by Scott Sigler
Pete walked to the limo, affecting a stagger. If he did have to get out of there in a hurry, better if Virak thought him not only tiny, but drunk as well.
The driver opened the door. Pete climbed in, slid across the padded leather seats. He expected Virak to get in behind him, but instead the door shut.
Other than Pete, the dark interior was empty.
A holotank behind the driver’s section flared to life; Pete found himself looking at a black-furred Quyth Leader wearing too much jewelry.
“Poughkeepsie Pete,” the Leader said, “my name is—“
“Gredok the Splithead. I’m a football fan.”
“Excellent,” Gredok said. “Introductions are so tedious. Especially the part where I insinuate what happens to those sentients who cross me, but say it in vague terms so there is no specific threat. I trust I can skip that part of the dance?”
Pete swallowed. Gredok made just insinuating about making an insinuation sound deadly.
“Yes,” Pete said. “I know who you are outside of football.”
“Very well. I apologize for not being there in person to have this conversation, but I have business elsewhere.”
“Yeah. You’re a busy guy.”
“As you say.” Gredok’s pedipalps crossed one another. “There are certain matters involving Salton the Grimy I wish to discuss with you.”
Pete raised an eyebrow. “Why aren’t you discussing them with Salton?”
“I have. At great length. Unfortunately, Salton the Grimy is short-sighted. Perhaps soon to be short-lived.”
Pete realized he’d made the right decision to come with Virak. If Salton had done something to make Gredok his enemy, then Pete and his team could very well end up collateral damage.
“May I ask exactly what Salton has done?”
“That is none of your concern.” Gredok smoothed his glossy fur. “I only wish to express the gravity of this meeting and what I’m about to say.”
“Which is?”
“Your next match is at Loppu against the Ogres. Considering your team’s performance this afternoon, the Ridgebacks will be heavily favored.”
“Didn’t know you were a Dinolition fan,” Pete said. “You should come out for a match, be my personal guest.”
“I have never watched a match, and I do not intend to start. One does not need to watch every sport in the galaxy in order to understand betting odds, one only needs to know what those odds are and how to affect a contest’s outcome. The Ogres have lost four matches in a row. Your team just beat the best franchise in the league, and beat them handily. I believe the colloquial term is, hung a trey? And, your team makes the post-season tournament with a win, and will therefore be highly motivated to do so.”
Pete didn’t follow the odds. He didn’t have to in order to understand what Gredok was saying. Pete hadn’t been involved in Gredok’s business before, but now he was, and with that knowledge came a sinking feeling.
“You want us to throw the match.”
“It would be best if the Ridgebacks lost.”
Pete took a swig from his bottle of bourbon. More stress, layered on the previous stress, which was stacked high on the stress before that. He wanted to go back to his house and hide, just go to sleep. Maybe he’d wake up and all of this would be gone.
He felt the bourbon burn its way down to his stomach. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Best for whom, Gredok?”
Gredok stared. “Best for Salton’s continued existence.”
“He owes you money,” Pete said. “A lot of money. Doesn’t he?”
The Leader nodded, a stiff motion for a creature with such a small neck. “He has debts that would be forgiven if your team was to lose to Loppu.”
Pete shook his head.
“If we lose we might not make the tournament,” he said. “No way that’s going to happen.”
Gredok’s fur fluffed. Pete had spent enough time with Salton to know what that meant: he’d just pissed off Gredok the Splithead. Maybe he’d had too much bourbon after all, enough to make him not realize the consequences of small actions.
“Perhaps you don’t understand the full breadth of the situation,” Gredok said. “Salton is a gambler, Pete. Did you know that?”
Pete shook his head again, feeling his anger grow.
“He is a gambler that doesn’t understand odds as well as I do,” Gredok said. “These gambling debts were legal, not some shady back-alley transaction. That means I can take him to court and force him to liquidate his assets. And considering that as of an hour ago, I loaned him another ten million credits, I am perfectly aware that he doesn’t have any money in the bank to cover those debts should I call his marker. The debt is sufficient enough, Pete, that Salton would have to sell off his biggest assets.”
The fine. Salton had to borrow the fine money from Gredok. Pete didn’t need a cheat-sheet to understand what biggest assets was supposed to mean — Gredok could force Salton to sell off mounts, starting with Bess, and possibly the entire franchise.
But with the network deal so close, Salton just had to stall for time. There would be enough to pay off the debt ... wouldn’t there?
“Salton will make good,” Pete said. “I mean no disrespect, Gredok, but I will not throw the game.”
“Saying you mean no disrespect is not the same thing as giving me the respect I deserve. You give me that respect by doing what I tell you to do. If you win against Loppu, I will ensure your team not only goes out of business, but is utterly destroyed. If I have to seize Salton’s assets — which I can do very quickly — it would be a pity for Bess and the other animals to be sold at auction. As an accomplished businessbeing, I have already made inquiries as to where I would get the most revenue from selling her. It is surprising what Sklorno will pay to taste meat they have never tasted before.”
Pete clenched his fists. “I’ve heard enough. Nice meeting you, Gredok.” He touched the door panel and the door opened. “Find someone else to do your dirty work.”
Without another word, Pete slid out, bottle still in hand. He didn’t even make it a meter before Virak’s middle hand clamped down on his arm.
“You do not have permission to leave,” the Warrior said.
Pete switched the bottle to his free hand, turned and swung it hard at Virak’s eye. The linebacker/bodyguard leaned back a few centimeters, just enough for the bottle to hit only empty air. Pete started to swing it backhand, hoping to catch the Warrior by surprise, when Virak’s pedipalp hand shot out in a straight jab that smashed into Pete’s mouth. Pete’s head snapped back as his eyes watered, blurring everything, then another jab hit him in the nose.
He found himself hands and knees on the sidewalk, bourbon bottle lying sideways, spilling amber fluid onto the concrete and into the gutter.
A big foot pressed against his chest and pushed, flopping Pete to his back.
Virak’s eye swirled with threads of light orange: he was enjoying himself.
“I have never punched a half-Human before. You are just as much fun to punish as a full-sized one.”
Virak tossed a data cube onto Pete’s chest.
“Use that to contact my shamakath,” the Warrior said. “I suggest you use it, and soon. If you do not, you will meet another of Gredok’s employees — and she is not as gentle as I am.”
Virak got into the limo. The vehicle hummed away just as Ridgebacks fans came to help their star player to his feet.
Getting hit by Virak wasn’t like getting slammed by a mimtai, but those two things weren’t that far apart. Pete could barely see. He felt blood streaming down his face. The helping fans were already calling the police, but Pete didn’t want to get caught up in all of that — he had somewhere he needed to be, right now.
“Flag me a cab,” he told one of the helpers.
By the time he’d retrieved his bottle (still about an eighth full, thankfully), the cab had arrived. Pete brushed off the fans who told him to wait for an ambulance
, got in, and told the driver where to go.
• • •
The door opened. The lights flicked on as Tony Koester walked into his one-room apartment. His white suit still looked as though it had just come off the rack. His white skin was slightly flushed and his pony tail was in a bit of disarray. He closed the door, locked it, turned, and then stared at Pete.
Pete sat in a leather chair near the wall, the now-empty bottle on one knee.
“Good morning, Tony.”
The white-skinned dwarf stared, shocked and surprised. “What are you doing in my room?”
Pete grinned. “Waiting for you.”
Tony knew something was wrong, the look on his face left no doubt of that. Pete wondered if he knew he was busted.
“So you broke into my room instead of helping everyone pack up,” Tony said. “Awesome team leadership.”
“You would have finished that job six hours ago,” Pete said. “Went out for another night-cap, did you? Partying till the wee hours of the morning? Such a club kid you are, Tony.”
“Get out of my room, Pete, I’m ... what happened to your face?”
Pete slightly lifted the bottle. “I’m a poster child for the ill effects of alcohol.”
Tony stared for a moment, not understanding, then unlocked the door and held it open.
“Get out,” he said. “I’m tired and I’m not in the mood.”
“Not in the mood? Want to know what I’m in the mood for?” Pete flung the bottle against the polycarb wall. The glass shattered, scattering across Tony’s floor.
“I’m in the mood to talk,” Pete said. “That means you’re in the mood to listen. So sit your white ass down.”
Tony’s wide eyes blinked in confusion. He moved his lips as if to say something, then thought better of it. He shut the door, moved to the edge of his bed, and sat.
“Your late-night limo rides,” Pete said. “Wanna guess where I was tonight? I’ll tell you — in that very same limo.”
Tony said nothing. He looked down.
“I wondered why your on-pitch performance has been garbage,” Pete said. “You’re not the best rider in the world, but you’re far from the worst. I thought it was all your partying, maybe, or you were doing drugs again. Maybe dealing. But it was none of those things.”
Tony stayed silent.
“Out with it,” Pete said. “I know the limo was Gredok’s. Tell me what you did for him.”
Tony put an elbow on his knee, rested his face in his hand. He rubbed lightly, fingertips further messing up his hair.
“He wanted us to lose against the Resurrected,” Tony said quietly. “He wanted me to throw the match, but ... but I wouldn’t do that. So I told him if I didn’t make the starting lineup, that Dar would come in.”
Pete nodded, understanding. “Which is why you were such a piece of dried-up dog crap in practice this week. You thought Dar would play like a rookie, that she would suck and we would lose.”
Tony sat up straight, rubbed at his face with both hands.
“Yeah. She did good, though. Listen, Pete, it’s not like I threw a match, you know? Gredok’s people approached me, and there was nothing I could do. I was afraid, and—”
Pete was out of the leather chair and across the room in a heartbeat. His fist smashed into the side of Tony’s face. Blood spattered against the white sheets. Tony fell off the bed’s edge. Pete waited for him to get up, for the fight to begin in earnest, but the younger rider stayed down.
He began to cry.
“It wasn’t my fault,” he said. “What was I supposed to do? It’s Gredok the shucking Splithead!”
“You were supposed to tell me,” Pete said. “You were more afraid of him than you were of me. That was your first mistake. Allow me to demonstrate.”
Pete kicked Tony in the ribs, a toe-first shot from a steel-toed boot. Tony curled up, groaned in pain.
“Your second mistake was lying to me just now,” Pete said. Tony looked up through tearing eyes, heartbreak etched in his face.
“But I just told you the truth!”
Pete shook his head. “You rode like a newbie against the Stompers, too, Tony, or did you forget to tell me that Gredok wanted us to lose that match as well?”
“I ... but ... but I was just about to tell you that, Pete, I—“
Pete leaned down and pointed a finger at Tony’s face, so fast that Tony flinched back, thinking it was another punch.
“We lost a mount that day,” Pete said, his voice a hoarse growl. “We could have lost Ian. I’ll never know if your piss-ass riding that day was part of that loss, if your choosing Gredok over me could have got Ian killed. I hope the money and the clothes and the partying was worth it, kid, because when Salton finds out you’re going to wind up spending the night in Sydney’s pen — no armor, just you and a raptor with a bad attitude that hasn’t been fed in days.”
Tony shook his head, flinging blood and snot across his face.
“Don’t tell Salton, Pete! He’ll kill me!”
Some of Pete’s anger drained away. The kid was terrified: he’d faced Gredok on one side, and knew a beating like this was coming on the other if he was found out. Pete almost felt sorry for him — almost.
“Far as I know you haven’t told me everything,” Pete said. “So I have to tell Salton, Tony. Salton has to take precautions, try to figure out what other secrets you’re hiding.”
“None! I swear it, Pete! Just those two matches!”
“And since we beat the Resurrected, what were you supposed to do next?”
Tony started to talk, then stopped. He blinked rapidly — the kid was trying to come up with an answer. No, he was trying to come up with another lie.
That pause was an open book, something even worse than tanking a match, even worse than putting a fellow rider in danger.
“You were supposed to hurt a mount,” Pete said. He could hear the danger laced in his tone, knew he had to calm down, control himself, or Tony wouldn’t make it out of this room alive. “You ... you were supposed to hurt Bess.”
Tony shook his head, but without as much energy as before.
Pete walked to the wall. He picked up the broken neck of the bourbon bottle, held it in his right hand like a knife that ended in jagged glass. When he turned to face Tony, the kid saw the bottle, scooted backward until his head thumped up against a nightstand next to the bed, rattling an action figure of him in full armor, mounted on Dusty.
“Pete! Calm down, please don’t cut me!”
Pete walked closer.
“Screw Salton,” he said. “I’m going to kill you myself. And I’m going to do it slow.”
Was that only the empty threat Pete meant it to be? No, there was conviction behind it — Pete wanted to end this backstabber, this man who had betrayed his team, his sport, who had thought of nothing but himself.
Tony held up a hand, palm out. “Yes! I was supposed to poison Bess! Please, Pete, please. I didn’t have a choice!”
This mewling ball of lies would have hurt Bess, killed her. Killed a technological masterpiece, a living wonder, Pete’s friend. Pete had to force himself to stop walking. One step closer, and he’d descend upon Tony like a boulder rolling down a mountain.
“You’re done,” Pete said. “I’ll be back here in an hour. When I do, you better be gone, Tony.“
Pete waggled the bottle, letting the glinting glass finish the sentence for him.
Tony started crying again. “But this is my place.”
“Not anymore. The team paid for your apartment, and you’re no longer a part of the team.”
The cry turned to sobs. “But Pete, I ... I got no place to go.”
Pete threw the broken bottleneck to the floor. It shattered anew; a shard jammed into Tony’s cheek, spilling more blood down his white skin.
“You blew it,” Pete said. “I saved you, Tony. I pulled you out of the gutter. I gave you a life, gave you a job, gave you a family, gave you a future. At the end of the day, you trad
ed all those things in for money. If I see you again, ever, anywhere, you’re dead. Maybe not by my hand, but the next time I lay eyes on you I’ll call Salton and tell him everything.”
Pete turned and walked to the door.
“Please,” Tony said, his voice more whine than word. “Pete, Gredok will be so mad ... I got nowhere to go ... please, help me.”
Pete didn’t bother turning around.
“I’ve done all I can do for you, midget. I’ll be back in an hour. If you’re here, you know what will happen.”
Pete stepped out and slammed the door shut behind him.
Match Week 12
Roughland Ridgebacks at Loppu Ogres
x = Qualified for Dinolition championship tournament.
If Pete managed to push Salton’s possible money problems out of his head, even for a moment, nothing could stop those thoughts when the Ball & Chain landed just outside Ranch Ridgeback.
Most cargo ships needed a spaceport to make sure there would be no civilian deaths and property damage if anything happened on landing or takeoff. Ranch Ridgeback’s isolation, however, allowed the beat-up transport to land just a few hundred meters from the dino pens. Pete led Bucky to the ship’s open rear ramp, trying not to see the dents, the missing rivets, the rust stains that peeked out through the ship’s faded and cracked paint.
He’d flown in that same ship a dozen times, but that was before Tee-Ah-Nok and Kewellen had told him Salton wasn’t quite as well-off as everyone thought. That was before he’d learned that Salton was heavily in debt to Gredok. That was before he’d understood that his boss wasn’t stingy with money because he was frugal, but rather because he was broke. Was the Ball & Chain safe? Could this ship wind up being another Akara tragedy, with the entire Ridgeback franchise — Pete and Bess included — wiped out in the blink of an eye?
Pete couldn’t allow himself to think about such things. The ship was safe. It had to be.
Bucky was chirping up a storm, fluffing her feathers out, even high-stepping a little bit. Some of the dinos hated to fly, but not the achillobator. She’d been on previous road trips, not to compete, but rather to get her used to traveling for when her time came — and now that time had come.