Exile to the Stars (The Alarai Chronicles) (3 page)

“Dueling
is out of hand,” George reflected quietly. “What? Eight or ten a month on the
news? And that’s just the tip of the iceberg. But that idiot simply left no
option.”

“He
didn’t intend to. He’s an asshole. That aside, what do you know about
Hathwaite’s ability, George? I’ve never seen him do much except talk.”

“I
watched a few of his matches during the regionals, Carl. Decent talent, no
discipline and poor conditioning.” George glanced over at Jeff. “Besides those
factors, Hathwaite’s major weakness is his temper. He barely qualified for the
nationals because of it. It’ll work in your favor, Jeff, but never forget it
might also lead him to try and kill you. Don’t count on him following any
conventions.” Jeff had dropped into a black mood and just shrugged

“The
only redeeming factor is the timing,” Carl observed after a period of silence.
“Scheduling it this evening, any publicity will be limited to rumor.”

No
one spoke the rest of the way, each reflecting on how the media would hype the
duel given a moment’s notice. Carl groaned when he turned into the park
entrance.

“The
damn thing’s full! There weren’t that many cars at the gym!”

“The
boys and girls have certainly been using their ‘magephones,” George concurred,
“but I don’t see any news floaters. Park on the grass.”

Al
Grady emerged from the crowd and walked toward them. At thirty-seven, he was
the oldest club member and widely respected. He had also agreed to act as
monitor. George hurried on ahead to meet him. They chose a location to speak
that offered privacy as well as an overview. Two groups were pitching open beer
cans back and forth, prompting bursts of laughter.

“Looks
like a party, Al.”

“It’s
not a good scene. Hathwaite’s boyos are milking it, but no peripheral
challenges to this point.”

“Let
us only hope.”

“Amen,
brother. What’s the situation with Jeff? Any room to move?”

“I
doubt it. Hathwaite didn’t leave him much.”

Al
nodded and examined George’s expression. “No, he didn’t. You know Hathwaite’s
likely to go for the kill, don’t you?”

“Figured
he would.”

“Just
needed to make sure you were up to speed. I don’t want Jeff to be unprepared.”

“We’ve
talked about it. Thanks for the time, Al, but I don’t want to compromise your
position. This needs to be very clean.”

“You
can count on it.” Al clapped George on the shoulder and moved off.

A
good share of the crowd surrounded Hathwaite when they walked up. He had an arm
around Sarah’s shoulders.

“Glad
to see you could make it, Friedrick. Thought you would be halfway to Portland
by now.”

Picking
up trash from the area he had selected for the duel, Grady abruptly stood up
and hurried over to Hathwaite.

“This
is a troubling affair. Your behavior in forcing this issue has discredited our
club. We will soon understand where courage resides.” He motioned Jeff over. “I
must ask you both to reconsider your positions and attempt to seek a solution
that exempts combat.”

Ignoring
Sarah’s presence, Jeff stared fixedly at Hathwaite and said nothing. Meeting
Jeff’s gaze with a contemptuous smile, Hathwaite turned away to share a
witticism with his cronies. Grady had expected nothing more and went in search
of a baton. Jeff stripped down to sweat bottoms and tee shirt before kneeling
to re-lace his gym shoes. Carl watched with a concerned frown.

“You
still warm?”

Testing
his sword arm with a few passes, Jeff replied, “Loose enough.”

“Stay
centered, Jeff. He won’t give you the time of day, and he’s sloppy on his
thrusts.”

“I
hear you. Don’t worry, Hathwaite had his show back at the gym.”

Grady
caught Carl’s attention with a sweep of his arm. “Let’s do it, buddy. Clean
cuts, and a lot of ‘em.”

Jeff
gripped Carl’s hand and walked toward Grady. Hathwaite strode to meet him,
spurs clinking.

“Gentlemen,
are you ready?”

At
their nods, Grady held a stick out at shoulder height. When their swords
crossed over the stick, he flicked it away. The rain had stopped briefly, but
once again drifted down in fine drops that showed as a yellow-orange mist in
the harsh lighting.

Holding
guard position, Jeff made no move to attack. Hathwaite stepped back, pointed
his sword at Jeff and sighed dramatically.

“This
simply isn’t going to do, Jeffrey. You’re going to have to fight.”

Hathwaite
waved his sword in an elaborate chicane and stamped forward. Their swords met
with a metallic ring then slithered and chimed in a series of parries and
feints. Hathwaite picked up the pace but only succeeded in notching his blade.
Breath pluming in jagged bursts, he disengaged and retreated. Jeff crouched
slightly and advanced, saber extended.

The
crowd of fifty or so spectators that surrounded the men changed shape as one or
the other advanced with quick steps, swords disappearing into blurs only to
come together in a deadly song. Just as quickly, they separated and resumed
maneuvering for the advantage.

Some
minutes into the duel Hathwaite fell back breathing hard. Jeff suddenly skipped
forward, saber winking with speed as he came in high. A staccato clashing of
steel and Hathwaite jumped out of harms way with a startled curse. There was no
missing the worried look on his face.

Shifting
position to follow the match, Carl said, “I think Bugwit wishes he were home in
bed.”

“Or
anywhere but here.” George stepped forward to get a better view. “Hathwaite
knows he’s in way over his head by now. He’s spooked and getting tired. Just
watch—it’s about to go down and dirty.”

Hathwaite
thought he saw a weakness in Jeff’s guard and attacked from low position with a
series of quick feints followed by a waist-level thrust. The feints were tapped
aside, but the thrust was parried with a flick of Jeff’s wrist that nearly
ripped Hathwaite’s saber from his hand. Stung by the near disaster of his
attack, Hathwaite muttered a curse and initiated a frenzy of cuts and thrusts.

Forced
to retreat, Jeff’s heel caught on a tuft of grass and he stumbled backward off
balance. Hathwaite lunged in with a low thrust that sliced open Jeff’s sweat
pants from knee to ankle but missed skin. The crowd let out an excited shout.

“Say
good-by to your ass, peon!”

To
avoid falling, Jeff put a hand down and pivoted to the side. As he did so,
Hathwaite thrust with all his strength. With a whispering sound, his blade
penetrated Jeff’s tee shirt and nicked the skin along his ribs.

“Finish
him off, Justin!”

Carl
spun around looking for the voice. George grabbed his arm. “No! Let it go. This
isn’t your fight.”

Regaining
his feet, Jeff beat back another attack. God damn it, he thought, that asshole
tried to kill me! His mind did a stutter-step and every sense seemed to expand
by a factor of two.

Lips
pulled back in a grimace of fatigue and desperation, Hathwaite continued to
press hard. As if regulated by a metronome, sabers flickered in four-four time
interspersed with ringing arpeggios of sixteenth notes. Still on the defensive,
Jeff backpedaled steadily and the match moved into a sparsely wooded area.

Furious
with himself for having tripped, Jeff found the rhythm and held his ground in a
grotto of trees. Mind and body became one smoothly functioning machine and he
picked up the tempo. High and low, thrust and cut, engage, riposte,
recover—faster and faster until the bright metallic beating of swords seemed
continuous. A roar escaped the crowd.

“Holy
shit,” Carl breathed. “Look at that arm speed. I can’t follow his moves!”

“Now
that’s how you attack!” George crowed. “I’m finally seeing it! By God, he is a
warrior!”

Retreating
with rapid steps as his guard was compressed inward, the whites of Hathwaite’s
eyes stood out in bold relief. Jeff’s saber slipped by a parry and the tip sank
into Hathwaite’s sword arm. He cried out and his saber clanged off a rusted
barbecue as it fell to the ground.

Stepping
back, Jeff gestured with his sword. “Pick it up.”

Face
writhing with fear, Hathwaite snatched up the sword. Blood streamed down his
arm and his breath came in great sobs as he tried to get enough air. Within
minutes his shirt hung in two pieces revealing a red furrow on his chest.
Lower, a red blotch spread outward from a puncture wound in the abdomen.

At
the end of his strength, Hathwaite put everything left into a desperate
assault. A furious crescendo of sword strokes and he froze. The point of Jeff’s
saber was resting against his throat. Hathwaite’s face was ghost white and his
body was trembling.

“Damn
you, Friedrick, just kill me and get it over with!”

Also
short of air, Jeff had to talk between deep breaths. “That’s all fencing means
to you, isn’t it? Who kills whom? You fucking idiot. How long do you think the
club will survive when word of this gets out? Where you going to go when the
dean pulls the plug? Downtown to one of the butcher shops?”

Jeff
stepped back and resumed guard. “You’ve got a choice. Resign or continue.”

They
stared at each other for several heartbeats before Hathwaite stumbled off
through the trees. Grady quickly stepped forward.

“Ladies
and gentlemen, honor has been served. I suggest we leave immediately before the
floaters arrive. Please speak of this to no one!”

As
if on cue, a large hovercraft glided into the park. Painted black, it had the
contours and armor of a tank. Spewing grass and debris from under containment
skirts, the craft settled to the ground with the sound of decelerating fans.
Satellite antennas began to deploy at once.

 
“Don’t talk to those news creeps if you want
to save the club! Get out of here!”

The
crowd broke and ran for the parking lot, but Sarah seemed frozen. Wiping off
his saber, Jeff slipped it into the scabbard and walked past her.

“Good-by,
Sarah.”

They
rode back to the gym in silence and hurried to the showers. Raiding a first-aid
kit, George dressed the wound on Jeff’s ribs. The silence continued until they
were on their way out of the gym. Before he pushed through the doors, George
caught Jeff’s eyes.

“You’ve
answered any questions I might have concerning your ability. That was a
consummate display of fencing skill, Jeff. I’m also impressed by the restraint
you showed. Given the provocation and that young woman’s presence, another man
might have seriously wounded Hathwaite or even killed him.”

Jeff
shrugged morosely. “It hasn’t come to that yet.” He laughed bitterly and thrust
the door open. “Another night like this, and who knows?”

Outside,
Jeff and Carl walked George to his car. As he slid inside, a chorus of wailing
sirens knifed through the rain. Jeff and Carl turned to listen, but George
looked down at the pavement and muttered, “Goddamed city.” He enabled the fuel
cell and rolled the window down. “Watch yourselves going home, fellows. This is
not a good night.”

“We
will.” Carl patted the car’s roof. “Be cool, George.”

“Yeah.”

The
parking lot of an all-night restaurant near the university was busy with
vehicles entering and leaving when Carl eased the Ford into a slot. Showing
identification to the armed guards out front, they stepped into a box-like
entry. Following an electronic scan, the door snapped open.

They
ordered a big meal and ate in exhausted silence. Watching Jeff fight, Carl
decided, had been one of the most emotionally draining experiences he could
remember. He signaled the waiter for a fresh cup of coffee and smiled crookedly.

“One
hell of an evening, buddy.”

“Yeah,
you could say that,” Jeff replied. “I’ve been wondering, though, whether this
is the end of it. I’ve got this feeling that something has been started, not
finished. Everything that happened tonight has a sense of the inevitable about
it. First Gado, then Sarah and Hathwaite. I must have replayed the whole thing
a dozen times, but it still comes out the same. There simply was no way to stop
that duel short of walking away.”

“Five
years ago you could have walked away from it, Jeff. If you had done that this
evening, you might as well have kept walking right out of town.”

“I
know that!” Jeff slapped his hand on the table in frustration. Several
customers spun in their seats to check it out, another ducked.

A
guard sitting at the counter looked at Jeff with narrowed eyes. “Keep it quiet,
or leave.”

“I
will,” Jeff acknowledged, and dropped his voice to an urgent whisper. “I do
know that, Carl. That’s one of the things that really irritates the hell out of
me.” He was morosely quiet for a few moments before continuing. “Nothing to be
done about it, nothing to do or to be done that would change one damn thing.”