?”
“Because the challenge now falls to him.”
“What?”
“Since the action the Clorindans seek redress for was done by your ship rather than any one individual, if you refuse, then the challenge falls to the next in line of authority. That is the law.”
“Well, he refuses, too!” He looked to Frichette. “Right?” The young man looked pale, but Gorin went on before he could say anything they might regret.
“Very well, then who is third in command?”
“He refuses! We all do!”
Gorin frowned. “I am sorry. Then I must ask you all to board your ship and depart. It saddens me that our friendship must end so abruptly.” He nodded toward Briggs and Innes.
“Wait a minute! This doesn’t involve us!” cried Eric Briggs. “We were just passengers!”
“You were on the ship that did the violence. Each and every person aboard is liable to the challenge.”
“That’s ridiculous! We’re here to negotiate a trade agreement, not fight duels!”
“I’m afraid the agreement will have to be negotiated by someone else, Mr. Briggs,” said Gorin. “And as angry as the Clorindans seem to be, I doubt that they will let the challenge drop at your ship only. They will follow you out to your fleet and challenge your Governor Shitfeld, since he is your leader.”
“Absurd! He won’t even consider it! And we don’t have the time to waste on this nonsense! Tell these Clorindans to get the hell out and leave us alone!”
“I am sorry, but that is impossible. Until this is resolved one way or another, there will be no agreements—with any of the clans. None would deny the Clorindans their rights.”
“I don’t believe this,” wailed Briggs. “My uncle and the governor will go crazy! Beatrice, do something!”
Innes had said almost nothing since arriving. The brows on her mousy face were drawn together in concentration and she kept glancing at Crawford in a fashion that made him distinctly uneasy. Finally she looked at the clan leader. “K’ser Gorin, if the challenge were to be accepted, what happens then?”
“The challengers fight until one is dead.”
“Then what?”
“I don’t understand.”
“What are the consequences of victory or defeat?”
“One man will be dead and the issue is closed.”
“Closed? So win or lose, this dispute with the Clorindans would be over and done with? No feud? No more challenges?”
“No, that is what the law was made to prevent. Once the challenge is resolved, the entire matter is finished.”
Innes shrugged and turned to the others. “That’s straightforward enough, and so is the solution to our problem: someone has to accept this challenge.”
“What?” cried Regina. “Have you gone crazy?”
“It’s the only way out that I can see, Dame Regina. We must make this agreement and we must make it now. And I’m sure Sir Charles can see that this clearly falls within his duty. He was willing to take command and fight in defense of the expedition, now he simply has to fight the Clorindan challenger.”
“That’s not the same thing at all!”
A chill passed through Crawford. As much as he hated to admit it, Innes was correct. Like it or not, this was his duty. He’d been willing to fight the saboteur, he’d even accepted that he might have to die in battle when the Venanci squadron arrived, if need be; this wasn’t really any different. The hell it’s not! I haven’t fought hand to hand since… since… Well, only a couple of weeks ago, if he included the fight on Neshaminy, but he doubted that this challenge was going to be quite like that. But what other option was there? He couldn’t refuse and allow anyone else on the ship to accept instead, and if Felicity had to leave, it could cause a long—and probably fatal—delay before the trade agreement was finalized.
“Sir Charles, I’m sure the governor would be extremely grateful to you,” said Innes.
“Beatrice, shut up!” snarled Regina. “You can’t ask him to do this!”
“Yes, I can. I have to. I know my duty and so does Sir Charles.”
“Then why don’t you accept this challenge? Charles, you don’t need to do this!”
“But someone does, Regina. Miss Innes is correct.” He heard his mouth saying the words, but it was like someone else was controlling his voice. The edges of the room seemed to blur as his focus constricted to a narrow tunnel. What the hell was he doing?
“Well, why does it have to be you?”
“I can’t ask anyone else to fight for me, I… just can’t.”
“Then get one of those new colonial policemen the governor is recruiting! Surely some of them are better suited to this sort of thing!”
“There’s no time, Dame Regina,” said Innes. “It could take weeks to work it all out. We don’t have weeks to waste.”
“Oh, then why don’t we just shoot poor Charles right now, give the body to the Clorindans, and you can go back to your negotiations!”
“Thank you, Regina,” said Crawford, rolling his eyes.
“You don’t seem to have much confidence in Sir Charles’s abilities.”
“You didn’t see his challenger! Younger and a trained warrior!”
Crawford put up a hand to still the argument and turned to the local leader. “How does this challenge work? What are the weapons and what are the rules? I’m not going into this blind—this time.”
“The fight is with hand weapons. A variety of knives and clubs are allowed. As the challenged, you have the choice of either the weapon or the environment.”
“Environment?”
“The air mix and temperature you prefer, and it can be in zero-G or whatever gravity fields we have available here. You would have a breathing helmet if you wish, but you’d probably want your own atmosphere since the Clorindan air would be far more damaging to you than your air would be to them if you lost the helmet.” Crawford nodded; as he understood it, the Clorindans didn’t actually use the chlorine in their air, but they could tolerate concentrations of it that would kill a normal human in short order. Unfortunately, the reverse wasn’t true and they could tolerate normal air for long periods
with no ill effects.
While he was thinking, one of the other locals had called up some pictures on a computer monitor that showed a selection of the weapons available. There were about a dozen different types of knives with a variety of blade lengths and curvatures. There were also several things which looked like mining picks: a wicked point on one end and a hammer on the other. One was nearly a meter long. A couple of objects looked like spears, but he realized they were also converted prospecting tools. All of them looked to be seriously lethal in the hands of someone who knew what they were doing.
Which he very seriously did not.
Well, all I need to do is go out and die. I’m sure the Gov will get me a posthumous promotion and a big fat medal.
But dying held no particular attraction to him. Somehow he had to win this fight. But how? He was a strong man, but not especially quick, and he’d never had any hand-to-hand combat training beyond what he’d picked up in a few bar room brawls. So, the type of weapon wasn’t going to help him at all.
But what about the environment?
“I can select any environment I want?” he asked Gorin.
“Yes. Or at least any we can recreate here.” Crawford nodded and made his decision.
“Very well. Please let the Clorindans know that I accept their challenge. I want to choose the environment. And the environment I pick is the one I grew up in: a standard oxygen-nitrogen mix, twenty degree temperature… and a one-point-nine gravity!”
Gorin twitched and looked embarrassed. “I’m sorry, sir, but we don’t have a gravity that high on Panmunaptra. We are limited to what our spin can produce. At the outer rim it is only zero-point-eight and we dare not increase it.”
Crawford smiled. “That’s all right, sir. We can generate a gravity like that with no problem at all—on the ship.”
* * * * *
“This is a trick!” raged Herren Caspari. “A clear violation of the laws! I won’t stand for it, do you hear?” Brannon Gillard sat quietly and watched his friend’s angry face.
The Seyotah priest, who had delivered the message from the outlander captain, bowed gravely, but shook his head. “Your pardon K’ser Caspari, but the law clearly allows the challenged to choose any standard environment that he is comfortable with. This has always been assumed to include the person’s native one. Granted that Charles Crawford’s environment is not one that we are used to here, but it is within his right to demand it. K’ser Gorin has consulted with the representatives from the other clans who are here and they all agree that this is proper.”
“The scum! They all side with the Seyotah to insult the Clorindans with impunity!”
The priest bowed again, and this time Brannon detected the flicker of a smile. “As you say, K’ser, but the conditions of the challenge stand. Do you wish to press it—or withdraw?”
“It is all right, Father,” said Keelen Caspari, “I can take my brother’s murderer no matter what the environment.”
“One-point-nine gravities, Keelen? That’s more than twice what you are used to. You’ll scarcely be able to move, let alone fight!”
“I’ll be able to fight. Don’t worry, Darien will be avenged!” He seized the small pick-axe that was his favored weapon and went through a blindingly-fast series of movements. “Let the murderer have his gravity; I will have my weapon and he shall feel it bite!” Brannon winced at the young man’s words. Keelen had never killed; there was hardly a man in the entire clan who had ever killed. They practiced their warrior skills and sometimes put them to use, but the fights were always until one side yielded, never to the death. Blood would be spilled sometimes, but more by accident than intent. Keelen was filled with anger over his brother’s death, but he was not a killer.
The man he wanted to fight surely was.
Maybe not in single combat, but the man did not hesitate to kill. And he would be frightened and desperate; he would not flinch at killing Keelan…
“Herren, perhaps we need to rethink this…” said Brannon.
“Rethink? What’s to rethink? We either go through with the challenge, or turn our tails and run! If we run, we give up all claim on justice—and become the laughingstock of all the clans!”
“Is our pride worth risking another life?” Brannon nearly quailed at the ferocious look this earned him from Herren. This was not going the way he had hoped. He had come here in order to see the strangers for himself and talk with the priests of the other clans to convince them that these were, indeed, the World Stealers. The challenge had been entirely secondary in his mind. He had assumed that the strangers would either refuse—or accept and be killed. But now he feared that his friend could lose his other son before this was over. He had not planned for that. But what choice was there? If they refused to accept the terms given to them, then they would have to leave and the strangers’ status would climb, and his chance to make the clans see the danger would be lost.
“Please, Father, I know I can win,” said Keelan.
“There is no choice but to accept,” growled Herren, “But perhaps I should fight the murderer myself…”
“Father! No! This is my task! I’ve even thought of something that will give me an advantage.”
“Herren, don’t be absurd,” said Brannon in alarm, “your warrior days are long past. You are too old and too slow, and forgive me my old friend, much too fat for a fight like this.” The clan leader glowered, but he did not say anything. His glance drifted down to his belly, which was neither flat nor firm.
“So it is settled then,” said Keelan excitedly. “I will fight this Crawford in his environment—but with my choice of weapon!” He brandished his pick.
The Seyotah priest bowed again. “I will convey your message. The challenge will be resolved tomorrow at the sixth hour.”
* * * * *
“Nasty looking sucker,” said Frichette. “Think you can use it?”
Charles Crawford hefted the metal pick-hammer in his hand. It massed about two kilos and either the flat end or the one with the wicked point could inflict a deadly wound. The handle was about forty centimeters long and would allow the user to transmit tremendous force when he struck. In a nearly two-G gravity field, the blows would be even harder…
“Guess I’ll have to.”
“Are you sure you want to go through with this, Charles?” asked Regina Nassau.
“I can hardly back out now,” he said, gesturing toward the gathering witnesses. Representatives from all the clans had come to Felicity to watch the fight. The scene of combat would be in the boat bay. The shuttle had been moved out along with all the movable equipment, and that left a rectangular space about twenty meters long by fifteen wide. It was nearly four meters high, but under the gravity he had asked for, no one was going to be doing any jumping. The boat bay had been a good choice for another reason since the artificial gravity generator here was separate from the rest of the ship to allow the shuttle to launch and land easily. It had taken a little tinkering to get it to produce one point nine gravs, but it had been done and everything was now ready.
Nearly everything.
He certainly wasn’t. His heart was pounding, his palms were sweaty, and he was as scared as he had ever been in his life. He looked past the crowd of dignitaries, who were lining the windows looking into the bay, at his opponent. A young man, or so he guessed; it was hard to tell with that gray skin and greenish hair. Taller than he was, but much thinner. Not too heavily muscled, but wiry and fit. He moved like a dancer; Crawford knew that he moved like a bulldozer. In normal gravity the Clorindan could run rings around him, he was sure. Would the higher gravity make enough of a difference? It had better, it’s all I’ve got.
One of the Seyotahs, bundled against the cold and wearing a breathing helmet, approached and bowed. “Your opponent, Keelan Caspari, son of the clan leader, says that he is ready. Are you ready to meet him, Charles Crawford?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.” He turned to Regina with a lopsided smile. “Wi
sh me luck?” To his complete surprise, the woman grabbed the back of his head and pressed her lips to his in a passionate kiss. He pulled away and looked at her in amazement.
“Good luck—and be careful,” she whispered.
“Was that a good-bye kiss?”
“Consider it incentive to stay alive.”
“I already had plenty of that—but I won’t turn it down.” He had no idea if she was serious, but she wasn’t smiling. “Uh, I’ll talk to you later.”
He followed the local to the hatch. By good fortune, there were two hatches opening onto opposite ends of the boat bay. He could go through one while the Clorindan went through the other.
“Watch the increased gravity,” he warned the Seyotah. The man nodded, but still nearly fell as he stepped through. Crawford grabbed his arm and steadied him. He stepped through himself and felt the increased drag. Back on Neshaminy he had exercised (not frequently enough) at higher gravities, but he had not done that since being revived, and not for the ten years before that. Other than a one hour workout in the boat bay this morning, he had not been under high-G for a long while. The pull seemed very strong and he wondered if, perhaps, he had made a very serious mistake. Still, he could move easily enough and he was in no danger of falling. His muscles and reflexes were designed for this and they remembered even if he didn’t. He hefted his weapon and looked across at his opponent.
Keelan Caspari did not appear dismayed by the gravity, but he was moving slowly and carefully. There was another Clorindan with him and the two were talking intently. Caspari shook his head emphatically and pointed back toward the hatch. After a moment the other man went back out and took a spot at one of the windows. The Seyotah led him over to Caspari.
Across the Great Rift Page 22
