by Reiter
“We should join them,” one of the younger males said to those who sat closest to him. He was not the largest of the younger group, and he seemed very anxious, almost jumpy.
“If you’re in a hurry to die, go ahead! Just do me one favor: be brave enough to do it on your own, if you please.” At the words, Dungias let his eyes sweep over to the young female who had inquired about the fighter. He was surprised to hear her speak in the manner she did, and though his eyes moved away from her, he continued to listen to the conversation the group had begun.
“There’s already those seven to the First Mate’s one. Even if the cook joins in, they’re way outnumbered! Come on, Silnee!”
“Olkin! Maxworth’s math!” the young woman shot back. “You can go by book arithmetic, or you can see for yourself how things really add up!”
“Maxworth is dead!” Olkin reminded her and Dungias noticed the most pronounced reaction came from Mel. His reflection was very emotional as he sat in his failing roving chair. “I know everything the man did for us, but all it got him was dead!”
“It got us out of the pits, slug!” Silnee argued. “We were one step shy of the labs, and you know it! He got us out of there and onto that freighter. The last time we listened to you is how we got to be slaver-fodder in the first place, so shut up! The fact of the matter is simple; if Broggyn wins, we can still be crew, it’s not like he’s paying attention to us anyway. But if he loses, and my math says he’s gonna lose big, us standing with him makes us space debris!”
“I don’t get it, Sil,” young Mel finally spoke up. “They were quick and all against the others back at the Slavers’ den. But this is a straight-up, no weapons fight! And it’s seven to one–”
“Eight,” Olkin added as he folded his arms, watching another man join the group of those who had the spine to take initiative. He did not want to drop his argument, but Silnee’s historical review had not been misstated. It had been by following his ideas a number of them had been scooped up by Slavers.
“… eight to one!” Mel continued. “… four to two at best! What math are you using?”
“That math that tells me the look on the Captain’s face just doesn’t add up,” Silnee explained. “She looks like she’s late to a nose-picking session! Eight to one and she’s yawning over there.”
“I sure hope you’re right, because I’ve never seen one man take eight before. Especially when one of them is as big and bad as Broggyn.”
“Big and bad,” Silnee repeated as she stared at the female commander of the ship. “Mel, something tells me you’re about to cross one ‘never seen’ off your list!”
Adversity has the same effect on a man that severe training has on the pugilist: it reduces him to his fighting weight.
Josh Billings
(Rims Time: XII-4112.19)
Broggyn cast his dark eyes over at the opponent the eight of them were to face. The First Mate had not moved ever since he closed his eyes and gave the order for the tables to be cleared, causing robots to come into the Mess Hall to carry out his instructions. What arrogance!
“He’s a big one,” one of the men mentioned.
“I’ve seen bigger men fall,” Broggyn claimed as he stretched. “This one will fall too! It wasn’t three months ago that I fought against men his size and greater. They’re all dead now!”
“You’re a fighter?!” one of the men asked, receiving disconcerting looks from his allies.
“My keeper found me too expensive to maintain,” Broggyn stated. “That, and his woman had spent too much time in my bed! I tell you here and now that we can take this braggart. The contest is one of no weapons, so there is only so much he can do! Just keep your heads about you and follow my instructions.”
“It’s a damn shame,” Persephone whispered to Dungias. “The best body has the worst head on top of it!”
Dungias smirked as he started to come away from his meditation. He did not agree with Persephone’s statement. He had already set his gaze upon those who had decided not to participate while the robots were entering the room. One in particular drew the Traveler’s notice. Oversized clothing and long black hair could only hide so much, but she was making a noble effort to be unremarkable. “I suppose we have to ask ourselves which is easier to train: the body or the mind?”
“We?” Persephone asked as Nulaki made his approach. “We have to ask ourselves, do we? You tell me we need a handful and then you go and recruit a freakin’ regiment. What gives?”
“There are those I chose to bring so that they might be potential crewmen,” Dungias explained. “I brought the others to be examples! It is a human saying: seeing is believing. Minds that witness the improbable are forced to seek new parameters of what can and cannot be done!” He opened his eyes and looked at a very surprised ship’s commander. “Is this not what you expect of your First Mate, Captain?”
“Let’s get one thing straight if nothing else,” Persephone said softly before turning to face Nulaki. “Hello, Thief,” she said quickly and looked back at Dungias.
“Captain,” Nulaki returned the greeting.
“Expectations are for Imperial and Ardrian ships. We’re pirates! The only expectation I have is that we win!” Dungias continued to stare at the woman and she could clearly read his face. “… or at least look real good while losing,” she added, and both Nulaki and Dungias chuckled.
“Not saying you can’t handle yourself,” the thief whispered, “but if you want a few notes on what I see, I’d be glad to help.” He gave an evil grin, waggling his eyebrows.
“You can help by telling me what the hell you made in my Galley!” Persephone snapped.
“I will answer that question once you’ve had a taste,” Nulaki replied, lifting his hands to silence any reprisals. “Please believe me when I tell you that I know how bad it smells. But no answers come from these lips until you taste it. That’s a family law!”
“Family?!”
“That is my mother’s recipe,” Nulaki said proudly. “Now eleven generations old.”
“Well, at least we know whatever is in that pot didn’t kill them off,” Persephone concluded.
“Is that supposed to be of some comfort?” Dungias inquired.
“We are ready!” one of the eight yelled and Dungias looked up at his opponents. He had never faced so many without the aid of devices or Alpha. In many ways, he was looking forward to the challenge, but he had to return his mind to the place where he was the lesser of the two forces about to do battle. He started toward them when he felt Persephone’s hand on his arm.
“Remember, I can always get more crew… I’d prefer to keep my First Mate.”
“Aye, Captain,” he said softly before drawing Alpha and handing it over to Persephone. “Would you be so kind?” he asked and Persephone looked him in the eyes before taking hold of it.
Once again she was back aboard the Pterodactyl, jammed in with the rank and file, watching as Scimitar answered yet another challenge. Before doing so he would always hand Rouge his blade. During one of their many lessons she had asked him what it meant for him to do that.
“It is one thing for a crewman to fight for another of their crew,” Scimitar had told her. “It is another for the First Mate to give their favored weapon to the Captain. It means, basically, that despite the outcome of the fight, I will always stand with her.”
“Always?” she had pressed.
“Until I am dismissed,” he had replied.
“Are all First Mates as dedicated as you, Scim?” she had inquired.
“No, but mind you the ones that are. Fanatics are never simple or easy to deal with!”
Dungias did not turn until Persephone nodded. Her eyes flared at the surge of power that seemed to flow into her hand, coming from the Osamu. Nulaki moved to stand where Dungias had been waiting and he looked down at the ground several times, forcing Persephone to smile.
“Don’t worry, I get the same feeling, standing in his place,” Persephone quietly shared
. “I can’t say that you ever get used to it.”
“I understand… I think,” Nulaki returned. “And thank you… for calling me crew… even though we both know that I’m not.”
“What arrangements this office has with anyone or anything are the business of the captaincy and those parties,” she declared. “Those pigs are neither, and I can’t stand it when people sit on their asses and complain! You want to see the show, buy a ticket! You want to be in the show, practice! You want to talk about the show, go be a critic and get the hell out of the showman’s face!”
“That little gem sounds like it has some history behind it,” Nulaki remarked.
“And then some, Thief,” Persephone said, looking at the Osamu. She decided to use both hands to hold it and she closed her eyes with the sensation that it seemed to be embracing her at the same time. “And then some.”
Dungias walked slowly, looking only at the floor. He had not completely disengaged from reviewing the most recent events that had taken place in Engineering. During his ascension, he had found exactly what Cihpares and Elbon had described. The Stars were in a state of disarray. If they recognized the presence of the Traveler at all, they saw him as a mortal entity, one that had been born in the Rims. Still he was able to attune his vision to the light and see the potential trek of things. It was clear he had a part to play in the things to come, and that discovery had struck a chord. There were many parts that were being played. Most of the actors had no idea they had been invited to the stage. For the crime of his silence, the Star Chaser would have to atone. At the same time, however, he had decided that among the Stars would not be the only place where he would put on a convincing face.
“Behold,” he thought, closing his eyes one last time as he walked to his place. “I am the First Mate of Jocasta Elise Endigun. I am her guardian and her friend… I am Z!”
“Only the victor will say when and how this fight will end,” Broggyn huffed as he approached Dungias. “Agreed?”
“The boot makes no pact with the dirt ground underneath its heel,” Dungias replied as he lifted his head to look at his opponents. “And you are not enough to be considered dirt.” Persephone winced inside at the delivery of his response. She could tell her First Mate was focused on the faces of the men in front of him.
“Ah, good!” Dungias thought, seeing their ire. “Emotional responses. That should prove to be helpful.”
One of the men yelled and charged. Broggyn called after him, but the man was committed to his attack. Broggyn threw his arms out to keep the others behind him. The man lowered his shoulders as he ran. Dungias lowered his pounding fist and drove the man to his left and to the floor at the same time. He laid there moaning as Dungias looked up at the others.
“Oh, that was just mean,” Dungias could hear Persephone commenting.
“What should he have done?” Nulaki asked.
“It’s not that,” she explained. “Strength moves are not his thing at all. The man is a font of technique and grace. That punch was a sucker play!”
“And let us see what I have baited into my trap,” Dungias thought.
“Broggyn, he’s strong!” one of the men stated.
“What did you expect from that frame?!” Broggyn returned as he shook one of the men. “Of course he’s strong, but not as strong as all of us. Now form up!”
The men scurried for a moment, taking the positions Broggyn had given them. The first line was three men, the second was two, and Broggyn was on Dungias’ right. The final line, which was probably intended to be three, was also two men. Broggyn had them standing to where one man was never directly lined up with another. “Now, let’s walk him down!”
“So, it is only to be one who gives into the impulse,” Dungias concluded. “That is unfortunate.”
The seven men slowly approached and Dungias chose not to give any ground. He looked at them, studied their stances, and more importantly, the fact that no one on the front line had a closed fist.
“Anchors,” he concluded. “Meant to hold me in place and slow me down so that the second line can attack. It is a wise formation, but this plan hinges on a facet these men do not possess; none of them have fought together before!”
“Rah!” Dungias shouted as he hopped forward and lifted his arms into a combative stance. The movement was fast and quite unexpected. The center man grabbed for an attack that Dungias did not give. He was too anxious and fully committed himself. As his hands returned to their guard station, Dungias jutted forward again, leaning as if he were going to throw a right cross at the center man. Both the flanks attacked in response as the center man jumped back. Dungias’ spinning leg sweep caught all three. As they fell, Dungias lunged toward his left, driving his fist into the face of the man gasping at his speed and ferocity. Dungias then ducked and lunged to his right. Broggyn’s hook passed over Dungias’ head as the Star Chaser’s hand thrusts found the stomach and throat of the man to the far right of the third line. A spinning elbow broke the nose of the last man of the same line.
Dungias gave ground and Broggyn’s second punch just missed in front of Dungias’ chin. The gladiator was smart enough to step back from the Traveler after he missed. He was beginning to see the situation he had led himself and the others into, but he was too committed to back down now.
“Form up!” Broggyn commanded as the three front line men got up to their feet. Dungias lowered his hands as his eyes squinted.
“They didn’t even touch him!” Mel whispered in awe. “How does a man that big move that fast?!”
“He’s fast alright,” Olkin grunted. “… but it ain’t over yet.”
“Oh yes it is,” the black-haired female thought. “Those were the last of the soft blows.”
“That’s not good, is it?” Nulaki asked. He had been shadow-boxing, fighting alongside Dungias and guessing wrong what he thought the First Mate was going to do next. “The eye thing, I mean.”
“I’d keep to those instincts if I were you, Mr. Conadier,” Persephone answered.
“Actually, he looked more pressed when I was fighting him,” she thought. “Best I’ve ever had to do was four on one, but three of them were drunk and I was armed with a pint. I wonder how I’d fare against this crowd.”
“What if one of us gives up?” the center man of the front line asked. Dungias looked over his shoulder as if he were waiting for a directive.
“You’re the boot, First Mate,” Persephone shouted out. “Your call on how you step on the dirt.”
“Coward!” Broggyn hissed as he moved up to the far right position of the front line.
“Perhaps he is done with being your shield,” Dungias said as he gestured toward the wall to his left. “You may retire and await judgment.”
As the center man retired, the remaining three rushed Dungias. The center man stopped his retreat, drew a knife from under his shirt and charged in from the flank side. Nulaki reached for his pistol as Persephone’s hand grasped his wrist.
Dungias stepped to his right, temporarily negating the man to the farthest left of the charging line. It also brought him face-to-face with Broggyn who apparently wanted to grapple, as did the center man. Hand thrusts to the sternum stopped both men short of grasping Dungias and he turned quickly, landing a right heel punch to the chin of the far left man while catching the wrist of the man who was stabbing for his ribs. Dungias had twisted his left arm so that his thumb was on top of the man’s arm. He quickly righted his left arm, wrenching the right arm of the armed man. The man went up on his toes as he yelled in pain.
A back kick found Broggyn’s chest as Dungias drove his right arm into the armed man’s chest. As the man fell back, Dungias relieved him of his weapon. The second man who had received a hand thrust managed to recover from the blow and charged in time to receive the blade in his chest. Dungias could hear a muffled screaming coming from the hopefuls. The Malgovi Traveler only partially regretted them having to see the carnage.
Dungias twisted the blade as h
e ripped it from the man’s chest. He spun, lowering to one knee as another man went diving over his head. Dungias opened the man’s chest as he flew over the kneeling Malgovi. A quick flip of the blade and Dungias threw the knife, lodging it, to the hilt, in Broggyn’s inner thigh. As the gladiator screamed in pain, Dungias stood up and slowly made his way to the one who had broken the rules of the engagement.
“Your plan or his?” Dungias asked.
“It’s Broggyn’s knife!” the man claimed.
“And he gave it to a fool!” Dungias said before stomping the neck of the man.
Broggyn saw the killing stroke and closed his eyes, reaching for the blade in his leg. He screamed as he removed it and was aghast at how much blood started to pour from his body.
“There is every chance that you will be dead before I get over there,” Dungias said as he started to walk. “Or at least too weak to do anything about it.”
“Then we die together!” Broggyn yelled as he threw the blade. It was shot out of the air and all heads turned to see Persephone twirl her gun before returning it to the holster.
“This fight is over,” she proclaimed, nodding at her first mate. “Hate to break it to the six hopefuls, but you’ve got one helluva clean-up duty for your first task aboard ship. Sorry, but those are the breaks! Z, Nulaki, if I may have a word.” Persephone did not wait for a response before she walked into the Galley. Nulaki looked to Dungias but found no eyes looking back as the man was already beginning to follow her. Instead, he looked to the ones who had opted not to fight. He pointed at the bodies and then cupped his hand around his mouth.
“Pssst, the computer. Her name is Satithe,” he said. “… just ask her where the materials are for cleaning and she’ll direct you on where to go. The more quickly you move, the better off you will all be!” As Nulaki lowered his arms, he could hear the young man in the roving chair calling out the name of the AI that basically ran the ship.
