Science Fiction: GU: Justice Net (Science Fiction, Dystopian, The G.U. Trilogy Book 1)

by David Archer

  Johnny stuck his hand out again, and Carson went back to his lunges. He was making contact about a quarter of the time, usually just barely, but he could see that his aim was getting better. He caught it twice in a row, and Johnny yanked his hand further away, but Carson caught him by surprise when he suddenly flipped his hand over and swung it like he was trying to chop something with an ax. The stick caught the palm, and Johnny yelped and yanked his hand back again.

  “Oh, boy, he got you good that time,” Roscoe said with a laugh.

  Johnny nodded, and grinned. “You're catching on,” he said. “That's exactly what you got to do, use whichever end of that stick is more likely to get the job done. Let's keep that up for a while.”

  The exercise continued for the next hour, and Carson began to grow tired. As a professor, his life had been rather sedentary, and taking walks with Charlotte had been about the extent of his exercise. He was suddenly regretting the fact that he had never bothered to join a gym or buy any kind of exercise equipment for his home. He didn't quit, though, until Roscoe called a halt to it.

  “I think that's enough of that for now,” Roscoe said. “Johnny? You ready for the next step?”

  Johnny nodded with a grin on his face. “You bet,” he said. “Professor, let's step it up. What I want you to do now is try to hit my body with that thing. I want you to go for this spot.” He pointed at his own solar plexus. “If you can jab that stick into me right there, it will literally take my breath away. If we were in the arena, then you could step in and finish me off, but let's not go that far this time. If you get me, back off and let me catch my breath, okay?”

  Carson grinned back. “No problem,” he said, and then he drove the stick toward his target with everything he had.

  A second later, Carson was lying on his back in the dirt. He looked up at Johnny, who was smiling down at him. “What the hell was that?”

  “You don't honestly think your opponent is going to stand around waiting for you to stab him with a stick, do you? All I did was slap your hand away and then flip you over my leg. Just about anybody you go up against could do the same, so you got to learn to watch for it and counter it. Get back on your feet, and pay attention this time.”

  Roscoe extended his left hand, and helped Carson to his feet. Carson realized that the stick was right where it was supposed to be, still clamped under his two middle fingers. “So how do I counter it?”

  “You keep moving,” Roscoe said. “The best way to not get grabbed is to not be where they're grabbing.”

  “He puts it pretty simple, but he's right. What you got to do is keep moving around, don't let them get ahold of you. If they do, then you've got to throw your weight back, pull them off balance. That should also give you a chance to strike. Now, let's go again. Same target, try to get me.”

  Over the next forty minutes, Carson found himself on his back three more times, but he quickly learned his lesson. The last three times that Johnny managed to grab hold of him, Carson spun himself backward and was able to catch him off guard, and twice he managed to get Johnny in the solar plexus. Both times he had to back off and give the man a couple of minutes to regain his breath.

  “Okay,” Johnny said, gasping after the last incident. “You're learning, I'll give you that. Don't get the big head, though, there's still a lot more to learn. For one thing, you've got to learn how to take a punch.”

  Suddenly, without any warning at all, Johnny lashed out with a fist and caught Carson on the left cheek. The blow knocked him senseless for a moment, and he landed on the ground on his side.

  “If we were in the arena, you would be dead right now. You simply cannot afford to hit the ground, no matter what your opponent manages to do to you. You're not going to like it, but I'm going to do that now and then until you learn to stay on your feet.”

  Carson stared up at him. “How the hell am I supposed to stay on my feet through that?”

  Johnny grinned. “Well, first, you do your best not to let it happen. If it does, though, then you got to develop some reflexes that will keep you standing up. Now, the best way for you to learn those is to figure out that being on the ground is a really bad idea, so from now on, whenever you go down, Roscoe and I are going to kick the snot out of you.”

  “Believe me,” Roscoe said, “you'll learn real quick to stay up off the ground.”

  Carson rolled his eyes. “I'm sure glad you guys are supposed to be my friends,” he said. “Somehow I don't think I'd like it if you weren't.”

  Roscoe and Johnny burst out laughing. “You got that right,” Roscoe said. “You wouldn't like that at all.”

  The instruction continued for almost two more hours, and then it was lunchtime. Carson was sore, and his face and body bore several bruises, but he realized he wasn't the only one who was black and blue. Several of the others in line bore similar marks.

  “So, I guess it's pretty common for people to teach new guys how to fight?” Carson asked.

  “Sometimes,” Roscoe said. “It all depends. If somebody take a shine to, then he be willing to help you out, or sometimes people like me get called and told to make sure somebody knows how to fight. You just got lucky, and got me and Johnny. I'm on top of the boards right now, and Johnny is climbing them fast. Between us, you got about the best two teachers you could get.”

  Carson looked over at Johnny. “You're not much bigger than me,” he said. “How do you manage to keep winning your fights?”

  Johnny grinned and winked at him. “Being smaller isn't necessarily a handicap,” he said. “I move pretty quick, and I'm good at getting out of another guy's grip. In most cases, I just wear them out until they make a mistake and I can get them down. Once they're on the ground, it's over.”

  Carson swallowed. “About that,” he said. “That final blow—how do you…”

  “How do you kill someone? It's easy. If the guy is down and on his back, all you got to do is stomp on his throat, just as hard as you can. If he's got you blocked and you can't do that, just kick the base of his nose upward. That breaks his nasal bones and drives them into his brain, kills him instantly. If he's on his belly, just keep stomping on the back of his neck. You do it long enough, his neck will break.”

  Carson glanced down at the ground. “I'm afraid I—I'm afraid I'll freeze up when it comes time to do it. If I even get that far.”

  Roscoe laid a hand on his shoulder. “If you do, then you won't survive. He'll get back up and you'll be dead.”

  TWENTY

  When lunch was over, they went right back to working out again. Carson was getting better at avoiding Johnny's punches, and at staying on his feet when one of them landed. Roscoe stood by, offering encouragement and cheering Carson on.

  In the middle of the afternoon, Roscoe decided it was time to work on some other things.

  “That stick is going to help you a lot,” he said, “but you can't ignore your hands and feet. You need to learn how to punch hard, and use those feet to kick your opponent.”

  Johnny agreed, and began showing Carson how to balance himself on his feet so that he could put all of his weight behind a punch. They concentrated on that for the rest of the day, until dinnertime, and then went to eat.

  When dinner was over, Roscoe suggested that Carson just take it easy for the rest of the night. “We’ll all meet up again in the morning, and pick up where we left off. Like I said, we got us a week, and we got to do a month's worth of work in that time.”

  Carson gratefully went back to his room, checked to make sure no one was in it and then closed and locked the door before he stripped and got into the shower. The clothing he had worn on the journey there was a jumpsuit that was identical to the ones they had given him, and he had worn it that day since it was still relatively clean. He would simply put on a new set in the morning.

  He toweled himself dry and put on a pair of boxers, then got himself a cup of water and lay back on his bed to read. He was asleep before the curfew buzzer sounded.

 
The next morning was more of the same, as Roscoe and Johnny kept him practicing the moves they had taught him the day before. By lunchtime, he had learned to spin away from a punch to his face and body, and had even managed to duck several of them completely. Even more important, from his point of view, was the fact that he had stayed on his feet the entire morning. Johnny had tried several times to flip him and put him down, but he always managed to recover and break Johnny's grip.

  After lunch, however, Roscoe said it was time for something new, and Carson eyed him warily.

  “You're getting pretty good at not getting hit,” the big man said, “but some of these guys you might be fighting will surprise you. All it takes is for you to lose focus for a second, and suddenly he's behind you. What you need is eyes in the back of your head, and the only way we can help you grow any is by making sure you need them. From here on out, today, you gonna be dealing with both of us. Johnny, he's your main target, but when you least expect it, I'm gonna be behind you, smacking the shit out of you. Trust me, won't be long before you'll know what I'm doing even without looking.”

  Johnny chuckled and Carson started to get himself in position, but before he could even get his feet planted, Roscoe slapped him in the back of his head.

  “Hey! I wasn't ready!” Carson yelled.

  Roscoe slapped him again. “Professor, if some sumbitch is trying to kill you, do you think he's gonna wait till you ready? Let's go!”

  Carson glared at him for a split second, then turned to face Johnny again. For almost two hours, Carson continued to jab and kick at Johnny while constantly trying to anticipate what was going on behind him. He learned quickly that he couldn't spin his head back and forth enough to keep track of both of his attackers, but then it dawned on him that there were other, more subtle clues that he could sense.

  They took a break at mid-afternoon, each of them guzzling water from a nearby fountain before sitting down on a bench to rest. Roscoe looked over at Carson.

  “I know you thinking we been pretty hard on you, but don't forget that we just trying to keep you alive. And it's paying off, it's getting harder for me to actually smack you any.”

  Carson grinned. “That's because I quit trying to watch both of you at the same time,” he said. “I noticed that just before you hit me, I can feel air moving, and that tells me when to duck. Sometimes, when you move closer, I sort of feel it through the ground, up my leg, and I can tell which direction you're coming from.”

  Johnny chuckled at him. “That's what we mean about eyes in the back of your head. From here on out, we're going to keep on double-teaming you, because that's how you'll keep that edge. By the time they schedule your first fight, you'll be ready for any time your opponent gets behind you.”

  “Yeah, so now we gonna step it up. When you feel me coming, I want you to try to jab me with that stick, or punch me or kick me, whatever. And don't be bashful, if you can make it hurt, you make it hurt. If somebody get behind you, you need to put him down as fast as you can, or at least get him off you so you can turn and face him.”

  It was time, Roscoe said, and they got up off the bench and went back to their practice area. Carson and Johnny squared off and began sparring, but a moment later Carson felt the vibration that meant Roscoe was moving in on him. He spun around quickly, and the end of his stick that was protruding past his pinky caught Roscoe in the ribs. The big man laughed and jumped back, and Carson instantly spun back to face Johnny, just in time to catch a punch in the jaw.

  He rolled it off his face and spun around again, this time turning a full three hundred and sixty degrees and catching the back of Johnny's right arm with the stick. The broken, jagged end of the stick tore his skin a little bit, and Johnny jumped away.

  “Oh, man, I'm sorry,” Carson said, but Johnny instantly turned and threw a roundhouse kick at his face. Carson ducked back, leaning away from the kick, and his left hand came up and grabbed Johnny's ankle. He yanked, and Johnny landed on the ground on his butt.

  Roscoe burst out laughing, and suddenly Carson heard other people laughing and applauding. He looked up, and saw that a dozen men had gathered to watch what was going on.

  “Well, you drew blood,” Johnny said, getting to his feet. He pulled on his arm to try to see the injury, but it wasn't serious. “Remember, you're practicing ways to fight for your life. Don't worry about me if I get a little scrape, I'm pretty tough and I can handle it.”

  “Looks to me like he handled you just fine,” Roscoe said. “That was good, Professor, you reacted fast enough to dodge that kick, and then used it against him. I think you're ready for your next lesson.”

  Carson smiled.

  * * * * *

  The chime sounded at the door, and Charlotte got up from the couch. She wiped her eyes again with the tissue in her hand, then touched the button beside the door that would show her who was ringing. It was Martin, and she opened the door slowly.

  “I've been calling, but you haven't answered,” he said. “I'll confess that I was getting a little worried. How are you holding up?”

  She shrugged her shoulders and hesitated for a moment. “I think I'm coming to grips with it,” she said at last. She looked at the tissue in her hand, and waved it in the air. “I've only needed a handful of these today, not a whole box of them like yesterday. You want to come in?”

  She stepped aside without waiting for him to answer, and he entered the apartment. Charlotte closed the door behind him and turned to go back to the couch. Martin came and sat down beside her, not too close, but close enough to offer comfort.

  “Have you been eating? You look kind of pale.”

  Charlotte shrugged again, but then she shook her head. “Haven't really been hungry,” she said. “I've just been trying to imagine what Carson is going through. What's it like, where they keep them? Do you know?”

  Martin tried for a sad grin. “I've heard that it's pretty decent. I think they treat them pretty humanely, and between their…”

  A tear worked its way down Charlotte's cheek, and she smiled back just as sadly. “Between the fights? I've tried and tried to convince myself that Carson can make it through this, but we both know he doesn't have a chance. Carson isn't any kind of fighter, so his first fight will be his last.” She shuddered, and the sob escaped her, but she forced it down. “I guess I just have to accept that, don't I? I have to let go, and just accept the fact that he's gone.”

  Martin was walking a tight rope, and he knew it. The sooner she gave up on Carson, the sooner she would be ready to come back into his arms, but any attempt he made to speed that process would only blow up in his face.

  “I admit it doesn't seem like he's got much of a chance,” he said softly, “but you never know. Sometimes, people you wouldn't ever think would have a chance turn out to be some of the best fighters. It's possible he could come through this.”

  Charlotte looked at him, the same sad smile on her face. “Martin, I know you're only trying to help,” she said, “but I know Carson. There's no way in the world he's going to live through this. Even if he gets lucky on his first fight, the next one will be the last, or the one after that. I think it's time I just let go.”

  Martin nodded, but just barely. He wanted to seem comforting, not as if he were encouraging her to write Carson off.

  “You need to eat something,” he said, and got up from the couch to walk into her kitchen. He looked through her refrigerator and found several covered dishes. “Looks like your neighbors have been trying to get you to eat, too. There's some spaghetti here, how about if I warm it up for you?”

  Charlotte came into the kitchen and stood beside him. “That'll be fine,” she said. “There's plenty of it, let's heat up enough for both of us.” She leaned against him for just a second, then reached in and picked up the bowl.

  Martin stood aside and watched as she went through the motions. She put the bowl into the microwave oven and set the timer, then got a couple of plates from the dishwasher. When the timer went off, sh
e pulled the ball out and used tongs to serve the spaghetti. She set the plates on the table, got out silverware and glasses, then poured them each a glass of tea.

  “Come on, it's ready,” she said as she took her seat at the table. Martin hesitated for a second, then sat in the chair opposite her. They ate in silence for a couple of moments, but then Charlotte looked up at him.

  “Thank you,” she said softly. “I appreciate you giving me this time, since Carson left. I hate being alone, but I just needed some time to myself.”

  Martin smiled. “I understood,” he said. “I'm not trying to push myself on you, Charlotte, I just want you to know that I'm here if you need me.”

  Charlotte put down her fork and reached across the table. Martin's hand met hers halfway, and they sat there in silence for a couple of minutes.

  “Would you think I was terrible if I wanted you to stay tonight?” Charlotte asked.

  Martin kept his smile, and tilted his head briefly to the left, a sign of acceptance. “I could never think you were terrible,” he said. “I just don't want to rush anything. If you want me to stay, I'll be happy to stay, but if you need more time…”

  “I think I've said my goodbyes,” she said softly. “I've come to accept that my life with Carson is over, but you know me, I hate being alone.” She bit her bottom lip, and Martin sat silently as she tried to frame the words that were about to come from her mouth.

  “Martin, I have a confession to make,” she said. “Even before this, even when I thought Carson would be coming home, that it would get straightened out, I was—I was wrestling with something inside. The times that I've been with you, you show me things I never knew existed, things I needed that I didn't even know were out there. I kept telling myself that when Carson came home, I would pretend everything was fine, but I was hoping that I'd still get to see you sometimes, secretly. Isn't that terrible? My partner was going through something so horrible, but even when I thought it would come to an end and he would be coming back to me, I was planning to continue our affair.”