The Glass Runner

by Thomas Davis

  When the dust settled their squad was victorious and ready to advance into the final stage, a one on one fighting tournament. 8 soldiers remained. They would square off within large white circles painted onto the ground. They would engage either barehanded of with non-lethal weapons of their choosing such as wooden swords or Jo staffs. Stepping out of bounds, being knocked unconscious or being forced to yield by your opponent would all count as a loss. Drawing names out of an upside-down helmet chose the brackets.

  Chase chose to use a wooden sword, a Bo ken, for his fights. He made short work of his first opponent. The man was just not his physical equal and Chase easily overpowered him with strong swings of his faux sword forcing him out of bounds. The next round wouldn’t be as easy. He would be squaring off against Pamela Alvarez. Sure, he was physically stronger than her but her speed and quick wits closed that gap between them. She was also an expert grappler, if she got your back you were going to sleep, and if she got your ankle you were hopping to the infirmary. Pamela’s weapon of choice for their match was a Jo staff, a cylindrical stick that was just about over a meter long. It was a versatile weapon that could swiftly shift between attack and defense.

  Pamela swaggered into the large circle drawn onto the ground in white paint, “You ready to get embarrassed pretty boy?”

  “More like you’re going to get… embarrassed.” Chase thought he had a witty retort but flubbed it and gave up halfway through.

  “What?”

  “Whatever! Are you ready to do this or what?”

  “I was born ready cupcake!”

  Chased let out an intimidating battle cry as he rushed her. His plan of attack was a simple one, get the jump on her then force her to defend. Once she was on the back-foot he wouldn’t let up until she was pushed out of the ring. But Pamela had a different idea altogether. She charged back at him while bellowing out her own war cry.

  Their weapons clashed at the center of the circle. Pamela blended with Chase’s momentum in an attempt to throw him off balance. Chase caught on to her ploy immediately. He slid his foot forward to center his weight beneath his sword and moved with her to ensure that their weapons maintained contact. Their weapons were locked against one another. This was right where Chase wanted the fight, a contest of strength. Pamela’s gamble didn’t pay off and put her at a significant disadvantage. Her legs were beginning to buckle as Chase pushed her back towards the boundary. She let go of her staff and let Chase’s swing force the staff into her shoulder. Her sudden surrender caused Chase to stumble forward. Pamela grabbed his wrist with both hands as she fell towards the ground. She flung her legs upward and wrapped them around Chase’s arm. By the time her upper back hit the ground she had Chase in a standing arm-bar.

  Chase had to think quickly. He felt the ligaments in his left arm stretching past their limitations. In the back of his mind he admired Pamela’s willingness to take a hit like that to turn the tables on him. But now was not the time for admiration. His elbow felt like it was about to snap.

  “Yield!” Pamela demanded as she pushed her hips into his elbow forcing his arm to bend in an unnatural direction.

  Chase’s right hand began to shake. He balled his fist to resist tapping out. He glanced at the Strike Team members seated on the shoddy stage. He remembered the incident on the Evening Dove, the massacre. I can’t let it end here. Chase inhaled deeply. He grabbed Pamela by the waistband with his right hand and with all of his might he lifted her from the ground using both arms. The tension on his left elbow lessened. Surprise was plastered across Pamela’s face as Chase walked her over the edge of the ring dangling from his raised arm. He fell to his knees dropping her out of bounds with a loud thud.

  As she impacted the ground Pamela released Chase’s arm. He fell onto the ground outside of the ring next to her out of breath. He flopped onto his back with his left arm still lying across her abdomen. They both looked up at the bluish green sky of Titan. Pamela rubbed her throbbing shoulder. Her adrenalin had stopped pumping and now she felt pain where the weapons had struck her. “That was stupid of me,” She groaned.

  “You almost made me tap.” Chase replied.

  “Yeah but even if I won there’s no way I could’ve fought Luther in the final round. Not with my shoulder like this.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize. I took the hit to trap you but I didn’t expect it to do so much damage. That was short sighted of me.”

  “I was surprised you took that route.”

  “You weren’t supposed to counter my first parry.”

  “You got me with a parry like that during boot camp. I replayed that match in my head for over a year.” Chase rolled onto his knees then worked his way back up to his feet. He offered his hand to Pamela. She accepted his help and he pulled her from the ground as she held onto her injured shoulder. They locked eyes as they stood outside of the ring. Pam didn’t let go of Chase’s hand.

  “Why are you so determined?” Pam asked. “You’re different from before.”

  Chase thought of the Evening Dove. “I… I made a vow.”

  “To who,” she paused. “If you don’t mind me asking?”

  Chase thought of his parents and Jenks, “To someone important. To people I can’t let down.”

  “I see. You better beat Luther Cook in the final.”

  “You’re in my corner all of a sudden?”

  “No. I’m just not losing to a loser. If you beat me you better make it all the way to the end.”

  “I’ll do my best.” Chase teased.

  “Do better than your best,” she said seriously. “Do my best.”

  Chase squeezed her hand with a focused look in his eyes, “there’s no way I’m losing this. I would die first.”

  Pamela’s eyes went wide in awe. Is this really Chase Turner? She thought. She always considered herself so far ahead of him. She wasn’t much older than Chase but she thought of him as a little immature kid whose ideas outpaced his ability. But somehow that kid just surpassed her. Pamela shook her head and grinned. She let go of Chase’s hand. “Turner.” Chase’s eyes trembled as Pam released her throbbing shoulder then straightened her posture. She slowly raised her right hand to her brow. Chase quickly returned the gesture.

  They stood in full salute of each other. All of the spectators in attendance rose to their feet to honor this proud moment. They raised their hands to their heads in salute also. An overwhelming sense of pride swelled in Chase’s chest as he stared into Pamela’s eyes.

  ***

  The final match was set to begin. It would be a showdown between Chase Turner and Luther Cook. Luther was well over six feet and about 250 pounds of muscle. The denizens of Amarillo would often joke that Luther was half Arez due to his size and brute strength. He had easily swatted aside all of his opponents to make it to this important match. Luther cracked his knuckles, “Listen up Squirt. You don’t stand a chance against me.” He squatted down over his left leg with his right leg fully extended to stretch out his hamstring. “If you start this fight, I’m gonna finish it, and I won’t hold back. I guarantee you won’t be as pretty when I’m done.”

  Chase remained silent.

  “I never liked you; you little twerp. Walking around like you’re better than everybody.”

  “I’m not like that.”

  “So… I’m gonna knock half your teeth out. I’m gonna break your eye sockets, your arms.” Luther stood and stretched out his back then picked up a Jo staff from the ground, “Or you can get lost. So, this doesn’t have to get ugly.”

  Chase gripped the wooden sword in his hand tightly. “You know what Luther? I was actually a little scared when I stepped into the ring with you but you just let something slip.”

  “What the void are you talking about?”

  Chase settled into his sword stance. “You’re nervous about fighting me too. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have gone through the trouble of that cute little speech you just gave.”

  Luther smiled back at Cha
se but his wide eyes betrayed a bit of nervousness on his part. “BRING IT!”

  Chase rushed forward but when in range he shifted to a defensive style. Luther attacked with several strikes of his staff, which Chase skillfully dodged. Chase continued to dodge Luther’s attacks making the large man grow more and more frustrated. He began to strike back after each missed swing of Luther’s Jo staff. Each dodge was now followed by a counter strike to Luther’s elbow, leg, abdomen, etc. But Luther was tough; he wasn’t going down or relenting.

  Impatient, Chase made a near catastrophic miscalculation. He overcommitted to a strike in the hopes that it would be strong enough to bring Luther down. He had gotten in too close. Luther grabbed Chase by the arm then head butted him and snatched him up into a bear hug. Blood poured from Chase’s nose as Luther squeezed the air from his lungs. This was exactly where Chase didn’t want to end up. He was starting to feel light headed like he was on the verge of passing out. He had come so close.

  Chase Looked over to the shabby stage. He could see that Sam and David were on the edge of their seats. David was animated, waving his arms, cheering and jeering. Sam was bit more reserved. Her eyes were on Chase and he could detect a bit of worry on her part. Chase moved his attention onto Captain Takeda seated next to them. The captain seemed completely disinterested in the fight occasionally glancing down at the comic book on his lap. Anger swelled in Chase’s chest then sparked throughout his body. “That bastard!”

  “What?” Luther looked confused by Chase’s sudden outburst as he tried to finish the fight. “Tap out already!”

  Chase turned his attention back to Luther. The young man had fire burning in his eyes, “RRRAAAAAGGGHHHH!” The outburst caught Jake’s attention on the stage. Chase bit Luther on the bridge of the nose locking his teeth on it like a Pit Bull.

  Luther stumbled backwards, “what the void is wrong with you?” Chase wouldn’t let go so Luther had to. He grabbed Chase by the shoulders and threw him to the ground. “Are you insane?”

  “Maybe,” Chase replied as he picked his sword up from the ground and stood.

  Luther then realized that he was separated from his Jo staff. “Come at me and you’ll end up right back where you just were.” Luther held his hand over his bleeding nose. “You’re not strong enough to knuckle up with me.”

  Chase silently agreed with Luther. Even with his opponent unarmed there was no way he could beat Luther with standard attacks. I have to use that move, he thought. Chase had an ace up his sleeve but it was a technique he had never attempted in actual combat. He practiced it for hours on end but now he had to put it to practical use in front of an audience. Fine. There’s no other way forward.

  Chase took a wide stance then angled the Bo Ken behind himself out of Luther Cook’s view. He took a deep breath and felt power coursing throughout his entire body. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as he reversed his stance and slid forward with his right leg. He stabbed the wooden sword repeatedly with overwhelming speed almost impossible for the eye to follow. It was a blur of motion.

  On the stage David Assad jumped to his feet. “No way?” He slapped Jake Takeda on the shoulder repeatedly with a bit too much force, “That’s your move Buttons! This kid figured out how to do the Blitzkrieg!!!” The Blitzkrieg was Captain Takeda’s signature move. He closed out many battles with the technique. A lunging sword strike, accompanied by lightning fast stabs of incredible speed and accuracy. It was a move that took Jake years to develop and even longer to perfect. Jake was almost in shock as he folded his arms in front of his chest and looked on intently. Chase’s match had finally earned his undivided attention.

  Chase continued his relentless barrage until Luther eventually screamed out. “Yield! I yield!” Luther fell to one knee out of breath and hurting all over. He became aware of where he had laid his knee. Luther was outside of the ring. He was utterly defeated.

  Chase dropped his sword. He approached Luther with his right arm reaching out for a friendly post-match handshake, “good fight Luther.” He was visibly exhausted from the ordeal. As Chase drew closer, Luther rose up from his knee as he threw a viscous right hook towards Chase’s head. Chase was too spent to avoid the cowardly sucker punch. He watched almost in slow motion as the punch inched closer to his face.

  To his surprise the punch missed his chin by a mere centimeter. His eyes widened in surprise as he watched Luther’s legs spin into the air then disappear. It took a moment for his senses to realign and take in the whole scene. Sam Hawkins had Luther’s right arm braced against her right leg with his wrist twisted in her grip. Chase didn’t even see her cut between them. “Disgraceful.” She said in a stern motherly tone. “Get him out of here.” Two MPs were jogging out to the ring, “let him sleep it off in the brig tonight.”

  “Sam?”

  “You did good Chase.” Sam had a warm smile on her face. “Didn’t he Captain?”

  Chase looked over his shoulder and Captain Takeda was standing there with a distant expression and his hands in his pockets. He had a talent for creeping up on Chase. Jake stared up at the green clouds in the sky, “The Blitzkrieg. I was surprised to see you can perform such an advanced technique. Considering your age.”

  Chase lit up. His hero was finally acknowledging him.

  “But you didn’t trap your opponent before implementing that high risk move. A seasoned warrior would’ve dodged that attack. If this was a real battle you’d probably be dead right now.”

  Chase had had enough of Jake Takeda. “I just won. I’m on the Strike Team now… Right?”

  Jake looked the boy in the eyes as he coldly responded, “I’ll think about it.” He turned and walked away.

  “What the void is your problem?” Chase yelled as he kicked dirt into the air.

  Sam watched Jake as he walked away. I don’t know kid. I’m just as puzzled as you are.

  9. Double Dealing

  Bethlehem Colony

  Catherine waited beneath a streetlight on Lewis Street. It was night in this section of Bethlehem Station. The colony operated on a 24-hour day and night cycle both to conserve power output and because the human body and psyche seemed to function better in response to this cycle. People were just wired to sleep at night and work during the day. Catherine wasn't responding very well to her current predicament. The blackmailer insisted on her coming in person to deliver his ransom. He also specified that she come alone. Any sign of station security or any other law enforcement personnel and he would leak all of the information that he gathered on her to the media effectively ending her career and possibly sending her to prison. Catherine was as white as a ghost as she stood with her hands stuffed into the pockets of her full-length coat. She wore a burgundy large brimmed hat and the collar of her coat was flipped up to conceal her neck and cheeks. She was doing an excellent job of looking like someone who was obviously trying to go unnoticed.

  "Take three deep breaths Ms. Fisher." Simon whispered through an earpiece beneath her hair. "Relax. I won't let anything happen to you."

  "Easy for you to say all the way up there."

  Simon was on the rooftop of a nearby five-story building watching her through the lens of a high caliber sniper rifle with a silencer attachment. "Try not to speak directly to me. We don't know if they're watching you right now." Catherine awkwardly nodded yes and Simon let out a huff as he shook his head. He understood how hard this was for her. Nothing terrified Catherine more than physical confrontation. She had amassed power, as a means to protect herself from the cruel whims of those who she felt would abuse her. She had a sensitive soul that she desperately tried to defend.

  Simon was a lost soul when he met Catherine. His connection to her gave him purpose, meaning. He was her knight. He was her sword in the darkness. He would gladly slay any trespasser who dared to extinguish her light. Simon could see what looked to be a tall man approaching Catherine from the alley behind her. He buried the stock of the rifle deeper into his shoulder as he adjusted his gloved fing
ers around the grip and barrel. He trained his scope on this new player. He eagerly anticipated ending the man's life when the time came. The man wore a loose-fitting red suit with a gold colored fedora and a white handkerchief tied around his face to conceal his identity. There was no way this was the blackmailer Simon surmised. This man was muscle, a hired gun, or an accomplice.

  The man in the fedora spoke, "good evening Madam."

  “Hello.” Catherine nervously replied.

  The man got uncomfortably close, "I thought we told you to come alone sweetheart?"

  Through his lens Simon could make out a portion of a neck tattoo peeking out from the man's collared shirt. He immediately recognized the mark, "the Golden Lads." Simon swiftly stood from his prone position as shot tore the sniper rifle from his hands breaking it into pieces. "We," Simon whispered. He rolled to cover as more shots were fired in his direction.

  Yvette had a bead on Simon’s location with her rifle from five building rooftops away. She was laying prone atop of a lavender quilt with cartoonish drawings of cats on it. She had put down the quilt to keep her clothes from getting dirty and also to make the roof’s hard surface a bit more comfortable. “C’mon sugar,” she grinned. “Let’s see that pretty face of yours.”

  Down on the street, the tall sharp dressed man, Rocky was getting agitated, “Alright sugar, hand over the creds so we can get this over with.”

  Catherine reached into her purse then pulled out a credit chip. Most transactions are processed through a Navi or fingerprint scan. But to transfer funds discreetly a credit chip is required. Rocky reached into his jacket pocket to retrieve a device to verify the amount of credits on the chip. Catherine stopped him, “Wait. Where’s the footage file?” Rocky let a puzzled look slip past his eyes. Catherine pulled back the chip. She knew that if she didn’t get the file and verify that no other copies existed she would be at the mercy of these blackmailers for the rest of her life. She would be a slave.