Rusty’s pistol went off and Kira flinched at the noise, but there was no follow-up crack from a passing bullet. Wild shot. Rusty lay on the pseudograss, making no effort to get up. Was he embarrassed, or . . . Kira let the thought pass.
The assigned EMT and ward ran toward the prone figure in the kill box. On the judge’s table, a tentative win light flashed on Kira’s side. The EMT for her side of the field pointed to her, and she shook her head to indicate lack of injury. Freed from any immediate responsibility to her, he jogged off toward Rusty.
Kira reholstered her weapon and waited, hands on her knees and taking deep breaths. Across the centerline, Rusty still lay flat on the ground. He could get up any time now as far as she was concerned. She had her win. His EMT kneeled next to him, his arms active and posture focused. The other EMT and Rusty’s second arrived. Kira’s EMT joined his partner, kneeling beside the prone form in the kill box. After a brief exchange, the first EMT stood and unfurled a body bag.
Oh shit . . . A hollow sensation in Kira’s abdomen, as if she’d been cored out. She took a slow, deep breath and let it all pass through. None of this had anything to do with her. She just showed up and did her job, same as anyone else.
“You may approach the judge, if you are able.” The voice of the lead ward stirred Kira to action. The trek back seemed longer than the path she’d taken on the way out, even though the diagonal route was shorter. Diana greeted her with a pat on the shoulder. “Good job.”
Kira nodded in acknowledgment. “Thanks.”
Kira returned her gear to the ward. After a brief inspection, he set it on the judge’s table.
An EMT arrived. “Ms. Clark, I need to examine you. There was a discharge on the field. Please raise your arms.” The technician walked around her and patted her down, confirming her lack of injury.
The exam complete, Kira let her mind wander. She was done, except for the formality of hearing the judge’s pronouncement. Technically, the presence of either the combatant or their second was enough to make it official, but unless they were injured, combatants were expected to stay. Kira mimicked Diana’s pose: relaxed but alert, arms behind her, focused on nothing in particular and staying out of the way while others did their work.
Back in Rusty’s kill box, the EMT who had examined Kira returned dragging a rolled-up stretcher behind him. After laying out the carrier, the two EMTs moved to opposite ends of the body bag, grasped the handles, and lifted it into place. When it was secure, they picked up the poles and shuffled Rusty’s mortal coil off the field.
By long-standing agreement, producers never included any aspect of handling a body on match video. All but the most bloodthirsty fans found it too upsetting.
With the field clear, the ward directed Rusty’s second back to the judge’s table to hear the ruling. The man walked slowly, with his head down.
A stab of pain, like a runner’s stitch, struck low in Kira’s rib cage. She cleared it with a cleansing breath. It’s OK, it’s OK, it’s OK. We’re all just doing our jobs.
Kira assumed her place in front of the judge and Rusty’s second shambled into the position Rusty had occupied a few minutes before. Was he crying? Who had Rusty been to him, anyway? Friend? Brother? Cousin? Kira focused on her boots. Everyone here chose to be here. They were all playing out the consequences of their decisions. Responsible adults.
The judge stood to make the match’s concluding statement.
“As judge in this contest, I have inspected all reports pertaining to it, heard all appeals and objections, and observed the event in person. Based on these observations and reports, I declare this to be a fair combat under the laws of the United States and the rules of the National Association for Dueling. I declare the outcome to be a victory for TKC Insurance through their representative, Kira Clark. This judgment is final and there can be no further appeals.”
Diana set the data pad’s display for a close-up of Kira’s toe on the kill box boundary line. “Did you realize how close you were?”
For the fourth time during the post-match debrief, Kira leaned across the tiny briefing room worktable to study the data pad. Flop sweat rendered her uniform damp and clammy, Chloe was waiting in the Gunslinger’s Lounge, but Kira wasn’t going anywhere until Diana said they were done. Best to come clean. “I knew I was tight, but I thought I had more room than that.”
Diana tapped her handset. “Position awareness is on the agenda for our next session.” She folded the data pad shut and put it away.
Hallelujah.
Diana shifted to a more conversational tone. “We have things to work on, but I meant what I said—that was a good debut. Your strategy was sound, you executed well, and you scored a clean kill. You stayed calm, too. Sometimes that’s the hardest part.” Diana reached into her gear bag. “Before I forget.” She handed Kira a cellophane packet with an enamel pin inside. “Congratulations. You’ve earned it.”
“Thanks.” The word sounded hollow in her ears. Kira stared at the pin, a red circle with the black silhouette of a dueling pistol on it. Fastened to the collar of her Guild jacket, it would tell the world she was a proven veteran. At least, that’s what it meant to Guild members. To others, it merely marked her as a proven killer. She put the pin in her purse.
Diana sat up a little straighter, then folded her arms and leaned across the table, her expression a bit too casual to be genuinely casual. “So, how was he in the waiting room?”
Kira straightened. “About like he was on the field—total asshole. Yelled at me the whole time, called me a bitch and I don’t know what else. Went on and on about how badly he was getting ripped off and how I was part of it.” Kira made a dismissive flick. “On top of everything else, he was gun fetishist. He kept rattling on about all the weapons in his gun safe at home, like that was going to help him on the field.”
“So, an easy guy to shoot.” Diana’s expression remained a bit too focused.
“Oh yeah. When I was a waitress, I had to put up with that crap.” Kira slapped the spot on her leg where the holster had been. “Today, I didn’t have to.”
Diana’s muscles softened, and she backed off a little. “You drew a good opponent for your first match. Sometimes they’re more sympathetic.”
Kira mirrored her mentor’s relaxation.
Diana continued. “Still, you took a life today. How do you feel about that?”
Kira shrugged. “It’s like we said in training. He made a choice to come here. He could have accepted the arbitration ruling, but he took his chance and came up against me. Bad day for him.”
Skepticism flickered across Diana’s face. Was it because Kira was reciting Diana’s own words back to her, or in spite of it?
Diana tapped her finger on the worktable. “If that’s how you feel, well and good. But you don’t have to wear the ice princess mask with me.”
Kira managed not to respond with open derision. Where did Diana get off telling anybody to remove their mask? Her second had a more carefully-curated face than anyone Kira had ever known.
Diana let several seconds of silence unfold, which Kira refused to fill. With a small sigh, the older woman produced her handset. “I’m sending you the contact information for Loretta Davis. She’s a private psychologist, but the Guild has her on retainer. She’s covered by your dues. If you want to talk, she’s there, she’s free, and she’s confidential.” From the depths of her oversize purse, Kira’s handset chirped to acknowledge new information.
“OK, but I really don’t think I need it.”
“Maybe not, but you’re no longer unbloodied. Chances are you’ll need it sometime. It can be good to have someone to talk to.”
Again, the deliberate silence. Again, Kira refused to speak.
Diana put the data pad into her gear bag. “We’re done. Your forty-eight hours off starts now. Be at Firing Point Four at noon on Wednesday and we’ll do some work on shooting from the midpoint of your draw. Your next opponent might not be as slow.” Diana’s thumbs worked
her handset, and Kira’s device chirped again, affirming the appointment. Diana gathered her gear bag and opened the door. Kira grabbed her purse and followed.
“Any special plans for your first break?”
“Chloe and I are getting together for drinks at the Lounge as soon as I get cleaned up.”
“Good choice.”
Kira picked up her pace to keep up with Diana. “It’s tough to make plans with anybody else when you don’t know if you’ll be alive or not.”
“Get used to that.” They stopped at the door of the locker room. Diana pointed down the hall to the cafeteria. “I’m going to snag an early lunch, then I’ve got a simulator session with Dave the rest of the afternoon. Enjoy yourself. You did well. And say hi to Chloe for me.”
“Thanks. I will.”
In the empty locker room, Kira sat on a bench and shivered in her still-damp uniform. It was over. She’d played Death’s Angel for Rusty Cunningham, the staff of the match, and maybe a couple hundred people on the live vid feed. If nothing else, it provided some footage to support her agent’s quest to find a sponsor. She’d followed up with forty minutes of Kira Clark, Dutiful Student for Diana. Now, she was done.
An image of Rusty’s body flashed across her mind. He lay flat in the kill box, felled by her bullet. Wait. Not her bullet. Not Kira’s. The projectile belonged to Death’s Angel. The part required a quick, accurate shot, and she’d played her part. Don’t like the outcome? Take it up with the director. Or maybe the writer. Not her.
So how come your hands are shaking?
She retreated into a focus-on-the-breath exercise. The first came in a ragged gasp that threatened to turn into a sob. So did the second. The third was better, smoother. Tension departed with the exhaled air. Gradually, the breaths became longer and more even. Passing through. It was all just passing through. When she finished, her breath and her heartbeat were both slow and regular. She opened her locker, shed the uniform, and wrapped herself in a towel. When she’d stuffed the uniform in her laundry sack, she extracted her shower kit.
It would feel good to be clean.
At the Lounge, Chloe hailed Kira from a booth near the bar. “Hey, I saw it on the feed. You were great!”
Kira grinned. “Thanks.”
“What did Diana say?”
“She said it was OK. There are some things we’ll work on, but she thought it was a good debut.”
“She said the same thing to me, even though I didn’t get a kill.”
Kira shrugged. “You knocked your guy down before he even got a shot off. That’s more than I can say.”
Chloe made a face. “Like your guy had a real shot. The vid guys said he put it in the pseudograss five feet in front of him. That’s not a shot, that’s just going for the trigger too soon and getting hit.”
A waiter appeared carrying a glass of amber liquid with a little ice. “Angel’s Envy for Ms. Clark?”
Chloe grinned. “Just like you did for me.” She raised her glass, the cherry still floating in the yellowish liquid of her whiskey sour. “What should we drink to?”
Kira lifted her glass to the same height as Chloe’s. “To victory.”
Chloe’s grin broadened, and they clinked their glasses together. “To victory!”
Kira sipped and savored the liquid heat spreading across her tongue and down her throat. She took a second, longer pull from the drink, and the buzz made its way to her brain.
Before she could take her third sip, Jenkins entered and parked in his usual spot on the barstool farthest left. Kira studied the big, heavy redheaded man for a few seconds and turned to Chloe. “I’m still betting IT department.”
Chloe eyed him. “I think he’s a janitor over at the Guild’s local office.”
“That’s all contract. They have a different union.”
“OK, well, maybe he’s one of the lawyers, then.”
Kira laughed and snorted. “Stop that. You nearly made whiskey come out my nose.”
No one seemed to know Jenkins’s exact role. So far, they’d established that he wasn’t a professional gunfighter, he never acted like anyone’s second, and he wasn’t a trainer. But he appeared almost daily, held down his barstool, spoke little, and ordered a steady stream of drinks and bar food before wandering out a couple hours later. He wasn’t listed on the official roster of Guild staff, but that only covered officers, managers, and people who worked with members, like the shop stewards. Still, no one ever challenged his presence, so his mystery deepened with each appearance.
Kira looked over her shoulder again. “We could just walk up and ask.”
Chloe wrinkled her nose. “He’s mean to everybody and smells bad.” Chloe’s face brightened, and she pointed to a vid monitor off on the right. “Hey look, they’re doing your replay already.”
The match vid picked up with Kira standing in front of the judge, waiting for permission to put her gear on. Her opponent entered, and after Kira’s crack about the head shot, he looked as if he was about to say something, but was cut off by the judge’s signal for attention. The split view of the match showed Kira’s opponent a little slower than her through every step. For the exchange of fire, they started with a shot from behind Kira and over her shoulder from a slight angle. On her muzzle flash, they zoomed in close on Rusty. During debrief, Diana said Kira’s bullet punched straight through his heart and spine, and he probably hadn’t even felt the pseudograss when he hit it. However, the slow motion on this view showed him feeling something. Shock? Disbelief? Fear? He might be reacting to the muzzle flash rather than the sensation of being struck, but he certainly realized what was happening. The camera zoomed back and up to show the work of the EMTs and the ward, with her on the inset, waiting.
The vid replay ended, and Kira held an empty glass. The alcohol made her head heavy and thick, as though she wore a protective helmet. She punched another order into the table.
“So, what do you want to do tonight?” Chloe sounded tentative.
Kira considered. What did she really want to do? Thoughts came. “Drink. Go out. Dance with unsuitable men far into the night.”
Chloe fidgeted with her glass. “Well, I guess we can do that.”
Kira scowled. “Don’t overwhelm me with enthusiasm. What do you want to do?”
“Well, we haven’t seen Desi in ages. I haven’t even met his new girlfriend.”
Kira rolled that over in her mind. One part of her pulled for the normality and domestic comfort of the visit. It was a work night for Desi, so they’d be doing nothing wilder than snacks and vid before turning in early. The other part of her pulled toward the clubs on Court Avenue—deafening dance music, strong drinks, and people she didn’t know. Invisibility, oblivion, and no guarantees on where or how the night would end.
“Gunfighter’s Long Island Iced Tea for Kira Clark?” The waiter hovered uncertainly, waiting for a sign. Kira raised her palm, and the waiter placed the drink in front of her.
Chloe frowned. “It’s only three in the afternoon.”
“I know.” Kira took a long drink.
Chloe’s frown deepened. “You’re not going to last into the night if you keep this up. You know what’s in those, right?”
“Triple sec, gin, vodka, tequila, and white rum, plus some flavorings so it doesn’t kill you outright.” Kira took another long drink. “Exactly what I want right now.”
Across the table, Chloe fidgeted some more.
Kira pulled herself together, trying to be persuasive. “Look, we’ve been good the whole time we were in training. We deserve to cut loose a little bit. We’re real gunfighters now.”
And maybe that’s why you want to be someplace where nobody knows who you are, and you want to drink until you forget what you’ve done. Kira quashed the thought and gave Chloe an expectant look.
Chloe shifted in her seat and looked at her hands. “OK, maybe you’re right. Maybe we do deserve a little fun. We can at least see what’s out there.”
She’d have to drag
Chloe into the evening, but at least Chloe was willing to be dragged. “Yeah. I heard Charlie’s on Court is hot, even on weeknights. Let me finish this, and we’ll go.”
Kira hefted her drink. I’m gonna shotgun this Long Island Iced Tea, and everything is going to be fine. Just fine . . .
Chapter 14
“You may don your gear.”
Reacting to the judge’s order, the wards cross to the table’s front, where they dole out equipment randomly selected from the four available sets. Diana and the ward both behave as if this is an ordinary match, instead of the highest-stakes duel in the past three years and the second-largest vid audience ever.
In response, probably just as Diana intends, Kira settles into the routine—fit the gun belt, set the holster, and keep a straight face during the little tickle on her thigh as Diana puts the stabilizing strap in place. Kira loads a bullet into the pistol’s breech and closes the action, receiving both a satisfying click and a faint whiff of gun oil in return.
Her ward tests the sensors while Diana watches. The draw sensor and the motion sensor behave correctly, both inside and outside the kill box. The ward runs through it all on pure routine, right down to the reminder that if she reholsters before firing, she forfeits her right to shoot.
Set the safety, holster the weapon, and Kira’s task is complete. The ward studies his readout and confirms the sensors have reset. Diana ratifies the results with her thumbprint.
At the judge’s signal, the ward assumes his place on the sideline of Kira’s side of the field. Diana makes her way to a spot next to the EMT, behind the plastic shield.
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