CHAPTER 03
“Fifth round! I'll take that wager and give you three to one,” Keokuk laughed and fingered the wager to his comp set. Four Apache infantry troopers made the same wager with him and Keokuk would have taken more if he hadn’t exhausted his supply of wampum.
Tumble Weave was typical of AC lodge ships in the fact that the majority of the inhabitants were from the tribe the lodge ship was designated for, in this case Diegueño. Five to ten percent of the inhabitants were crossworkers; tribals assigned long-term duty on a different tribe’s lodge ship. The Nez Perce provided pilots to every tribe. The Haida provided Shamans, healers and seers. The Kichai provided bean counters and Judges. The Apache and the Brule provided various types of troopers and soldiers. Tsimshian provided tech-jacks. The Zuni served as the AmerIndian Confederacy’s intelligence branch.
Keokuk sat in the large barracks area given to the Apache and Brule crossworkers assigned to Tumble Weave. The large room, its walls lined with small bunks, floor to ceiling, was strikingly different from the rest of the Diegueño lodge ship. All of the colors, decorations and plants were gone, replaced with grey walls broken only by the matte black and chrome of hundreds of weapons. Tonight the room was packed.
Thinly disguised as “unarmed combat training,” the Apache and the Brule weekly pitted their best hand-to-hand fighters against each other for the entertainment and gambling needs of anyone who cared to observe. Officially, the Diegueño abhorred the unnecessary violence but the Apache and Brule kept to their own area and Chief Sequoya looked the other way. Keokuk noticed that more than half of the tribals crammed in the room were Diegueño.
The crowd doubled after Keokuk added Cavaho's name to the fight schedule for that night. Keokuk shook his head in amazement and climbed with Condu to sit in one of the high bunks with a good view of the fight circle. Condu pulled himself up and sat next to Keokuk.
“Who's the feral favorite these days?” Keokuk pulled off his jacket.
Condu pointed out a towering figure a few meters from the edge of the fight circle. “Johnny the Bomb. A UDA pro wrestler six months ago, still a recruit, but the Apaches are warming to him already. He's been waiting three months to get his hands on Cavaho.”
“No worries... I'm highly impressed with the effort the Diegueño have put into this lodge ship. Seeing this dark hole these Brule troops live in accentuates the beauty of the rest of the ship.”
Condu leaned back against the wall. “Most of the Diegueño hate living on these lodge ships so they make the best of it. Have you seen the arboretum on Anubis? Incredible, just incredible. How are the Tsimshian doing with their lodge ships?”
Keokuk thought for a moment about Grizzly King, his home lodge ship. “Well, Grizzly King is becoming quite polished. Over the last few years the Kichai kicked back over a hundred million UDA creds. They were able to increase the payments the Apache and Brule made for their merc work by eighty percent and the Tsimshian got a nice cut because we facilitate quite a bit of their work. We do a lot of code breaking, data sifts, upgrades on vehicle and ship comps for both tribes. I know those creds should have gone into education or maybe funded the confiscation of a whole new lodge ship but I think the Elder Council is finally realizing the lodge ships are our homes. They have been for all twenty-eight years of the AmerIndian Confederacy’s existence. Some creature comforts had to be allowed.”
Keokuk brushed the sheets under his seat and continued. “We finished updating all the internal fusion conduits four months ago and so the whole ship is powered at one hundred and eighty percent efficiency. We are getting a lot more play out of a Nagasphere than we used to. No showering schedules, no power share schedules. It's almost too convenient. Half the tribe is forgetting all the silly stuff we used to do to live in that tub of a ship. The weapons arrays we gained at Gates Beta are phenomenal. We trashed three UDA super class destroyers a couple weeks back without even taking three percent hull damage. No Nez Perce assistance needed. It's like bust to boom. The Apache and Brule merc work is just so profitable.”
As the announcer strolled into the fight circle, Condu sat up and craned his neck. “You speak truth. Between the raw creds these outposts are offering, the material incentives; plasteel, cases of memory cubes, rail guns, bulk medical supplies and scavenging rights, we’re booking a fortune. And it’s easy money from what I hear. To the Apache and Brule, at least. Seems like the UDA forces are getting easier to flog. Their troops are worthless; no motivation, no ingenuity, no endurance.”
“I agree. UDA forces are low-grade fodder. What the UDA lacks in quality though they make up for in quantity. Did you hear about the rout on Fitzgerald 12, NGC 3116? The Apache sent in two P1 outrider ships with sixty fighter escorts to evacuate a farming station. The Brule force commander pushed the sched by three minutes to load another two hundred people. Eight UDA Black Knight cruisers came in and pummeled the outrider ships. All told, sixteen hundred tribals. Four AC survivors, four! That's where we are paying for our newfound comfort. One mistake, one wrong decision, you let the UDA get too close and they swarm you like a pack of dogs.”
Cavaho paced into the fight circle. The crowd erupted and swift finger tapping occurred as another round of wagering was conducted. What round; first, third, tenth? The majority of the betting was not on whether Cavaho would win, only when. Few were taking the five to one odds on Cavaho losing.
Cavaho pulled off a simple cotton tee baring a brilliant red AC symbol tattoo. A group of Diegueño women and girls put up their hands and turned their faces as if a bright light had been shined in their eyes.
Condu laughed, “A pity that much lust should be directed at a man so unwilling to enjoy it.”
Keokuk laughed, “Got that right.”
Cavaho did not flex, stretch, pace or glare. He simply waited. With his shirt off his body art could be clearly seen, a maze of bright red inked vines and thorns covering his back, chest, arms. The message was clear, contact with any part of Cavaho would cause bleeding and pain. His body appeared to be exactly what it was, a weapon. His muscles were cut sharply, not large from repetitious workouts, but hard and balanced, from varied exercise and work. He stood 178 centimeters tall and weighed 70 kilograms. He looked like Wovoka, bearing the same dark AmerIndian skin, but his jet-black hair was shaved close.
“How long has it been since Angela married that Kichai arms dealer?” Condu asked about Cavaho's former fiancée.
“Almost three years now I think.” Keokuk fingered a command and his comp set magnified his vision by fifty percent. “He took his oath of silence over a year before she got married.”
Condu paused. “Cavaho really hasn't said a single word in four years? I'll bet he talks to Wovoka.”
“Wolf Plume says he doesn't. Says he has kept the oath. Cavaho is coyote crazy, though. From what Wolf Plume says, he is nested-If wired twenty-four, seven. He works out six hours a day and does six different katas for another two hours when they are not on active mission. Wolf Plume says Cavaho is troubled by nightmares, sleeps very little except when he completely exhausts himself. On the battlefield he’s a butcher. Goes out of his way to get into hand-to-hand and carves up UDA troops with those scythes he calls knives. Wolf Plume says sometimes Cavaho comes back from an op drenched in blood and they have to throw him in the shower because he won't wash or even move for half a day. It's like he's riding low after coming off of some amazing high. I think he has a huge amount of anger he’s trying to channel into something that won't get him banished. I know without his pack, Jade Dagger, he would have been dead many times over since the oath of silence.”
Cavaho's opponent entered the circle and immediately began pacing from side to side. He rolled his neck, flexed, and lifted his knees. At 220 centimeters he was a good four decimeters taller than Cavaho and had twenty kilograms of muscle Cavaho lacked. The former wrestler showed no signs of nervousness or doubt. He seemed anxious to get started.
The announcer finished the stats report. “
And so, gamblers and onlookers, I present the twenty-seventh fight of the legend we know as Cavaho, the Apache pride and terror. His challenger, Johnny the Bomb, a gritty, fast contender - eight and one this season. The hardest kick in the ring, 300 K.S.I. on the repulse pad.”
Most of the crowd booed loudly. He was not the man their wampum was on. Cavaho did not react. He waited.
The announcer held his hand high in the air. “In my fist I hold eight stones. Four will be given to each warrior. Each warrior may elect to give as many stones to his opponent as he wishes. The settings on the blast gloves and boots will be set to the amount of stones the warrior has at the declaration. All wagers must be completed at this time before the declarations are given.”
The announcer lowered his hand and walked to Cavaho first, handing him the four stones. Cavaho held his hand out flat. The announcer placed his hand over Cavaho's and pulled a piece of red cloth from his belt placing it over both hands. He whisked the cloth away showing only two closed fists. He returned to Johnny and did the same. He pulled both warriors to the center of the ring. The crowd fell silent for a moment as the announcer held up both fists.
A chant rose from half the crowd. “A gift of all to make him fall.”
Cavaho's stones were never in question. In twenty-seven bloody bouts Cavaho had never kept even one of his own stones. The only setting above zero he ever received came from opponents who were braver than they were smart. The announcer opened his hand and the number four showed on everyone’s comp set view. The crowd harrumphed in knowing approval and waited for Johnny' declaration.
“It appears Johnny the Bomb is brighter than your average recruit. He has elected to give Cavaho the Decimator one stone.” The announcer opened his hand confirming the number. “Set blast gloves and boots at one.” He indicated Cavaho with his right. “And seven,” indicating Johnny with his left. Large neoprene covered gloves and boots were thrown into the fight circle. The steel and black fighting implements landed on the floor with sharp, hollow clacks. Each warrior picked up the set thrown closest and put them on. The blast gloves and boots were tools introduced in the gladiator games on Praltas. The sets of gloves and boots were used to amplify the power of a fighters kicks or blows, but deliver the blow in an even, cushioned manner that avoided bone breakage. Cavaho would be hitting with his force amplified ten percent. Johnny the Bomb would enjoy a seventy percent boost.
Cavaho clapped the bulky gloves together, palms in. He kicked the heels of both blast boots, activating them. Green lights winked on each glove and boot. As the light bathed across his chest, Cavaho flowed into motion. A short, quick step to the right. A wide backing arc to the left. Cavaho looked up and watched as green lights fired in Johnny's hands. Cavaho shot forward, running full force at Johnny. He flew across five meters and leapt at Johnny, letting his speed carry him.
As Cavaho sped forward his knee lifted and his right arm cocked backed into position to strike. He leveled his left arm at the massive wrestler like a spear; his momentum flinging him to the point of impact. Cavaho's explosive run, the sheer speed of it, caught Johnny by surprise. Johnny scrambled through options, striking Cavaho, dodging his attack or some combination of the two. The decision took only a second, a second he did not have.
Johnny stepped quickly to the side and took his body out of the primary line of Cavaho's leap. The wrestler stayed close enough, however, to snap off a powerful left punch. Cavaho fired, his right glove connecting solidly with Johnny's head. Johnny's left caught Cavaho square in the ribs. Johnny's head cocked back and he stumbled before collapsing to his knees. Cavaho's velocity combined with the force of Johnny's blow carried him another two meters where he crashed, rolled and crumpled.
Johnny shook his head and planted his right hand to stop from falling flat on his face. Cavaho lay on the floor motionless. Johnny groaned and hauled himself upright. He staggered a few steps and stopped a moment to gain equilibrium. As he tottered and the ringing in his ear lightened he squinted at Cavaho lying limp and hopefully broken near the edge of the circle. He could see a large ugly purple patch on Cavaho's back where the floor had marked him when he struck it. No sweat had slickened the surface yet and so the floor had gripped his body and tugged at his muscles before releasing him to complete his two-meter roll. There was no question in Johnny's mind or any of the crowds that Cavaho had gotten the worst of this trading of blows.
Johnny snapped his head twice, hard, shaking off the last of the dizziness. He straightened his back and walked confidently toward the motionless heap close to the wall. He gave a quick nod to the yelling crowd, half screaming for him to finish Cavaho, the other half shouting for Cavaho to get up. Johnny walked faster as he got closer to Cavaho. Just as he entered striking range Cavaho rolled and rode a tight somersault away from Johnny and onto his feet. Without any pause his feet flashed and he was circling; his shoulders bobbing, fists up and ready.
Johnny frowned and readied his own fists. He circled and closed. Cavaho stepped in and Johnny pounced, throwing a hammer jab toward Cavaho's chest. Cavaho shifted sideways effortlessly and delivered a level blow to the recruit's side. Johnny bounced away and hunkered.
The wrestler drifted back and began to circle and widen the distance between the two. He refused to approach Cavaho for the moment. Cavaho closed. He jabbed at Johnny's upheld gloves and then pulled back his right for a heavy punch to Johnny's chest. Johnny twisted slightly and moved in toward the punch. The punch hit Johnny’s chest askew and the sacrifice gave Johnny enough time and space to maneuver in close to Cavaho.
Johnny raised his heavy blast gloves and dropped them on Cavaho shoulders. Cavaho attempted to ram his left knee into Johnny's stomach. Too late. Cavaho grimaced as Johnny clamped onto him, pulling him forward. Johnny head butted Cavaho as he jacked his knee into Cavaho's hip, lifting and turning him. Cavaho folded into Johnny and the wrestler let gravity pull his heavy body down to the floor. Johnny’s fall was cushioned by Cavaho's now vertically placed rib cage.
Keokuk groaned.
Johnny sprang up, leaving Cavaho on the floor. With a glee born from the taste of victory he kicked Cavaho square in the back. Cavaho skidded a meter, stopped, writhed with pain. The crowd roared in surprise, anguish and delight. Johnny turned to face them, arms raised, soaking up the crowd’s emotions as he had a hundred times before on intergalactic television.
Circling dramatically, Johnny moved toward Cavaho. The wrestler pulled his leg up to thrust it down into Cavaho's ribs. Johnny's right leg was up and he balanced awkwardly on his left before the strike. With unexpected speed Cavaho chopped at Johnny's left leg with his right arm and rolled away. As Johnny's body crashed to the plasteel, Cavaho strained to rise. Blood from the head butt covered Cavaho’s face and he blinked furiously to clear his eyes.
Cavaho's heavy shoulders were hunched. He was unable to ignore the fire in his side. The crowd groaned at the unnatural lump on his ribs, the cracked bone pushing the skin upward. Cavaho's teeth were bared and he heaved his breath with fury. Johnny rose to face him, fists up. The wrestler laughed as he gazed on the bloody, broken man before him. Johnny pulled his fists higher and stepped forward eager to finish.
Throwing a powerful finishing blow, Johnny lumbered forward. Cavaho ducked, landing an upper cut to Johnny's jaw. Johnny struggled back as Cavaho lowered his center of gravity and flung his left leg in a long slow arc sweeping under Johnny's feet. Cavaho swept him cleanly and Johnny landed on his rump. He looked more angry than hurt.
Cavaho lost no time in springing back up. Johnny scrambled to recover and stand. Halfway up Johnny felt the lightning blow of Cavaho's foot catch him square in the jaw. He arced back, blood spraying out of his mouth as he crashed again to the floor. Johnny rolled to distance himself from his assailant and hurried again to stand. Cavaho was there, slamming him back down with a punch to the back of his head.
Out of nothing more than fear of losing, Johnny pushed himself to his hands and knees. Cavaho
nearly stood the wrestler up with a soccer kick to the stomach. Cavaho reigned down two more blows, another trip to the plasteel for Johnny. Johnny rolled onto his back. Rather than trying to stand he put his hands up and shook his head. Cavaho backed away and lowered his fists. Johnny's head rolled to the side and his hands dropped.
Stripping off the blast gloves Cavaho walked toward his fallen opponent. He bent and grabbed Johnny's hand and hauled the hulk of a man to his feet. His teeth clenched with pain, Cavaho steadied Johnny and raised his fist in the traditional tribal warrior greeting. Johnny placed his fist against Cavaho's. His face was a bloody map of bruises, his head dropped to avoid the stares of his tribe brothers.
The crowd quieted as comp sets were checked with quick glances to see how much had been lost or gained. The combat med tribals entered the fight circle. Johnny angrily waived them away, but was in no shape to stop them from helping him. Cavaho also half-heartedly struggled as they whisked him away to mend his shattered torso.
Condu frowned. “Fifth round, what was I thinking?”
“You weren't thinking, Condu. I made a nice six hundred wampum on that match so don't feel lonely in your loss.”
“Cavaho went back alley on that tribal. I’ve never seen him take a tribal down so hard.”
Keokuk spoke while checking his winnings. “You haven't been watching his bouts, Condu. He gives what he gets. Cavaho decided to get savage on him only after that Apache kicked him in the back. Now I’ve got to get gone and see if I can force half these winnings on Cavaho.”