Riker looked fixedly at the captain.
Maddox scowled, with blood rushing to his face so he blushed crimson. “This is impertinence, Sergeant. I won’t stand for it. Either speak or get out of the way—before I cut you down.”
“Uh, sir,” Riker whispered, “you know you can’t defeat him, right?”
“The hell you say.”
“Unless…” Riker whispered.
Maddox blinked, and maybe he listened just a bit more. “Unless what?”
“You’ve already lost your composure, sir. This fight is for your mother and father. Don’t you want to be at your best, sir?”
Maddox blinked, blinked again and raised the saber as if strike Riker down. Instead, he lowered the blade and turned away as he attempted to practice the Way of the Pilgrim. It would not come, however. Maddox closed his eyes, seeking calm but only feeling the fire in his mind, the intense desire to kill Emperor Trahey and right the wrongs—
Maddox inhaled as deeply as he could. He held his breath, finding it impossible to think. He exhaled slowly and still could not focus his roaring thoughts. Why couldn’t he think? Why was he so…emotional about all this? He’d never known his mother and father. The Emperor had stolen them from him.
“Come now,” the Emperor said. “If you’ve lost your courage, admit it. I’ll let you back down.”
Maddox whirled around, and his eyes burned with hate. This was unlike him. This was elemental. He wanted vengeance and something more. All the hurt and pain of his childhood had swarmed upon him. It was uncanny. Emperor Trahey—
“No,” Maddox whispered. “I must master this hate.” It dawned on him then. His mother and father would want him to fight with excellence. They would want him to win. He must win above all else. Nothing else mattered.
“Win,” Maddox said, and he practiced the Way of the Pilgrim. He let the rage fueling him drain away from his brain. It still throbbed in his limbs. He could feel it, but he rode the rage, the tiger, with his iron will. He was Captain Maddox. He was the best of Star Watch. He was the di-far, and he was about to change the fate of humanity with this duel.
“Yes,” Maddox said, facing the Emperor, raising his saber before him in an ancient salute. “I challenge you, sir, for your throne.”
“My throne?” the Emperor asked. “You think you can rule the Throne World?”
“After defeating you fairly and honorably, yes, I do.”
The Emperor studied him, nodding finally. “You have my blood in your veins, Captain Maddox. Perhaps it was wrong slaying Oran as I did. Come. Kill me if you are able. Let us cross steel, you and I, and see which of us is the better man.”
-89-
The others moved away to give them room as Captain Maddox and Emperor Trahey approached each other warily.
“You cannot defeat me,” Trahey said.
“You forget, Sire,” Maddox said in a mocking voice. “Balron trained me, too. Venna dominated you. I shall as well.”
Trahey stared at Maddox, and with a shout, he leapt like a great feline, his saber flashing.
The clash of blades produced a blur of steel as Trahey strove to hack Maddox into bloody chunks and as Maddox fought to defend himself. Perhaps Venna had shamed the mighty Emperor of the Throne World. Perhaps Trahey wished to purge himself of the shame with Maddox’s life. If so, the captain’s gambit had succeeded. Now, he merely had to stay alive a few minutes as the Emperor expelled himself in a fit of berserk rage.
The display of swordsmanship was marvelous to behold. Maddox parried, cut, parried again and backpedalled. It was an astonishing performance as Emperor Trahey wove an intoxicating web of steel, trying to penetrate the captain’s guard.
Sweat soon drenched Maddox. If he hadn’t had the extra energy of the Erills, he never could have performed at this intense pace for so long. Without the sixth sense bequeathed by Balron, he would have fallen to a half a dozen of Trahey’s cunning stratagems. Maddox exuded in this, moving, dodging, thinking and feeling the shiver up his arm at each of the Emperor’s smashing swings. It did not seem that a half-breed could keep this up for long. The New Man, the greatest duelist of the age, attacked with zeal, with fire, with verve and endless strength. Was he a berserker? He moved and lunged, shifting and slashing with the seeming recklessness of one.
And then it began to don on Ural and Riker and maybe the Methuselah Men. Maddox fought superbly. The Emperor fought like a demon in human flesh. Trahey did not tire. He did not slow down. The man, the superman, indeed had something extra. It was more than amazing. It bordered on the supernatural.
Clearly, even the Supreme Intelligence must have understood the captain’s plan. He’d goaded the Emperor into stark raging battle frenzy, hoping, perhaps, to tire the magnificent swordsman as he expended power at a prodigious rate.
“You cannot win,” Trahey said with his teeth clenched.
Maddox was going to try nevertheless. But he realized upon hearing the Emperor speak that despite everything, the man was still under control. Trahey fought as he did on purpose, with planning and understanding, not just madness.
At that point, a certain desperation entered Maddox’s swordplay. He did not move as surely as just a few short moments ago. He strove harder, for the first time beginning to struggle to match the Emperor’s relentless attack.
A stratagem began in Maddox’s brain, however, brought about no doubt by the sixth sense. It would be a risk, and it might mean permanent scarring. But if he could achieve it—
Maddox lunged with lightning speed.
For the first time, the Emperor not only parried but took a step back.
Maddox laughed, and he left a tiny opening in his guard, hoping the Emperor would take it. The New Man did, lunging himself now. Maddox twirled his saber to capture the other’s sword and wrench it out of his grip, leaving Trahey defenseless.
Instead, the Emperor countered the disarm attempt as if he’d expected Maddox’s ploy. To Maddox’s horror, he felt the hilt slipping free of his sweaty grip. And then, the sword left his hand, twirling up into the air.
Maddox backpedalled fast.
The Emperor did not follow. Instead, he reached up and caught the captain’s sword as it fell. Now, Trahey held two sabers, not just one.
“Well?” the Emperor asked triumphantly.
Maddox panted helplessly.
“Bah! What honor is there in this?” The Emperor tossed the saber to Maddox.
The captain reached up—and noticed the Emperor lunging and attacking. This was a trick, a ploy. Maddox reached faster and grabbed the sword. At the same time, Trahey’s saber flashed with deadly intent. The blade sliced through muscle, fat tissues, bone and more muscle and fat. The razor-sharp blade sliced through Maddox’s forearm. His hand, wrist and half of his forearm fell to the floor.
Maddox staggered back horrified, clutching his ruined arm as blood spurted from it. He was maimed, defeated—about to die. He looked up, seeing Trahey before him, the man’s sword tip at his throat.
“Do you yield?” Trahey said, with his chest heaving and sweat soaking him.
The shock of the maiming hadn’t yet fully penetrated the captain’s mind. He did not feel any pain—that would come soon, if he lived. There was a roaring sound in Maddox’s ears. He could not conceive of defeat. His vision swam, and he saw Ludendorff staring at him in horrified surprise as if from a great distance.
“Say yea or nay, Captain,” Trahey said. “Do you yield? Tell me now.”
Maddox saw triumph and glee in Trahey’s eyes, and he knew if he did not speak, he would indeed die.
“I yield,” Maddox whispered, as he cradled his bloody, maimed arm, as the shock of his injury welled up.
The Emperor stepped back and saluted him. “I am astonished, sir. You fought magnificently. Your father would have been proud. I name you his full son indeed. There is not another superior that could have beaten you today—except for me. I am the Emperor of the Throne World. Do you acknowledge that?”
&nb
sp; Maddox swayed as his vision began to blot out before him. He knees might buckle at any second. Blood still poured from his ruined limb. He heard himself whisper, “Yes.” What did ‘yes’ mean in this case?
The Emperor turned to Ural. “Do you admit it, cousin?”
Ural looked up from the severed hand and saber on the floor. He nodded slowly.
“Say it,” Trahey said, his eyes glowing triumphantly.
“You are the Emperor,” Ural said. “Even I could not have fought as well as my nephew just did.”
The Emperor lowered his bloodied saber. “Concerning your inquest, Supreme Intelligence, am I guilty of any crime against you or the Builders?”
Maddox collapsed, crashing to the floor. He sat numbly. He had lost, and he had lost his good right hand.
“Supreme Intelligence?” asked Trahey.
“You are not guilty of any crime I know,” the Supreme Intelligence said. “Not against me, anyway. You are free to leave.”
“May I ask a boon?”
“Yes, yes, you can certainly ask,” the Supreme Intelligence said.
“I led our expedition to the Library Planet in search of a cure for us on the Throne World,” Trahey said. “We cannot sire females, only males. Methuselah Man Strand believed he could find genetic data here to render us capable of finally siring females. Would you grant us that data?”
“If I did, would you take your leave?” the Supreme Intelligence asked.
“Yes, gladly,” the Emperor said. He glanced at Maddox. “I am finished here.”
“I will grant you the boon,” the Supreme Intelligence said, “as it fits into my new larger plan. What about Captain Maddox and his party?”
“Maddox fought well,” Trahey said, as he studied the numb captain. “He impressed me, and I am sad that I caused his father’s death. I give Captain Maddox his life, if he’ll take it. If he will end this vendetta against me here and now—not that I think he can ever do anything more against me, not with his…injury.”
“Captain?” the Supreme Intelligence said.
Maddox felt faint. He’d lost a lot of blood. He was sick with defeat, and the pain of his maiming made it difficult to form thoughts. How could this have happened? He had been so certain that he could defeat the Emperor. He had fought better than he ever had, and yet, Trahey had beaten him. In fact, it had not even been close.
“Captain?” the Supreme Intelligence asked again. “Do you understand us?”
“Yes,” Maddox heard himself say. He felt small and weak, far away from the others. He did not want to shame himself, though. Losing his hand was bad enough. “I am satisfied with the Emperor. We fought man to man according to the Throne World code, and he won the duel. I will honor the code, doing so in my father and mother’s names.”
“Ah,” the Emperor said. “I accept. You are free to leave the Library Planet as far as I am concerned.” Trahey faced Ural. “I am not so pleased with you, cousin.”
“He stays with me,” the Supreme Intelligence said.
Both Ural and Trahey looked at the giant screen with surprise.
“I need him,” the Supreme Intelligence explained. “I need him for a time, at least. After he is done here, Ural will be free to go elsewhere.”
“If you stay,” the Emperor told Ural, “you cannot return to the Throne World. All your lands and titles will be forfeit due to your treachery by aiding and abetting the enemy.”
A dull feeling of pain touched Ural, but he refused to show it. He was quite certain it was death to return to the flotilla with the Emperor.
“I freely stay here,” Ural said.
“So be it,” Trahey said. “Strand, what is your choice?”
“I want to join you, Sire,” Strand said. “With the necessary genetic information—with my help, Sire, you will create the greatest empire the universe has ever seen.”
Trahey nodded. “Such is my intent.” He faced the giant screen. “When can I leave?”
A computer slate appeared at Methuselah Man Strand’s feet.
“The genetic data lies in there,” the Supreme Intelligence said. “Take it and go. I wish you well.”
The Emperor bowed at the waist, glanced once more at Ural, then motioned to Strand. Together, the two of them started crossing the distance, following a set of blinking lights.
Ural turned to the Supreme Intelligence. “Did you mean what you said about me?”
“A moment,” the Supreme Intelligence said. “I desire to wait until the Emperor and Strand have left. Once they are fully gone, I will announce the findings of my inquest to you remaining four.”
For Maddox, the shock of events finally overcame his senses. The maiming, the loss of blood, the staggering expenditure of energy fighting as he had—Maddox fainted dead away, falling unconscious onto the floor.
-90-
Maddox didn’t know which was worse, the maiming itself or the awful defeat at the hands of the Emperor of the New Men. A defeat by the best shouldn’t have been so galling. Maddox had faced physical conquest at the hands of other New Men before. This time, he’d fought for his mother and father. This time, he’d had extra Erill energy. He’d also gained from Balron’s training, possessing a heightened sixth sense. None of that had proven enough. He had lost, and Trahey had crippled him.
“I’m a cripple,” Maddox said softly.
After saying that, it donned on him that he no longer lay on the floor. He found himself on a soft bed with a blanket drawn over his body.
How had that happened? He strove to open his eyes but failed miserably.
Failure, defeat, maiming—
“No,” Maddox whispered. Trahey had defeated him. That was a fact. The man had proven better at the duel, with greater speed, strength and stamina, and—cunning. The Emperor had used a clever ploy, playing upon the old saw of tossing his opponent the sword he’d lost.
Maddox struggled once more to open his eyes, and as before, he failed.
Did one failure mark a man? Was he the di-far because he never lost? Wasn’t that setting himself up for an impossible goal?
Who among men never failed?
No. That was unreasonable. Emperor Trahey belonged to a culture that used the duel for many purposes. The man must have practiced constantly. Maddox had practiced some, having dueled on occasion on Earth. But how could Maddox reasonably expect to dominate the very best duelist of the Throne World? He had fought superbly. He recalled his Uncle Ural having said so. He had fought and lost, and lost part of his forearm, wrist and right hand.
A soldier and even a spy lost sometimes. That was life. It was getting back up that counted. Yes, yes, Maddox recalled reading a paragraph about the training of medieval knights.
The man who feels the thud of a fist against his chin, the clash of his teeth and the ache in his jaw, the dashing of a club upon his head and is thrown down, falling to the ground, groaning in pain, and yet gets up to fight again, even as the agony throbs through him, he has the makings of a knight.
There was another old saying. Never trust a man who hasn’t been punched in the face.
But I lost part of my arm.
That was bad. There was no denying that. And yet, couldn’t modern science give him a bionic forearm and hand? Sergeant Riker had prosthetics. He wouldn’t remain a cripple his entire life.
But I’m Captain Maddox. I don’t lose.
Uh, yes you do, sometimes. It happens. How are you going to react to that? Are you going to get back up and fight again?
“Yes,” Maddox said.
He would get back up. He would continue to hunt for his mother and father’s killers. Under the code of the duel, he’d faced Trahey man to man. He’d yielded the point of honor to the Emperor. Trahey had given him his life. Maddox would respect and adhere to the finding of the contest.
There were the others, however: Artaxerxes Par and Samos of Thetis. Lord Drakos was dead, and there were two others dead as well. He would deal with Artaxerxes Par and Samos of Thetis. He could
gain satisfaction from them—in the future.
First, he had to get better. He had to wake the hell up and find out what had happened. What was wrong with him that he couldn’t open his eyes? He felt the bed’s softness, the cover over his bare torso.
Now…Maddox did not struggle harder. A great heaviness settled upon him and the conscious thought—if that’s what it had been—dissipated as he once more fell into deep slumber.
***
Maddox awoke with a start, staring up at a ceiling. The place felt familiar. He groaned as he attempted to sit up but failed.
There was a rustling of fabric, and Meta loomed over him. Her eyes were puffy, her glorious blonde hair in disarray around her face. She smiled down at him.
“Meta,” he whispered.
“Oh, darling,” she whispered, touching a cheek. “How are you feeling?”
“Groggy. Where am I?”
“Medical.”
“On Victory?” he asked, surprised.
She frowned. “Yes, of course. Don’t you remember what happened to you?”
“No.”
“You told them to bring you here.”
“I did?” Maddox became alert. Was this a trick? Was he still on the Library Planet with the Supreme Intelligence trying to pry secrets out of him? Oh, the clever Supreme Intelligence—the computer entity would have to do better than this, though.
“Don’t scowl like that,” Meta said. “You’re safe. Are you sure you don’t remember what happened?”
Maddox shook his head. Was he really in medical aboard Victory? He would wait and see. The Supreme Intelligence would make a slip somewhere.
“You achieved a miracle for us, darling. Professor Ludendorff was stunned. Your grandmother is waiting to see you. She’s better, completely better, with her mind one hundred percent restored. We have the professor to thank for that.”
Maddox blinked in confusion. This had to be a trick. He recalled none of these things. How did the Supreme Intelligence think he would fall for any of this? He sneered, deciding to get stubborn about it.
The Lost Secret Page 47