by Mike Moscoe
Trouble whistled low. Ruth’s shirt wouldn’t stop that blade. He didn’t give it back to her; if Ruth didn’t know what she was looking at, he didn’t want to let her in on the secret. He was sweating enough for both of them.
Zylon put the knife back in the chest. Her lackey let the two bully boys have first choice. Trouble took the one left. Vahan snapped the case shut with the finality of a coffin. “They cut nice,” he smirked. The marine passed up the temptation to use the flunkey’s throat for a demonstration.
“Step back, Ruth.” Trouble nudged her toward the edge of the ring.
“Oh, no,” Zylon corrected. “She stays with her stud. Right, guys?” The guards roared agreement. Mordy’s grin took on stellar proportions.
“Stay behind me, but not too close.”
“I won’t trip you up,” Ruth assured him.
From across the lit square, the two advanced. Trouble went into a low crouch and danced out quickly to meet them. He wanted maneuvering room for this fight. The three met in the middle. For a long minute, they just eyed each other, knives weaving a threatening pattern. Maybe they too were getting used to the light weight of the blades. Almost too light; Trouble’s hand hardly knew it held a twelve-inch extension of pure death.
The big one on the right made a thrust. Trouble backed up. The tall one on the left now stabbed out like lightning. Trouble was far from its reach; still he backpedaled again. The big guy closed the distance in two quick steps Trouble wouldn’t have believed him capable of, then thrust for the marine’s gut. Trouble took a step back, then ducked to the left, just in time to parry on the side of his knife a strike from the tall one.
Surprised to find Trouble waiting for him, the tall man backed to the left. For the first time, Trouble had them moving apart. “Watch the guy on the right,” he shouted to Ruth as he faked to the right; then, as the big guy backed up a half step, Trouble two-stepped forward and grabbed down with his left.
The tall guy on the left had seen his chance and jabbed for where Trouble’s bare side would have been had he repeated his usual thrust-and-back on the big guy. The tall fellow howled as Trouble grabbed his wrist and pulled him forward, off balance. Swinging his knife hand around, Trouble brought the hilt up hard against the tall guy’s skull, further urging him forward, and into the big fellow. The two went down in a wreck of too many arms and legs in too little space.
Trouble shot over to them, spotted the big guy’s ribs poking out the side of the pile, and dropped, landing both his knees hard on the big guy’s chest. Ribs snapped and the air went out of the thug. The tall guy’s knife arm flailed. Trouble pulled it back and wrapped it around the wrong way. It shattered noisily.
Trouble stepped back from the two broken thugs, knife still in hand. “Are we done?” He wasn’t even breathing hard. From among the watching field hands and vat girls there was a smattering of a cheer. The crack of a whip ended that.
Two of the guards stepped into the ring, pistols out, aimed at Trouble. He gave them a submissive bow.
“This shit needs new control pods,” Zylon snarled.
Vahan hustled off to do his boss’s bidding. Ruth came to Trouble. “You okay?” she whispered.
“Hardly broke a sweat, buddy.” He unwrapped her shirt from his left arm and hung it modestly around her shoulders. Trouble’s back was to Zylon, but Ruth’s eyes repeatedly flicked back to their problem boss.
“She’s not going to let you live through tonight,” Ruth whispered.
“I suspect so. When the marines get here, make sure Tom and Steve get right to the sergeant. He has to know what they know. Also, you tell Gunny I expect him to personally see to it that you get back to Hurtford Corner.”
“Can’t you do something?”
The marine did not turn around. In his mind’s eye he measured the distance to Zylon. Hefting the knife, he wondered how it would throw. He’d never been good at knife throwing. Why toss away a perfectly good weapon? He had no idea how this one would fly. If he did try for Zylon, the two guards would empty their automatics at him. Kill him. Probably Ruth. Possibly a lot of the field hands behind him. The way Trouble’s luck had been going lately, they’d probably hit Tom and Steve. “No, farm girl, there’s nothing I can do.”
“I love you, marine.”
“That’s a dumb thing to say.”
Ruth looked around. “Good night to be stupid.”
She came to him; and he held her. He could almost hear Zylon sizzling behind him. Let her; Gunny would be here before the night was over. Zylon might kill him, but there wouldn’t be enough time to get around to Ruth. She’d live if Trouble and his marines didn’t do something stupid.
Damn it, Gunny. Where are my marines?
Zylon’s toady returned with a new necklace for Trouble; this one had four pods. While Trouble was being fitted for his noose, he noticed a huddle across the ring around Mordy. They seemed to reach some agreement; Mordy stepped into the ring.
“Zylon, as some of your boys see it, that wasn’t quite the fair fight they expected for little Ruthie. It was supposed to be two to one, but that girl ended up on the ring. I saw her trip Komhen. Me and three of the boys would like a rematch.” Here his swagger seemed to leak a bit. “If you don’t mind?”
“Why should I?” Zylon paused. “In fact, I like the idea.”
That brought a lot of hoots.
Somewhere to the west, there was a peal of thunder. A double peal. “Don’t smell like rain,” a guard observed. Trouble agreed. That thunder had no lightning attached to it, just an assault shuttle coming in fast and hot. Only thing the sky would rain tonight was marines.
Trouble stepped forward. “That’s not fair,” he whined. “I already fought two guys tonight. Shouldn’t I have a day to rest up before I got to take on four more?” Stall, man, stall. I’ll waltz with half your guard tonight if you want. Just don’t take me upstairs and turn these pods on.
There was a chance he just might not die tonight.
“Whoever said life was fair?” Zylon cooed. “You caused me a lot of trouble tonight. Why shouldn’t we have a lot of fun with you? Yes, guys. Two of you’ll have to use your own knives.”
Ruth started to take off her shirt. Trouble took her hand before she undid the second button. “Don’t bother. These knives are too sharp.” The others started for the center of the ring. He hastened out to meet them, Ruth beside him. She’d taken her belt off, wrapped it around her right hand. For the first time, the marine noticed how heavy the buckle was.
She swung it with meaning at Mordy and the thug on the right. “You wanted a fair fight, two against four, didn’t you?” They backed up.
“Where’d you learn to use that?”
“Ask Mordy,” she said, flipping the weighted leather strap. “You may not have given me kids, but you showed me some weird ideas of a fun time. I learned.”
Mordy’s answer was a wicked laugh.
“If it’s okay by you, Ruth, let me take the lead on this.” He couldn’t afford an argument with the woman who professed to love him, and whom he might very much love in return. Still, he had some practice fighting four guys with knives and he wasn’t sure how to fit her into his plan without extensive training.
“You lead, I’ll follow,” Ruth said, and took two steps back.
The four—tall, short, Mordy, and thin, from left to right—advanced on Trouble, keeping their interval and distance. No one edged ahead. No hole opened up between them. Short was even calling a cadence of sort. “Step,” he’d whisper, and all four of them would take a step forward. And Trouble would take a step back. If this kept up, they’d back him against a wall and cut him to bits when he had no more room to dodge.
Next whispered “Step,” Trouble faked left. Tall and short shuffled their feet but stayed in place. The marine slashed to his right. Mordy and thin held their ground. Tall and short inched forward to dress on their buddies. Trouble was another pace closer to the wall, but he’d bought time. He reached behind him with
his left hand and waved Ruth to move over to his left side. She did.
They’d lost their rhythm, so shorty did a count. “One, two, three, step.” While they concentrated on their little dance, Trouble sidestepped for the left of the line and slashed at the tall one’s arm.
He stumbled back, and the entire line collapsed as the four thugs tried to change front to meet a target that would not stay where they wanted it.
There was laughter among the slaves. Trouble grinned. He could keep this up all night. “What you guys need is a good drill sergeant. Want me to help?” he taunted them.
Shorty snarled and charged the marine. Trouble sidestepped him. Ruth slammed him in the side of the face with her heavy buckle as he went by. He screamed and made a blind grab for her. Since the other three weren’t doing anything, Trouble risked turning his back on them. He spun, ready to put himself between the knife and the woman he loved and…
The night got light as day. Overhead, an assault landing craft launched rockets at something beyond the big house. In a blink, the landing craft was gone, and the night was lit only by the lights around the farm. In comparison, it almost seemed dark.
Shorty had made the mistake of looking up. Puzzled by what he’d seen, he stood there, knife half thrust toward Ruth, mouth hanging open. Trouble slashed for his throat.
The knife was better than Trouble expected. Like a surgical instrument, it took the guy’s head off. Trouble felt only slight resistance. That must have been the spine, he marveled. This was a knife worth keeping.
Trouble whirled back to face his three remaining threats. They had lost interest. There was no guard behind him, the path to the crowd of field hands was open. He grabbed Ruth and started backing toward the others. Then the lights went out.
Smart move, Gunny. She can’t zap us if she’s got no power to her transmitter. A scream of rage from Zylon probably verified that she had gone thumb down on her pain controller…and found a dead central power meant a dead central transmitter. The pain pods were as worthless as last week’s chow.
A rifle shot rang out. Civilian rifle. Gunner probably panicked. “Down, everyone. Down!” Trouble shouted and gently took Ruth’s legs out from underneath her. Covering her with his body, he tried to spot his marines.
“Wondered when you’d get me on my back.” Ruth shoved him off her. “Keep your own head down,” she growled.
Somebody was firing into the night. Wild, ragged volleys. A single shot answered it. There was a scream, then silence. From the house came the tinkle of breaking glass and several pistol rounds. The shots were well over Trouble’s head. “Ruth, can I borrow your shirt again?”
“You get a girl on her back in the dark, and all you want is her shirt off. What kind of marine are you?”
“One who wants to wave something to attract his sergeant’s attention and hasn’t got a stitch on.” Ruth slipped out of her shirt, and started waving it herself.
“What marine’s gonna pass up a bare-breasted girl waving her shirt at him?”
“One that’s busy staying alive.” Trouble reached for the shirt, tried to take over waving it from Ruth. She wouldn’t let him. They ended up each waving one end.
“That’s got to be the lieutenant. Only he wouldn’t know what to do with a half-naked girl on her back.”
“That you, Taylor?”
“Yes sir.”
“Corporal, the good guys are on the ground. Anyone up and moving is a target. Cover me, I’m coming in.”
“Squad, cover the lieutenant.”
At a crouch, Trouble headed for his corporal’s voice at the corner of the nearest barracks. Cover fire was limited to a few high rounds, since no one was offering to fight the marines at the moment. The lieutenant relaxed only when he had the building between himself and the big house.
“Lend me your helmet, Taylor.” The corporal quickly passed over his headgear with all its command and control information reflected on his faceplate. It looked like a good drop. Most of the platoon was in a loose circle around the big house—except for one squad floundering around out in the fields.
“Gunny, this is Trouble.”
“Glad to have you back, sir.”
“Very glad to see you. Our objective is the large house. Resistance consists of thirty to fifty lightly armed civilians. Let’s use weapons of nonlethal intent to start with. Anybody aims a gun, use all force necessary.”
“Roger that, sir. First and second squad, concentrate on the east and south side of the target. Third and fifth, cover north and west. Fourth, as soon as you’ve finished making mud pies, we’d appreciate you up here.” Fourth’s reply was vintage marine.
“Duke, prepare to lay smoke, noise, and light on the objective.” Trouble watched the situation develop for a minute. Gunny arrived at his CP. Moss had Trouble’s battle gear. “Sorry, sir. If I knew you was bare-ass naked, I’d have brought you pants to go with the armor.”
“Every officer ought to try giving orders that way. See if they really got command presence,” someone drawled. Trouble had other worries besides putting Craig on report.
“We go in in one minute,” Gunny announced.
There was a roar from the far side of the house. “Second squad here. A large air-cushioned vehicle just busted out of a basement garage, and it’s heading south like Gunny for a beer bust. Do we shoot it down?”
“Got nothing to do it with,” Gunny growled on net. “Sorry, sir,” he added to Trouble. “We dropped kind of in a hurry. Grabbed what looked important. No report of hostile aircraft or heavy assault vehicles, so I kept us light.”
“No problem, Gunny. Glad to see you when I saw you. Five more minutes and I might not have been alive to say hi.”
“Only got a glimpse of what was going on, sir, but it didn’t look up to your usual level of entertainment.”
“Been a rough couple of months.”
“And tomorrow looks to be tougher.”
“Got a few friends who might be able to help there.”
• • •
“Put me through to Security Central,” Zylon screamed into the phone.
“This is Security Central. Please state the nature of your problem,” the maddening voice repeated.
“Not you, you idiot, your boss, or boss’s boss. Someone who knows what’s going on here.” That was the problem with this setup. Most of the idiots thought it was just a nine-to-five job. Only a handful knew who the real bosses were. There was no market on Riddle for organizational charts, at least not the real one. Before, Zylon didn’t mind the paranoia; why let everyone know the fortune that was there for the taking? Tonight it was a problem.
A totally wasted half minute went by before she heard “This is Captain Wallace. I’m shift supervisor. Can I help you?”
“Yes. I am Zylon Plovdic, Manager of Farm Forty-one. I just evacuated the farm one step ahead of an attack shuttle full of marines or something. We’re being attacked from off-planet.”
“Pardon me, ma’am. This number is a service of your planet Security Center. It is not to be used for entertainment purposes. May I suggest you rejoin your gaming friends and not use standard communications units as part of your simulation.”
The phone went dead with a click.
“Why, you stupid…” Zylon couldn’t come up with more words to pile on that clock-puncher. She’d have him assigned to her farm when all this was straightened out. He’d listen to her when he wore a slave collar and she held the controller.
She searched for Big Al’s number in her system. His day phone wouldn’t pass her along to his home. She had to search her old calls to find one from him at home. She almost broke the phone dialing it. “Al, we got a problem,” she said, cutting off his groggy bitching. He listened for her quick explanation.
“If that’s true, we do have a problem. If not…” The observation that she might end up working beside her vat girls was left unsaid. “I’ll call you back.”
Zylon glanced at the clock and matched it against th
e craft’s speed; Mordy had it maxed. “I’ll be at Richman in two hours.”
• • •
“This is Betsy Corbel of the Pride of Portland. I’m gonna be crossing kind of close to you, so I thought I might introduce myself.” Izzy sat on the Patton’s bridge, wearing a pair of khaki cutoffs and an oversize tee-shirt the chief of the boat had just had tie-dyed. It was almost dry. If her in a wet tee-shirt added a level of distraction to the man just coming on the view screen, so much the better. Eyes locked on their boards, no one on the bridge was paying any attention to her. If the program Izzy’s countermeasures officer had picked up on Wardhaven was as good as promised, only Izzy and the helmswoman were visible.
“Hello, I’m Sam Hill of the Hot Bottom Line. Glad to hear from you. High Riddle still hot?”
“Hottest this side of Earth,” Izzy promised. Very hot.
“Well, watch out where you’re headed. Hear the pirates are getting worse around the rim.”
Not after today. But Izzy nodded agreeably. “We’re headed back to the core. Taking Alpha jump. So long.” Communications ended, and Izzy let her breath out slowly. The course to Alpha jump took her directly across the sterns of the three incoming bandits. If she’d timed it right, they’d be within fifteen thousand klicks at the closest point of closure. Perfect. She and Stan could take out the engines on two before they knew what hit them.
Izzy glanced around the bridge; most boards were straight lines. Countermeasures promised she’d cover all emissions from Patton and Junior. Still, Izzy took no chances. Anything that didn’t belong on a merchant ship was cold metal, and would remain so until thirty seconds before they needed it. She checked the bridge chronometer; rechecked the paths of the five ships. Exactly four more minutes to wait.
Izzy leaned back in her chair and did a great imitation of a woman without a care in the universe. Everything that could be done had been done. Now all that was left was the doing.