"Get back here!" Marco yelled. His face was flushed red.
"Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit."
Marco stopped where he was and faced off with Tomi. There was a gap of a few meters. Tomi stepped to the side, and Marco feinted in with his left. Tomi batted Marco's fist away and barely dodged Marco's right.
Then Marco was on him. Tomi buried his face into his gloves and tucked his head tight. Marco blasted in with one hit after the next.
Tomi tightened up his core and felt every single blow. His arms took most of the punishment, but a few of the strikes landed on his ribs. He stumbled back against the ropes and ducked underneath a wide swing. The floor seemed to come up as he struggled ahead, punch drunk.
Marco growled and chased after.
The bell rang.
"Motherfucker!" Marco yelled. He ran back to his corner, still light on his feet.
Tomi struggled back to his corner. His ribs throbbed, his arms were on fire, he was out of breath, and he realized he had to do it one more time. "Holy shit."
Kallio stepped up and wiped sweat off his face. "You're gonna feel this in the morning," she mumbled.
Mick climbed up and fell onto the mat. He struggled onto his feet. "You gotta weave! Quit running, duck those punches."
Hutchins leaned through the ropes. "Give 'im a poke! Then he'll back off."
The crowd was loud, rounds of drinks were flowing, and the clock ticked down.
Tomi was really feeling the effect of the punches. But it had a dull edge, he assumed from the painkillers.
"Get ready!" the announcer said.
Kallio helped Mick out of the ring, and then it was just Tomi.
Just give him a little jab. Then he'll back off. It was the most reasonable thing he'd heard all night. All he'd wanted was to get good and decently drunk. He couldn't shake Billings—the thought of an entire colony wiped out hit him hard.
The bell rang.
Tomi snapped out of his thoughts.
Marco was already halfway across the mat. Neither of his arms were up; his gloves hung limp at his side. He scowled and spat before finally raising an arm.
Tomi darted in low, swung his right glove up, and drove his fist into Marco's chin with everything he had. His glove landed right on Marco's jaw.
There was an audible clack that resounded through the room. It was a sound like two billiard balls crashing together.
Marco teetered for a moment, his eyes rolled back, and he fell right to his knees.
The referee rushed over and waited for Marco to fall.
Tomi cheered and threw his fists into the air.
Behind him the crew of Bulldog watched, dumbfounded.
"Is that it? It's an upset, folks! Look at that!" the announcer said. The crowd throughout the bar was wild. The soldiers from the Sixth shouted and bellowed at Marco. The other two members of his team stomped and jumped.
Marco slammed a glove into the floor and propped himself up. The referee backed away.
Tomi looked back at Marco and lowered his gloves.
"You," Marco said. Blood ran down from his mouth. He spat, and chipped white teeth clattered to the mat. "You!"
Tomi put his gloves up and stepped slowly back.
Marco lunged in and the punches rained. Tomi struggled to stand under the blows. All thoughts of striking once more were gone. All he could focus on was staying on his feet.
A punch drilled in and slammed right into Tomi's ear. For a second it felt like he was watching himself, like there was a disconnect in his brain. Then he zoomed back in just in time to catch himself before he fell.
He struggled to stand in the hail of punches. The referee sidestepped and turned his head away for a second. Marco drilled home one more punch, straight down onto Tomi's back.
Tomi gritted his teeth and staggered back, away from Marco. He threw up one arm to block and gripped the ropes with his other hand. Stars danced in his eyes. He wobbled and fought to stay on his feet.
Marco lunged in once more.
The bell rang.
Marco shouted and screamed. He threw punches into the air. "Motherfucker! Son of a bitch!"
Marco’s teammates climbed over the rope and helped the referee pull him out of the ring.
The soldiers from Bulldog went wild.
Tomi climbed out of the ring, sat himself on the bench, and gripped a square-pack of beer in his gloves and sipped. He didn't smile—he was still too much in shock for that. He just enjoyed the moment.
"Goddamn, son," Hess said. "If you'd a knocked him out, whew! Our bets woulda been shit."
Mick set his glove on Tomi's shoulder. "Damn good for a tanker."
"Better save some for Hutch!"
Mick snorted. He stood straight, spat onto the floor, and suddenly didn't look nearly as drunk as before.
The referee brought Mick and a squat soldier named Kikov into the center. Mick said nothing while Kikov swayed back and forth. They retreated back to their corners and the bell rang.
Neither one spoke. Neither one looked at anything but the other. Even the crowd hushed. The only ones who were shouting were those who had bet against Mick, whose show of drunkenness had obviously been a ruse.
The two fighters met in the center, and the punches flew. It was a hail of short jabs propelled from the chest. Each hunched tight, like tanks ramming into each other. The clock ticked down. The fighters jabbed and danced.
"Come on, come on!" Hess said. He stood slowly. "Drop him!"
Wellington sat next to Tomi, his face tight and his eyes intense. "Now, goddamn it!"
The announcer shouted. "Fifteen seconds! Good lord! Look at them go! Ten seconds!"
Mick leaned back and lowered a glove. His feet twisted just a bit, and it seemed as if he'd fall forward.
Kikov took the opening and propelled his fist ahead like a javelin. His eyes were locked tight onto Mick.
Mick's other fist slammed into the side of Kikov's face. The boxer wavered for a moment, his eyes crossed, and the squat bruiser fell to the floor.
The crowd exploded into cheers. The referee squatted down next to Kikov and watched idly as the clock ticked down. He stood, grabbed Mick's glove, and raised it into the air.
Mick turned, his glove in the air, and took in the room. He wasn't even winded.
A deep, droning sound roared through the air. Far in the distance, it howled on and on.
"Wow, that's one hell of a winner's bell," Tomi said.
Kallio stood slowly. "The hell?"
A man sprinted in from outside and ran up to the announcer. The announcer stopped jabbering about the fight and spoke with the man. He looked out to the crowd with wide eyes. "To arms! To arms! The Kadan have attacked Squire! To arms!"
Mick leaped down from the ring. "Pack it up! We've got to get back to camp!"
Hess and Wellington pushed through the crowd. "Get the money!"
Tomi tried to stand and fell backward. Mick helped him up and propped up Mueller in the other arm. The rest of the squad congealed into a ball of drunks, half-dressed boxers, and wild-eyed gamblers. Then they set off through the crowd and stumbled into the streets.
People came out of the bars, their houses, and their workshops, and all stared up into the darkness. A light rain misted the streets. Still the sound of the sirens wailed.
An ancient walker plodded past with an empty hay wagon behind. A wide-eyed farm boy sat on the top of the garishly decorated automaton. He stared up into the sky, searching.
"Everyone up!" Mick called.
Tomi struggled into the back of the wagon and heaved Puck up next to him. The rest of the squad swarmed up and took a spot wherever there was room. The farm boy didn't protest; he didn't have any control over where the walker went anyhow.
The clouds parted into a jagged edge, and stars shone through. The planet Squire peeked through the clouds, a dim, yellow disc. A pinprick flash flared on the surface of the planet with a bull’s-eye of dust and cloud just behind.
The crowds
went silent. The soldiers stared up into the darkness. Only the walker plodded on.
#
Chapter Seven
Planet Bella, Bella System
Interstellar Transit Waiting Area
Umi was sick of traveling. He wiped his hands on his face. What he wanted was a real bath, a stiff drink, and a chance to unwind. Instead he was stuck in a public waiting area.
A week before, they'd left the Vasilov Protectorate. They'd endured the bureaucratic process with dignity and eventually capitulated and paid the planetary excise duties. The next stop was a brief stay on the edge of the Catalonian Worlds.
That was the first taste of a neutral planet. As soon as they stepped through the gate, customs officers whisked them into a drab, gray building. A smiling and professional-looking guard simply walked off with their weapons.
Kelly Dell protested, but was told in a very polite, but stern, tone that the weapons were forbidden. The cheery-eyed customs officers wished them pleasant travels and offered meal coupons.
They stopped for a few days on the planet Sigg, but it felt different. The planet had wound down from the Boben War, and everyone seemed eager to move past it. It wasn't that they weren't welcome, but rather ignored. It had been a brutal war, and the memories yet sharp. Consumption was on the rise, and quite conspicuous.
Umi spent a day researching the route to Terra, or Earth on some maps. There wasn't a settled route, just some basic recommendations. He tried to decide on the best way to get through the middle of the journey. There was a swath of planets poor in both resources and population. It made for slow travel. The other option was to traverse through alien space and neutral worlds.
Umi thought he knew slow. Then they got stuck on the planet Bella. The gravity was a touch low. It smelled vaguely of manure and burnt steel. It was known for two things: the first was the synthetic spiderweb production in genetically modified sheep, and the other was one of the longest stargate links in the near systems.
Kelly walked across the traffic-worn carpet. She balanced four hot cups of soup as she stepped over baggage, sprawled children, and sleeping families. "Lunch. It's hot."
Vik and Vaughn each took a cup. Umi set his down on the stained table next to him and scowled at the departures board. It said, in very polite terms, that they could not justify a gate transit until more passengers arrived.
Hurry up and wait. It felt to him like they were all back in the Sigg Army again. He’d served with all three of them for years during the Boben War. Vik was an Infantry Captain, Vaughn an Engineer, and Kelly was his last executive officer. After that he’d tried to lead them all as mercenaries. The vote was still out on how successful that venture was.
Umi studied the terms of his gate ticket.
"I read it," Vik said. He took a sip. "Oof, that's hot."
"I told you," Kelly said.
Vik continued. "They commit to making every effort to get us through the gate—as long as the volume of passengers allows it."
A tone sounded. An announcement came over the speakers, apologizing for the delay and warning travelers to move away from the gate. A technician walked out of an office and walked outside.
The smell of manure wafted into the room.
Umi sat up and watched the technician.
The man started connecting cables to the stargate. A few more technicians joined him. A maintenance vehicle pulled up, and more started working.
Umi stood. He glanced up at the departure board and didn't see anything. He walked quickly across the room, over toward the ticket office.
A girl sat behind a plate of plastic and painted her nails. She looked up at Umi and rolled her eyes. "I'm sorry," she said in a fake apologetic tone, "but we're not—"
"I know. Where's the gate going right now?" Umi said. He'd seen enough gate transits to know what a prep operation looked like.
"That's an industrial transit, sir," she said.
"Destination?"
The girl sighed. She leaned forward, tapped at the screen with her only unpainted finger. "IXC-776." She leaned back and cocked her head. "It's neutral."
"Is my ticket good for that route?"
"Yes, sir," she said.
Umi didn't bother to thank her. He ran back to the others. "Grab your shit! We're heading into neutral territory."
He ran through the numbers and threw his backpack onto one shoulder. He glanced at his tablet and nodded. Two more transits through neutral systems and then they'd come into the planet Hope. He liked that name. All of the older colonies had names that showed an optimism, an eagerness to conquer the stars. As if something better lay just through the next stargate. It was hard to imagine the first person who transited to an ungated system had felt much optimism. Probably just nausea.
"Where we headed to?" Vik said. He shrugged into a heavy backpack.
Umi shoved his tablet into his other bag and started heading for the door. "IXC-776. We're taking a shortcut."
Travelers stirred and watched the group push through the crowd. Some stood, as if it was time for them to go too.
They pushed through the door and walked out into the dull, yellow sunlight. Cargo loaders drove before them and dropped bales of tightly packed spider silk.
"Can we take this gate?" Umi said to a customs agent.
"It's your ticket, buddy. Can't say I give two shits where you go with it."
"Pleasant place," Vaughn mumbled.
"Just stay out of the way. You transit after the product."
They moved to the side of the stargate, the bales of spider silk heaped up beside them. Human workers stacked them as near to the stargate as they could. The technicians started the gate sequence. The carbon ring threw off waves of heat.
Three Lokeen, an alien race that looked almost like a Terran bear, walked out of a warehouse and tromped next to Umi and his crew. They gave Umi and his party a curious glance. One stepped close to Umi and rubbed its head. Umi looked back at it; they all looked the same to him.
The gate fired and a link to another planet was made. The humans tossed the bales through the stargate. The Lokeen barked warnings at the teamsters, but the men ignored them. Finally, when it was done, the travelers passed through.
It was night on the other side. The sky was almost pitch black; only a slight smudge of light rose on the horizon. The air was cold and smelled like chipped stone.
The stargate closed behind them. Lights blared on around it.
Umi threw up his hand and shaded the harsh light.
An alien voice spoke, and the Lokeen walked forward.
A group of humanoids waddled up with armored soldiers close behind.
"Neutral? Who administers this planet?" Vik said.
Umi felt a touch of perspiration run down his back. He suddenly recalled why he hadn't planned on going through neutral space.
Vaughn groaned. "Boben."
"Oh shit."
"Passports!" a rough voice said.
Umi stepped ahead and pulled out his identity packet.
The angle of the light changed, and the humanoids were most definitely Boben. They were an opportunistic race of traders, mercenaries, rogues, and businessmen. They'd also just lost a war to the Sigg Worlds.
The Boben customs officer had a squat face with tight skin. Ridges of scales ran up and down the jawline. It wore a loose uniform with a vaguely official-looking badge on it. It squeezed the passport between two thumbs and three fingers. Then it flipped it over and stared at the seal of the Sigg Worlds on Umi's passport. The Boben snapped his yellow-tinted eyes up at Umi. He shouted something out in an alien language.
The soldiers rushed ahead with weapons drawn and surrounded the Sigg mercenaries. They were armed with short-barreled flechette launchers.
Umi smiled back and tried to look as peaceful as he could. "Is there a problem, officer?"
The Boben smiled back and tucked Umi's passport into his pocket. "I've seen a lot of dumb things. But I never thought I'd see Sigg here."
&nbs
p; Umi glanced back at his crew and shrugged.
"A shortcut, he said," Vaughn grumbled.
***
They were stripped of their gear, scanned for weapons, and transported away from the stargate complex. The Boben drove them through a rocky expanse that was marked only by a set of heavy cargo rails for transporting product from one stargate to the next. The central transit hub loomed ahead. It was harsh angles, a raw place, built hastily and without regard to permanence.
They were dumped into a holding cell. The building had been assembled from oversized shipping containers and had a patina of sandy grit and decay.
"Don't tell them we're ex-miltary," Umi mumbled. The last thing he wanted was retribution.
They came for Umi first.
He was questioned by a pudgy-faced Boben. Umi sat with his arms across his chest. He had a very difficult time hiding his disgust, though he wondered if the Boben could pick up on the body language. A dozen years of war between the Sigg and the Boben was still a fresh memory.
"Purpose of your travel?"
"Visiting friends."
"Do you or have you ever conspired against the Boben Worlds?"
"Nope."
The Boben officer glanced down at his tablet. The scales on his cheeks flared and then relaxed.
"Which friend are you visiting and where?"
"Your mother."
The Boben cocked its head. "What?"
"Earth."
The Boben tapped the slate and gestured to the door. "Captain Matsuo, you may go. At the next transit, you and your conspirators will go on trial for your crimes against the Boben people."
Umi left the room and walked in between two Boben guards. He glanced at the flechette launchers and decided against getting physical. But how to get out? He scanned the halls; the building looked old enough, but where could they leave from? And more importantly, where the hell could they go?
He slowed down his pace as he neared the holding cell. "Hey, can we get some food here?"
One of the Boben soldiers said something and poked Umi in the back with the muzzle of the flechette gun.
Umi turned and made the interstellar motion of hand to mouth. "Food," he said slowly.
Steel Storm (Steel Legion Book 2) Page 4
