Galactic Council Realm 2: On Duty

by J. Clifton Slater

  I walked unaware through the door and into the wire mesh combat cage. Joining the man in the center of the combat circle, I started to speak but he stopped me with a raised hand.

  Leaning down, he asked, “What’s your name?”

  “Oscar,” I replied.

  “Not great but I’ll come up with something,” he said straightening up.

  I looked beyond the wire and noticed the crowd had settled expectantly in their seats.

  Suddenly, the man in a booming voice began speaking, “Ladies and gentlemen. The Gymnasium, in association with the independent circles of combat, proudly presents an evening of combat. For the first match of the evening, our own, Humaira from the Scarlet Circle takes on.”

  A large fit looking man rushed into the ring. He pranced around, waving to the crowd. They returned his attention with cheers and shouts of encouragement.

  “And his opponent to start the evening’s festivities,” the man said taking off his top hat and brandishing it in my direction.

  I looked at the door to see who was coming in to face the obvious home team favorite. Sometimes, I am dense.

  “Hailing from the rough and tumble combat league in the asteroid belt,” the man continued, “where he’s defeated all challengers, I present, the terror of the void, zero gravity’s only known foe, the man with a million victories, Count them Dead, Oscar the Fearsome.”

  The spectators were screaming and hold out fists full of Pesetas. Kids ran up and down the bleachers collecting the money and exchanging the bills for a piece of hastily scribbled on paper. Sure enough, the betting was heavy, except I had news for them. I wasn’t about to be part of the evening’s entertainment.

  I glimpsed the purple uniform rushing for the exit. I was right on his tail and almost at the cage entrance when a stick shot out and punched me in the chest. It knocked me back two steps which was enough delay for them to close the door.

  Knuckles cracked and so did the spine in Humaira’s oversize neck. He was loosening up and dividing his attention between the adoring crowd and me. For them it was smiles and waves, for me sneers and growls. My only hope, this was a preliminary fight. The top fighters would be matched up later in the evening. Maybe Humaira of the Scarlet Circle was a novice fighter. In that case, I’d go easy on him.

  “Welcome back H.S.” someone shouted which began a chant of “H-S, H-S, H-S.”

  I saw he was unarmed so I walked to the edge of the cage and set my plain shoulder bag on the plastic surface. The chant had grown and I realized Humaira Scarlet was well known. Maybe he would go easy on me.

  H.S. bent his knees, put his hands out in front of his body in a classic defensive pose and shuffled towards me. I mimicked him and edged forward to close the distance. I envisioned him as a grappler but his striker stance caused me to prepare for punches.

  It was a punch, just not in a conventional sense. He pivoted on his right leg, spun and propelled his right hand around in a blur of a spinning back fist. If it collided with my temple, it would have done real damage.

  I dropped my rear leg back further and bent my knees. It’s the quickest way to lower you head, faster than ducking down. Except while the move allowed the back of his hand to just brush the top of my head, my position was unbalanced for a side attack. His left knee with all the momentum of his spin rocked into my ribs. Off balance and struck with the bone, gristle and muscle of his left knee, I was suddenly airborne.

  My body flexed in the direction of the strike while tossing my hands and feet to the side creating a painful ‘U’ shape. If I allowed it, I’d hit the plastic surface and sprawl. Humaira Scarlet wasn’t the type to let me collect myself. If I hit like a ragdoll, he’d be on me quick. Despite the pain, I fought the centrifugal force and crunched my stomach muscles while pulling my hand and knees back to center mass. I hit and rolled.

  HS was playing to the crowd by dramatically stomping with his feet as he followed my flight. If he’d run to me, I’d have been done. Instead, his showmanship gave me a few precious seconds.

  I rolled twice than found the surface with a palm. A push and I was unclenching and finding my feet. Humaira Scarlet missed my gymnastics as he’d turned to preen for the adoring masses.

  It’s almost never a good move, unless, an unprotected back presents itself. I bull rushed him. No elegance, in fact, if any of my Druid fighting instructors been there they’d chastise me no end. I hit him in the lower spine and drove his arched body into the wire cage.

  He bounced off and I lifted, letting his momentum carry him up and over my head. The almost gentle arc of the big man flying through the air was negated when I applied force and slammed him face first into the deck. To complete the attack, I drove a knee into his back.

  He exhaled hard and lay still. That wasn’t too bad, I thought as I walked to my shoulder bag. Holding my bruised ribs, I bent to retrieve it.

  “Lt. Behind you,” the woman from the ramp whispered.

  She was leaning against the edge of the combat circle. Also, she looked worried so I spun to look where I’d left Humaira Scarlet. He wasn’t laying there.

  He was in fact stumbling across the combat circle. Not in my direction, in the direction of a piece of pipe, someone had thrown it into the ring.

  “I let you down, Sir,” she whispered, “Bima will have my butt if anything happens to you. Ah, now would be a good time to move.”

  While the young Marine had been fretting, I’d been opening the shoulder bag. I heard Humaira Scarlet as he walked towards me and the air swoosh as he swung the pipe around. I rolled and came up on my feet as he rushed in. The pipe would have split my skull if I’d stayed in place.

  He turned, smile at me and swung the pipe in a circle. I smiled back as I shook out my custom Druid fighting sticks. They snapped open and clicked in place. Now at last, it was a fair fight.

  He rushed me and I stood with the sticks resting along my thighs. He raised the pipe to get a good whack at the top of my head. It was a tempting target.

  The pipe came from over his shoulder. It arched passed vertical and passed his ability to control the downward movement. My sticks rose fast. They crossed over my head. I had no intention of stopping the heavy pipe.

  My crossed sticks met the pipe and I slid them along the heavy bludgeon. The move drew me inside his out stretched arms while the pipe pulled him forward. He’d expected the pipe to connect with my head or at least my shoulder. Instead, the moving pipe was behind me and he was still gripping the metal.

  I pulled the fighting sticks down and drove the butt ends into his exposed ribs. Before he could adjust, I raised up and placed a nice upper cut with my elbow. He began screaming as blood spurted from his mouth. It’s never a good idea to fight with your tongue sticking out.

  The elbow to the underside of his jaw forced his head back. He had a nice view of the ceiling before it was blocked by my other elbow. I’d jumped high and brought it down onto his upturned face. Humaira Scarlet fell to his knees. It was mean but I couldn’t resist. My knee caught the side of his head and he sailed sideways landing hard on the deck.

  I was scanning the crowd when the purple uniform sprinted into the combat circle. He placed his body protectively between Humaira Scarlet and me. I wondered if, he’d have done the same for me.

  “And your winner by virtue of a TKO, Oscar the Fearsome,” he shouted trying to be heard above the noisy crowd.

  He turned to me and thrust a fat wad of Pesetas into my hand.

  “I’d get of out of here, right now, if I were you,” he said before turning back towards the spectators. His hands held out in a losing attempt to calm them down.

  I strolled out of the combat circle in a shower of little pieces of paper. The disappointment of the gamblers was on display as the plastic deck began to disappear beneath a layer of discarded betting slips. I descended the ramp while looking around for my Marine minder. She was nowhere to be found.

  At the bottom of the short ramp, four sold bodies blocked my way.
They each wore a red headband and not much else. None of them rendered any pleasantries. In fact, they looked angry.

  “Humaira’s money,” one said holding out his hand.

  I was beginning to see a pattern. Everyone here just loved to hold out their hand for my money.

  “Did you say Humaira’s money?” I asked balancing the wad of cash on an open palm, “Isn’t his name Humaira Scarlet? I swear, I thought his name was Humaira Scarlet.”

  “His name is Humaira. He is one of the Scarlet Circle,” the guy replied lifting a finger to indicate the headband which flexed his pectoral muscles, “We are the Scarlet Circle. Give us Humaira’s money.”

  I didn’t need the money. It was an unexpected windfall, but I did have my pride. Giving them my winnings? I just couldn’t do it.

  “What? This money,” I asked bouncing the roll on my palm.

  With my free hand, I slowly slid the fighting sticks out of the shoulder bag.

  “Yes, Humaira’s winnings,” he demanded.

  Three pairs of eyes and one solo eye, I didn’t count the eye patch, were focused on the bouncing cash. They didn’t notice me hiding the sticks behind my leg. I was about to toss the money in the air as a distraction, snap open my sticks and test the ferocity of the Scarlet Circle.

  “Scarlet Circle,” I female voice growled out the words like a warning.

  The Marine and five other fit looking individuals appeared behind my targets.

  “We want Humaira’s winnings,” Scarlet’s spokesperson repeated, “It’s none of Emerald Circle’s business.”

  My Marine was boring a hole in the man’s chest with her stare while she slowly pulled a glove onto one hand. She wasn’t giving him the moral victory of looking up to his face.

  “Let me see if I can figure this out?” she said while tugging the glove tighter on her wrist, “Humaira attacks with a weapon during an unarmed match and loses. How am I doing so far?”

  “This man cheated. He used fighting sticks,” the man said as he eyed the gloved hand, “Humaira was supposed to win. This man cheated so the money belongs to the Scarlet Circle.”

  “So when he picked up the pipe, Oscar wasn’t supposed to defend himself,” she replied while pulling a matching glove from her belt.

  “Humaira. He got confused. He didn’t mean to pick up the pipe,” the man’s argument was weakening as well as his resolve.

  “So your man gets confused and turns the bout into a weapons match,” the Marine said as she placed her fingers in the second glove, “You don’t blame it on taking a fight against an opponent you didn’t scout? Or, the fact that your fighter wasn’t prepared for a professional stick fighter when he grabbed the pipe?”

  “Look, we don’t want trouble with Emerald Circle,” he said looking around at his companions.

  “Well, I don’t see any way around this but for you and I too step into a neutral circle,” she said tugging the final glove high up on her wrist.

  “Look, Nahia, it’s not that important,” he said as he side stepped out from between us.

  I studied the gloves as the Marine flexed her fingers. They flexed and straightened in the dim light. Black material, form fitted to her hands, and there, I caught a reflection. When the light was right, I understood. Nahia’s gloves were very fancy brass knuckles.

  “I believe, I had it under control,” I said with a smile, “What’s your name?”

  “Corporal Nahia, Lieutenant,” she introduced herself and said, “I wasn’t about to tempt fate and Sergeant Bima’s wrath again.”

  “Could you have beaten him?” I asked pointing to the loaded gloves.

  “Don’t know, he’s a good fighter. Plus, Scarlet Circle cheats,” she said laughing, “I was kind of looking forward to finding out.”

  “I have experience with their sense of fair play. I need to check the rest of the circles,” I stated, “and if I don’t find Hippolyt, head over to the other gym.”

  “I’ll stick with you as far as the market,” Nahia volunteered.

  “Appreciated,” I said following her towards the other training circles.

  We wandered through the circles behind the bleachers. Corporal Nahia left me a few times to speak with people. Each time she reported no one knew of a Hippolyt. We arrived at the entrance and the man behind the table avoided eye contact with me.

  “Thirsty, Lieutenant?” Nahia asked while pointing to a drink table, “That vendor over there has clean beverages.”

  I eyed the stacked bottles of drinks. They’d all been opened and resealed.

  “Are you sure?” I asked indicating the broken seals on the drink containers.

  “All the vendors keep their best stock stashed in the back,” she informed me and reminded me of another lesson from my Mother, “If they get hit with a snatch and grab, they don’t lose much.”

  While she ordered two originally seal containers, I peeled off a few bills from my winnings. The man behind the counter went behind the stacks and emerged with a pair of sealed beverages.

  “I appreciate your help,” I said passing the Pesetas to the vendor, “My treat.”

  “Sir, it was my treat watching you take down Humaira,” she said as our drink containers hissed from the breaking seals, “He should have moved up the ranks but the Scarlet Circle uses him to fight and win primary bouts. Only today, there was no one for him to fight.”

  “Why not?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. There’s usually a handful of novices looking to impress a Combat Circle,” she stated between sips, “But today, no new blood. So, you got tricked into fighting.”

  I was only half paying attention to her. A few things fell into place and my gut clenched. Four people attempting to take a Marine’s weapon, I knew of that one, there could’ve been more planned. Construction Station’s security pulled behind barricades and occupied with demonstrations. And, unattached fighters missing their change to join a Combat Circle. I didn’t like where the clues were leading but I wouldn’t discount them.

  “Corporal Nahia. I believe you should get back to your Marine unit,” I said, “Tell Sergeant Bima to prep a quick reaction force. We may have an armed insurgency in the making.”

  “Here on Construction Station?” she asked.

  “I may be wrong but there’re too many signs pointing in that direction,” I explained.

  Marines wouldn’t question orders in combat situations but pre battle, they’re trained to collect as much intelligence as possible. I flushed out my theory, using her as a sounding board.

  “I agree, Lieutenant,” she said suddenly standing stiffly erect, “By your leave, Sir?”

  “Dismissed Corporal,” I said releasing her.

  She’d snapped into combat mode. Not combat mode as they practiced in the Combat Circles but warrior mode as only the Galactic Council Marine Corps practiced it.

  Chapter 26

  I started to walk away from the stadium. When the drink container was emptied, I searched for a disposal receptacle. The search caused me to look from vendor to vendor table. One table covered in hats and hoods pulled me over. As I approached, I studied the racks of robes, coats and jackets hanging behind the seller.

  “Need a jacket, hat or coat?” the woman asked as I neared.

  I ignored her and ran my eyes over her wears. Nahia’s words came back to me. They keep their best stock in the back. The woman followed me as I sorted through her merchandise. After working my way along the display, I rounded and stepped behind the display.

  “Is there something specific you’re looking for?” she asked stepping close to me.

  I put my hand out and warned her, “You pull that knife and you’ll die.”

  Another lesson from my Mother, all vendors, especially the women, have edged weapons in a Squatter’s Camp. It’s for protection of their goods, their virtue and for settling arguments.

  “I am looking for something specific,” I said spying the corner of partially hidden shipping box, “Druid robes.”

&n
bsp; She stepped back but I caught her arm before she could escape.

  “Easy there,” I said drawing her with me.

  I used my free hand to throw the cloth cover off the box. An imprint of a Heart Plant adored the top. Just how bad had the piracy gotten for a shipment of Druid supplies to go missing? I could only imagine the audacity of Pirates and smuggles who’d deal in Druid contraband.

  The woman shifted and I used my free hand to clamp down on the handle of the knife as it appeared from under her jacket.

  “I’ll take that,” I said squeezing her hand until she opened her fingers.

  “I’ll call for help,” she threatened.

  “And you’ll get dead along with a lot of other people,” I replied taking the knife from her.

  Using my foot, I flipped the shipping box’s top open with the toe of my boot. Druid robes, a stack of neatly folded official, can’t be found in stores, Druid robes. The box wasn’t full. It looked as if some had been removed.

  “Relax. I’m going to buy the Druid robes from you,” I said pointing the knife at the shipping box, “Pay attention because your future depends on it.”

  “You have my attention,” she replied, now all perky and happy.

  “I will pay you for the robes, as I promised. You will deliver them to Judge Birthe on the Justice deck,” I stated seeing her face crunch up in fear, “You will not be arrested. Now, here’s the future part. If you don’t deliver all the robes, I will come back to the Squatter’s Camp with three squads of Marines. We will destroy every structure here and let your neighbors know it’s because of you. If in the future, you come in to possession of Druid robes, you will take them to the Judge and he will pay you. If not, you know what will happen. Got it?”

  “Yes Sir, I got it,” she said slumping forward, “To be truthful, after Ignaz bought the three robes, I didn’t have any idea what to do with the rest.”

  There was my proof, Ignaz was orchestrating the attacks on the Druids, and probably instrumental in the death of Zamrud.

  “Tell that to Judge Birthe when you deliver the robes,” I said reaching out and closing the box top.