by Alan Black
The referee shouted, “This is the last match. All comers have been defeated so winner takes all. We are indeed lucky the Gambion is in orbit so we have trained military competing here today.” The man didn’t look as if he felt lucky. He flicked on his stun stick and swung it about a few times as if he hoped for an opportunity to use it on York or Balderano. “Do you gentlemen remember the rules?”
York shrugged, “None that are worth remembering.”
Balderano walked across the ring and held his hand out for a knuckle bump from York. When they were close enough, he said in a voice only York would hear, “It’s a court-martial offense to strike a senior officer. Remember that, budger.”
“Are you sure you can do this by yourself, sir? Do you need to call in some of your friends to back you up?”
“Keep your mouth shut, budger. You can stand there and take your beating or quit like the coward you are. This is a direct order.”
York sighed knowing this should be an easy fight. The two were approximately the same size and weight, yet York had been working hard in the gym. He doubted Balderano had ever done more than exercise his butt in a sim chair. None of Balderano’s physical size or conditioning took into account he hadn’t ever been able to best York in any hand-to-hand competition. However, the order had been given, he wasn’t to strike back. So he wouldn’t … yet.
The referee shouted, “If you ladies are done gossiping, go at it.”
York flexed his knees and drew in his chin.
Balderano raised himself up on his toes, dancing and shuffling his feet like some ancient boxer from hundreds of years ago. He threw a punch at York’s face. York ducked and twisted, letting the blow pass by his ear. Balderano threw three quick punches at York’s head. The crowd gasped as it looked like all three blows landed. York easily flicked all three away with slaps from his hand.
York grabbed Balderano’s wrist as a punch flicked past his temple. He dropped his shoulder, turned and threw Balderano across the ring. The throw was light. A first year cadet would be able to roll back into a fighting stance. Balderano was much better trained than a first year cadet. He rolled up and came at York, throwing punch after punch shouting, “Is some weak-assed judo throw all you got, Ensign? I’ve seen better fighting from my six year old sister, Ensign. Are you going to cry and call your mama, Ensign?”
York flicked the punches away with ease, except for one managing to slice through his defenses and graze his chin. He felt nothing but anger. He couldn’t fight back beyond a few defensive moves without disobeying the direct order he’d received. Balderano calling him ‘ensign’ was a clear reminder York was outranked and striking back would have severe consequences. Self-defense was permissible, but the man had his dog pack at his back, manipulating the video database wouldn’t even be necessary with this many witnesses against York.
He threw a leg between Balderano’s legs and grabbed him behind the head. It was the perfect position to throw a few hard knees into the man’s midsection. Instead he pushed Balderano down and back away from him, hooking an ankle behind a foot, sending him crashing onto the ground. In a real fight, York would have pounced while the man was down. Knocking a man down and then waiting politely for him to get up was a foolish strategy. York was a firm believer in knocking a man down, keeping him down, and pounding him until he can’t get up again. Still, under orders not to fight back, he stood and let Balderano get back to his feet.
Balderano shouted, “He tripped me.”
The referee shrugged. “You wanna quit because of it? No? You don’t get no sympathy from me.”
Balderano rushed York, swinging wildly. York slipped out of the way and pushed him hard into the ropes. The man bounced back and threw a spinning back kick at York’s head.
York’s head wasn’t where Balderano aimed. He had ducked, twisted, and caught the man by the heel, holding his foot high in the air, causing Balderano to hop on one leg trying to keep his balance. York could have easily disabled the man by breaking his knee, dislocating his hip, or simply smashing a knee into his testicles. Instead, he simply pushed him away.
The referee snorted, “You girls done dancin’ or are you ready to start fighting?”
Fugget shouted, “Wait a minute, ref.”
The referee shouted, “Shut up, Fugget. There ain’t no ‘wait a minute’ in freestyle wrestling.”
Balderano took the distraction as an attempt to get a punch through York’s defenses. He couldn’t and ended up sitting on his back side with York ten feet away. It looked as if York was waiting patiently, but he was seething inside. Balderano would pay for this.
The referee said, “Contestants want to grant a quick minute to Jim Fugget, past planetary freestyle wrestling champion?”
York was surprised. He knew Fugget was tough. A past champion was nothing to sneeze at. He nodded.
Balderano shouted, “The hell I will. I got him right where I want him.” The obviously self-delusional comment brought a few chuckles from the experienced spectators. He rushed York again, getting a quick blow through to crunch against York’s mouth, splitting it and spurting blood. His next three punches whiffed the air, doing more damage to his own endurance than York’s minor deflections cost him.
York wondered if he could just outlast Balderano, dodging punches until the man wore himself out and went away. This wasn’t a match scored on points. This was last man standing wins. He did a quick hip check, sending Balderano crashing to the ground.
Balderano said, “Okay. All this is making me thirsty. Let’s give the coward a break.”
Fugget leapt into the ring. “What the hell is going on, York? I watched you train at the station’s gym and I’ve watched you fight. This should’ve been over a long time ago. You aren’t getting paid by the hour here.”
York, not bothering to keep his voice low, said loudly enough for anyone to hear, “I’ve been ordered by a senior officer not to strike back under penalty of court-martial.” He’d been told not to fight back, but Balderano hadn’t told him to keep the orders to himself. Besides, there wasn’t anything Fugget could do to get the order rescinded. None of the planetary reserve officers could order the active duty military to do anything. York’s own supervisor’s could have the order retracted, but neither Paul nor Blaque had left the station. Any higher-ranking officer from the Gambion could change the order. York doubted any would.
Fugget signaled Harp Brown. “Sir, Ensign Junior Grade Sixteen has informed me he was ordered not to hit Ensign Senior Grade Balderano or else be brought up on charges.” He emphasized the ‘junior’ and ‘senior’ in order to emphasize the ranks involved. “Is this what passes for honor these days?”
Brown shook his head, “Ensign Balderano, did you order Sixteen to not fight back?”
“Of course not, sir.” Balderano said. York wanted to chuckle as the man was a horrible poker player and everyone over the age of six, and a few younger, could tell he wasn’t being honest. “He’s a budger and you know they can’t help themselves but lie.”
The word budger brought a blanket of silence over the crowd. The inhabitants of Liberty were touchy about the political implications of the word and more than half of the lower enlisted ratings had come from the bottom rung of the Republic’s class structure.
Brown said, “Be that as it may be. From this point forward, I’m instructing both contestants to give this their best. We are the Navy and we don’t pull punches. There will be no retribution against Ensign Sixteen for any hits on Ensign Balderano. Are my instructions clear?”
“Yes, sir,” York replied. Balderano just nodded his agreement with little grace.
Fugget said, “Ref, it’s back to you.”
Without waiting for a signal, Balderano raced across the ring, executing a perfect flying scissor’s kick. York did the only thing he could think of, step back, let the man pass by and hit him in the head just as hard as he could on the way past. Balderano crumpled to the ground, sliding into a heap amid a small cloud of dust. H
e lay there not moving.
York looked at the referee. The referee looked at Balderano’s motionless form and pointed at York, “Winner. Damn, son, I wish you’d have done this quicker. My beer is getting warm.”
People rushed into the ring, pushing and shoving, quickly surrounded York, some to get at Balderano to help him, some to pat York on the back. He wasn’t comfortable with the crowd, so he clamped his jaw shut, letting the tide of people wash over him. The Fuggets and the Browns formed a small ring around him, keeping most people far enough away that all they could reach was a quick pat on the shoulder.
Samdon slid in behind York, edging between Fugget and Mimi. His voice was low enough it didn’t carry far over the crowd noise. “You’re going to pay for this, budger. I don’t know where or when, but I will bury your ass.”
York spun about and looked into Samdon’s eyes. He didn’t make any attempt to keep his voice quiet. “I’m right here if you want to try me. Oh, wait. I forget, you’re the kind of man who likes to hit people when they aren’t looking.” He glanced at Kenna and froze. The woman was still sitting in the bleachers where Samdon had left her. She wasn’t making any move to leave or even look at the people around her. He was close enough to look into her eyes. Her face had the long distance blankness of people who are seeing nothing near and everything else was beyond their visual range. He’d seen the look more than once as a child. Drugs!
Kenna hadn’t appeared to be a heavy user, yet he had to admit his only contact with her was the two weeks the reserve unit had been on the station. They’d been friendly, but not friends. He certainly hadn’t assumed their friendship extended to the hugging stage he’d endured earlier at her hands. It’d been uncomfortable for him to be wrapped in an attractive women’s arms. However, it hadn’t been as uncomfortable as he told himself it should have been. He didn’t like to be touched much less hugged with enthusiasm. It hadn’t been a sexual contact. Anything so close and personal as sex might make him vomit. It’d appeared to be just one friend hugging another. He didn’t feel friendship for her or did he? He wondered why it bothered him to see her so zoned out.
The doctor had finally gotten Balderano on his feet, ushering him out of the ring with the help of his friends. He fought through the crowd to get to York and asked, “You need medical attention?”
York shook his head. He put a hand on Samdon’s face and shoved, sending Samdon crashing through the crowd onto the ground, taking a couple of his dog pack friends with him.
York said, “I’m fine, but please get Miss Altamont somewhere where you can check her over.”
Mimi turned to look in Kenna’s direction. She shouted, “What the hell? Kenna, tell me you’re okay.”
Kenna’s voice was flat and dull as she said, “I’m okay.”
Mimi said, “Kenna, you have to come with me and the doctor.”
Kenna said, “Okay, I’ll come with you and the doctor.” Before she could stand and make her way through the crowd, Samdon and his friends were by her side. Samdon whispered in her ear.
She said, “I’m fine. I’m going with him.” She was quickly ushered out of the bleachers and was lost in the crowd.
Fugget snapped on his dataport and called Kenna’s family. Sadie asked, “York, what is it? What’s wrong? She said she was fine.”
York shook his head, “It isn’t for me to say, though I think the local authorities might want Lieutenant Samdon to stick around for some questions about his relationship to Kenna Altamont. I certainly think the doctor should run some toxicology tests on her, just to be safe.”
Brown looked around, his face growing dark and cloudy, but Samdon, Balderano and the dog pack had disappeared into the crowds. “I’ll go see if I can locate our Lieutenant Samdon.”
Word spread quickly around Saorsa City like a pebble thrown in a pond. It came bouncing back just as fast as a wave rebounding off a nearby shore. Samdon, Balderano, Kenna, and the dog pack had disappeared. Some said they took the shuttle back to their ship, some said they took a rented floater off into parts unknown and some said whatever she was into was her own fault for associating with upper class off-worlders.
NINETEEN
York sat quietly for the rest of the afternoon listening to the argument going on around him. There were voices shouting for a posse to go after the dog pack and other voices shouting that the young officers hadn’t done anything worth going after. No one could prove Kenna Altamont had or hadn’t gone with them of her own volition. They tried sending comms signals to the rented floater, but received no response. No one was shouting for someone to simply look up their GPS location and go check on them.
York finally asked about tracking them by GPS. He was surprised to learn each floater, truck, vehicle, car, flitter, and shuttle had a tracking system with software in place to stop anyone, even the government and police, from accessing the data unless a person was already convicted of a crime and running away. Using GPS to track someone was a direct violation of their planetary personal privacy code. He was further shocked to learn Liberty had no full time police or criminal investigators. A long list of voluntary deputies dealt with criminal action. Some deputies continued to argue for doing nothing at all while other police volunteers were ready to bring out the nukes.
Captain Altamont and his son Toby were ready to go find Kenna and drag her home if necessary. The law prevented them from learning where the dog pack might have taken her. Both man and boy were more than angry, but restrained by calmer heads around them. Everyone was cognizant of the potential political ramifications that may result from a third level colony government jumping the gun and accusing primary world’s upper class military officers of any impropriety, much less kidnapping … or worse.
Tensions all across the festival worsened throughout the day. Fistfights and shoving matches broke out all over until the Gambion cancelled all liberty. York’s leave hadn’t been cancelled, apparently Commander Paul didn’t care if he came back or not. The Gambion’s command staff admitted the dog pack hadn’t responded to their hale and their rented floater’s GPS signal was turned off.
York nodded to Fugget, who was no longer just Mister Jim Fugget or even Master Chief James Fugget. He was Voluntary Police SWAT Commander J. Fugget. With a nod, York silently suggested they talk outside. Fugget was reluctant to leave the meeting, as he was the most vocal of the group calling for a planet-wide search.
Once outside, York said, “Fugget, I’m not contributing here. Half of the people in Saorsa City look at my uniform and automatically lump me in with Samdon, Balderano and their clique. The other half looks at me and assumes I’m stonewalling you just like the Gambion.”
“Do you want me to get Ernie to give you a lift back up to the station?”
“No. I think I’d like to see more of the planet. I’d just like to get away from people for a while until things resolve themselves.”
Fugget nodded. “You could rent a flitter from Bob’s Used Transports or you could just borrow my car. I assume you can fly. The keys are in it. Just check in with me every now and again so I know you’re all right. There are some mighty rough and wild parts to Liberty yet. Human eyes haven’t even seen some parts. I know you’re tough, but be careful.”
York said, “Thank you. I won’t go far. You mentioned something about some big waterfall?”
Fugget said, “Yep, it’s a quiet spot probably with nobody there this time of year. The elevation is high enough to freeze at night, but the back seat of the car folds down into a comfortable bed. The coordinates are in the nav system. Keys are in the car. I just gotta—”
York interrupted. “I know, you have to get back. I’ll leave my radio and GPS on, so if there’s anything I can do to help, you call me.”
Fugget pointed at the pistol still strapped to York’s waist. “Be careful what you shoot with your little handgun. There are creatures in the Torso Mountains who’ll only get pissed off if you shoot them with such a tiny peashooter. Grab something bigger from the cabin
et before you head out.”
It didn’t take him long to grab a heavy rifle to compliment the small pistol. He grabbed a few other things from around the Fugget’s floater and guided the car through the roof’s garage door. Vesper whined loudly at being left behind, but he didn’t want her along. He easily found a GPS location bookmarked for a Torso Mountain waterfall. He set the nav system on automatics and dialed up his secure link to the Em.T-Sp8s computers. The biometrics readout in the car easily shook hands with the secure military systems. Planetary rules or not, he called up the GPS location of the dog pack’s rental floater. The signal was off. Nevertheless, the system gave him the tracking history prior to it going silent. If the station’s sensors had been on active, he could have tracked where they had gone even with their GPS off. The station couldn’t read any planetary activity using only passive scans.
He overlaid the dog pack’s last location on a planetary map and saw they’d been hovering in an area called the Yavapai Steppes farther north than the Torso Mountains. Geographically, it was an area of high rims and canyons caused by successive tectonic quakes shoving up massive escarpments higher and higher into a series of thousand yard high steps extending for a hundred miles. Over the centuries, small streams and creeks cut deep into the high rim rocks creating waterfalls and throwing ten-ton boulders around like autumn leaves.
York didn’t expect to find the dog pack or Kenna Altamont at their last GPS marker. Shutting off his own GPS and radio, he set the automatics to their last known location. It’d be a good place to start his search. He’d had the same training as the missing officers. He knew if they were hiding, they would pick a direction and move after shutting down their signal. He also knew most people, whether by deliberate choice or by rote action, turned right.