Sages of the Underpass

by Aaron Michael Ritchey

  Lord spoke up. “We need to win the Triple Crown in the Grand Tournament next year. We haven’t won under your tenure, Monique, and it’s hurting us. I don’t want this obsession of yours to hurt your focus on what matters, and that’s scouting talent.”

  Monique took the blow without flinching. The Triple Crown was a victory in the top three categories: the Unum, the Triumvirate, and the full Zodiac.

  Steve Yang adjusted his glasses. He was the CIO, and he wasn’t on Monique’s side, no matter how much help he’d given her with her theft. Yang walked right into the kingdom of the inappropriate and ascended the throne. “And with your current security and financial issues, you need this job.”

  Monique felt the heat rise from her skin. Well, this was embarrassing. She let go of the emotion, stood, and breathed in deep. She did a single Duodecim count, starting with Luna instead of Sanguine. She needed a little moment. For those twelve seconds, the room was silent.

  She smiled at them, at Lord, and at Fujimori. She saved some love for Poulson and Yang. “I have a great deal to say. I ask that you let me finish before you interrupt. Is this something you all can do?”

  “We can, Monique,” Lord said for them all.

  “Very good.” Monique took a breath and found herself quite at peace. Growing up in the Underbelly, then practicing meditation gave you both perspective and serenity. “I don’t need this job. You are lucky to have me. And let me say, while I have appreciated SoulFire’s help in trying to find the parties responsible for my current security and financial issues, I have not abused those resources. And Steve, you have my personal thanks. However, I’m going to let go of the money and move on.”

  She paused. “So, I’m going to take six months for my goose chase. If I haven’t found the new daemon in that time, I’ll step down. And if we don’t win the Triple Crown at the Grand Tournament next March, I’ll step down. As for Barton Hennessey and his hijinks, that doesn’t concern SoulFire. Yet. If it does, I will take care of it. Otherwise, this is me, stepping down. Do I have that right, Alvin?”

  “Why ask me?” The man strode next to the CEO and put a hand on his shoulder. “What do you think, Phil?”

  Yes, Phil Lord was the CEO, but Fujimori held most of the power. But rather than try and take it, he inflicted his will on the executive team. SoulFire was doing well, mostly from their manufacturing and daemon contracts, but their entertainment business had also contributed thirty-seven percent of total profits. And that came under Monique, since their production company mostly dealt with Battle Artist intellectual properties. They had a big stake in Zodiac Overmen, for example, and the SoulFire logo was all over that show.

  Monique worked closely with the president of SoulFire Media Networks, and that business was booming. However, no one in the boardroom was about to give her kudos for that. No, Fujimori was coming after her, hard.

  Lord finally sighed. “Monique, yes, but please, give up the goose chase.”

  “No, it moved from goose chase to obsession. Let’s go with obsession, since that has a more maniacal sound to it. I can have until the end of the year, right?”

  Fujimori didn’t let the CEO reply. “Five months and thirteen days, not just to capture the daemon, but to also monetize it. And a clear victory at the Grand Tournament next year. I think we can all live with that.”

  “And I get my full team and complete discretion?” Monique asked.

  “Yes,” Fujimori said.

  “Can I get a seat then?” Monique asked.

  Lord nodded at his assistant, who got up, and Monique took her seat. The CBA laughed lightly. “Okay, we’ve been at a meeting for fifteen minutes, and no one has done a PowerPoint presentation. I’m going through withdrawals. Just one graph, please, and then we can talk.”

  Nervous laughter went around the group. Lord chuckled a little louder than the rest. Fujimori sat down, scowling. His scowl didn’t make him look any younger. The lines on his face, that gray in his hair, and that haunted look in his eyes made Monique feel pity for the man. The COO had demons lurking behind his eyes.

  Monique hadn’t been able to slay very many of her own demons. She had to invite them into her house and feed them oatmeal.

  When she got to her desk, she searched for information about the next BCBA Quarterly Con, the last Saturday in June, at the South Valley Community College’s stadium. There he was, Niko Black, Battle Artist and an up-and-comer. He’d be fighting his critique partners to stay in Hennessey’s celebrated critique group.

  That wasn’t going to make that group very chummy. It was cutthroat, but the agents sometimes liked that, for whatever reason. Monique had to grin. “Niko Black, you’re being discussed among executives at a company you might very much like to join. Does that make you lucky? Or are you on an express elevator to disappointment? Going down.”

  The Belt

  NIKO LOCKED HIS BIKE up in the alley. It was the Sunday before the BCBA Conference, and he had to suffer through a family dinner, both brothers, both parents, and enough food to feed the skyrise apartments behind the Fix-It Shoppe. He’d been dropping weight. Family dinners didn’t help.

  Eating had become a challenge. He loved to eat. However, when the food was good, he ate too much. It was better to go with bland rice and protein shakes.

  The afternoon sun beat down, the morning fog long gone, and the heat made the dumpsters stink, especially the Happy Noodle’s trash.

  He wiped the sweat from his head. Checked his watch. No time to shower. He keyed himself up and heard voices upstairs. Pete and Aleksy, already arguing.

  He thought about bolting. He could make up some excuse. Maybe Teddy could call him with an emergency daemon situation.

  Niko took a breath, let it out, and then tromped up the stairs. He wouldn’t eat too much. He wouldn’t get dragged into a fight. He wouldn’t sit there, hating Aleksy for abandoning the family and messing up Niko’s life.

  Niko stopped on the stairs. He had to take a minute and let go of the resentment. The smells of something hot and delicious swept down, meaty, steamy, spicy. He continued, tromping up onto the landing and into the living room/dining room. The couches and easy chairs were pushed to the walls. Their dining room table was set in the middle of the room, all the leaves in place, so they would have to squeeze in around it.

  Mamo was in the kitchen, in her apron, drying off her hands. Tato sat at the head of the table, next to Pete, who was pulling apart a piece of bread. His beard wasn’t any thicker, and his scalp above his ears was pale. His younger brother was getting thinner, sallower. Maybe the family dinners were simply a way to get Pete to eat.

  No, the way his mother’s eyes shined, it was clear she loved all her chicks together in the same nest. Aleksy brought in two painted ceramic bowls from the kitchen, a matching set. One held cold beet salad and the other a creamy cucumber salad. He nodded at Niko. “Hey. It must be hot outside. You’re sweating like a pig.”

  “I don’t think pigs sweat,” Pete called out. “Don’t they pant? Is Niko panting?”

  Niko frowned at his older brother. “My bike ride took longer than I expected. I can shower if I stink.”

  “Pigs stink,” Pete broke in. “Do pigs stink, Tato?”

  “They did in Poland. I think in America, they smell better. Everything is better in America!”

  “Sounds like a song from a musical about immigrants. Everything is better in America!”

  “I think there was one. A long time ago. Before your time.”

  Tato and Pete, going back and forth, their love apparent. That felt unfair. Niko worked his ass off for the family business while Pete couldn’t be more irresponsible. And of course, Mamo was also so nice to Aleksy, having her oldest son back, helping her in the kitchen.

  Niko moved past his older brother. And he wasn’t sure what he felt more, the urge to hit Aleksy, or an instinct to put up his hands, to protect himself. Why was he so on edge?

  Oh, right, he was still a Mercury Belt, the biggest fight of his
life was in six days, and he still didn’t know who he was going to fight. To top it all off, he’d had to suffer through Dr. Wochick every week for twelve weeks.

  “Can I help, Mamo?” Niko asked.

  “Aleksy has been helping. We are fine. It’s time to eat. I was worried you’d be late. You should’ve been here.”

  And that had been his life for eleven weeks. His father had encouraged him. His mother? You shouldn’t be working out so much. You shouldn’t have to go to the City every week. You should be sleeping more. You should be eating more. You are cycling too much, and I smell your electronic cigarette smoke.

  He tried to explain he was vaping, not smoking, and it was to heal his core. She didn’t believe him. And yet, there was always real concern in her eyes, real love. Did that make it better or worse?

  “Sit, sit, sit!” Mamo insisted.

  Niko took his place by the window next to Pete. Aleksy sat at the head, across from his father, and Mamo would sit facing the window. That gave her a straight line to the kitchen for anything they forgot. It was a traditional Polish situation, only Mamo didn’t just rule the kitchen, she also ran the business. She took care of the books and planning, while Tato excelled in customer support and the actual fix-it aspect of the shop. They were a relatively good team, only, Mamo did the worrying for both.

  She took a tray of zrazy zawijane, Polish beef rolls, out of the oven. She set it on trivets on the table. After a prayer, in Polish, which Tato said, they started eating.

  Tato ate the traditional way, knife in his right hand, fork in his left, holding both during the entire meal. He wasn’t about to keep quiet about Niko’s upcoming match. “Niko has a big fight next weekend. There has been a lot of talk. We’ll be going.” His father’s eyes fell on Aleksy.

  Aleksy frowned. “I wish I could. I have news as well. I’ve been transferred to a new task force at SoulFire. I’ll be doing a lot more traveling. Did I tell you I was in Carson City with the CBA?”

  Pete laughed. “Only about a million times. Monique Lamb. Chief Battle Artist. Is she hot?”

  “Peter!” Mamo admonished.

  Aleksy colored. Which meant, yes, she was. Niko knew the name, but she was just another executive, another suit who probably was more interested in money and status than in the Arts themselves.

  “So, she’s hot. Cool.” Pete put his knife down and used his fork in his right hand. He laughed at what he’d said. “Like a Sunfire using Woda Studies.” He turned to Niko. “I’ll be there, brother, rooting you on. I have some friends who want to watch.”

  Niko hid his wince. Pete’s friends were train wrecks. Time to lie. “Great. The more people in the crowd I have, the better.”

  “Family and friends are like fans, only with more baggage.” Pete laughed again, though what he’d said was very wise. Niko wanted to write that little aphorism down. That could go into a Pranad appendix. There were about a million of them.

  The meat rolls had pickles and onions in the middle of them, and the meat melted in Niko’s mouth. Beef was a rarity. He knew his mother wanted to show her support, at least with food, if not with actual words.

  “It’s good that you’re fighting in June,” Aleksy said. “Your sign is ascendant. That should help.”

  Niko charged right into the tension. “It shouldn’t. They’ll do a Zenith Spin. I don’t know what I’ll get, but I don’t believe in all that superstition.”

  Aleksy wasn’t about to back down. “It’s not superstition. Before you walk onto the tiles, you’ll be charging up. The pre-fight is as important as the fight itself. The soul strikes first, then the mind, then the flesh.”

  “I know The Pranad,” Niko said stiffly. He chewed on bitter beets. Arguing would kill his appetite, and that would help him eat less.

  “So you know that if you’re focused, the energy you draw before the Spin won’t dissipate,” Aleksy insisted.

  “I think he’s right,” Tato put in.

  “He’s not.” Niko ate the rest of his buckwheat, flavorful with the meat’s juices. “That’s the whole point of the Zenith Spin, to create a level playing field. Trust me, I’ve fought more than anyone at this table.” He wanted to take the words back. It made him sound churlish.

  “You two should fight it out in the alley,” Pete suggested. “I sparred with Niko the other day. He’s not the beast he was, but he’s still pretty good.”

  “I’m up for it,” Aleksy said. “After dinner, Niko?”

  “Sure.” Niko knew it was a bad idea. It would be too easy to lose control, and the sparring could turn real. Why would Aleksy want to fight him?

  “Not until after dinner. After dessert. And when I’m in bed!” Mamo said. “Now, enough talk about the Arts. It’s all we ever talk about.”

  Pete smirked. “Okay, how is the business going? Are we worried about SoulFire’s subscription service?”

  Tato erupted into booming laughter. “And there is my little imp. Yes, we talk about the Arts or the business, and nothing else! Be grateful, Pete, we’re not talking about the quality of your friends.”

  “Ouch.” Pete touched his chest, going for the usual joke. “At least I have friends. Plural.”

  “I have friends,” Aleksy said a little uncertainly.

  Niko wanted to give his parents a nice dinner. He gave in. “I only have the one.”

  “Maybe Teddy isn’t a friend. He is a brother to you,” Tato said seriously. “And on Wednesday nights, I get another son. I like Teddy.”

  “Everyone likes Teddy.” Pete took another meat roll. “Which is why I have to have the dirtbag friends. It’s tough, but I can handle it.”

  Pete seemed relaxed. Which made Niko wonder if his brother wasn’t on something during the meal.

  Mamo served dessert: coffee and cream cheese cookies filled with apricot preserves.

  Niko only ate one cookie. He was nervous about sparring with his brother. It simply wasn’t a good idea.

  At dusk, the doorbell rang from below. Pete shot to his feet. “I had a friend stop by. We’re going out tonight. But I’ll see if they want to watch my brothers fight. I know I do.”

  Niko glanced over at Aleksy. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  “Go easy on me,” Aleksy said with a smile. “I’m not in the best shape.”

  Niko had bought some white practice robes, so he put those on. Aleksy still fit in his old tournament uniform, and they met in the alley. Bay City weather was ideal: hot during the day, cool at night.

  Pete was already in the alley with his friend, a curvy woman as tall as Niko. She carried a painted leather jacket, which she clutched to her white tank top, black bra straps showing. A maroon Mohawk, not spiked up, lay on her pale shaved scalp. She had a piercing in her brow, her nose, her lip. You could forget about the metal because of her eyes, a bright, penetrating green. Ripped, faded jeans and big black boots completed the picture.

  “This is Bonnie,” Pete said. He motioned to his brothers. “That is Niko and Aleksy. We get to watch them beat each other’s brains in.”

  The woman nodded at Niko. She had the most amazing green eyes he’d ever seen, big eyes, expressive. He thought they would be as hard and wild as the rest of her, but they weren’t. “That’s okay. I don’t mind the sight of blood.”

  “It won’t be like that,” Aleksy said. “Hi, Bonnie.”

  She gave him a little salute.

  “Nice to meet you.” Niko fell into his stance. There wasn’t much space between the back of the strip mall, his bike, and their dumpster, overloaded with cardboard boxes.

  One of the apartments overlooking them was having a party. A little gathering of people gazed down on them.

  Niko had his audience.

  Pete moved forward to referee the match. “Artists ready? Minds sharp? Souls strong?”

  “Yes!”

  “Let the Artistry begin.”

  Niko reached with a jab. He had the definite advantage, standing under June skies. He felt good, ready to test his
brother.

  It was too familiar. All three of them had spent hours in the alley, sparring.

  Aleksy blocked his punch and swung a leg to kick him, and Niko stepped away. His brother always started with a kick.

  The vaping had helped Niko’s core, and his prana spread out through his body, strengthening his cells.

  Aleksy had been born on November 30, and he was a Forge, a Mars Belt in the First and Fourth Studies. He was quick, strong, and he wasn’t as rusty as he first let on. That made sense. As a Forge, he’d be using his prana a lot at SoulFire, new job or not.

  Niko lashed out with a kick. He’d been working on his kicks a lot, thanks to his critique group. His technique had gotten much better. He could feel the energy in him, and he knew he was close, so close, to leveling to a Mars Belt. At his most recent critique group, he’d almost been able to access his Second Study, Fleet Avoidance.

  Aleksy blocked the kick with a strong hand. He lashed out with a punch. Niko lowered his head and took it on his scalp. He hardly felt it. And it didn’t make him mad. He was keeping his emotions under control. He and Aleksy had some bad history, but that wasn’t clouding Niko’s judgement.

  He grappled with Aleksy, grabbing his left arm with his right hand. He threw an uppercut, trying to get at Aleksy’s body. His brother bowed back and pulled himself out of Niko’s grip. Aleksy kneed Niko in his thigh.

  At the same time, his brother created a low wall of manifested prana, copper-colored, behind Niko. Niko fell back over it, even as the construct faded away. He got to his feet. Aleksy moved in, his fist full of copper prana. He was using his Imbued Attack.

  Niko was caught flat-footed. He was going to take those energized knuckles right in the nose. He needed his Second Study, Fleet Avoidance. Speed fueled his dodge. His instincts took over, and there it was, his old ability. It took them both by surprise. He swept his arm back, brought forth his Twin Damage, and struck Aleksy with three blazing orange fists, in the chest.