by Timothy Zahn
“Sam said you might,” Jeff said, getting to his feet and heading for the serving counter. “No, here—sit down. I’ll get you some food.”
“Thanks,” Nicole said, changing direction and dropping into one of the chairs at his table. “How come you’re still here?”
His back wrinkled in a shrug as he punched the keys on the serving control. “You haven’t missed a meal since you came aboard,” he said. “I thought you still might show up. And that you might want some company.”
“Company’s always nice,” she agreed, frowning at his back. There was something in his tone that warned he wasn’t just talking about making chitchat. “Anything else you had in mind?”
He turned back to face her. “I thought you might want to talk about what happened in the arena,” he said bluntly. “And not just today.”
Nicole pursed her lips. All things considered, Jeff had proved to be a pretty loyal friend. And Plato hadn’t said she couldn’t talk about it. “You want the whole story?” she asked.
“All of it,” he assured her.
“Okay,” she said. “Get comfortable. This could take a while.”
She told him everything, from Bungie’s first sloppy sabotage of the arena door all the way to where Jeff and Plato had charged in and pulled her away from that morning’s battle.
Midway through her description of the greenfire guns, her meal arrived. Jeff set it silently in front of her, resumed his seat, and continued to listen.
The meal was long gone by the time she finally finished the story. “So,” she said. “What do you think?”
He was silent for another few seconds. “I think there’s something wrong with it,” he said.
“The story?”
“The situation,” he said. “Even if we assume this is someone’s version of dogfighting or gladiator combat, it doesn’t make sense. Where are the crowds who should be watching the carnage? Where’s the line of people betting on the winner?”
“Probably somewhere out of the way where they won’t get hurt,” Nicole said. “They’re not going to sit out there where they might get stabbed or shot. I mean, between the Cluufes, the Micawnwi, and whoever the Cluufes chased out a couple of weeks ago, we’ve already got at least three different alien groups the Shipmasters have been playing against each other. They must have their system pretty well locked down by now.”
“Okay, that’s reasonable,” Jeff said. “But then where was the reaction when you suddenly charged into the middle of it?”
“I think that was what the emissary was for,” Nicole reminded him. “The armored guy.”
“That’s the centaur, right?”
“No, Fievj is the centaur,” Nicole said. “I meant the other one, the two-legged armored guy who came to the Micawnwi after I tried to fix their food dispenser.”
“Oh, right. Him.” Jeff shook his head. “I don’t know. Maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s just a show for them. But they still seem way too casual about the whole thing.”
“Maybe they haven’t done anything because they haven’t figured out what to do,” Nicole suggested. “Fievj said I was the first Sibyl who the Fyrantha ever sent into the arena. This may be as new to them as it is to us.”
She lifted a finger. “Which reminds me. Have you ever heard any numbers on how long the Wisps have been snatching people from Earth?”
“Not really,” Jeff said. “Plato’s been here fifteen or sixteen years, and I think that’s the longest of anyone. Why?”
“Because Fievj said there’d been hundreds of Sibyls here,” Nicole said. “I figured if we also knew how long they’d been doing this, we could get an idea of how many work crews were aboard.”
“There are eight,” Jeff said, frowning. “I thought you knew that.”
“There are eight on this side of the arena,” Nicole countered. “But there’s at least one team on the other side. Maybe more.”
“Hold on,” Jeff said, frowning harder. “There’s more ship past the arena? Are you sure?”
“I already said I got out of the Micawnwi hive on that side,” Nicole reminded him.
“Yeah, I know,” Jeff said. “I assumed you were just talking about a service corridor or something.”
“Trust me, their portside hull corridor looked just as long as the one on our side,” Nicole said. “If it is, the Fyrantha could be twice as big as we all thought it was. Even if it is, hundreds of Sibyls could mean they’ve been doing this for a hundred years. Maybe longer.”
“Right,” Jeff said, staring off into space. “But you’re not going to get that number by counting Sibyls. There’s the whole—” Abruptly, his eyes came back into focus. “Never mind.”
“Never mind what?”
“Never mind counting the Sibyls,” he said. “We’ll ask Plato in the morning. Maybe he’s heard the Shipmasters mention how long they’ve had Wisps raiding Earth for workers.”
“Yeah, good idea,” Nicole said, studying his face. There was definitely something he wasn’t saying.
And judging from the speed at which he’d gotten off the subject of Sibyls, it was something he really didn’t want to talk about.
But none of that resolve was going to help him now. Not when he had Nicole’s curiosity aroused. Five minutes, and whatever it was she would have it out of him. “Speaking of Sibyls,” she said.
A muscle in his cheek twitched. “Yes?”
“I was just wondering—”
She broke off with a flicker of annoyance as the door behind her whooshed open. Great—someone had decided to crash the party, and just when she needed to have Jeff’s full attention on her. She turned around in her chair to see who it was.
And felt her jaw drop.
It was Bungie. And he looked terrible.
Really terrible. His face was shiny with sweat, his hair was matted across his head, his defiant beard stubble looking even worse than usual. His jumpsuit was rumpled and had scattered smudges of dirt and oil on it. He was gripping a short pole that he was using for a cane, but even with its help he was limping pretty badly. The pole puzzled Nicole until she realized it looked like a shorter version of the shaft part of the halberd he’d stolen from the arena. Apparently, he’d found a way to break the weapon in half.
And on top of it all, he looked hungry. The whole package reminded Nicole of one of the stray, half-wild dogs roaming the Philadelphia streets.
Some of those dogs looked weak and pathetic. Others looked mean.
Bungie looked dangerously mean.
“Well, well,” he said with that fake cheerfulness that always sent shivers up Nicole’s back. “Not intruding, am I?”
“No, not at all,” Jeff said, far more calmly than Nicole could have managed right then. “Nice to see you up and about. Especially so soon after having been used for archery practice.”
“Oh, yeah, I’m just the picture of good health,” Bungie shot back, flashing a look at Nicole. “Maybe I should pose for a poster or something.”
“Good idea,” Jeff agreed. “Something along the lines of Train Wrecks I Have Known?”
“Yeah, you’re a real funny guy,” Bungie growled. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same question.”
“You’re the genius,” Bungie said, still watching them as he started lurching his way toward the serving counter. “See if you can figure it out.”
“That’s okay—I think we’ve got it,” Nicole said, breaking her paralysis and scrambling to her feet. “Go ahead and sit down. I’ll get you some food.”
“See?” Bungie said, gesturing at Nicole. “See that? There’s a woman who knows how to take care of a man.”
Nicole winced. Tired, hungry, and probably in pain, Bungie was nevertheless looking for a fight. “Only the best for my work crew,” she said, keeping her voice light. Maybe joking about it would keep Jeff quiet and in his seat.
Unfortunately, it didn’t. “That’s okay, Nicole,” Jeff said, catching her arm as he also stood
up. “You need to rest that ankle. I’ll get him something.”
“I want her to do it,” Bungie said, his voice cooling a few degrees.
“We don’t always get what we want, do we?” Jeff countered in the same tone. “Like the lady said, sit down.”
Bungie drew himself up and got a fresh grip on his makeshift cane. “Why don’t you come over here and make me?”
“Stop it!” Nicole snapped, shaking off Jeff’s hand. “Both of you. Now, sit down—both of you—and I’ll get Bungie some dinner. He’ll eat it, and then he’ll leave. Okay?”
“What’s the rush?” Bungie asked. “Maybe Pretty Boy and I need to have a talk.”
“Why stop at just us?” Jeff countered. Circling around Nicole, he headed toward the door. “Let’s make a party of it. I’ll see if Plato, Carp, and Kahkitah want to join us.”
“Get back here!” Bungie snapped, lunging for the door. His injured leg was slowing him down, but he was also much closer.
And with a sinking heart, Nicole saw that he would get to the door first. “Jeff, no,” she called. “Please—it’s not worth it.”
Jeff didn’t reply. Nor did he change speed or direction.
Nicole swore helplessly under her breath. Here it came … and there was nothing she could do to stop it.
Jeff was still five paces away when Bungie reached the door. He planted himself in front of it, shifting his weight onto his good leg and adjusting his grip on the halberd pole section. Jeff kept coming, either not seeing that the cane was about to become a weapon or else seeing it and not giving a damn. He took two more paces …
Abruptly, he swiveled to his right, grabbed one of the chairs from the table he was passing, and flung it in an underhand arc at Bungie.
Normally, Bungie would probably have been fast enough to dodge something that big and bulky. But his bad leg made all the difference in the world. Even as he tried to duck away the chair caught him squarely across his chest, and with a curse he went down, landing flat on his back. Jeff lunged forward—
An instant later he staggered back as Bungie kicked the chair with his good leg, sending it crashing into Jeff’s shins. As Jeff fought to regain his balance, Bungie lurched up onto one elbow and swung his stick hard toward Jeff’s knee.
But Jeff was quicker than Nicole had realized. He did a quick shuffle-jump backward that got him just far enough out of the way to send the swinging stick ricocheting harmlessly off the chair instead. With another curse Bungie rolled up into a crouch, whipping the improvised weapon back and forth to keep Jeff away. He got a grip on the chair, and started to lever himself back to his feet.
He was halfway up when Jeff did a sort of sweeping kick that sent the chair sliding sideways and out from under his hand.
With his support suddenly gone, Bungie toppled forward. He managed to get his hands in front of him in time to break his fall, but in the process the end of his stick caught its tip against the floor, and the impact knocked it out of his hand. As his outstretched hands hit the floor, Jeff stepped around the chair and kicked the weapon away. “Little boys shouldn’t play with sticks,” he chided. Reaching down, he got a two-handed grip on Bungie’s jumpsuit and hauled him to his feet. “Now, let’s sit down—”
The rest of the sentence disappeared into an agonized gasp as Bungie’s left hand shot outward, jamming palm-first into the center of Jeff’s chest. He staggered backward toward the wall, gasping for air and fighting to regain his balance. Bungie took a step to follow, his right hand darting inside his jumpsuit and emerging again clutching something shiny. He whipped the object across Jeff’s face—
And with a muffled grunt Jeff twisted his head to the side and slammed backward into the wall, a smear of bright red blood suddenly blazing across his forehead. Bungie kept after him, and Nicole saw now that the shiny thing was some kind of knife, its tip red with Jeff’s blood. “Jeff!” she snapped. “Bungie—no!”
But Jeff was still standing braced against the wall as if pinned there, his chest heaving, his hands swiping at the blood flowing into his eyes. Bungie kept coming, the knife held low and ready for a final killing stab.
There was no time for Nicole to weigh the consequences of what she was about to do. No time to think about Bungie’s temper, or how long and hard he held on to grudges, or the rumors she’d heard about how far he would go to settle a score. All that mattered was that Jeff was going to die unless she did something. Grabbing the tray on the table in front of her, scattering the empty dishes as she flipped it over, she hurled it with all her strength across the room.
Bungie saw it coming. But again, his bad leg robbed him of the agility he needed to avoid it. The spinning tray caught him squarely across the side of his head, spinning him halfway around and nearly dropping him to the floor again. He managed to stay on his feet this time, and with a snarled curse he turned back to his attack.
But Nicole had bought Jeff the time he needed. He was still gasping for breath, but his left hand was now pressed against his forehead to stanch the blood flow, his eyes were open and aware, and he was able to take a couple of hasty steps sideways out of reach of Bungie’s knife.
Bungie lunged toward him again, clearly still intent on finishing it. But with his bad leg, and without the element of surprise, he had no chance. And they all knew it.
All of them except maybe Bungie. He took yet another step forward; Jeff responded by taking another step to the side, putting the downed chair between them. As he did so, he got a grip on the back of another chair, ready to pick it up and throw it if necessary.
And with that, Bungie finally got the message. “Not bad,” he said, rising slowly out of his fighting crouch but keeping the knife ready in his hand. “But not good, either. I could still take you, right here and now.”
“Go ahead,” Jeff panted. “I’ve got nothing else to do tonight.”
“I don’t think so.” With his eyes still on Jeff, Bungie backed up to where his makeshift cane had landed. “Don’t worry, we’re not done yet. But I’ll be the one picking the time and place for the next round.” Stooping down, he picked up the cane and headed again for the door.
“Come on, Bungie, this is crazy,” Nicole called to him in as cajoling a voice as she could manage. “What are you going to do out there? Besides, you never got anything to eat. Let me get you something, and you can eat it and go. We promise.”
Bungie snorted. “You hear that? Now she’s making promises for you. What kind of pansy lets a woman take over his life?”
“She’s right, you know,” Jeff said. “Where are you going to go? There’s no place on the Fyrantha where you can hide.”
“You don’t think so?” Bungie asked, a hard-edged smile touching his lips. “Let me tell you something, Pretty Boy: this ship is a hell of a lot bigger than you realize. I’ve found stairways you’ve never seen—stairways, rooms, whole decks. I can hide out just fine until my leg heals. Or even until you’ve forgotten to watch your back. Hell, I could hide until you die of old age.”
“Sounds great,” Jeff said. “Provided you never have to eat again. I’ll make sure you don’t get anything else here.”
“There’s plenty of food if you know how to find it,” Bungie assured him. “Plato and Carp think they’ve locked up all the meal bars. They’re not even close. There’s lots of other fun and nasty stuff out there, too. See you around. I hope you and the little bitch are happy together.”
He hit the release and the door whooshed open. “’Cause you won’t be happy for long. You should tell her all about it sometime. If you’ve got the guts.”
With that, he lurched through the doorway and was gone.
Even as the door whooshed shut, Jeff was rounding the chair and heading toward it. “No!” Nicole snapped, breaking into a sprint that managed to get her to the door just as he was reaching for the release. “No,” she repeated, catching his arm. “Let him go.”
“I can’t,” Jeff protested, struggling to pull free. “He’s here, he’s hurt
—”
“So are you,” Nicole said firmly. “I’ve heard stories about him, Jeff, and what he’s like in this mood. He’d knife you just for the hell of it without caring what happened to him afterward. Give him some time to cool down.”
Jeff glared at her, then looked at the door again. But between his heaving lungs and his bleeding forehead he wasn’t in any shape to fight. Unlike Bungie, he was smart enough to realize that. “I suppose,” he said, some of the stiffness going out of his shoulders. Pulling out one of the chairs at the nearby table, he sank into it. “Damn, but this stings.”
“I’ll bet it does,” she said, wincing at the blood still oozing out from beneath his hand. “Sit tight. I’ll go get Sam or Allyce.”
“No—stay here,” Jeff said, catching her hand as she started toward the door. “You’re not leaving until I can leave with you.”
“But—”
“He’s just as mad at you as he is at me,” Jeff said, holding her with the same determination she’d just been holding him. “Anyway, this looks worse than it is—head wounds always bleed like crazy. Grab me a few napkins and a big glass of water, will you?”
Nicole clenched her teeth. But she wasn’t all that anxious to run into Bungie in a deserted hallway, either. Crossing to the serving counter, she keyed for a glass of water, pulling out a wad of napkins from the dispenser while it filled. She returned to the table and set the napkins and water in front of him. “What do you need me to do?” she asked, turning the fallen chair upright again and sitting down facing him.
“Mostly, just keep me company,” he said, picking up two of the napkins and pressing them against the cut. “I can handle this. You suppose he really has found himself a hiding place?”
“What?” Nicole asked, frowning at the sudden change of subject.
“Bungie said he’d found places where he can hide,” Jeff said. “But he shouldn’t have. Not here. Going down below our work decks you just run into yellow crew’s territory; go up and you get the green and purple crews. Does he really think he can dodge all of us forever?”
“He’s probably just blowing smoke,” Nicole said. “He does that a lot.”