by Paul Darrow
Avon accepted the coins.
“Go now!” The old man coughed as he spoke. “Paroch will guide you.”
“Thank you,” Avon said.
“For what?”
Avon shrugged. “For sparing my life perhaps?”
“I don’t think I’ve spared you anything!”
4
Fulfilling expectations, the Federation ordered a withdrawal from Nereid, which now became a stronghold of sorts for dissidents, rebels, revolutionaries, political refugees and, inevitably, murderers and other fugitives from justice.
Avon and Sabbath, neither having fired a shot in anger, returned to Earth and the Iron School.
The Coordinator reported to Reiss that Avon had conducted himself well throughout the abortive campaign, but that the true test of his mettle was still to come.
Anna Grant was gone. She was unwilling to return to the rigid atmosphere of the elite training ground, Sabbath said. She preferred the pleasures offered by the many mansions of Lupus.
Avon brooded.
On his second day on Earth after the retreat from Nereid, he received a visitor.
The stranger was a representative of one of the nine families. A family that controlled a business essential to Federation well being—money.
Maco, a slight, thin, sickly man, wore deep-lensed spectacles to compensate for fast-failing eyesight. As a member of the Seventh family, he was one of those who supervised the banking system and protected the Federation reserves of precious stones and metals.
He seemed subservient, but there was an edge to his voice and a kind of authority in his magnified eyes.
“It has been brought to my attention,” he said, “that you have, shall we say, a flair for, and an understanding of, the science of mathematics. That you comprehend the philosophy of the subject and do not consider it a matter of mere figures.”
“I could almost describe it as an art,” Avon interrupted.
Maco smiled approvingly. “Quite.”
Avon waited for him to continue and his guest shifted uncomfortably in his chair as he opened a file and tried to read it with the limited assistance of his lenses. “You are rather young,” he said. “Twenty-six Earth years.”
“More or less.”
“What does that mean?” Maco said sharply. “Mathematics requires you to be precise.”
“Very well, I’m twenty-six Earth years.”
“You look older.”
“I’ve led an interesting life.”
“Please, don’t be flippant.”
“Then, why don’t you say what you have come to say?”
“I shall.”
Avon poured his visitor a glass of Saturn wine. He drank water himself. This did not go unnoticed.
“You are probably aware,” Maco said, somewhat pompously, “that the Federation has experienced a certain amount of, shall we say, turmoil over the last decade. Fortunately, there are those among the families who are able and prepared to pluck order from chaos and who are equally prepared to utilize their talents for the benefit of all.”
“But mainly for themselves!”
Maco smiled slightly. “Quite! I see that we have something in common.”
Avon refurbished his drink.
Maco assumed a serious expression. “You have no family?”
“Not any more.”
“Good. I mean, I am sorry, but good from our point of view.”
“Which is?”
“We would like, shall we say, to adopt you.”
“The Federation seems prepared to adopt everyone.”
“The Federation creates many orphans.”
“And wishes to be the mother of its invention.”
“Quite!”
“Who sent you?”
“I thought I mentioned I was from the Seventh family?”
“You didn’t, but I believe you. I ask again, who sent you?”
Maco smiled secretively. “Vasht.”
“How am I supposed to react?” Avon asked casually.
“You can accept the offer.”
“What exactly does it entail?”
Maco folded his hands in his lap and assumed the aura of a stern grandparent. “I will introduce you to the mysteries of high finance. If you prove an apt student, I will unravel them for you. Once you are, shall we say, qualified, you will serve the Federation and, of course, be of especial service to the Seventh family.”
“Are there any, shall we say, additional services expected of me?”
Maco spread his hands in a gesture that suggested what he was about to say was of little importance. “The family business needs protection. Your other talents will provide that.”
“You mean I’m considered suitable for the ranks of the Seventh family’s Killer men?”
“How quickly you grasp the situation.”
“I take it you are having problems with the other families?”
Again, Maco shifted uncomfortably. “In a word—yes!”
“There have been rumors.”
Maco became quite animated. “Since the wars for Uranus, there have been many shifts in power and influence. For the moment, and I trust it is only a moment, Blanca and Pel Gros control, as it were, the reins of terror.”
At the mention of Pel Gros, Avon’s eyes narrowed. Again, this did not go unnoticed.
Maco continued, “Our family is becoming a little tired of playing second fiddle to the White Cobra and his lover. We seek our place—how shall I put it?—our place in the sun.”
“A worthy ambition.”
“I’m glad you think so. However, ambition must be made of sterner stuff than we are at present. So, we turn to you and others like you. Will you favor us by joining the family?”
“If I do, will this be a disfavor to Pel Gros?”
“Indubitably.”
“In that case, you have my word.”
“Thank you. Vasht will be pleased.”
“I looked forward to meeting her.”
Maco eyed the young man approvingly, then smiled his secret smile. His pebble glasses reflected dully. “I have a suspicion that that meeting will be, shall we say, interesting.”
“When do we leave?”
“Tomorrow,” Maco replied promptly.
“That’s acceptable. I have something to attend to before we go. It shouldn’t take long.” Avon extracted a twin-bladed knife with serrated edge from its sheath.
Maco blinked furiously. “Nothing too dangerous, I hope?” His voice was hoarse.
Avon smiled.
5
If hands can perform the art of healing, it follows that they can be trained as instruments in the equal art of killing.
The Iron School’s gymnasium provided the environment for the learning of such skills.
Sabbath was a master of unarmed combat. His hands, tenderly cared for, were weapons as lethal as any gun or knife.
Stripped to the waist, his oiled body gleaming, his muscles firm with tension, he was instructing Amiyak in the finer points of self-defense. He was attacking.
Amiyak reeled under a swift succession of terrible blows. He scrambled away as Sabbath executed any number of threatening, balletic movements. Should the Coordinator wish it, he could easily break the man. Amiyak was not his most gifted pupil.
“Enough!” Sabbath said and Amiyak permitted himself a sigh of relief.
The Coordinator placed his arm round the young man’s shoulders. “You’re improving,” he said, “but your heart isn’t in it. Remember, there is a marked difference between men. There are those who are skilled, even expert, who can be overcome by a lesser opponent. The difference being that, where one man may use these skills simply to survive, another is excited by challenge. He intends, wants, needs to kill. That’s an edge you are lacking. But, you have other abilities. If you hadn’t, you wouldn’t be here.”
“You mean, I don’t have a psychological aptitude for murder?” Amiyak said.
The Coordinator looked at him severely.
“What I’m saying is, once armed with the skill, if you hesitate to use it, you’re dead.”
“It seems a poor substitute for diplomacy.”
Sabbath held up his hands. “These are my diplomats.”
Amiyak smiled. “Yet you and others like you are the lesser men. Vassals of others less talented in the field in which you seem to be expert. Why is that?”
Sabbath frowned.
Amiyak placed a finger to his temple. “This is my diplomat. I use my brain. Fraud before force, Coordinator!”
Sabbath said nothing, but his eyes betrayed irritation and a hint of contempt.
Amiyak extended his hand in a gesture of friendship. Sabbath ignored it.
The younger man shook his head sadly and turned away.
In the corridor outside the training room, Avon was waiting. He and Amiyak faced each other.
Avon, his head to one side as if listening for something that only he would hear, smiled. Then, he brushed past his “Brother” and entered the gymnasium, closing the door behind him.
Sabbath, flat on his back, was pushing heavy weights above his chest, flexing his powerful muscles, bulging his neck with effort. His eyes acknowledged Avon’s presence, but he continued his exercise.
Avon leaned casually against a padded vaulting horse and watched him. The Coordinator, anxious to impress, succumbing to vanity, performed with flamboyant skill and strength.
Avon took a step towards him.
On either side of Sabbath’s prone body, stood two rests for the heavy iron weight he was pumping. Avon kicked them away. Sabbath, his eyes rolling with the pain of exertion, his surprise total, released the weighted bar so that it crashed onto his chest, pinning him to the floor. He screamed in agony. Both men heard the cracking of his ribs. The Coordinator was bathed in sweat, heaving with pain.
Avon removed his twin bladed knife with serrated edge from the sheath concealed behind his back. He spoke very quietly, but clearly and menacingly. “You will answer a number of questions,” he said. “I will cut off your fingers one by one until I am satisfied. Do you understand?”
Sabbath, his face creased with the effort of withstanding the growing intensity of pain, gritted his teeth and attempted to speak. His mouth failing to form the words, he could only nod.
“You killed my mother, Rowena?”
The Coordinator’s answer was a strangled cry, “No!”
Avon’s eyes grew dark. His voice was a hoarse whisper. “Remember, Sabbath, there are some men excited by challenge. Men who intend, want, need to kill.”
“Subsidiaries.” Sabbath hissed.
“Under your command?”
“Yes.”
“And Axel Reiss?”
“Yes.”
Avon turned and walked out of the room into the corridor. Amiyak stood by the door. Avon held out his hand. “I’ll take the gun now.”
Amiyak, after a moment’s hesitation, produced a heavy recoilless weapon and passed it to him. “It has six shots,” he whispered.
“I’ll only need one.”
Avon returned to the gymnasium and Sabbath. The Coordinator was struggling desperately in an attempt to rid himself of the crushing weight of the iron bar.
Avon pointed the gun at his face, aiming at a point directly between the eyes. Sabbath froze, his expression slightly comic as he tried to include both the gun and his persecutor in the breadth of his vision.
“I remember you once told me,” Avon said, “that you admired a man who could be patient. A man who would wait until his enemy was weakened and vulnerable. A man who would choose his own time, select his own killing ground. You have taught me well. But for you, Sabbath, here endeth the lesson!” He squeezed the trigger and the gun roared.
As the deadly echoes faded, another sound intruded and Avon whirled around, levelling the weapon at Amiyak who had entered the room behind him. His “Brother” recoiled in horror and turned his face away, sickened by the sight of Sabbath’s mangled body.
Avon said, “You’re going to tell me that he was unarmed, helpless. That I gave him no chance.”
Amiyak’s expression conveyed revulsion leavened with contempt. He was deathly pale, his eyes wide with grief and terror.
Avon said reflectively, “He was a hard man. If I’d given him only half a chance, he might have killed me instead. Remember that! Winning is what counts. The end justifies any means.”
“I can’t accept that,” Amiyak said breathlessly.
“Then, you won’t live long!”
Amiyak leaned against a wall as if afraid that his legs would no longer support him.
Avon tossed the gun on the floor. “Maco is taking me to Lupus,” he said, “where I’ll learn the finer arts.” He looked down at the Coordinator’s body. “In the end, though, it will always come to this.”
Amiyak seemed on the verge of tears. “Then, there is no hope for us.”
“There’s always hope. But, when you live in exciting times, don’t always expect your hopes to be fulfilled.”
Amiyak moved closer to him. “You’re a dead man!” he said.
“Oh, I think the Federation might be prepared to overlook this, shall we say, aberration. They might even approve of it.”
“I mean, you’re alive but, inside yourself, you are cold and dead.”
“That’s a discomforting thought!”
Amiyak spat at him. “You’re the face of the Federation that I can no longer bear to look at,” he said viciously.
The door to the gymnasium, which was ajar, creaked on its hinges. Amiyak jumped like a startled deer. Avon remained motionless.
“I hope I’m not intruding?” Maco said, as he stepped into the room. His eyes, hidden behind his thick-lensed glasses, flicked from one man to the other and finally came to rest on Sabbath’s corpse. “I take it we are free to go now?” he asked blandly.
Avon, after a last look at Amiyak, walked out on them.
Maco pursed his lips. Managing to control his obvious distaste, he knelt to take a closer look at the body. “Avon is nothing if not thorough,” he said.
Amiyak snorted his disapproval.
“Ah! I see you don’t share my admiration.” Maco said lightly. “Well, never mind.” He rose to his feet. “You must admit, he is a little more practical than you or I. On the other hand, the brute is more susceptible to guile than we other men. Be assured that Avon’s weaknesses will be exposed and exploited.”
Amiyak looked puzzled. “I thought he was to join the Seventh family?”
“True.”
“And that you are his mentor!”
Maco removed his glasses and began to polish them. “Surely you have learned by now,” he said, “we are none of us what we seem!”
There was a long silence while Maco finished his polishing and replaced his glasses astride his nose. He smiled conspiratorially. “Unfortunately for you,” he said, not unkindly, “you have, shall we say, a conscience. Admirable in any other age, at this time it is a forbidden luxury.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Maco’s voice took on a hard edge. “That’s for you to find out.” His eyes flicked to the doorway. Two Iron Guards had entered. Maco smiled thinly. “For some reason best known to himself, Axel Reiss harbors an incurable hatred for Avon’s family and comrades. Poor Avon! Unfortunately, I was unable to prevent this.” He waved a hand in the direction of the stiffening corpse. “But I can fulfill my other obligations.”
The Iron Guards stood either side of Amiyak.
“You show no fear. That’s good.” Maco said. “You understand, I hope, that I am merely obeying orders? That there is no personal ill feeling?”
“I understand, but I doubt Avon will. He takes everything personally.”
Maco laughed. “Quite! An astute observation.”
Amiyak forced a smile. “I hope, for your sake, that no one underestimates him. Sabbath did!”
Maco eyed him thoughtfully. “I’ll be careful.” He nodded and the Iron
Guards took hold of Amiyak, prepared to drag him away. In the event, he was docile and allowed himself to be taken quietly from the room.
Maco, without a backward glance at the dead Sabbath, shortly followed.
Later, he and Avon boarded a heliplane that would take them to the Federation’s capital.
“Would you consider Amiyak a friend?” Maco asked, his voice straining in competition with the noise from the aircraft’s rotors.
“I have no friends.”
“How unfortunate.”
“For whom?”
Maco removed his spectacles and appeared to study them. Both men knew he could not see without them. “Why did you kill Sabbath? he asked politely.
“Don’t you know?”
“How could I?”
“Didn’t your master tell you?”
“Who?”
“Axel Reiss.”
Maco tensed. “I serve Vasht. It was she who sent me.”
Avon leaned across and took the glasses. “You should always wear these,” he said. “Otherwise, you will never see clearly!”
“Amiyak warned me not to underestimate you,” Maco said quietly.
“You wouldn’t be the first. You won’t be the last.”
“I wonder if we might come to an arrangement?”
Maco asked, retrieving his glasses from Avon’s grasp.
Avon smiled. “I’m open to suggestions.”
“You have correctly surmised that I am an agent of Axel Reiss. Although, it is true that Vasht gave me my instructions on his behalf. This suggests an intelligence that I hadn’t given you credit for. In addition, you have indicated that you have a harsh commitment to violence. I think, under the circumstances, I would rather have you as a friend than an enemy. Could you bring yourself to trust me?” Maco looked directly at Avon, his glasses and serious expression combining to suggest he was giving an impression of an aged owl.
“Perhaps.” Avon said.
“Then, in order to illustrate that I have a harsh commitment to you, I will tell you something you need to hear. You won’t like it, but it is the truth.”