by Terry Mixon
He unslung his shotgun and handed it to her. Silence reigned over the com circuits behind him as he calmly made his way forward, his hands empty.
The pirates were gathering for a final rush just around the corner. He could hear someone barking orders.
He stopped short of visual contact and activated the speaker in his helmet. “My name is Brad Madrid. Who among you is man enough to face me blade to blade? I challenge your leader to a duel to the death. Right here, right now.”
He smiled coldly behind his faceplate. There was no way the pirate leading this part of the attack could refuse a challenge phrased like that. His men would never follow his orders again if he did.
A figure in a black armored vac-suit stepped around the corner, mono-blade coming to life. He took two steps forward and stopped, bowing slightly toward Brad.
“How could I possibly refuse such a thoughtful invitation, Mr. Madrid? Well, well. Jack is going to be quite angry that he missed you.”
The cold, gravelly voice was one Brad still heard in his nightmares. It was the Terror. The man who’d taken Shari, his uncle, his friends, and now Michelle.
The time for vengeance was at hand.
Chapter Twelve
“I guessed that Mader was your man,” Brad said conversationally as a number of pirates stepped out cautiously to watch the duel. “Thanks for the confirmation. It must’ve really pissed you off when I blew his cover. And when I cut the throats of your slaver allies.”
The Terror chuckled. “Jack has his purposes, even when not embedded in the Governor’s office. Losing that placement was very annoying, but I have people in a lot of places. Which is how your name came to my ears in the first place.
“I don’t mind telling you this because you won’t survive to tell anyone else. And, as much as I’d like to chat, I’m in a bit of a hurry. It’s time for you to die.”
“I couldn’t have said it better myself,” Brad said as he drew his mono-blade and activated it. “You killed someone very important to me when you blew up that diver on the way in. I’ll have your head for it.”
The Terror stepped in, his blade flashing around in a glittering arc. Brad easily interposed his own blade between the strike and himself. Using the rebound of the weapons, he spun away from the Terror and then lunged in an attack of his own.
The Cadre leader deflected his attack and counterattacked with the blinding speed that Brad remembered from the engineering compartment on Mandrake’s Heart.
The speed of the blow might have taken Brad Mantruso’s head, but Brad Madrid had put in countless hours of practice in anticipation of this moment. Which didn’t mean this fight was easy, but it gave him a chance.
The wound in his side wasn’t helping, though. It slowed his responses and he found himself unconsciously favoring it. A weakness the Terror exploited.
The Terror drove Brad back one slow step at a time. He was holding his own right up until the moment that he stumbled over one of the bodies on the deck.
That brought the pirate chieftain in fast, his blade slashing at Brad as he scrambled back and rolled for his life. The strike swept through where his chest had been just a moment before. That he managed to get back to his feet was a testament to his skill.
As much as it galled him, he had to admit that the Terror was still a better bladesman than him. But skill didn’t always carry the day. Brad parried again, twisting his blade back in to launch an attack of his own.
This forced the pirate warlord to retreat just one step.
Brad pressed his advantage, not giving the man even a moment to recover. Three times he lunged at the Terror, and three times the bastard managed to avoid or parry the blow. On the third strike, the pirate parried from the inside, using the rebound of the blades to send Brad’s weapon swinging out, leaving Brad exposed.
He tried to follow up, but Brad used an advanced technique he’d been working on with Marshal and Saburo to interpose his own blade and execute a lightning-fast riposte.
He almost took the man’s head, but the pirate ducked at the very last moment, losing only the top edge of his armored vac-suit helmet.
“What’s wrong?” Brad asked in a mocking tone, allowing his hatred of the man who’d destroyed his first life full reign. “Getting slow in your old age?”
The Terror snarled and advanced, his blade lashing out in a series of brutally vicious attacks.
Brad parried each attack as it came and then stepped inside the Terror’s guard and smashed the hilt of his blade into the pirate’s faceplate. Before he could bring the filament into play, the Terror’s armored knee hammered into his injured side.
His vac-suit armor absorbed most of the blow, but intense pain made him stagger back. The Terror advanced, trying to take advantage of the stumble with a quick slash. Brad parried it and used the rebound to push himself still farther away.
For a moment, the two combatants separated, each regaining their breath. Then Brad raised his left hand and made a come-hither gesture.
“What’s holding you back?” he taunted. “Checking your watch? Do you have somewhere you need to be?”
The warlord snarled and lunged in, his blade striking out in a textbook-perfect lethal strike.
Brad managed to interpose his blade, deflecting the attack, but nothing could have stopped that strike entirely. Searing pain ripped through his left arm as the pirate’s blade took his arm off just below the elbow.
The intense agony drove him to his knees. The Terror stepped forward and brought his blade hurtling down in a death blow meant to take Brad’s head.
Somehow, Brad managed to bring his blade up to parry the strike, but the Terror struck again and again.
Then, at the moment of his potential death, Brad saw an opening. The pirate’s imminent victory had robbed him of some of his caution as he tried to end the fight now.
Brad smashed his blade into the side of the Terror’s just enough to deflect the next strike into the floor, leaving the man momentarily off balance just a little.
For one instant, the Terror was overextended, his entire body open.
Before the Terror could recover, Brad struck with all his remaining strength and skill.
It still wasn’t enough to kill the bastard. The Terror flinched aside at the last moment and got his blade back in just enough to stop Brad from taking the top of his head off.
That didn’t mean he emerged unscathed, however. Brad’s almost-lethal blow sliced through the Terror’s helmet and deeply scored his jaw, cheek, and right eye in a glittering flash of light and blood.
With a scream, the Terror staggered back even as Brad struggled to his feet. The strike had come at the right angle to shear the faceplate off the man’s helmet, and Brad could see that half the nerves and bones in his enemy’s face were gone. Blood ran from his ruined eye socket.
Brad longed to pursue him and end this, but the loss of blood from his severed arm was making him dizzy. If he didn’t stop it, he’d die before he got the vengeance he craved.
He managed to get a patch out and covered his stump. Even so, he wavered on his feet, just on the razor’s edge of collapse.
The surprise upset had broken the will of some of the pirates. Some were beginning to slip away, no doubt headed back for their ships. Before the Terror could recover enough to come at him, the mood had shifted and his men were in retreat.
For a long moment, Brad and the Terror faced one other across the body-strewn corridor. Both grievously wounded, but each with his blade at ready.
“This isn’t over,” The Terror said. “We swore a fight to the death, you and I. I’ll come for you or make you come to me. This will not go unanswered.”
Before Brad could respond, the pirate warlord shut down his blade and turned. Two of his men made to help him and were struck for their impudence. Moments later, all the pirates were gone. To Brad’s astonishment, none of the surviving security forces had shot at the pirates as they retreated.
The attack on Blackhawk was over.
> Brad tried to turn and walk back to the barricade, but his vision wavered. The corridor seemed to lose its orientation, and he dropped his blade from nerveless fingers. Simon raced toward him, but the world went dark before she reached his side.
He came back to consciousness with a groan. He reached across his body with his right hand and found his left hand there but strangely unfeeling. Had he dreamed losing it?
“You’re awake?” Shelly asked, her worried face popping into view over his.
“How long?” he asked, his throat dry and scratchy. “Where am I? What happened?”
“You’re aboard Heart. The medical center on Blackhawk is swamped. The doctor said he had far too many critically wounded to give you the attention you deserved, but he talked a nurse through reattaching your arm.
“He said it’s quite possibly the worst limb reattachment that could be deemed successful by some measure. The nerves are still severed, but the blood vessels are connected. That will keep it alive.
“Unfortunately, you’ll need a lot better facility than he has here to regenerate the nerves and correct some of the deficiencies in the reattachment. Something better than on the Fleet ships, too. A first-class facility.”
Brad nodded and shaded his eyes with his good hand. “I need a stim.”
“No, you don’t. You should rest.”
“Stim, Shelly,” he said coldly. “Now.”
She hesitated for another second, then sighed theatrically before turning to the cabinets and extracting a packet. She handed him the pill and a glass of water. “I still don’t think this is a good idea.”
“Neither do I, but it’s necessary.”
He downed the pill and stood. Too quickly, as it turned out, and Shelly had to grab him.
“Everlit, sir, you’re only going to do more harm this way.”
“I need to get to the bridge.” He hooked his good arm around her shoulders to support himself and gestured toward the hatch. “Now.”
Shelly sighed again and helped him walk forward.
Upon reaching the bridge, Brad slid thankfully off her arm into his command chair. “How far away are the pirate ships?”
“Most are an hour away and accelerating,” Shelly said. “They’ll get clear before Fleet can catch them.”
She smiled a bit coldly. “But they didn’t get away clean. Blackhawk got their weapons platforms back online while the pirates were still barely within range. That cost them another two dozen ships.”
That was something, but it would never make up for the losses he and his people had suffered today.
“Did Trista make it?” he asked quietly. “She was the last trooper standing out of our squad.”
Jason nodded. “Didn’t get a scratch. She’s on her way now. Someone named Simon from station security pulled her away, or she’d have already been back aboard. What happened over there?”
“I dueled the Terror and almost lost.”
“I heard a little. You hurt him bad.”
“He lost an eye and part of his face. I suspect I’ll have a nice bounty on my head before too much longer.”
Shelly opened her mouth to say something, but her console chimed. “Trista is back aboard. She says she’s on her way up.”
When he heard the sound of footsteps in the corridor a minute later, he turned to ask her how she was and froze.
Trista stood in the hatchway, but she wasn’t alone. With his arm around her shoulders stood Saburo.
The mercenary officer smiled wryly. “If only you could see your face, Commodore. It’s most unbecoming of a flag officer to gape.”
“I saw you die,” Brad said, feeling a bit numb.
“No,” he said, gesturing at his bandaged thigh. “You saw me gravely wounded. I managed to grab onto a wall in the support column and pull myself to safety. Thankfully, I escaped before you destroyed the bridge and sent debris all through the area.”
“I thought I’d lost you, too,” Brad said hoarsely.
“We all lost someone,” Saburo said softly. “Or something. Did your skill with the blade come up a little…short?”
In spite of himself, Brad chuckled. “It’s still too soon. At least I have the chance of getting some use back. You should see the other guy.”
Shelly’s console chimed again. She checked it and gave it a double take. “Incoming call, sir. For you by name.”
“Lieutenant Simon?” he asked.
“No, sir,” she said. “It’s from one of the pirate ships.”
He grunted. “Why can’t they stop themselves from gloating about escaping or heaping threats of retribution on us? Put them on.”
The main screen switched from a view of Blackhawk Station to the bridge of a ship. Sitting in the command seat was the Terror. He’d allowed someone to bandage his face, but the scar Brad had inflicted was going to be epic. The man’s remaining eye radiated hot rage.
“Isn’t it a bit soon to start bragging?” Brad asked with a sarcastic smile. “Can’t you see that I’ve got my hands full?”
He raised his bandaged limb, hoping the man thought it was in better shape than it really was.
“You think you’re clever,” the pirate warlord snarled. “But I can wipe that smile off your face.”
He grinned like a shark. “I’ve been going over every moment of our encounter. Every word you said. You mentioned the diver ship that attacked us. How you’d lost someone important to you.”
“And that’s what you want to gloat about?” Brad asked coldly. “I haven’t begun to make you pay for what you’ve taken from me.”
“There you go, making assumptions,” the pirate said. “You seem to have a bad habit of doing that. You see, not everyone from the diver died when we blew its engines.
“I had a ship stop to pick up any survivors. I wanted to make them suffer for what they’d done to me. That’s borne unexpected fruit.”
He reached off to the side and dragged Michelle into view. Her face was deeply bruised and her arm was in a sling, but she was alive. Someone had tied her up and gagged her. Her eyes were filled with terror.
Brad stood as quickly as he could, matching fear filling him. Was the bastard about to murder his lover right in front of his eyes? He didn’t know if he could stand losing her twice.
“Now, I’m sure your mind is filled with the possibilities of what I will do to this pretty thing,” the Terror drawled slowly, obviously savoring every word. “Your lover, perhaps? You have excellent taste, if so.
“Put that fear aside. You see, I have no intention of harming her right now. She’s the bait for my trap. If you want to see her leave my company in one piece, you’ll need to find me within the next six months.”
“What?” Brad asked, unsure of what was happening.
“We have unfinished business, you and I. The duel was to the death and I will not allow you to simply walk away. Yet I refuse to make your work easy. You have six months to find my base—something no one has managed to do with years of searching!—and present yourself to finish our fight.
“That should allow us both an opportunity to recover. I won’t want to be called unsporting. Believe it or not, the Cadre has a code that dictates how we deal with duels. I mean to see it done right.”
Brad shook his head, trying to clear his mind. “I don’t believe you. You won’t wait. You’ll send your thugs after me.”
The pirate laughed. “Of course I will! If you can’t keep yourself alive, that’s your problem. If you don’t stand before me in six months with your blade in hand, I’ll cut off something she values and send it to your office on Io.
“And I’ll keep doing that every few weeks until there’s nothing left of her. She’ll die by inches, and you won’t be able to do anything but run like a coward. Just remember that every moment of peace you enjoy from this moment forward is at your lover’s expense.”
The screen blanked, leaving him gaping. Michelle was alive, but he had to do the impossible to save her.
So be it. He
wouldn’t let the Terror take one more person from him while he had breath left in his body.
Chapter Thirteen
As much as he wanted to take off after the Terror, Brad knew that was a fool’s errand. Even the Fleet cruisers and their escorts weren’t going to be able to bring them to battle.
Even if he did catch them, he had no ground forces worthy of the name to board with. Saburo wasn’t fit to fight and neither was he. That left Trista as their boarding team.
No, that wasn’t going to work. There was nothing he could do but grit his teeth and prepare for the next meeting with the Terror.
And there would be one. Of that there was no doubt. He’d find the Cadre base before Michelle’s time ran out or die trying.
The Fleet ships eventually broke off their useless pursuit and headed for Blackhawk. When they did, Brad finally allowed Shelly to bully him back to the sickbay. Though he wouldn’t admit it, he was hollow inside. Physically and emotionally.
Then the stim wore off and he found out exactly how right Shelly had been. Taking it had been a serious lapse in judgement.
Three hours later, when he almost felt human again, Lieutenant Simon came by to check up on him. She looked around the sickbay curiously as he sat up blearily on the bed.
“It’s bigger than I expected,” she said. “I always figured compartments on a ship would be smaller.”
“This is pretty small,” he said as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. “What’s wrong?”
“Thankfully, nothing. I’ve been placed in provisional command of what’s left of Blackhawk Security. Based on some of the looks I’ve seen from management, that probably won’t last, but they don’t have a lot of options right now. None of the other officers survived.
“Commodore Wilson of the Seventh Cruiser Battle Group wants to meet with us on his ship as soon as he gets here. That’s maybe half an hour from now. I figured I should give you the warning and help you get there. Unless you want to tell him you can’t make it.”
She looked pointedly at his arm. “I talked to the doctor. He told me what he did. It was a raw deal, considering everything you did for us, but the choice was literally your arm or someone’s life. He regrets having to make that choice but wouldn’t do anything differently if he had a chance to do it over.”