Chapter Four: What Does Family Mean?
It was minutes before the actual fight and he knew he had me. Shardin' manipulative. I'd set myself on a path that I wanted to ditch, but felt totally helpless. Ask if I wanted to change anything? I had my chance.
"And if I don't fight?"
"For four times the usual payout. You gonna walk? Pah, who knows?"
Just five months on the circuit and I was top rated with fourteen wins and no losses during a slow season. Officially a rookie because it was my first tour. The Club was called Double The Rage Entertainment, and I was the kid-sister favourite. It's the way people have always reacted to me when they get friendly.
A battle-scarred pro called Autonomic advised me to keep my professional aides on-call. His six year career was eclipsed only by a year senior who had, and I quote, “summarily retired”. What the scrap does that mean? Aim doesn't keep sentimentalists, and having figured that out I knew where I was headed.
Bow and Shaw knew more than they let on. They were my robot assistants at The Club because of Aim's twisted sense of humor, and otherwise would've been scrapped. He dug the idea of their being my servants in the wrong kind of way so that was the image he projected for us. It was Bow who enlightened me as I wasn't that perceptive. I never played it up because it was flat-out backhacked.
"Black Set made the bet against you. Half a million credits paid up front," Bow told me lightly, fidgeting with the hem of her short ruffled black silk skirt. "They were all marked, too. Don't you think that's too much?"
"For a rookie, yeah." But not if he thought it could somehow prevent me from joining the KnightsMage. Black Set would have known, and cared. Flakkin' jittered code beast.
"Ms. Sarle, do you know that the Alloyed Craw holds losses against the fighters?"
“Yeah, I don't care right now.” I studied Shaw, hanging over Bow like a doting father. Shaw was dressed in a cheap but well fitted pinstriped suit, and was quite handsome. Those two sure were cute together, but they only reminded me of how manufactured it all was.
The crowd roared in the steamy amber lights, gathering for the slaughter. I was nervous. Not the usual anxiety and excitement, but instead this deadly creeping in my stomach that warned me this fight could be my last.
"What do you know 'bout this Hardsuit?"
Bow usually did the talking, entrancing with those big round eyes and svelte figure. I wanted to adopt her, she was so blasted adorable. She doesn't hold a candle to Winter, of course. Hello. Maybe Bow had something to do with me wanting kids. You don't let go of some things.
"Eighty-six wins, two against non-powered fighters. He's excessively violent and has permanently injured more than one half of his opponents. There are no recorded fatalities. Many speak highly of his professionalism. He has been known to pay medical expenses for crippling injuries that require prosthesis or cybernetics."
Probably suited his view of human frailty. I'd heard it before.
"Ms. Sarle, be careful. He will be prepared for you," Bow intoned awkwardly.
"So I better bring my A-game," I grumbled with a half-smile. "Thanks darlin'."
“Survival may be a wise strategy,” Shaw added. I grinned and nodded. Always slow and charming.
I started to mimic our pre-show sisterly hug, but Bow didn't lean forward. She was really worried about me. Instead, I shoved open the heavy double doors and was greeted by a deafening cacophony of hoots and hollers, whoops and cheers.
Being the underdog, I was popular. Unfortunately that reminded me just how often small dogs get underfoot. I knew there were plenty who wanted to see me fall, too.
Climbing into the plasteel reinforced ring filled me with secret horror. Nova borgs were built for hand to hand with heavily armored land roving tanks and SMGs. He stood two feet over me and I felt totally naked, glaring at his full plate body armor. How thick was it? Had no idea.
"You're pretty. I don't want to damage you."
We were nose to chest, with me glaring hard up at his chin. "Shut up! You wanted this," I hissed, "remember that!" Was he that daft, or was he trying to make this my fault? Fault? Was he nuts?
I had to shut down the haze of doubt in my brain before we started or I was going to die. While the announcer blared noise at the crowd, I made Brave Face at the shining result of my teeming stupidity. Was this the guy who … forget it. Bell, once, twice, thrice. Go time.
I was unusually methodical, dancing 'round the mat to sort how effective his motion tracking was in the murky din. Turned out he was too slow to keep up, which meant his hardware was outdated. We were a strange match in the ring but even with my best punches all I got in were a few dents.
Gotta be some alloy or other, I reasoned. The brief distraction let him peg me. I heard the creaking of my ribcage and a panic flooded my senses. I'd been screwing around too long already.
My telescoping short staff gave me reach and time to consider my position. Not to mention time for the pain of stave off. With a dizzying spin behind my back to throw off his motion tracking, I flicked on the staff and jabbed the glowing end into his face. He reeled backward, massive arms over his oblong head. "Ah whazzat?! Flakkit!"
No pain, huh? The plasma gunk was workin', so I started in on his armor, hopin' to do more than make it look interesting. He noticed but I was out of his reach, gigantic gloves grasping like vices. The plating he wore was in splinters, littering the mat like glass shards.
Uh oh, I thought, dread rising up from my gut. He can almost see again. Suit must have a counteragent for the sight blocker.
Hitting him now was ineffective, glancing off the denser alloy meant to withstand heavier impacts. Imagine the half ton explosive force of an ArrowBlade just striking dead on point. Shaken, I got too close again and he laid hold of me.
He twisted and I wailed. He'd broken my arm clean in two places, just above my shoulder and below my elbow. He could have just as easily ripped it off. The crowd thundered so loudly I nearly drowned in the noise of it. The shrieking pain made me instantly nauseous. He backhanded me into the threaded rails and all I could do was hang on them.
This is bad, bad, bad! That was all I was thinking, over and over. His footsteps were explosive in my ears. Suddenly I couldn't breathe, kicked to the next corner of the ring, a useless sandbag. Coughing and spitting I was hoping for a chance to recover and retaliate. Wasn't I tougher than that? If I was going to try it again, I needed some space!
'Given Promise Submits to Pure Heart', which in my mind meant confidence, which I didn't have. Using my gift means having no doubts. Period.
"Hyan-chou!" I cried, and the barriers dropped down. My mind cleared rapidly. Up on my feet again I was fast enough to keep my distance, even with four shattered ribs. Needed time for the next part to work. He still caught me with a knife hand, clipping my head. Spinning away, I felt that wonderful click inside. "Kytou!"
Covered in clammy sweat and a shell of dense plasteel alloy, I had the advantage. We wrestled, and I took my usual approach with cyborgs; break off anything I could touch. So I did that, making a clear win for myself with a mess of his body parts. I didn't kill him, but he gave me healthy respect from then on.
"And the winnah is … Blood Nuckles!"
With that the armor disappeared and the pain returned two-fold. Now you know why I avoid using both of those Gifts at the same time. The mat was so cool on my face that I decided not to get up again for a while.
Aim congratulated me and had the Union cover my medical expenses. He was good to his word, too, about the info. No pressure to continue on as his fighter, but he assured me 'I would be welcome any time at all.' Die, for you are the snuff of dreams.
Did I say that? To his face.
While I was laid up in Bethany General Hospital I had plenty of time to ponder the practical applications of my winnings, cursing my lot … every waking moment.
Ayani made an appearance. Well, not until after Shawn made his. He brought me flowers and played some word games with me
to keep my mind off my injuries. That tipped me off he wasn't the guy I wanted to marry.
So help me I wanted the guy who either a) begged me to quit, b) threatened to end the relationship if I didn't 'right now', or c) gave a flying flak about my well being. He might as well have been in the ring assisting the Hardsuit, and it wouldn't be long before I told him so.
Took a sharp swipe at my thread to clue me in I was on a bad track, and he couldn't tell? Or didn't care? Turned out he never did. Didn't even try to stick around. Need a guy with some guts if ya read me.
Next, cue long awaited friend.
"So how long were going to carry on, Masurani?" Disappointment was her ally. It had been nearly six months. Not a cool companion.
"Aw Ayani," I groaned. "I'm sorry."
"Aim Westfarthing? My Mom explained everything."
I wanted to say a lot of things, ask for a smile, a hug, a 'hey I missed you'. Ayani knew too much to spend time chattin'. She made The Offer again, and I wasn't prepared for it.
"I want to, Ayani," I said, tears welling in my eyes. "I need the help. Look at me, now. I screwed up, didn't I."
"You're not dead, and … no, that's all you got right." Ayani hadn't had a lot of time, but before she left there was a question. "So what'll you do about Scray Manwire?"
You had me totally dumbfounded. You knew for how long? The insult was my own stupidity. I said I didn't know.
"Until you do, I won't promote you from Squire. Take the time here to figure it out." Yeah, sure, I agreed. What else could I do? I was soundly humbled.
Anyone who knows me will tell you I'm a slow healer. Maybe that's the price I pay for being so tough. They wouldn't release me for a week because of all the internal injuries I didn't want to think about. I really could have died in that fight.
Faroh and I had been in communication, and he was kind enough to keep house while I was gone. He was angry that Aim and the Union had let me get into such a dangerous fight. He wanted to get legal about it, take 'em to court.
I wanted to quit and be done with it. I was sick of the wanton violence. Casting my thread under the feet of those thugs was too reckless, too much. I had my wish and I intended to honor it.
"Now I'm okay with that. Tell me about this Scary Man Tick."
"It's Scray Manwire, Uncle Faroh."
"It's filterflak to me. Spill."
I looked away from the screen out of something like annoyance. "He's an accountant. Does books for InterLinks Incorporated. On the side he courts private investors who want to shut down the Alliance of Courts and steal power, in little pieces at a time."
"Oh. That's kinda boring. How did it cost my brother his life?"
It was a little reassuring that Faroh cared more about his sibling than the everyday espionage that goes on, ya know? For all this time there had been something empty about my little Quest for Vengeance. Finally, I understood why.
"Pop was just collateral damage. Regular job, regular hours. The water plant they attacked had new technology they were trying to steal. Something like they had it, but didn't want evidence of anyone else having it. The patents were up in the air, too."
"So … what?"
I laughed a little. "Pop was a good guy. I mean, I think I thought he was tied up in it. I dunno, I was a kid! I was scared."
"I always knew he was a good guy. You turned up a fine woman. Loaded with patience for a guy blustering his way through marriage.”
“Okay, thanks for that,” I said, probably blushing. “Really.”
“Sure. And you're not scared anymore? I mean, now I've moved out …"
I laughed harder that time. "No. I never knew you gave so much from your heart."
“Hey now, I gotta rep.”
Most of those questions I had had about Pop all those years had ceased to matter. Sure my folks screwed a lot of things up, but I wasn't livin' their lives. It was mine an' I wanted a family. A happy one. The War would make things hard, but that wasn't for a while yet.
You had it arranged that Alveras Reddasi – aka Scray Manwire - would not be receiving a fair deal in military court, having once served. It was there they could hand out the most stern judgment and sentence. I went back to Stalfo's, this time for franchise information.
You know most of the rest, Mrs. Coates. So if I had to ask, what are we fighting for now?
#The#End#
About the Author
Simon Woodington is probably a lot like you, life experienced and educated with moderate effectiveness. Without a formal career, he has had a series of jobs that have lead to more personal growth than professional satisfaction. He was taught the value of good works and standing up for what is right in the face of common odds. When he's not writing he is working with family creating art and walking his dog.
Other Books by This Author
Please visit your favorite ebook retailer to discover other books by Simon Woodington:
The Threads of Canor Series
Every One Fight
Sector Bomb
The Sliver of Light Series
Cobalted (Coming Soon)
Short Story Anthologies (featuring Aaran Coates)
Bold Curves
Fanfiction
Doctor Whooves: A Thief at the Gala
Sailor Moon: Starlit Ruins
Connect and Contact
Friend me on Facebook: https://facebook.com/hastypixels
Follow me on Twitter: https://twitter.com/hastypixels
My Writer's Blog “A Few Hasty Pixels”: https://www.hastypixels.com/
Thank you for reading books on BookFrom.Net Share this book with friends