Mercenary (Bio of a Space Tyrant Book 2)

by Piers Anthony

  Foolishly, he went for his own knife. I knew better than to bluff; I slashed at his moving arm, laying it open. Then, as the blood welled out, I caught the door with one foot and slammed it in his face.

  This had taken but a moment. Now I faced the disarmed man, my knife poised. “Balk, and I attack,” I said. He now knew how fast and sure I was with a blade. “What did you want with me?”

  “You forgot to protect your rear, officer,” the woman said.

  I whirled again and found myself facing a rapier. I had indeed been foolish! My knife was no match for such a weapon, if competently wielded, and I saw quickly that this one was. The woman was more than a decoy; she was the main agent of my abduction. She stood before a green divan, poised.

  My back was now to the disarmed man. He took this seeming opportunity to grab for me. That was his mistake. I had not neglected my rear a second time. I reached over my own right shoulder to catch his right lapel with my left hand, and hauled him around me in a judo wraparound throw. I never let go of the knife in my right hand. Few people untrained in martial art comprehend the devastating nature of a properly executed wraparound throw. He landed hard before me, half-stunned and under my control. Now I had a human shield. “What did you want with me?” I repeated, touching the point of my knife to his neck just behind the right ear.

  “The key,” the woman said, evidently not unduly alarmed by the threat to her henchman. I was using my talent now, studying her; I knew she was irritated but not afraid. I should have focused on her before; I had been careless in that respect, too. We learn the costs of our carelessness the hard way.

  Suddenly it fell into place. “Kife,” I said.

  She nodded. “Turn over the key and go unharmed. The key is all we want.”

  “How do you know I have it with me?”

  “Your belongings have been rayed,” she said. “It is not there. It has to be on you.”

  I stalled. “Why do you want it?”

  “It is Kife’s property. Yield it and be free.”

  I sensed that she was bluffing, in part. I counterbluffed. “Tell me what is so important about that key, and I will spare his life.” I nudged my blade against the henchman’s neck so that he flinched.

  “I could run you through,” she said, her rapier point aiming at my face.

  “Then you had better do it quickly.” I dug in with the knife, drawing blood.

  “Wait!” she cried.

  I paused, knowing I had figured her correctly. She could kill me while I killed her henchman, but that was not an exchange she wanted to make. It was not that she cared for the henchman; it was that she did not want to kill me.

  “The key opens a particular lock,” she said. “No other key fits.”

  She was lying. “I’ll make a copy for you,” I said. “The original key has a sentimental value for me.” It did indeed; it was my only physical relic of the woman I had loved.

  “We must have the original,” she said. “It is not the physical key; that’s only for appearance. There is a unique magnetic pattern that is the actual key.”

  Now she was telling the truth. “So it’s a magnetic key,” I said. “What does it unlock?”

  “This is Chiron, the Key,” she said. “The symbol for Chiron is a key.”

  “Very nice alignment,” I agreed. “Kife seeks to fetch a key at the key. But you haven’t answered my question.”

  She hesitated. “I don’t have full information.”

  “But you have more than you have told me,” I countered.

  She smiled, deciding on another course. “Let the man go, and you and I will talk without weapons.”

  That was an improvement. I stepped back from the henchman, knowing he was no good as a hostage, anyway.

  “Leave,” the woman told him. The man scrambled to his feet and went out the door, closing it behind him.

  The woman put her rapier on the floor and stepped away from it. I set my knife down similarly. I knew she did not intend violence. I didn’t trust her; I trusted my reading of her motive.

  She walked to the divan. “Sit, and we shall talk.”

  I had something she wanted, but she also had something I wanted. Obviously she wished to obtain the key without killing or hurting me, so that there would be no wider attention called to this matter, while I wanted to know the full nature of the key and of QYV. I was willing to play the game of seduction, to learn what she knew. Up to a point. I joined her. “What does the key unlock?” I repeated.

  She adjusted her décolletage to show more cleavage. I almost smiled at so obvious a ploy. But when she leaned forward, I had to concede that she had a lot to show. “Do you understand cryptography?”

  I was aware that this was relevant. I looked where I was supposed to look but did not let the view distract me in the manner intended. I always appreciate the female form, but at the moment I was far more interested in the key. “Very little.”

  “For centuries man has labored to develop an unbreakable code for private messages,” she said. “The closest we have come is computer-assisted. The elements of the message are converted to numbers, and the numbers are scrambled according to a special pattern. We call it encryption. Only a person with that special scrambling pattern can decode the message.”

  It began to make sense. “And this key’s magnetic pattern is the key for a particular message.”

  “A vitally important message,” she agreed. “I don’t know what that message is, but Kife must have it.”

  “But that message is years old now!” I protested.

  “It remains vital.” And I knew that she was telling the truth, as she knew it. She held out her hand. “Now the key.”

  “We agreed to talk, not to exchange the key,” I said.

  “True,” she agreed. “But the key is of no use to you. Will you sell it to me?”

  “What price?” I had no intention of selling it but was curious about the monetary value QYV placed on it.

  She made a negligent gesture. “Money is of no account. Name a figure.”

  Something rang phony. Again I had a vision of a steel ball striking a line of balls with no ball rebounding. Why should money be of no account? Because they had unlimited funds, or because I would not be permitted to live to enjoy the money? As a military man I had no use for any large illicit windfall, anyway; it could only prejudice my career. “You can offer better than that.”

  She smiled. “You are cunning, officer. I, too, am available, if that is your desire.” She touched the rounded hollow between her breasts. She had been doing her best to make it my desire, and certainly her anatomy put that of the ship’s Tail to shame. QYV could afford the best in bodies.

  “We do not mix with the local women,” I said. “However much we might like to. I think you have something of greater value to me.”

  “Your life,” she said.

  “I don’t think you mean to kill me. You had the chance before, and to take the key from my body.”

  “It is better to bargain than to kill.”

  She was to one side of the truth again. “Let me conjecture: Kife is not sure the key I carry is the original. I have had opportunity to hide the original or to give it to someone else, and I have had prior warning of Kife’s methods. If you kill me, then discover the key I carry is a duplicate, you have lost your mission or at least walked into another extended search for the original. That key is worth more to you than my life or my death, and my death would bring suspicion on you. The Jupiter Navy is implacable in the investigation of the murder of one of its officers, and Chiron is a sensitive assignment; such an investigation would surely expose your activity here. So you want the key—and my silence—and my life is safe until you have verified the key’s authenticity, which is not something you can do soon.”

  She smiled again, more warmly. “I grow to like you, officer. Your conjecture is correct. I must deliver the key to my superior and wait for confirmation. If I myself were to discover the nature of its message, my lif
e would be forfeit. We thought to take the key from you and let you go, since you do not know its message either. Thereafter we have no further interest in you.”

  “So you never planned to kill me. In what sense, then, are you offering me my life in exchange for the key?”

  “There is danger to you not of our making. We can get you removed from this situation before that threat materializes.”

  QYV had put me on this mission; he could probably take me from it. He could move me about like a pawn on a chessboard, but he could not conveniently get my key. I did not like the smell of this. “No deal. I’ll take my chances.”

  She sighed. “Then we must take the key by force.”

  “Then I must escape by force,” I said.

  “We have overpowering force available.”

  She was bluffing. “So do I, when my sergeant zeroes in on the region of my disappearance. Shall we set some guidelines for our encounter, so as not to generate an interplanetary incident?”

  She smiled again, genuinely appreciative. “You amaze me, officer. I wish you were on my team. What do you have in mind?”

  “First, no bloodshed. Bare-handed, action ceasing when opponent yields or loses consciousness, and the defeated party retires from the fray. By bare-handed I mean no power weapons, pacifiers, blades, or chemicals. Second, no telling. If you win, you will take the key and return me to my unit with no word of what really happened; if I win, I will not turn you in or make any report. This is a private contest. Third, no future action on Chiron either way; now decides the issue.”

  She considered. “Let me consult.” She rose and went to the door. There was a murmured exchange. Then she returned and settled herself again. “It is agreed. A mock conflict. Bare-handed, bloodless, silent, and no further issue. Escape this building with the key and you are free; otherwise, it is ours. If we prevail and the key is false, you will guide us to the real one.”

  “Say when,” I said.

  She gave me a direct look. “When.”

  I launched myself at her from a sitting position, but she was already moving. Her legs came up to fend me off. I caught her left ankle and shoved it aside, but her right leg slid past on my other side, and suddenly she had me in a scissor hold about the waist. I had thought she would try to flee the couch, to alert her associates; instead, she was trying to pin me there, and she had strong legs. Women may be weaker than men above the waist, but not below. I had miscalculated because I could not use my talent to interpret her training; her reflexes were largely automatic, not subject to conscious planning. She had countered my motion reflexively, and so had caught me. I tried to lean forward, to get a choke hold on her, but she squeezed me tightly and held me back so I had no leverage. I grasped a handful of her upper dress, to haul her in to me, but it ripped away. No purchase there.

  Well, there were other ways. I could have dumped us both on the floor, but the thud would have alerted her henchmen that the engagement was on, and they would have rushed in to overpower me while she pinned me with the scissors. Our silence was literal; she did not scream for help. I realized that she was enjoying the challenge of this combat; she was a very physical woman and wanted to do this job herself. If our struggle should lead to seduction, she would not object.

  I took another handful of dress and ripped it away, exposing her low cut halter beneath. Then I ripped that away, leaving her bare above the waist. She had reason to be proud of her body. Still, she did not scream, but continued to squeeze me unmercifully in her scissor hold. That hurt physically, despite my conditioning. I had to break her grip, and I did not want to strike her. Even in this combat I retained a certain diffidence about violence toward a beautiful woman, as perhaps she knew.

  I put my hands to the nether portion of her dress and ripped that away. Soon I had her entirely naked, but still she did not relinquish her grip on my waist. I considered ramming my hand into an intimate place, but knew that would not make her let go; she was too close to victory to give in because of pain or indignity.

  I reached suddenly for her face, and when she batted my arm aside with her forearm I caught that and hauled it in to me. She fought me savagely, but my strength was superior, and I got hold of her long black hair and used it to draw her head close. Now I was able to move to a so-called “naked strangle,” perhaps appropriate for this occasion. One forearm was behind her, my fist anchored in her hair, my other forearm levering into the side of her neck, squeezing the buried carotid artery. This would not render her unconscious quickly, as the artery on the other side of her neck still conveyed blood to her brain, but I could make the hold extremely uncomfortable.

  She relaxed her scissors grip and spun out of my strangle. But I caught her in another, this time from behind, and this one was secure, and it put pressure on both carotids. She had played into my hands.

  I did not try to put her out. “You are my shield,” I murmured in her ear. “We shall march outside together.”

  “My men will grab you, anyway,” she gasped. “I’ll tell them to!”

  “We’ll see.” I marched her to the door. “Stand back!” I called. “I have your leader hostage, and she’ll be the first to suffer.” Then, to her: “Stop trying to pull at my arms, and open that door. We’re about to test your men.”

  Confident that I was now playing into her hands, she did so. The door opened, and there was a henchman ready to spring.

  His eyes widened as he saw the naked, buxom form of his leader. Obviously she was no common man’s sexual plaything, and he had never been presented with this particular view before. He stepped back.

  “You see, no bluff,” I said, following him. “I have her in pain; she will not tell you to free her.”

  The woman tried to do just that, but now I was attuned to her physical reactions, and I tightened up my strangle into a choke just as she started to speak, so that only a gasp emerged. It must have seemed to be a sufficient confirmation of my threat, for the man retreated farther. A choke hold can be impressive; the victim’s veins swell in the head, and eyes protrude, because of the blockage of flow from the jugular vein, though this is neither as painful nor as incapacitating as the less-obvious pressure on the carotids. And, of course, the victim’s breath is restricted; that’s no fun at all.

  “Lead the way downstairs,” I told him. “With your companion.”

  The man hesitated, and his companion did not appear. I figured the missing man was lurking in ambush, waiting for me to pass. I also figured there were only two of them; the woman had been bluffing when she mentioned “overwhelming force.” Had she really had it, she would not have bargained with me; she would have used that force immediately.

  “Now!” I snapped with authority, and I eased up on my choke while kneeing the woman in the rear. She had a plush posterior; I half-regretted having to treat it this way. She made an involuntary screech, caught by surprise. That was exactly what I wanted.

  The second man appeared from an alcove down the hall. “That’s all of you?” I asked, making sure.

  They exchanged a glance. “No,” the nearer one confessed. He was lying.

  I propelled the woman forward. She didn’t even struggle. If there was one thing I had learned well in the course of my Basic and officer’s training, it was how to apply a submission hold. I had mastered a number, ranging from finger-breakers to potentially lethal nerve grips, assuming such proficiency would be useful—an assumption now confirmed. My present neck hold was a compromise, maintaining the subject in a suitable state of consciousness without permitting her freedom of speech or resistance; I could put her out in seconds if I had to. Control is all important, not mere power. There is something very persuasive about pressure on the windpipe; the victim knows that struggle will only make it worse.

  The two moved down the stairs, helpless before my certainty. Each time they paused, I nudged the woman’s bare bottom with my knee, she obligingly squeaked, and the men moved with alacrity.

  It was, after all, that simple. We mad
e it down and out the door and into the crowded street. “Get back inside,” I told the men, and they did.

  Then I released the woman slowly, so I could tighten up if she tried to attack me, and so she could recover her wind and poise.

  There was a mark on her neck where my forearm had pressed so cruelly. “I believe I have won the round,” I said.

  She took a moment to rub her neck and get her bearings. “Conceded, officer,” she agreed hoarsely. She touched her behind where I had kneed it. “I trust you enjoyed our contact.”

  “Indeed,” I agreed. “I regret it could not have been more intimate.”

  “It could have been; why do you think I didn’t scream?” She leaned close and kissed me on the mouth. Then she turned and reentered the house.