Exile to the Stars (The Alarai Chronicles) (2 page)

Nearly
past the intersection, Carl flicked the steering yoke hard over and the Ford
lurched around the corner, gyros whining protest. Half expecting a setup, they
quickly checked out the street. Empty.

“Things
get any worse,” Carl muttered, “and it’ll be worth your life to drive after
dark.”

“What
do you call this scene?”

“You’ve
got a point.” Carl glanced at the rearview image suspended in the holograph
unit. “Okay, I think we’re clear. So the sword has been handed down in your
family. How old do you think it is?”

“It’s
been in the family for a long time but Grandad didn’t know a lot about it. He
thought maybe 200 years or so. It’s not a classic cavalry saber—simply not
heavy enough—and it never rusts. Can’t figure it out.”

“Has
to be carbon steel.”

“Given
its age, what else could it be?”

“Beautiful
workmanship. Bugwit’s saber looks like cardboard in comparison.”

“Hathwaite’s
saber? I think he picked it up in a costume store.”

Carl
turned left and they continued north, a high stone wall set with razor wire on
top bordering one side of the street. He eased the Ford as far as he could to
the opposite side of the street when they approached a gate set in the wall.

“Haven’t
been this way in a long time. Don’t like this place anymore now than I did
then.”

“San
Quentin.”

“Yeah.”

 
The gate was protected by concrete abutments
and by three guards in a blockhouse. “Man, I think those suckers are packing
military rifles,” Carl pressed down on the accelerator, “but they aren’t
military.”

As
they passed the gate, a red dot suddenly appeared on the side of Jeff’s head.
Carl caught it out of the corner of his eye, floored the accelerator and the
Ford shot away.

“Had
you pegged solid, boy. That was just a warning, but you only got one head to
lose. Wouldn’t you just love to live there?”

“On
our salary? Those residential enclaves take real money to get into.” Jeff shook
his head. “Even if I had the money, not a chance. More like a warren of
terrified rats than a community. When it hits the fan, they won’t last an
hour.”

Carl
tapped the brakes. “Here we go.”

After
rattling across the ancient Montlake Bridge, thankful as always that it had not
collapsed, Carl pulled into a secure parking area next to the university gym.
On their way across the lot, Jeff counted vehicles.

“The
rumor mill was right on, Carl. Will you look at all the cars!”

Entering
a smaller annex near the cavernous main building, the ring of steel on steel
greeted their ears. Once through the vestibule, the musty smell of sweating
bodies past and present intermingled with echoing profanity and laughter. They
took in the scene and looked at each other with delighted grins. It really was
a packed house.

“Tell
you what, Jeff,” Carl observed with a big grin, “I think Bugwit is going to
have his hands full tonight. I mean, how is he going to impress everyone at the
same time? This is going to be fun.”

“For
sure, but I keep hoping just once he won’t brag about that fellowship of his in
Warsaw.”

Carl
halted abruptly and looked at Jeff with mock horror. “Are you questioning his
pilgrimage to the mecca? Tell me it isn’t true! Why, everyone knows that makes
him the resident saber expert.”

“Well,
it’s a dirty job,” Jeff said with an appreciative snicker. “I guess it does
take a dickhead like Hathwaite to fill the slot.”

Dodging
around a man and woman fencing with intent concentration, they entered the main
throng. Along the way, Carl threw Justin Hathwaite a derisive grin. A willowy
man with patrician features, Hathwaite wore snug breeches tucked into cavalry
boots complete with spurs. Surrounded by a coterie of men and women, he sneered
briefly in return.

Chuckling
at Hathwaite’s response, Carl said, “And Jorgenson scores ten points. It’s good
start to the evening, ladies and gentlemen.”

“Yeah,
maybe,” Jeff replied. “You and Mike have been needling him pretty hard the last
couple of weeks, buddy. With a crowd like this, it might not be a good idea to
push him.”

“Pretty
hard to do, my man,” Carl said. “You’re holed up with George for a good share
of the evening and miss the crap that jerk hands out. Not sure why, but your
name seems to come up a lot when he’s holding court on everyone’s shortcomings.
Probably because you won the regional competition and he barely made the cut.”
Carl laughed explosively. “And those spurs! God save me, I can’t resist it!”

They
exchanged greetings with members they hadn’t seen in awhile, and made a point
of saying hello to the new faces as they moved around. Jeff turned to speak
with Carl but his eyes never got there. Facing him was a slender, black-haired
woman holding an epee.

“Sarah.”

“Jeffrey.”

Other
than an upwelling of residual pain, he felt empty of emotion. Two years,
endless fights with bitter words that accomplished nothing, but fights that
over time became an emotional killing ground. Neither spoke. Every word had
finally been expended during the death throes of their relationship. Although
several months had passed since the final parting, strings of attachment that
owed nothing to intellect had not entirely dissolved, and their eyes conveyed
volumes of condemnation.

“Don’t
waste your time with losers, Sarah.” Hathwaite sauntered over and tugged her
toward his crowd. “Let’s get some action going.”

“Why
him, Sarah?” Jeff felt like a partially healed wound had been ripped open with
fingernails. Of all the men on campus, or even in the club, she had wound up
with Hathwaite.

“He
knows where he’s going, Jeffrey. He’s going to be someone and wants me to go
with him. It’s a refreshing change.”

“Are
you dating him to get back at me?”

Sarah
turned her back to Jeff and took Hathwaite’s hand. Looking over his shoulder,
he winked at Jeff.

A
hand came to rest on Jeff’s arm. “Let it go. They make a pair.”

“Thanks,
Carl. Took me by surprise.”

“Doesn’t
it always?”

“Too
many times.”

“Yeah.
Aren’t you supposed to meet George?”

“I’m
late. Thanks again.”

Jeff
changed into sweats and hurried to meet his instructor, a saber master. The
confrontation with Sarah had faded by the time they decided to take a break and
cool down. While fencing they had been talking about more than the fine points
of technique. George Greely couldn’t remember feeling so frustrated.

“All
right, all right! You won’t compete in the nationals! But let me tell you
something, Jeff. If you want to take your skill farther, at some point you’re
going to have to go up against other real talent. You’re good, real good, but
you’ll never know—hell, I’ll never know—just how good you are until your backs
to the wall and some boyo’s trying to make you look like an idiot. I think you
could go all the way—doesn’t that mean something?”

“I’m
not interested in the nationals, George. You knew that when I agreed to compete
in the regionals.”

George
eyed Jeff silently for a few moments. “No argument there, but where do you go
from here? I don’t have much more to teach you. Ask yourself this: why have you
been working with me? What’s the point if you don’t intend to take it as far as
you can go? You need to find out what you’re made of, Jeff. That means
competing in the nationals.”

The
noise level out in the gym abruptly dropped to nothing. They jumped to their
feet and hurried from the room.

“Shit,
I’ll bet that asshole Bugwit is at it again,” George spit out in a disgusted
snarl. “He’s going to destroy this club yet.”

Once
onto the main floor they immediately noticed a crowd surrounding Hathwaite and
Carl. They were standing nose to nose. Even from a distance Jeff could see that
Carl’s face was flushed with anger.

“You’ve
been a loudmouth jerk as long as I’ve known you, Hathwaite. Jeff Friedrick
happens to be a friend of mine, and this crap you’re spouting is more than I am
willing to tolerate. You, sir, have gone too far.”

Elbowing
his way to the center of the ring, Jeff stopped by Carl. “Hathwaite, this
matter appears to concern me directly. Since I have not been privy to its
origins, I must have the opportunity to review the circumstances with Mr.
Jorgenson. By your leave, sir?”

Favoring
Jeff with a mocking smile, Hathwaite bowed. Accompanied by George, Jeff guided
Carl to an area of relative privacy.

“What
in hell is going on?”

Carl’s
usual response to stress was cynical humor. On this occasion his expression
simmered with anger.

“As
you might expect, Bugwit was really laying it on thick with his toadies in full
attendance....” Carl paused and shrugged. “You may as well hear it all. I think
Sarah was egging him on, or at least her presence was, and he pulled out all
the stops with that crap about Warsaw.”

“Let
me guess. Mike sort of helped things along.”

“Yeah,
you could put it that way, George.”

“Al
and Harold are here, why didn’t they step in? They’ve been around long enough
to know the score. That’s why we elected them.”

“Damn
it, they tried, Jeff, but you know Mike. He just wouldn’t shut up! Then he
really got cute and asked Hathwaite how often he tripped over his spurs.”

“That
would do it,” George stated. “Someone needs to pound some sense into Mike’s
head.”

“It
was more than enough,” Carl shot back. “Hathwaite really came unglued. I
thought he was going to challenge Mike, but instead he started tearing you
apart, Jeff.”

“Sarah.”

“Maybe
that was part of it,” Carl replied doubtfully, “but don’t forget the regionals.
Whatever, I was trying to get out of earshot when he implied that, unlike him,
you were avoiding competing in the nationals. He did everything but call you a
coward.” Carl looked directly into Jeff’s eyes. “Do you really think I would
stand still for that?”

Jeff
tasted bile, and thought, Why do they single me out? Is it just because I’m
good with a saber? Or because they can get away with it. The last thought made
him pause. Jeff recalled his confrontation with Gado; his repeated attempts to
provoke a duel. Somewhere in his mind Jeff made a decision, crossed a line he
didn't know was there. His features went icy calm and golden-green eyes glinted
like polished stainless steel.

“No,
I do not. Thank you for intervening. This is now my affair.” He turned to
George before Carl could protest. “Do you concur?”

“I
see no alternative,” George replied with a fatalistic shrug. “The insults,
expressed as they were in public and in the presence of a close friend, leave
no option that I am aware of. I have no doubt you could take him, Carl, but
that’s not the issue.”

“
No,
it isn’t,” Jeff said in a flat tone of voice. He exchanged a level gaze with
George. “It isn’t the nationals, but do you think Hathwaite will do?”

George
did not respond for some time. There was something in Jeff’s gaze, in his
voice, that he had never witnessed before. It made his skin prickle.

“This
is a matter of true honor. Not make believe. There is no more worthwhile
arena.”

Jeff
nodded curtly. “Yes, it is a matter of honor. Let’s do it.”

Hathwaite
saw Jeff coming and turned away from Sarah with an expression of smug
satisfaction.

“Can’t
find a way out, Friedrick?”

Anger
tried to break free but Jeff shoved it aside. “Hathwaite, you’ve seen fit to
make statements that question my courage. Mr. Jorgenson has fully related their
content, and I find them offensive. Before this goes any farther, I must know
if you wish to withdraw from your position. The future of this club may be at
stake.”

“What
I said earlier stands, Friedrick. I don’t think you have the guts to face real
competition.” Hathwaite paused dramatically and swept his eyes around the
circle of intent faces. “As to the club, that’s just an excuse. The dean isn’t
going to shut it down. You’re going to have to run.”

The
cynical challenge in Sarah’s eyes and Hathwaite’s comment stoked cold anger to
a bright flame.

“Mr.
Jorgenson is correct. You’re a braggart and incompetent fool. I will have
satisfaction tonight, Hathwaite—sabers to first blood.”

“Sure
you’re up to it?”

“Either
give me a civil answer or it’s all the way.”

Hathwaite
looked around the crowd again. “Do we see a touch of courage? Marvelous! I
accept. A contest with sabers, no limit except resignation.”

“Agreed.”
Jeff stared at Sarah. “Make sure you bring the bitch. I want her to see you get
cut.”

The
city park Carl and Hathwaite’s second settled on had been maintained better
than most. It still had a few lights that worked. Jeff, Carl and George rode
together to the designated area.