Last Fight

by S. J. Bryant

  "Got them. Head north to the designated parking area."

  They flew over the fields of locusts toward the shed. It spilled bright orange light across the dark crops and people milled about the entrance.

  Tyra landed in a cleared area outside, amongst a handful of other ships.

  Aart considered that here would be a better place for the workers to escape than over the fence. The ships were right there, all they had to do was sneak on board, or get someone to take them. Then he spotted the ring of enforcers that surrounded the ships, their guns pointed out at the fields. There was no way a worker would get past them.

  Tyra and Aart climbed down from the ship and approached the line of enforcers. One stepped forward and pressed a red stamp onto the back of their hands.

  "Don't let it wash off or you won't be allowed to leave," he said.

  "Right," Aart said.

  They strode past the enforcers and into the shed. It pulsed with lights and noise, and the scent of blood and booze surrounded Aart.

  "Great place," Tyra said. "Not exactly what I had in mind for our first date."

  Aart faltered and Tyra laughed.

  "Just kidding."

  They each wore weapons, but so did everyone else inside the shed.

  "So what now?" Tyra said.

  Aart shrugged. "We look for information?"

  A man stumbled toward them and bumped into Aart's shoulder. His drink sloshed up the sides of his cup and landed on Aart's shoes.

  "Watch where you're going!" the man slurred and staggered on.

  "I don't think these people are going to have much to offer," Tyra said.

  "The enforcers then. Some of them must know where General Haige is, but I can't risk talking to them. If they recognize me, I'll be in trouble."

  "I guess it's up to me then." Tyra stood straight and headed for the nearest enforcer.

  Aart edged away from them and into the seething mass of people, closer to the ring where the fight was about to start. He activated a recorder and hooked it over his ear so it would capture what he saw; he needed evidence to show Haige if they wanted any chance of saving the workers and getting the shed shut down.

  "And tonight, we have a special show," the voice boomed from all directions. "She's been absent for a couple of months but tonight she's back and more bitter than before."

  Movement at the corner of the ring, and then an enforcer shoved Delia forward. She stumbled into the cleared area. A purple bruise surrounded her right eye and dried blood coated her chin.

  "Delia!" Aart's heart clenched and he stepped forward.

  "Hey! Find your own space." A bigger man shoved Aart back.

  Aart massaged his rib where the man's elbow had landed and stood on the tips of his toes. He could just see the ring over the top of the crowd. Delia sagged in the corner; it looked like she'd already been in a fight, not about to start one.

  "And we have a formidable challenger tonight. He's all muscle and no emotion… Sven."

  A beast of a man stepped into the ring opposite Delia. Aart recognized him; he'd been one of the men who'd nearly beaten Aart to a pulp, although at the time Aart had only known him as Red.

  "Begin!"

  Sven lunged at Delia and swung. Delia ducked out of the way and darted around behind him, less injured than she'd seemed.

  Aart bit his lip. Clever; she had to know that Mackay and the enforcers wouldn't stop the fight for her. The only way she came out of the ring alive was by winning.

  "Come on, Sven!" bellowed the man who'd shoved Aart back. "I've got fifty credits riding on you!"

  "You chose wrong," said another man. "Delia always wins."

  "Are you kidding? Look at her."

  "She'll win."

  Aart hoped the man was right. He didn't have time to save Delia tonight; she had to survive long enough for him to get evidence and find General Haige.

  Delia slammed her boot into Sven's back and he stumbled into the ropes.

  The crowd roared.

  Sven shoved himself away from the rope and swung both fists at Delia's head. She dodged both but Sven threw his head forward and their skulls smashed together.

  Aart winced and drew back; he could almost feel the pain radiate through his own head.

  Delia staggered backward and fell to the sand. Blood poured down her face and her eyes rolled back in her head.

  "Told you," the big man in front of Aart said.

  "Get up!" Aart whispered.

  Sven grinned and stepped forward so that his shadow covered Delia.

  "Finish her!"

  "Do it now!"

  Sven lifted his foot and stomped down at Delia's head.

  She rolled sideways and his foot slammed into the sand, an inch from her face. She lurched to the edge of the arena and then used the rope to pull herself up.

  Sven's nostrils flared and he charged at her.

  Delia stumbled out of the way but the blow to her head slowed her down and Sven's fist caught her shoulder. She twisted sideways, slammed into the rope.

  "She's done," said the big man.

  This time the other one didn't respond, he looked worried.

  Aart's hands clenched into fists. He had to do something; if it looked like Delia was going to die then he had to step in and stop the fight. But if he did that, the enforcers, and Mackay, would recognize him. They'd kill him, and possibly Gin and the other workers too. But then what should he do?

  Delia's chest heaved and streaks of blood covered her face.

  Sven charged at her.

  She staggered sideways, out of the way, and threw her leg out. It caught Sven's feet and he tripped. He careened into the rope and knocked over a few of the people in the front row.

  Delia kicked him twice in the abdomen before he managed to stand up and then she danced back.

  Sven pulled back his lips to reveal bloody teeth. He stomped toward her with fingers bent like claws.

  "Come on, Delia," Aart said. Perhaps if he could get to wherever the announcer was he could end the fight without being spotted. He scanned the room but could see no sign of a commentators box, or anything like it.

  Sven snatched Delia around the neck and hauled her off her feet. She gasped and her face turned red.

  "No." Aart's stomach dropped. This was it, if he didn't do something now, Sven would strangle Delia and it would be Aart's fault.

  Delia's eyes bulged and her legs twitched.

  Tears stung the corners of Aart's eyes. He tried to push through to the front of the crowd; if he could get a clear shot he could kill Sven and perhaps no one would know who'd done it.

  "Hey!" The big man in front of Aart shoved him back. "I told you to get your own space."

  Aart staggered back. He tried a different path but the press of bodies was too tight and all their attention was locked on Delia's final moments.

  "Delia," Aart whispered. "I'm sorry."

  Delia's face turned purple.

  Sven chuckled. "Poor little bird, time to—"

  Delia slammed her fist into the side of Sven's face and his jaw snapped sideways. His grip on her neck loosened and she slammed her elbows down on his arms, breaking his grip.

  She dropped free and rolled across the ground, gasping for air.

  Sven staggered and lifted a hand to his mouth where a trail of blood leaked down his chin. "You bitch!"

  Delia coughed but managed to stand and stagger away from him.

  "I'll kill you!"

  Sven swung at Delia with both fists but both punches went wide. She drew back and slammed her fist into his face. His nose crunched and sprayed blood.

  The crowd went wild and jostled Aart, but he didn't care. She was still alive, all was not lost.

  Sven blinked, disorientated, and Delia delivered three more quick punches to his head. His legs quaked and he dropped to his knees. Delia kept punching.

  Blood poured out across the ring and Sven dropped, face-first, to the dirt. Delia knelt beside him and plowed her fist into h
is skull.

  "And that's an end to that fight."

  Enforcers rushed into the ring and dragged Delia away from Sven, although she kept punching the air even when she was out of range.

  "Victory to Delia!"

  The crowd erupted in a mixture of cheers and boos.

  "The girl can fight," Tyra said.

  Aart jumped and turned to her. "Where did you come from?"

  "Behind you. Come on, I've got some information."

  "But—" Aart looked back to the ring. If they made Delia fight again, he didn't think she'd survive; hell, she'd barely survived that one. But what could he do anyway? Nothing. His one hope of saving Delia was getting the shed shut down completely.

  He let Tyra drag him through the crowd and back out into the fresh air.

  "How did you stand that noise?" Tyra said.

  Aart frowned. "What noise?"

  Tyra waved at the fields. "The locusts."

  "Oh." Aart hadn't even noticed them; in fact, his time away from the fields had felt too quiet and empty. "You get used to it."

  "I don't think I ever could."

  Aart had thought the same thing, at the start. "What's your information?"

  "Better to talk back at the ship." Tyra strode away from the shed to the line of enforcers.

  "Stamp," one said.

  Both Tyra and Aart held out their hands and the enforcer shined his torch on them. They glowed.

  "Go ahead."

  Tyra and Aart trudged to Tyra's ship and climbed up inside.

  "You survived a fight like that?" Tyra said.

  "Barely… and only because my employer stopped them from killing me. At the time, I thought it was because I was lucky; now I know it was just because he wanted me to finish the job."

  "Well, I've got good news."

  "I could use some."

  "Haige, your Confederacy man, lives in a Confederacy base not far from here. He doesn't often visit this place, and when he does it's always announced, which I guess is why he doesn't know what's going on."

  "You managed to get all that out of an enforcer?"

  "Turns out he likes explosives too; we got talking."

  Aart whistled. "Nice work."

  "I know. So all we have to do is contact him, tell him what's going on, and hope that he cares."

  "I got footage." Aart placed the recorder on Tyra's control panel and the video appeared on the front screen, of Delia getting beaten almost to death.

  "Good. I just hope you're right about this guy, because if you're not, he might use all the powers of the Confederacy to see us put away."

  "I'm right." Aart sounded more sure than he felt. He didn't know the man after all, but he'd seemed genuine enough…

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  "We'd like to speak to General Haige," Aart said.

  The woman on the screen in front of them wore a stiff suit and her lips thinned. "I'm sorry. The general is busy right now, can I take a message?"

  "This is important. We need to speak to him now."

  Aart and Tyra stood in Tyra's ship, in orbit around the space station where the general lived and worked.

  "That just won't be possible. If you can just leave a message—"

  "Look!" Aart said. He swiped his hand toward the screen so that the video footage he'd taken of Delia zipped across the connection to the general's assistant.

  Her eyes widened and she smacked at the control board in front of her. "What filth is that? I'm terminating this connection. If you don't leave immediately I will be forced to call security and—"

  "That's from Raster," Aart said. "They're abusing the workers."

  The woman faltered. "The general doesn't appreciate false accusations. Kindly take—"

  "It's not false! I worked there… I was forced to fight."

  The woman cleared her throat. "One moment please." The screen went blank and the audio feed cut off.

  Aart glanced at Tyra. "That could have gone better."

  "You've at least got her attention. Now we just have to hope the general is interested."

  The screen flicked to life but the woman had been replaced by Haige. His gray hair reflected the glowing lights above him and he glared at the camera. "What's all this about fights on Raster?"

  "Hello, sir," Aart said. "You probably don't remember me, but I was there when you inspected Raster, South Field A."

  "Yes, so?"

  "Sir, the enforcers are forcing the workers to fight. The footage is right there on your screen. They illegally extend contracts and kill workers who cause trouble. Please, sir, there are good people trapped on Raster, you have to do something."

  Haige's expression darkened. "The man in charge of the enforcers is someone that I handpicked, I trust him completely. I don't know what you're hoping to achieve with this little show but—"

  "Do you mean Mackay?"

  "Yes. A good man… honorable."

  "Sir, he's the one in charge of it all!"

  "No, I refuse to accept that."

  "It's true. If you'd just come with me to Raster I can show you."

  "I've inspected Raster many times, as you would know if you did work there."

  "But you always give them warning, don't you?"

  The general glanced to the side of the screen. "It's always an official visit, yes."

  "So they have time to hide the evidence," Aart said. "If you visited when they weren't expecting it… tomorrow night, for example… there will be a fight on, proof."

  "These are extreme accusations. Mackay served in the Confederacy army for many years before he became my chief enforcer. He's done more for the Human Confederacy then anyone like you."

  Aart tried to hide his scowl. In his experience, Confederacy soldiers were little better than thugs in uniform. "Sir, please just come to Raster. If we're lying then you can sentence me to a year working the plantation without pay."

  "Aart!" Tyra said.

  Aart held up his hand. "It's a good deal."

  Haige rubbed his chin. "A year you say?"

  "Yes."

  "Very well then. I will go to Raster without an official announcement, if only to put these ridiculous rumors to rest."

  "Thank you."

  "You will keep your ship close to my personal vessel."

  "Yes, sir."

  Half an hour later, a sleek Confederacy ship left the station. Tyra guided her vessel in behind it and they jetted toward Raster. The general didn't try to talk to them and Aart spent the whole journey with his hands clenched about each other, knuckles white.

  He couldn't really face a whole year of working the plantation; especially knowing Mackay and the other enforcers would make sure he died as soon as possible. If everything went according to plan then he had nothing to worry about, but if the enforcers got word that the general was coming, they could hide all the evidence and he'd lose everything.

  It was nearing evening on Raster when they arrived and an enforcer's face filled the ship's screen.

  "Hail, Confederacy Cruiser, state your business."

  The general opened up a three-way communication so that Aart and Tyra could see him.

  "What's he doing?" Aart hissed. "We need to get to the shed—"

  "This is General Haige. I'm here for an inspection."

  Color fled from the enforcer's face and he gestured to someone behind the screen. "Uh- sir, we weren't expecting you."

  "No, that was the point. This other vessel is with me for now. Carry on."

  "But, sir, surely you'd rather wait on your ship until daylight. It's cold on Raster at night and the workers are already retired. You won't be able to see—"

  "I said carry on."

  The enforcer gulped. "Yes, sir."

  The enforcer's image disappeared from Aart and Tyra's screen.

  "Well?" said the general.

  "We have to get to the shed," Aart said. "Follow us."

  They hurtled over the plantation to the shed. People streamed out of the doors and into ships pa
rked outside. The enforcers raced to check everyone's stamps but the flood of people was too much.

  "They know we're coming," Aart said.

  The ship landed with a shudder and Aart raced for the door. He met the general outside where the crowd buffeted against them.

  The general marched to the nearest enforcer and grabbed his collar. "What's all this?"

  The enforcer shriveled under the general's glare. "Uh—"

  "General Haige!" Mackay stepped out of the crowd with his arms held wide. "What a pleasant surprise."

  Haige released the enforcer and frowned at Mackay. "What's going on here?"

  "Oh, nothing to worry about. We were just having a little get-together."

  "A get-together?"

  Mackay hung his head. "Yes, I'm sorry, sir. It's not exactly in line with the approved use of the premises, but I find the occasional party helps ease stress amongst the enforcers and makes them more devoted to their work."

  The general turned and studied the crowd. Mackay glared at Aart and Tyra, and Aart's blood went cold; he saw murder in Mackay's eyes.

  "Why are they leaving?" Haige said.

  "All good parties must come to an end."

  Aart strode forward. "Sir, he's stalling. There'll be injured workers inside and he's buying his cronies time to get them away."

  Haige glanced between Aart and Mackay. "This bounty hunter has some very interesting theories about what goes on here."

  "No offense, sir, but bounty hunters often make up ridiculous stories."

  "I'd like to see inside."

  "Sir, I'm afraid it was a wild party. It's probably best that you don't go inside…"

  "Now, Mackay."

  "Of course, sir." Mackay turned and strode for the shed.

  The crowd had thinned and most of the ships had taken off, leaving the shed quiet except for the buzz of locusts.

  Aart and Tyra shared a glance and then hurried after the general.

  Mackay threw the doors to the shed open and gestured inside. Limp streamers hung from the ceiling and enforcers worked near one end, stacking crates of alcohol on top of one another. Music boomed through the speakers and a lonely couple swayed in the center of the room, where the fighting ring should have been.

  "Like I said," Mackay said. "It was quite the party."

  "No," Aart said, and turned in a tight circle. "They've moved everything! We waited too long outside."