by TR Cameron
A moment later, an unfamiliar sound emerged from below, and his partner was wreathed in energy. He fell like the surrounding gravity had tripled, his rifle clattering on the floor as he collapsed. Jax growled and charged ahead, reaching the half-level above him to find two aliens in the familiar scarlet armor pointing large guns at him. He scrambled backward and flicked the selector to projectiles, then leaned around the corner and fired blindly at an angle that would ensure he wouldn’t hit his ally.
The translated voice came unexpectedly from above. “Put down your weapons, human, or we will kill the other.” He turned his head slowly to see that two aimed large rifles at him from the landing ten feet above, with another pair peering down over the railing from higher up. With a sigh, he released his rifle to dangle from its strap and lifted his hands. Dammit, Marshall. Just when I thought we were on the right path.
Jax hadn’t enjoyed having his helmet removed and replaced with a fabric hood that prevented him from seeing. He also put being handcuffed and marched along with powerful grips on each of his biceps on the list of things he wouldn’t be doing on his next vacation. But being thrown into a chair as if he was no more than a child by someone strong enough to do it was the least appealing of his recent experiences.
He blinked at the bright lights of the room as his captors ripped the hood from his face. Before him stood an alien in a forest green version of the armor suit that the others had worn. Four more in the scarlet variety, two on each side, had the attentive posture of guards. A non-human who was a few inches taller and significantly brawnier than the rest strode into position beside the one in front of him, then turned to glare. His blue suit didn’t quite go with the green one his boss wore. Jax twisted from side to side, but Marshall wasn’t anywhere in the room. “Where’s the person who was with me?” he demanded.
A moment passed, probably as translation occurred, then the alien spoke words he couldn’t understand. An accented voice emanated from all around him. “His life is forfeit.”
He shook his head. “That’s a little steep for a little breaking and entering, don’t you think?”
The being in front of him scowled. “He has disrespected me by injuring one in my service. Your offense is lesser since you proved incapable of doing damage.”
Jax was doubly offended. First, because of the danger to Marshall. Second, because the bastard alien judged him less “capable” than the other man. “You would have done it already unless you had something else in mind. Care to share?” Whatever it is, I bet it’s going to suck.
Chapter Eighteen
I knew this would suck. I seriously underestimated the degree. Jax was being marched in cuffs again, this time at least without a hood covering his head. He felt like they’d moved far enough in one direction that they weren’t in the same building anymore, but couldn’t be sure. The walls and floors were the same opalescent white plastic-ish stuff and had no joins that he could see. Maybe everything on the planet is extruded from some mammoth construction vehicle. That wouldn’t be the most bizarre thing I’ve heard today.
That honor had to go to the proposal he’d accepted, given that the alternative was Kenton Marshall’s death, and probably his own shortly after. Even the translation of the being’s words had sounded smug as he offered Jax the same deal that Captain Jensen had offered the Dhelear ship they’d encountered. One-on-one. Hand-to-hand. Or, more specifically, hand-to-claw. There’s something more going on here than simple punishment, but I have no idea what it might be.
Fortunately, a lifetime of experience had prepared him for the times where he had to put the big thoughts away and focus on more pressing issues, like how not to get killed by an enemy with better weapons. As soon as he’d realized what was going on, he’d listened with only half attention, focusing his mind and senses on the aliens that had surrounded him. Unfortunately, no obvious weaknesses presented themselves, and the analysis did nothing to diminish his fear of their retractable claws. Speed will be the key. If my opponent gets an opportunity for a clean hit, I’m toast.
The realization that he’d been hearing a distant rumble from ahead for several seconds penetrated his thoughts. The corridor ended at a blank wall, and the low roar sounded as if it was coming from behind it. When they reached it, the aliens pushed his face against it and held it there while they removed the cuffs. Through the wall, he heard an enthusiastic voice speaking, or shouting, words he couldn’t understand. The cadence seemed familiar, as did the call and response pattern with the other voices. It sounds like a sports fight. Combat was still a prime form of entertainment in the universe, both to engage in and to enjoy as a viewer, and was one of the most popular contests for wagering, legal and illegal alike. Great. I’m going to be a sideshow attraction, on top of the actual maybe dying part of the equation.
He straightened and rubbed his wrists as the pressure let up. A muffled cheer came from behind the wall, followed by a pause and some more words. Without warning, the surface in front of him slid upward out of sight, revealing a large dark area around a brightly lit center. Hands struck his upper back, sending him forward in a stumble, and the crowd made a strange sibilant sound as a spotlight caught him. He realized the space wasn’t as big as he’d thought at first, about twice the size of a regular gymnasium for basketball. As his eyes adjusted and he could keep them open for more than a second at a time, he spotted an audience on all sides standing in neat lines, each row a little higher up than the one before it.
In the wash of lights in the middle, which was clearly intended to be a combat ring, stood the burly alien he’d last seen in the office, dressed in a dark blue version of the bodysuit they all seemed to wear. The being had displayed his teeth as his boss described what Jax had to do to save his partner’s life. It was simple, really. Weaponless combat, his hands against his opponent’s claws and teeth. If he won, he and Marshall would go free. If he didn’t, he’d die at the hands of the lurking goon and the newest member of his team would likely be tortured for fun, then killed. So, you know, lose-lose. He wasn’t sure he believed that winning would result in freedom, but at this point, he had little left to lose and had to cling to whatever opportunity fate chose to offer him. The aliens had sweetened the pot when he’d shown initial reluctance, promising to hand over the item he’d been attempting to steal. How they knew what he was there for was a question that he devoutly hoped to find the answer to one day.
He caught sight of Kenton Marshall, standing between two impassive guards with his arms bound behind his back. His expression was glazed and defocused. They must have slapped him around some on the way here and concussed him. Or could be drugs. Either way, the option of grabbing him and running is off the table. It wasn’t viable in any case, given the sheer number of aliens surrounding them.
Guess I’ll have to do it the hard way. Correction, the really, really, really hard way. His escorts gave him one more push, but he was ready for it this time and maintained his dignity as he walked into the rectangular combat field. He noted the metal line that ran along the boundary and figured it would be a nasty surprise for anyone unlucky enough to intersect it during the fight. His opponent stared at him, had been staring at him during his approach. He seemed calm and confident, and Jax sensed eagerness in his expression, despite the differences in their physiology.
The alien voice spoke again over the room’s speakers, and the crowd responded with cheers. No provision had been made for translation, and although he would have liked to understand, it wasn’t important. The minimal rules and regulations had been shared up in the office. A fight to the death, however it could be achieved. He’d managed some vague plans, mainly hinging upon the ability to get some sort of makeshift weapon once the battle began. The marked perimeter argued against that likelihood.
The voice stopped, and his opponent advanced. With an electrical sizzle, a shield sprang up at the edges of their fighting space. Good, maybe I can knock him into one of them and fry him. Jax shifted into a back stance and circle
d to his right, then reversed direction after his foe changed his line of approach. He had plenty of room to use, which was a bonus. He’d fought in smaller spaces any number of times and was glad to be without those limitations.
The alien lunged, his fist snapping out at Jax’s face. The creature had covered an unexpected amount of territory with the move, and the back of Jax’s mind added that speed burst into the list of things he had to worry about, immediately under the thing’s claws, which held the top position. He skipped to the side to avoid it and flicked his human arm up to knock it out of line. It passed to the left of his head, and he bolted to his right so it couldn’t come back in a swipe.
His opponent didn’t offer a follow-up attack, only continued to stalk him slowly. Playing for the crowd or cautious enough to see what I’m capable of. Either way, I’m not a fan. The part of Jax that respected an intelligent and competent enemy was absent at the moment, given the odds against him and the life-and-death stakes. If it were possible to cheat to win, he’d do it in a second and figure out a way to atone for it later.
He feinted to his left, then leapt forward and slashed a roundhouse kick at the alien’s thigh, aiming for where the nerve bundle that would numb out the leg on a human was located. He connected with a glancing blow and was almost certain the sound his opponent made in response was laughter. Sure, be smug because you’re like the jolly blue giant. He dove to the side and shoulder-rolled to his feet to avoid a kick from his foe that absolutely would have removed his head from his shoulders and launched it into the back row of the audience had it hit him. Bloody hell, he’s fast. Okay, time to make something happen.
Jax pretended to go on the defensive, circling and adopting an alarmed expression, which was easy given the attack of a moment before. When the alien punched again, Jax snapped his left arm up in a rising block with the power of his whole body behind it. His artificial limb smashed into the alien’s forearm, fortunately on the underside rather than on the bony plate that covered the top of it. His opponent’s face twisted and he snatched the arm back, abandoning the follow-up punch he’d been halfway through throwing. He shook it out and gave Jax a nod. He sensed no respect in it, merely a cataloging of his abilities. Damn and double damn.
The next flurry of exchanges put Jax on the defensive, the alien’s speed as impressive as anyone he’d ever fought. It wasn’t lost on him that his opponent was playing with him, as the claws had yet to make an appearance. That was the only reason he was willing to bide his time and conserve his energy while trying to get more information on his rival’s fighting style. The moment they showed up, every move would be potentially fatal. His foe tried low, middle, and high attacks, and he offered the same in return. The crowd cheered and hissed at different moments that seemed unconnected to any particular action, and the announcer’s voice was a drone behind the sound of his breath and the blood pumping through his body.
The attack-and-counter routine led Jax to a conclusion he didn’t like a single bit. I’m going to have to take a blow to deliver mine. They could play cat-and-mouse all day until one of them tired, but he wasn’t the predator in that scenario with this particular adversary. Triple damn. He steeled himself for the move and waited for the right opportunity.
It came about half a minute later, after another flurry of punches thrown and blocked by each. The alien drew back its off hand for a blow, and Jax hurled himself forward. He landed a foot away from his opponent with his arms raised to guard his head and chambered his leg almost all the way to his heart. He pivoted and thrust it out, channeling all the momentum of his leap into the blow. The alien’s fist connected with the back of his right shoulder, causing it to go instantly numb, then blossom with pain.
But it was worth it because his heel slammed into his foe’s chest hard enough to drive it stumbling backward, directly into the shimmering electrical field behind it. Jax retracted the kick automatically, grinning at the success of his move and his unexpected victory.
Right up until the alien bounced off the shield, which turned out to be a physical barrier that didn’t fry, electrocute, cook, or otherwise damage him. This time, the grin on the thing’s face was unmistakable as it found its balance and held up its hands to show off its claws. Uh-oh. That’s really not good.
Chapter Nineteen
The claws extended from the tip of each finger like nails, each about an inch long, and resembled dark, jagged stone. They were sharp everywhere, and he’d need to watch out for both slashing and stabbing attacks from them. He backpedaled in a rush to get out of range, but his opponent displayed no matching haste. Instead, he seemed to be playing to the crowd, strutting around the perimeter of the combat area as if claiming it as its own.
That’s fine, buddy, you do your thing. Gives me more time to figure out how the hell to deal with your new toys. His mind raced, but with a purpose, sorting through all the fights he’d been in before and searching for something he could use. In a situation where an enemy had a knife and he didn’t, the best tactic was to take the weapon away. That wasn’t a possibility here. Any kick or punch that lingered an instant too long would be an opening for the alien to cut him. And once I start to bleed, it’ll be the beginning of the end.
His instructors had always advised that if he was fighting a blade, he should assume getting stabbed or slashed was guaranteed, and be ready to follow through when it happened. That way, when the cold metal parted flesh, it wouldn’t be a shocking moment, but an anticipated one. He’d found it useful on many occasions, but it offered no comfort in this particular circumstance. His opponent finished his prancing and turned back to him, a change in his demeanor signaling that they’d passed playtime and were now into the endgame, as far as he was concerned.
Jax switched his stance, putting his dominant arm forward. It would lessen his ability to deliver full-power blows with it, but the prosthetic wouldn’t bleed when stabbed. He would need all the enhanced speed the limb offered, and momentarily wished he’d pushed the training faster. He set that worry aside, along with every other thought except his advancing enemy.
The alien’s pattern of attack changed. Rapid blows replaced his previously powerful ones. He was no longer trying to smash Jax, but going for slices and punctures with his wickedly sharp fingertips. It took only a couple of passes before the creature figured out his strategy, which consisted of blocking with only his front arm and dodging the rest of the attacks. His foe added in quick kicks, which Jax intercepted with the sole of his foot before they could rise high enough to threaten any vulnerable parts.
He muttered inwardly about how much he hated this battle, hated the spectators, hated the enemy trying to kill him. A fair fight was acceptable if undesirable, but this was the next best thing to a bloodletting, with him as the sacrificial lamb. He focused his will until his teeth ached from clenching them and continued his blocks and evasions, waiting for an opening, any opening at all, that might give him a chance.
When it came, no conscious effort guided his actions. He’d become all reflex, the change a necessity to continue picking off the nasty attacks coming at him. A small voice cautioned that he was going to get hurt, but the opportunity was too good to pass up. The alien had extended himself a little too far, and his front foot slid as his weight shifted momentarily, locking out his knee. Jax’s left arm, which had been on its way up in a block, reversed course as he let himself fall forward, channeling his whole body into a downward elbow strike. It hit the thing’s knee, which was protected by one of the bony plates, and smashed through it.
The alien screeched when its joint bent the wrong way. It didn’t stop him from slashing claws down Jax’s unprotected chest, and a feeling of sharp cold was immediately followed by the warmth of his blood rising through the five parallel slices. He ignored the pain and pushed himself to his feet, circling the alien’s recumbent form at a safe distance, heading for its skull. His foe screamed in rage and suffering as he rotated to try to keep up with his motion, and made the attempt to ri
se only to fall in agony. Sorry, pal. It could have easily gone the other way, with me being the one to slip. One day it probably will, but today is not that day. He lined up the thing’s head and kicked it as hard as he could, then continued his assault past the point where his opponent had ceased moving. There had been no question that simple unconsciousness would be insufficient to claim victory.
When the alien was wrecked beyond saving, he turned and walked with as much dignity as he could toward his bound teammate. The guards freed him, and Marshall immediately peeled off his shirt and pressed it against Jax’s wounds. The once-military-medical man said, “Keep pressure on it. The slices are shallow, but they’re bleeding a lot.”
Jax nodded and turned to the men who’d been holding his partner. “All right. Tell the boss it’s time to make good on his commitments.”
With no power to compel the aliens to adhere to their promises, Jax had set the odds at one in three at best that he’d survive the day. It was with no small surprise that he found himself patched up, in possession of the item they’d come to get, and out on the street an hour later. Kenton Marshall looked rough, his eyes haunted, and Jax imagined they must have worked him over a little, but not enough to do any permanent damage. His movements were stiff but sure, so any issues were probably mental or emotional. Which is totally legit, but shouldn’t prove an impediment to us getting back to the ship. New shirts had been provided for both of them, and he’d received bandages and tape to bind his wounds.
The city was confusing, the languages unknown. It wasn’t meant to be a place where humans belonged. His wrist comm had been taken away before the fight, and his hope that they’d left Marshall his had been dashed. He’d done enough map memorizing that he felt like he knew the proper direction, but figured it would be hours of walking even if they could manage a straight line, given his exhaustion and his partner’s weakened state. He pointed and asked, “That way, correct?”
