But Bellini was old school and liked things done the old way. Ramil had been growing in influence on the Fall and throughout the Faction. He was strong, smart, and brutal. He would make a great captain. And Bellini knew it. He needed to get rid of Ramil once and for all, and knucks was the perfect way to do it.
At the far side of the circular floor was Ramil. He was wearing a pair of loose ship pants, a tight tank top, and a pair of heavy boots. His wrists were wrapped up with tape, and he had a mouth guard sticking out of the side of his mouth, chewing it casually. He was dancing on the spot, testing his reach and warming up. He ignored Bellini walking out to the center of the circle.
The twenty-five-meter walk felt like a long way. Bellini increased his pace, eager to get down to business. Standing in the center was a small man wearing all white. His bald head glimmered under the lights. He acknowledged Bellini’s approach. Bellini recognized the old man, a Faction legend, a counterfeiter of Union codes for over fifty years. Now retired, he was the perfect choice for the starter. He had no allegiance to any ship, no allegiance to either Bellini or Ramil. He could walk away from the knucks along with the winner and not feel in danger for having been a supporter of the defeated man. Even so, as Bellini approached, he saw a glimmer of anxiety on the old man’s face.
Bellini pulled off his jacket and threw it to the starter. His bare torso was covered in dark red tattoos, electron blade scars, and one large cauterized scar on his left elbow. Bellini had been in a hundred battles. Another was about to begin. But this battle, with his former second-in-command, would be over within the hour—when one of them was lying dead on the clear composite circle in the observation sphere.
The starter nodded to Bellini. “Are you ready?”
Bellini nodded.
The starter called Ramil over. He came at a light jog, punching his fists together. He then delivered a few punches to the sides of his head in preparation for the punches that would surely come.
As Ramil came to the edge of the center circle, Bellini looked up at his old shipmate. He was a good half-meter taller than Bellini. He arms were longer, giving him a greater reach. His fists were huge and scarred. Ramil had thrown a punch or two in the past.
Bellini clapped his hands together. He was no stranger to a fistfight, but it had been some time since his last. Ramil looked like he had been warming up for this one for a while. He looked in great condition. His eyes were calm, a distant trouble-free gaze into the middle distance.
“Ready?” the starter asked Ramil.
“Request we reset the gravity to five percent above standard.”
The starter looked at Bellini and then up to the main observation platform and Captain Gerard, the shipyard controller.
Gerard nodded.
The starter looked up to Bellini. “Do you agree?”
Bellini looked at Ramil and snarled. He knew Ramil, with his extra height and reach, would gain an advantage from the increased gravity, making his punch just that extra bit harder as they came down onto Bellini’s head. But the bigger man would lose some maneuverability in the extra gravity. Bellini reasoned that Ramil was hoping to trade some movement for a heavier punch and end the knucks quickly in his favor.
“Sure.” Bellini shrugged and stepped into the center circle.
The extra weight came on suddenly, and Bellini felt his feet clamped to the floor. His fists felt heavy. The starter stepped back out of the inner circle and then turned and walked, half-ran, away, moving as fast as he could in the extra gravity.
The knucks had begun.
Ramil brought his right fist down toward Bellini’s upper left temple. Bellini was ready for an early attack and knew Ramil would lead with his right. Bellini moved out of the way, but the punch came down fast and landed on his shoulder. The pain was intense. The man had accidently caught a nerve.
Bellini, off balance, regained his footing by delivering a left hook to Ramil’s ribs. As he punched, he regained his balance and stepped to Ramil’s right.
A second blow came from Ramil’s left, a downward blow aimed at Bellini’s head. The captain moved away to his left and swept around with his right leg, kicking Ramil hard in the ankle. The crunch from Ramil’s leg was satisfying, but Bellini wasted no time before rebalancing to his right and throwing a left hook, again targeting his challenger’s ribs.
Ramil squared off against Bellini, limping slightly on his damaged ankle, grimacing over his red mouth guard. Bellini, both fists raised, moved in. The extra gravity pulled at his fists and made it hard for him to move his feet, but he was getting used to it.
Ramil stepped in and rained down a series of wild punches. Bellini weaved to avoid them but felt the crushing weight of the fists on his shoulders and one that sent a pulse of pain around the back of his neck. He reacted on instinct and moved inside the range of Ramil’s punches to deliver a series of jabs to the big man’s gut.
Ramil pushed Bellini away with a two-handed shove that sent him staggering backward. He saw the red line of the inner circle as he fell. It was the first time either had been outside the center circle.
Ramil came lumbering forward as Bellini tried to gain his feet. He heard a distant roar and cheer from the observation platforms. Bellini could see Ramil was struggling in the extra gravity. It had been a gamble, but it had not yet paid off. Bellini got back to his feet.
With Ramil only a few centimeters from range of his next punch, Bellini sized up a hammer blow. Ramil was advancing, his right fist drawn back and his left up as a guard. Bellini needed to time this right, or he’d be reeling and dizzy from Ramil’s hit.
Bellini stepped inside Ramil’s range and then a fraction to his left. Ramil’s right hammer blow came down millimeters from Bellini, and then the big man was utterly at Bellini’s mercy. And there would be none.
With Ramil off balance, Bellini went in with a combination of punches to Ramil’s kidneys. The big man writhed to get away from the damage on his exposed side. He struck back with his right elbow.
The connection was brutal. Bellini tasted blood. He realized he was falling. The clear sphere was spinning. The cheers of the crowd sounded distant, as if he was under water. Bellini felt the warm sensation of blood trickling out of his right ear, his jaw felt strange and he felt it might be broken.
Bellini fell to the floor, the taste of blood cutting through the dizziness. He saw Ramil turn and lumber over. Bellini couldn’t gauge the distance as his vision swirled, but he saw Ramil lifting his heavy boot and preparing to bring it down.
Bellini moved as quickly as he could, rolling to one side. The boot struck the clear composite centimeters from his head.
Bellini was up on his knees. He punched Ramil in the back of the knee, knocking him straight to the ground as Bellini got up. He moved fast and wrapped his arm around Ramil’s neck. He felt the elbows jabbing back into his gut, taking the wind right out of him, but he held on and squeezed.
The elbow blows became weaker and Bellini felt Ramil getting heavier. He squeezed until he heard a crunching sound.
Then he released and let Ramil fall face first to the clear platform.
Bellini placed a knee in the small of Ramil’s back and grabbed hold of his head. He looked down, through the clear composite floor, out through the bottom of the observation sphere to the open ships anchored beyond and their crew cheering the sport.
Bellini made sure Ramil was dead before getting up and staggering back to the inner circle.
He tested his jaw. It was not just broken, but dislocated on one side. He could not speak, he could only breathe. He felt the gravity return to standard and then the cleanup crews came running in to take Ramil away.
A Faction doctor came over to Bellini and held up a med-pack. Bellini nodded and let the doctor apply it. The dark tendrils streamed out from the pack, went into Bellini’s mouth and across his jaw before pulling the pack on tight. Bellini felt a moment’s pain before numbness.
He held the pack on his jaw, the large pack knitting
his bone and tissue back together, delivering pain relief. He looked down at Ramil as they carried him away on a stretcher. Bellini stopped them with a grunt as the med-pack would allow him no words. He pulled the mouth guard from Ramil’s mouth and tucked it into his pocket. Something to remember an old shipmate by. A trophy.
Captain Gerard stepped out of the elevator and walked over to Bellini, a pair of captains at his side.
“Congratulations, Captain,” Gerard said.
Bellini ignored Gerard and walked toward the elevator. He wanted to get back to the Fall as soon as possible. Get his jaw fixed in his own med-bay and get back out into the void.
“Captain,” Gerard said, scurrying along beside Bellini. “Our sources in the Union have informed us in the last few minutes that Kitzov has been captured. He is on route to Terra as we speak. Kitzov is as good as dead. We are relocating all our major assets right now, but the Faction needs a leader. The captains of all raiders have been asked and the majority of them think that you should take the position. What do you say?”
Bellini stepped into the elevator. He pointed at the med-pack on his jaw and grunted.
The doors closed, leaving Gerard and company none the wiser.
But inside, Bellini thought about the offer. Leader of the Faction.
It sounded good.
12
The main hold of the Resolute was the single biggest space on the ship after the Marine deck, and that was where the Faction prisoners were being held. A mass barrier had been erected, an invisible wall created from an extreme mass field, impossible for an individual to force their way through. Boyd walked across the hold and over to the markings on the deck that indicated the wall.
A small group of Union crew were gathered at the field wall. Boyd saw they had a grapple arm used for grabbing cargo in hazardous areas. They had corralled a group of Faction women into one corner of the holding cell and were attempting to grab one around the neck.
Boyd recognized the uniforms of the Union group. One was a civilian wearing a freighter command deck uniform. The others were all Union cruiser officers. None were Blue Stars.
“Hey, what is going on here?” Boyd walked up behind the group.
The civilian turned, grinning. “We are going fishing, Bud. Going to catch me a juicy Faction bite and boy, am I going to have me some chow.”
One of the cruiser crew, his uniform showing he was a navigation controller, turned with a stern expression. “You can wait your turn, soldier boy,” he snarled. He wagged a finger at his group. “We get to go first. Got it?”
Then the man with the grapple yelled out in victory.
“She’s a struggler,” he laughed.
Boyd looked and saw that the grapple had caught Thresh around the neck and was pulling her through a point in the field where the grapple arm had been slipped through. A localized field reduction was being created by a small grav generator one of the group was holding.
“Bring her in, nice and slow,” the man with the grav generator said. He made some adjustments and pulled Thresh to the field. “Should be weak enough to drag her through.”
“Stop this,” Boyd said. He grabbed the grapple arm and held it, preventing further pulling.
A big gunner pushed Boyd away. “If you don’t like it, don’t watch. Get gone, soldier.”
Thresh looked at Boyd as she was pulled forward. Her eyes filled with fierce rage at the indignity of being caught around the neck and dragged against her will. She was a free spirit, like any among the Faction, and she hated this more than death.
“I’m going to pull your kravin eyes out,” she said to the group as they pulled her to the field.
“It’s hurting her,” one called out and then laughed. “Don’t break her. It took us ages to snag one of the good-looking ones. I haven’t got time to grab another if we break this one.”
The man with the grav field made some adjustments, weakening the field over an area large enough for Thresh to fit. She yelled in pain as she came bursting through.
Then, with the grapple pole and Thresh out of the mass field, the grav generator operator deactivated the device and returned the mass field wall to its proper strength.
Boyd stepped in front of Thresh, shielding her from the group.
“Step aside, soldier boy,” the big gunner said.
Boyd punched the man in the face. He toppled back like a felled tree. Then Boyd pivoted and struck out with a powerful left jab at the next nearest, dropping him to his knees. The man clutched his broken nose and yelled out in pain.
Boyd didn’t see the punch that landed on him, but he felt it and it sent him spinning. He staggered, fell back against the mass field, and regained his feet. He heard the cheers from the Faction prisoners behind him. He saw Thresh delivering a series of punches to the gut of the man who had caught her. As he reeled under the flurry, she gripped him by the hair and ears and brought his face down hard on her knee.
Boyd staggered over to help, but he was too late to stop a punch landing hard on Thresh’s head. She was sent sprawling across the deck. Boyd leapt into a flying kick and caught Thresh’s attacker in the small of the back. He landed next to Thresh, where she brought an elbow down on his neck with a crunch. The man’s legs twitched for a few moments.
The others backed away from Boyd and Thresh, who were sitting next to each other, bloody and sweaty, panting from the exertion.
Boyd turned and wiped a stray hair off Thresh’s face. “You okay?”
Thresh smiled. “I think I broke a tooth.”
“I think you broke his neck,” Boyd said, nodding to the man lying face down next to Thresh.
The pair looked at each other and laughed.
Boyd stood up, offered Thresh his hand, and pulled her to her feet. He wanted to pull her closer, to bring her face to his, her lips to his.
The sound of boots in the corridor snapped Boyd away from Thresh. A group of Blue Stars came running in, armed with batons. They pushed the group that had been attacking Thresh out of the main hold.
Sergeant Dorik stepped up and reached out suddenly, grabbing Thresh by the hair. He pulled her down sharply and snarled. “Kravin Faction devil. You killed this man.” Dorik threw her against the mass field. She bounced off it, her nose dripping with blood.
Boyd acted instantly and aggressively. He struck out, even though in the back of his mind he heard a thousand conflicting thoughts: ‘You can’t treat her this way.’ ‘This is Rik, my old friend.’ ‘The major is going to give me trouble over this.’ ‘I hope I knock Dorik off his feet.’
His punch landed hard. Dorik staggered backward, letting Thresh go. Before he could regain his footing, Boyd was in with another punch.
The crack on the back of his head dropped him to his knees, his vision blurred. He turned to see a Blue Star with a baton ready to crack him on the head again if he got up. Behind the Marine with the baton, he saw Thresh being returned to the holding cell as the mass field was temporarily lowered enough to push her safely through. She looked at Boyd, tears in her eyes.
Dorik stood over Boyd and spoke to the Blue Stars. “Get him the krav out of here.”
Boyd felt himself dragged along, drifting in and out of consciousness. He realized he was in the med-bay and lying on a firm bunk. Doc Cronin was at his side.
“Always took you for a smart Blue Star, Sergeant Boyd,” Cronin said.
“Guess I’ve taken a few too many bumps on the head.”
Cronin smiled and attached a med-pack to the side of Boyd’s head.
“How’s Thresh?” Boyd said.
Cronin looked at him, puzzled for a moment. “Oh, the Faction girl? Okay, I suppose. I mean, they are used to a fight, aren’t they?”
“How is he?” Featherstone marched on to the med-bay, his tone fierce.
“Recovering. It’ll take more than a cracked skull to stop this one, sir,” Cronin said, looking down at Boyd. “I’ll change that pack in a few moments. Just lie back.”
Featherstone l
ooked at Boyd. “What is the matter with you, Boyd?”
“It was wrong what they were doing.”
“I agree. Totally inappropriate. Attacking her like that was uncalled for. But so was what you did. Starting a fistfight, alongside a Faction prisoner? What were you doing? You should have called in a Blue Star team as soon as you saw what those fleet idiots were up to. The prisoners might be Faction, but they are still human beings. Even if they will all be marched up the gallows in front of the capital building in a few hours, they should be treated humanely.”
“Gallows?” Boyd asked. “All of them?”
Featherstone looked at Boyd, puzzled. “Yes, all of them, except Kitzov of course. He will face trial. We need to show the Faction that their leaders are illegitimate. The Union is the only power in the Scorpio System, and the sooner these Faction idiots realize that, the sooner we can end this scourge of piracy.”
“Thresh helped me, sir. When I was undercover. She helped me get away. Does that count for something? Will the courts grant her a reprieve for helping a Blue Star?”
“She won’t face a court. She has already been judged and found guilty. She is Faction, Sergeant Boyd. She will hang.” Featherstone looked at Boyd with a worried expression. “I think you were too long undercover.”
“I think—” Boyd propped himself up. “—you got your head up your…” He felt a sudden wave of dizziness and vomited before collapsing back to the bunk.
Cronin was there in a moment. He applied a fresh med-pack.
“He is concussed, sir,” Cronin said to Featherstone.
“He’s got rocks in his head, for sure,” Featherstone said. He looked back at Boyd. “You have lost your objectivity. I’ve given you enough chances. That’s it. You are suspended. When we get back to Terra, I’ll have you sent to Forge Farm for a training refresher course. You probably need to see a psych too, get that cracked head investigated. See if the damage runs deeper than a cracked skull.
“You are a great Blue Star, Will. One of the best. It’s my fault you are here. As your commanding officer, I should have judged when you needed to be pulled from undercover ops before you got too close to the enemy. It happens. It won’t affect your career. Every Blue Star to go undercover has created close relationships with the enemy. It’s dangerous, but necessary to properly blend in. But I can’t overlook these events. You need a rest and refresher training. You’ll be back with us before you know it.” He patted Boyd on the shoulder and walked out.
Blue Star Marine Boxed Set Page 46
