Jorran had seen him, too. Jorran was smiling, not at all confused by what he was seeing the way she was. They knew each other. That was apparent. Perhaps Jorran hadn't noticed the sword yet.
He turned to tell his men, "A Sha‑Ka'ani warrior among us, how interesting. Do not interfere. This is going to be my pleasure.”
"Jorran, if there is one, there will be more." There was distinct worry in Alrid's voice, in his expression as well. "We should‑"
"Enjoy the diversion," Jorran cut in. "They are men, subject to the rods Just like any other, and will make excellent bodyguards for me after my empire is established. But this one's family thwarted my plans. This one dies. The rest that we find, we will tame."
Such confidence went beyond mere bravery, it was certain knowledge of having a huge advantage. Brittany couldn't see what that advantage might be. Jorran lacked the muscle, the height, the brawn to compete with someone of Dalden's immense stature physically in close combat, which the sword Dalden held seemed to suggest he had in mind to do. How, then, did Jorran think to win without a gun or other long‑distance‑type weapon that could stop him before he was within arms' reach? And he had no weapon of that sort ...
He had something. It was taken from the pocket of his coat before he shrugged out of it and tossed it at Alrid. A tube of some sort, it looked like, no more than six inches in length, grasped in his right hand. But it wasn't pointed at Dalden, it was squeezed, which caused an extension to shoot out of it, a little more than three feet of shining metal that was so thin, it could barely be seen if viewed from the side.
"What the hell is that?"
She said it aloud. Alrid heard her and answered, "A razor sword, capable of slicing a man in half with little effort. The Sha‑Ka'ani is about to find that out."
Brittany blanched, and was rendered nearly immobile by the accompanying weakness that spread through her limbs. Jorran had said it. Alrid had just confirmed it. The plan was to kill Dalden, not just stop him or use the rod on him.
It was so utterly bizarre, that scene in the middle of City Hall. A bare‑chested giant in tight jeans and knee‑high boots with what looked like an old‑fashioned transistor radio hooked to his belt, a mammoth sword in hand. And what appeared to be no more than a simple businessman in tailored slacks, silk shirt, and tie, with something hooked to his belt as well, a round disk flat on the side facing him, the size of an orange‑and a sword so thin it couldn't really be called a sword, was more like an exaggerated razor blade.
It was no wonder everyone there was staring open‑mouthed, disbelieving. People just didn't come into City Hall carrying
swords and looking like they intended to use them. But then she noticed that one man was ignoring the two facing off in the center of the room. Corth II was there, and working his way around the side toward Jorran's bodyguards.
She came to life herself then, figured the tall though lean fellow was going to need help with the two bruisers, and she was the least likely to raise their suspicions. She started with Alrid, whom she needed to get past to reach the other two, touched his arm and told him he couldn't move or speak. She did the same with one of the bodyguards, but wasn't quick enough to reach the other before Corth II did.
The bodyguard might look the stupid sort, but apparently he wasn't. He recognized the threat to himself immediately and used his own rod on Corth II. Brittany was close enough to hear Martha's son say, "Sorry, big guy, but those don't work on me," before he grasped the offending hand touching him and, with absolutely no effort, broke it.
She didn't stop to wonder why Corth II was immune to the rods when no other man seemed to be. She was in active mode herself, and went ahead and used her rod on the bodyguard, telling him the same thing she had the other two, though she added for him, "You feel no pain."
Corth II chuckled at that, and told her, "You're too soft, beautiful. "No, I'm just having a nervous breakdown," she answered in an agitated tone, "since nothing going on here right now makes any sense.
Others were beginning to be of the same opinion. The immobilizing initial shock had worn off, and now gasps, shouts, a general sense of panic were going on‑and the loud clash of metal. Brittany turned to see that Dalden and Jorran had engaged in combat, and the audience, not having believed it could possibly have come to that, was reacting normally, some backing away intent on getting the hell out of there, some calling for the police,
the newspeople avidly watching, those with cameras shooting the fight.
The people trying to leave the building were in for yet another surprise, no less equal to Brittany's, though, when she
noticed the exits to the building were presently blocked, The several men standing there keeping anyone from entering or leaving were just as tall as Dalden, just as brawny, just as barechested, golden‑skinned, golden‑haired‑actually, identical to Dalden except for their facial features, and with sword belts strapped to their hips. It was the identical part that gave her a clue. She didn't know how they'd done it, but it had to be an illusion, those extra bodies, to make Jorran and his people think the odds had just been upped in favor of the Sba‑Ka'anis. She did what she could to alleviate some of the panic, working her way quickly through the crowd, repeating over and over, "It's a local theater troupe, enjoy the performance, nothing to be alarmed about." The spectators could now discount any blood they saw as fake. She wished she could as well. She had been deliberately avoiding looking out in the center of the room herself. She still heard the clash of metal on metal, knew they were still at it, but couldn't bear to watch. She stopped by Corth to demand, "Why don't you help him disarm Jorran and get it over with?"
"He would dismantle me if I presumed to interfere in his personal fight," Corth II replied. "Warriors are touchy about such
things.
"Dismantle?" she growled. "I'll dismantle you myself if he gets hurt.
A smile. "As long as there is life, he can be fully repaired." What an odd way to say doctors could patch you up, if the
wounds weren't mortal. His lack of worry should have reassured her. It didn't. And she finally looked toward the center of the room‑and wished she hadn't. It was impossible to turn her eyes away now.
Blood was splattered on the white floor, though not too much of it, and apparently just Jorran's so far. There was a minor gash on his upper left arm that had cut the silk sleeve and left a red path in the material to his elbow. But most of the blood was conning from his nose and a cut on his cheek, which indicated that the flat of Dalden's sword might have smashed against his face.
Neither injury stopped the whirlwind motion of Jorran's other arm, which held his weapon. It was nonstop, his efforts to slice into Dalden, and with such speed, it was fairly obvious the razor sword weighed next to nothing. But he was having no success yet, because Dalden's arm shields, rather than his own sword, were constantly there to meet the razor blade and slide it off harmlessly to the side.
Dalden was also using his own weapon, Just not as one might expect. When Jorran extended his reach too far in his impatience to inflict damage, Dalden grasped Jorran's right wrist to prevent another swing and slammed his own sword against a vulnerable spot, but with the flat of his blade, not the edge. He could have disarmed him. He could have killed him. He cracked ribs and broke noses instead.
"He's just playing with him," Brittany said aloud, some annoyance now mixed in with her worry.
"Yes," Corth II agreed.
"But Jorran isn't."
"No, indeed."
"Then why take the chance that Jorran Will get lucky?" she demanded.
"Because he's a warrior."
"So instead of getting the job done by the easiest and quickest means possible, he's got to do the macho thing instead? That's positively medieval."
"Actually, barbaric would better describe it" was Corth II's reply.
It was said with that cheeky grin of his, as if it Were Some kind of inside Joke she should have grasped. She didn't, and it made Brittany want to hit
him, a barbaric impulse of her own. Was she the only one who could see the difference, that macho grandstanding was misplaced when life hung in the balance?
Chapter Twenry‑seven
THEY CAUTIOUSLY CIRCLED EACH OTHER FOR A FEW moments. Dalden allowed the break, which was what it was. Jorran was breathing heavily. Sweat beaded his brow, soaked the silk shirt under his armpits, down the center of his back and chest. It was hard work, trying to slice someone to bits. Dalden's exertion so far had been minimal in comparison.
"Surrender is an option you may want to consider," Dalden remarked casually.
"Are you offering to do so?" Jorran replied.
"I am not the one losing."
"Nor am I."
"Are you not? Warriors learn from witnessing mistakes. Having seen the effectiveness of your razor sword, Falon and I both have trained to deflect it."
"Practice does not equate to a razor intent on your life," Jorran smirked.
"True. But nor does your own experience prepare you for a Sha‑Ka'ani warrior intent on yours.,,
Jorran wasn't expecting an aggressive move, when Dalden had shown him only defense thus far. Nor were his reflexes quick enough to avoid being lifted and tossed a dozen feet across the room.
Dalden added when he came to stand over Jorran, "Your fight with Falon was not to the death, from his perspective. Have you realized yet, there is a difference?"
This fight wasn't going to be to the death either, if Dalden could help it, but Jorran didn't need to know that‑yet. And he was furious now. The toss had rattled him. It was not something one did to High Kings, tossing them about like so much refuse. The resulting anger was yet another point in Dalden's favor.
Jorran rolled away from him, went immediately on the offensive again. It was nearly a blur, the movement of that razor sword now.
It was finally an effort to keep up with the raging razor. Good. The fight had been too easy up till then. And he didn't want Falon, who was sure to be furious that it was not he facing Jorran here, to feel less able, because his previous fight with Jorran had not been as easy. Of course, Jorran's advantage then was that Falon had tried to use his heavy sword, while Jorran's weighed next to nothing. They knew now how to defeat a razor sword.
The anger was Jorran's downfall. The furious burst of energy it had produced brought him quickly to exhaustion. And the moment his swings slowed down, Dalden made his move to end it.
Instead of just deflecting the next swing, he thrust it away from him, throwing Jorran off balance. In quick succession, he then smashed Jorran's kneecap with the flat of his own sword, further unbalancing him, and while Jorran was absorbing the shock of that, Dalden disabled him completely by twisting his right arm behind his back until it broke.
It was overkill. At almost anytime during the fight, he could
have snatched the contamination shield and let Martha take over. There would have been no punishment in that, though, merely defeat. Jorran deserved more than that. Dalden now ripped the shield from Jorran's belt and tossed it to Corth II, who smashed the metal in his hands as if it were a wad of paper. Only then did he let Jorran drop at his feet.
"He is yours, Martha."
"N‑!" Jorran began to shout, but was gone before he could finish.
"And no meditech for him," Dalden instructed, ignoring the collective gasp that went up in the crowd when Jorran disappeared before their eyes.
"Wasn't planning on it," Martha agreed. "The slap on the wrist he'll get when we take him home isn't nearly enough for what he's done."
"Your silence was appreciated," Dalden felt the need to add, after spending several days with Martha's constant input, wanted or not.
"I know when not to distract, warrior," Martha said in unmistakably smirking tones. "And now you need to gather up all remaining evidence of our presence here, before we depart for our sector of the universe."
"What of the mayor? Is he still under Jorran's control?" Dalden asked.
"He was moved safely back into his office soon after the fight began, but Corth II got to him first with the forget‑Jorran suggestions, as well as a few others. Amusing that some of the people present actually thought their mayor was pulling a publicity Stunt, since they'd been rod‑told that Jorran was the mayor already. Corth II will do a little more clean‑up in that regard later today, while we're collecting the rest of the rods from Jorran's people."
"What other evidence, then, do you speak of?"
"Unfortunately, your entire fight was recorded by the news crews. We can't leave these people anything that's beyond their own technology to understand. Those here will discount what
they've seen as illusion, like a disappearing act in a magic show, but any experts who could study those tapes would know better. So get rid of the tapes before I take you out of there. There are two of them, from the two shoulder‑held cameras. The big television camera you don't need to worry about, it's still inoperative."
Dalden glanced toward the newspeople, but first saw Brittany, standing behind them. She was staring at him as if he weren't real.
"Is my lifemate all right?" Dalden asked Martha, his concern rising.
"She's fine, just a bit amazed over the violence she just watched you dish out. She'll get over it."
"Take her to the ship now, in case I need to get violent again in the recovery of evidence."
"I really don't think you're going to have any more trouble, kiddo. These locals are pretty much in awe of you at the moment. But you're right, the rest of Jorran's crew is going to disappear in seconds, and with her standing among them, she won't be able to help but notice. Better just one nervous breakdown than a bunch of little ones."
"You will explain and calm her, yes?"
"Sure I will. Don't give it another thought. She'll be waiting for you in your quarters."
Martha's glib reply, for some reason, was not very reassuring. But the sooner he finished here, the sooner he could see to Brittany himself.
He watched her Transfer, along with Jorran's remaining people. Corth II and the half‑dozen warriors at the exits remained, in case they were still needed. He then turned toward the newspeople.
Their cameras were still pointed at him. They tried to back up as he approached them, but there wasn't much room for that. And they were still recording, even when he stopped in front of them.
One of them, though obviously nervous, said, "Man, that s about the best special effects I've ever seen. Want to clean up some?"
A cloth was tossed at him. He looked down at his torso to find
what might need cleaning up. He hadn't felt the cut that ran from his upper left side across his abdomen to his right hip until he saw it now. He patted the cloth along the line. It did no good. More blood immediately oozed out to flow down and soak into his jeans.
The cameraman, however, had expected the line and blood to be gone, was staring wide‑eyed at the new flow. "That's‑real, isn´t it.
Dalden looked back at him, and said only, "I require the evidence you have recorded. If it can be removed from your camera and given to me, then I will not need to destroy the camera."
"Ah, sure, whatever you want, guy. No problem."
The man couldn't get the film out of his camera and into Dalden's hands fast enough. The other camera holder was still backing away, though not in nervousness. He was apparently looking for an exit. He had no intention of giving up his evidence.
Corth II became a solid, immovable wall at his back. "The big guy requires your film, bud. His option was to not destroy your camera to get it. My option is to not destroy you to get it. Which of us do you wish to deal with?"
"Okay, okay," the man tried, stalling until he could turn around to take a swing at Corth II. Big mistake, that. He ended up with broken knuckles that hadn't budged the face they struck, and wailed, "What the hell is that, a steel plate in your jaw?"
"Toreno steel to be exact, and not just the jaw, but the whole body. Welcome to your worst nightmare, friend," Corth II s
aid as he prepared to flatten the guy.
"Enough with the showing off, children." Martha's voice rang out loudly with distinct displeasure. "Must I do everything myself?"
Not surprisingly, the heavy video camera disappeared from the man s hand, Corth II disappeared next, then Dalden and the remaining warriors followed. Martha was, after all, capable of doing almost everything herself.
A shocked silence remained in City Hall. It was finally broken by a chuckle from the fellow who still possessed his own camera,
minus any film. "I'd sure like to be there when you try to explain what just happened," he told his friend. "And why you shouldn't have to replace that camera yourself."
"I'm not the only one who saw things poof around here," the other man snarled.
"What you saw was one hell of a performance that you shouldn't have gotten involved in. But if you're lucky, those magic people will return your. . . " There was a pause due to the camera reappearing on the floor between them. "Wanna bet the film's not in it?"
Chapter Twenty‑eight
HE FOUND BRITTANY WRAPPED IN A TIGHT LITTLE BALL on the floor of his quarters aboard the Androvia, her back against the padded wall, her face tucked against her raised knees, her long copper hair spread like a cape around her. She didn't look up when the door slid open and then closed behind him. She was
rocking slightly, and making sounds of angst.
Dalden felt a constriction in his chest. Her pain was not physical, it was mental, and he wasn't sure how he could help that.
Martha had warned him that the shock from the Transfer had put Brittany into a refusing‑to‑believe‑anything mode. Most people had warning beforehand, knew what Molecular Transfer was,
knew it was going to happen prior to it happening. And even if they didn't know it was going to happen, at least they could guess
what had happened to them if they suddenly ended up in a place other than where they had been. That required knowledge of
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