by Terry Mixon
He held himself fully erect as, for the third time in his life, he found himself face to face with the pirate warlord called the Terror.
“My chrono tells me it’s almost noon Sol Standard,” Brad said over his helmet speakers. “High noon. Fitting, isn’t it?”
“You really are a fool,” the Terror said softly. “You should’ve run when you had a chance.”
“I’ve hunted you down and destroyed your base. Now I’m going to kill you. Perhaps you should run. Coward.”
“Bases can be rebuilt,” the Terror snarled. “But you have hurt the Cadre. Worse than Fleet has in years of trying. Thousands dead, decades of work destroyed. You’ve frustrated us at every turn and you just keep refusing to die.”
Brad drew his mono-blade and activated it. “I believe you have a chance to make that happen right now. Shall we remove our helmets and duel face to face? I’d like to see the damage I caused last time, One-Eye.”
The pirate yanked his helmet off with another snarl and tossed it aside. “Take a good look at the man who will end you, Madrid.”
One of his troopers stepped up and helped Brad get his helmet off. That was good, since his off hand was still subpar.
While he did, Brad drank in the damage he’d done to the Terror’s face. One of the man’s eyes was not just artificial but blatantly so. A metal patch covered two-thirds of one side of his face, with optical receivers where his eye should have been.
The Terror drew and activated his own mono-blade. “Say your final prayers, Madrid.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Under the atrium dome’s flickering lights, the two men circled one another. The dome seemed an incongruous place for a fight to the death, filled with plants and sporting a basketball court.
A circle of pirates had gathered around them, at least a hundred strong. Brad’s men watched them closely, but he had no illusions about his survivability after the fight ended.
That didn’t matter. Only killing the Terror and saving Michelle mattered.
“It ends today,” the Terror told him flatly, raising his blade to guard. “You won’t leave this place alive. How’s that arm I cut off? Weak? Hard to control?”
Brad smiled coldly, raising his blade, crossing his arms as he did so and touching a hidden spot on the suit’s wrist. For a moment, he half-heard the hum of the mono-filament bracer as it spread into specially prepared tubes that lined his sleeve.
From the outside, his shield was invisible. With the tubes controlling the flex of the monofilament, his arm was safe from accidental injury. The only set of circumstances that would reveal it was if he used it to block a strike.
With his hidden defense active and another trick up his other sleeve, one he hoped he didn’t need, he was as ready as he’d ever be.
“One of us will die here,” Brad agreed. “Let’s see who the fates have chosen.”
Brad was taller and had a longer reach than the pirate, but past experience had taught him that the other man was much stronger and almost as fast. Plus, the Terror didn’t have a crippled hand.
Silence descended as the two men continued to circle one other on the marked-out lines of the basketball court, both holding their weapons at the ready and utterly focused on their opponent.
Brad let the world flow away, ignoring the stars overhead, the plants, and surrounding circle of pirates. His world consisted entirely of his opponent.
The slight shift of the Terror’s feet warned Brad an instant before the Terror attacked. He deflected the lunging strike to the side as the pirate sailed through the air at him, and then parried it entirely as the Terror activated his boots and stopped abruptly, attempting to convert the thrust into a slash.
The pirate spun away, slightly off-balance, and Brad stepped in, trying to take advantage. He flicked his blade at the pirate, trying to keep the man unsteady, but the Terror parried him three times in a row and then converted his increased imbalance into a spin-kick toward Brad’s head.
Brad barely managed to catch the kick in his bad hand, his reflexes nearly betraying him. For a moment, they held a tableau with the Terror’s boot in Brad’s hand, and then the Terror deactivated the field in his other boot and brought it up in a kick that caught Brad in the chest.
The impact knocked Brad back several steps, allowing the Terror to come to an even landing. Before the Terror had finished, however, Brad was attacking again, his blade flickering out in a lethally complex pattern.
The Terror held his own for a moment and then was forced back a step. Then another. A ripple spread through the watching crowd, but before Brad could press his advantage further, the pirate chief sent his free hand flashing out in a perfect straight-on punch.
Brad’s delayed reflexes in his left arm failed to catch the blow, and it was his turn to be knocked off-balance. The Terror, like Brad, pressed his advantage, driving in for a series of blows Brad barely managed to stop.
For a half-moment, Brad regained his balance, just to see the Terror lunging in with the same nearly unblockable attack that had crippled him last time. In one swift motion, Brad deactivated his grav-boots and leapt away from the blade.
He arced over an intervening wall of vegetation and landed in another clear zone. He activated his boots, readied his blade, and waited for the Terror’s arrival.
Apparently unwilling to risk the jump, the Terror slashed his way through the plants. For a single instant as he cleared the last of them, he was open, and Brad attacked.
The Terror managed to interpose his own blade and caused the attack to slide off his arm, leaving a gouge through the pirate’s suit arm that slowly began to turn red.
“That’s just the beginning,” Brad promised, pressing his attack. “I’ll have your blood even if I have to take it one drop at a time.”
The Terror blocked, and for a moment, the two blades locked together.
Unwilling to risk a match of strength, Brad kicked out, catching the Terror in the side of his knee. The pirate’s leg buckled and Brad slashed again.
The Terror deflected his strike and pulled himself back to his feet, but Brad continued attacking. The Terror fell back a step. Then another.
Brad intercepted the man’s lashing foot with his left hand and sent the Terror spinning away. He followed the pirate, pressing his attack. Blade crashed on blade, but he could feel the older man weakening. This fight was almost over.
“Are you afraid yet?” he asked as his blade took off the hair on one side of the Terror’s head.
The Terror didn’t reply, desperately parrying Brad’s next series of attacks. He stopped them all, but only at the price of a slash across the chest. While shallow, it also began to slowly leak red.
“I’m what you made me,” Brad said, driving the Terror back another half-dozen steps with a flurry of blows. “I am vengeance.”
The Terror botched a parry and sent Brad’s blade into his own leg. Another minor cut, but they were adding up. It was time to end this.
Brad launched the same attack the Terror had used on Blackhawk Station. The attack that was unstoppable if perfectly executed. Brad did it perfectly.
The Terror blocked it anyway.
With a stunningly loud electrical discharge, the Terror’s blade slashed through the very top of Brad’s mono-blade handle. The filament went flashing across the room to behead a pirate. Somehow, Brad didn’t think the dead man appreciated the lethal pratfall.
Brad threw the useless hunk of metal at the Terror and slowly retreated. Time for the plan of last resort. He stripped his gloves off as the grinning Terror swaggered closer.
“You’ll die just like all the rest,” the Terror told him. “No one will even remember your name, Madrid.”
“Not Madrid,” Brad said, sliding his right thumb up along his knuckles. “Mantruso. Brad Mantruso.”
That made the Terror’s natural eye widen. “Well, well. That is a surprise. I thought I killed you on your uncle’s ship. Sent you Dutchman. This is a right fitting duel afte
r all. We’ve been enemies all this time. Now you join the rest of your traitorous brood.”
The Terror struck. A mighty, two-handed blow from above. Nothing but a mono-filament blade could stop it.
Brad threw his left arm up into the path of the descending strike, praying that his shield held.
With the distinctive hiss-crack of blade-on-blade contact, the pirate’s mono-blade hit the bracer concealed under the vac-suit’s sleeve and rebounded.
Even as the Terror stared at him in shock, Brad activated the mono-claws that Saburo had forced him to learn over the last three years and threw himself at the pirate warlord. He used his shield to block a last-minute strike as he slashed the claws across the Terror’s throat. Blood splashed everywhere and momentarily blinded him.
Going totally defensive, Brad staggered back, desperately wiping at his eyes with his left hand. When he could see again, the Terror was miraculously still on his feet—but his shocked expression slowly clouding with death.
The pirate’s body hit the floor, and whatever paralysis had held the pirates failed. Dozens of weapons swung up, bearing on Brad with what would surely be lethal finality.
His troopers raised their own weapons, and Brad could see Trista and her people taking aim unseen from behind the pirates.
The momentary freeze wavered but held right up until the airlock behind Brad blew in, utterly vaporized by a shaped charge. Out of the smoke came dozens of white-armored figures, and a voice bellowed over every com frequency.
“Fleet Marines. Drop your weapons or die!”
Brad deactivated his weapon and raised his hands, stunned at the unexpected arrivals. He gestured for his men to follow suit.
The Marines suppressed what little resistance there was with brutally efficient automatic weapons fire. Only once they had everyone on their knees did the Fleet officer in command of the force enter the atrium. It was a man Brad knew…a fitting man to be here at the end of everything.
Captain Mark Fields commanded the cruiser Freedom and had saved Brad from the Dutchman the Terror had sent him on when they’d first met.
He held out a hand to Brad and lifted him to his feet. “It’s good to see you in one piece, Madrid,” he said as he stared at the Terror’s corpse. “Though I wish you’d trusted us a little more. You’ve left us quite the mess to clean up.”
“How are you here?” Brad asked. “We only sent word of the base’s location a day ago.”
“You seem to forget cruisers can be stealthed. We were following you all the way from Mars, just in case you needed help.”
“Shouldn’t you have mentioned that little detail?”
“Not my call.” The Fleet officer looked around at the devastated atrium. “I expected you to find the base and call for help. When we saw how tough this place was, I was ready to hang with you until the help you called arrived. But then you attacked.
“Sweet Everlit, where in Darkness did you get nukes?”
“From the transport,” Brad said. “They were bringing a load of them to this base. I’m guessing it wouldn’t be the first set, either.”
Fields shook his head in disbelief. “You laid out a textbook run on them. Wiped out every defense before they could fire on you. Dark, before they could even know they were in danger. It was brilliant. And so Darkness-damned stupid.”
With a long face, the Fleet officer gestured for a Marine to approach. “Brad Madrid, under general order seventeen, the unauthorized possession and use of a nuclear device, I am forced to place you under arrest. I cannot tell you how unhappy that makes me.”
“We all do what we have to do,” Brad said. “Don’t be sorry for me. I got the vengeance I wanted. I only hope that I achieved the salvation I craved, too. I was responsible. Leave my crew out of this.”
“That’s the least I can do, considering.”
As the first Marine was cuffing Brad, another came up and spoke to Fields. “We have some people outside the temporary airlock, sir. They insist they be allowed in to see this man.”
“Let them in,” Fields said tiredly. “And get me an update on clearing the base.”
Moments later, two figures in Vikings vac-suits came in with their helmets off. One was Falcone. The other was Michelle.
Brad tried to step toward her, but the Marine holding his shackles held him tight. That did nothing to stop Michelle from rushing to his side and throwing her arms around him.
“Thank Everlight you came for me,” she sobbed. “I’ve been so scared.”
“Did they hurt you?” he asked, reveling in the feel of her against him.
“No. The Terror wouldn’t let them, though he promised all kinds of things once he’d killed you.”
That’s when she noticed Brad’s arms were restrained. “What the fuck is this? Have you lost your minds? He’s a hero. Take those off this very instant!”
“I wish I could, ma’am,” Fields said. “That’s above my paygrade. You’re absolutely right about him being a hero, though.”
He gave Brad a sad look. “And that’s going to make this a damned mess for the poor bastards who have to sort it out. What a public relations nightmare. Arresting the man who took out the Terror and broke the Cadre.”
“I’m not so sure that’s entirely true,” Brad said quietly. “I haven’t seen Jack Mader or the Terror’s flagship, much less all those ships they had at Blackhawk Station.”
Fields grunted. “True. The Cadre isn’t dead, but you’ve cut its head off.”
Brad shook his head. “I cut out its heart. I’ve suspected Jack Mader was its head for a long while. What happens now?”
“We get your people back to your ship and I take you to Freedom. Then we wait for Commodore Bailey to get here and sort this out.”
“Just out of curiosity, what is the maximum penalty for violating general order seventeen?”
“Death,” Fields said grimly.
Chapter Thirty-Two
The room they put Brad in aboard the cruiser closely resembled the room he’d occupied so many years before. In fact, he suspected it was the very same room.
The Marine guards outside his quarters made it perfectly clear that he was a prisoner. There was no anvil-vat this time, and his room’s computer was locked down tight. They’d confiscated his wrist-comp along with his weapons, so he had a lot of time to think over the next two weeks.
They did allow his crew to visit and even allowed Michelle to have private time that they assured him was unmonitored. They put those brief moments to good use. Neither of them knew for sure how many they had left.
The time he had to think filled itself with what the Cadre would do next. He’d long suspected that there was no way the Cadre could have survived as long as it had without support somewhere in the Commonwealth’s government.
A chill ran up his spine at the thought of the reaction of Cadre’s quiet patrons to the violent destruction of the pirate base. They would have their revenge; of that he was sure. They might even get it through the legal process they were about to subject him to.
Well, whatever happened happened. Nothing he could do at this point would change the outcome. He had taken his bloody vengeance and it would have to be enough.
A soft chime announced a visitor. Odd. Michelle had just left and he wasn’t expecting anyone until Jason and Shelly came over for dinner. And he normally had no control over the door.
He rose to his feet and pressed the button to open the door. It slid aside. Outside stood Falcone, Commodore Bailey, and Senator Barnes.
Judgement time was at hand, it seemed.
“It seems kind of odd to invite someone into a prison cell,” he said dryly, “but please come in.”
Once his visitors were in and had seated themselves, Brad closed the door on the Marine guards outside. “I don’t have a lot to offer in the way of refreshments. Nothing, really.”
“I think drinks are the least of our worries,” Bailey said bluntly. “Everdark, but you know how to fuck up a wet dream, Madri
d. Nukes. Holy shit.” The last was accompanied by a disbelieving shake of her head.
“Admiral Weber sent me out on Eternal to make sure we’ve cleaned the Cadre out the area and to deal with your violation of general order seventeen.”
Brad sat on the edge of his bed. “You must be pleased to finally get out of Mars orbit.”
“Is this really the time to be snarky?”
He held up his hands. “Sorry. I couldn’t help myself. Is this a tribunal set to determine my fate?”
“It is,” Senator Barnes said flatly. “General order seventeen isn’t just a Fleet regulation. It’s also reflected in the Commonwealth charter. That brings me here as the closest handy Commonwealth official. One that is high enough to be able to speak for the Commonwealth as a whole.
“Agent Falcone, though in some trouble herself, has been tasked to speak for the Commonwealth Investigative Agency. They’re the closest we have to Commonwealth-wide law enforcement. We three cover all aspects of the offended parties and can render judgement.”
“Not that I want to,” Falcone said sadly. “I warned you, Brad. Using nukes was something you couldn’t walk back.”
“I’m told that Captain Fields found the remains of nukes on several of the asteroid defensive stations,” he ventured. “I don’t suppose there can be an element of self-defense to this, can there?”
“No,” Bailey said curtly. “Two wrongs do not a right make. The judgement of this tribunal is only over your own use of prohibited weapons.”
He leaned back a little more and looked at them silently for a moment. “Shouldn’t I have a lawyer present? If this is an official tribunal, I have the right to defend myself.”
“The law allows no defense for what you’ve done,” Barnes said tiredly. “You gave the orders. We have your bridge recordings. The proof is incontrovertible. A lawyer won’t change one damned thing.”
“Lawyers usually only make things worse,” Falcone added.
“I’m not quite sure how one makes a death sentence worse,” Brad opined. “If I ask for a lawyer, do you torture me first?”