Rebel's Quest, page 26
part #6 of The Long View Series
"Not for much longer, " Hawkman said.
"Oh? You're after him already, on your own?"
"To absorb him, let's say, while leaving him nominally in oligarch status. Your mother is gathering power in true
Hulzein fashion. " Hawkman grinned. "Her sister Erika chased us off Earth because she feared competition for control of a relatively small country: Argentina. Liesel, if I'm not mistaken, has a good chance to dominate this entire planet. "
"But not me. " Flatly, Tregare said that. "Not my ships. "
The older man shook his head. "Groundsiders can't control ships. Except for UET, and you're part of the living proof that even that tyranny scores poorly over the Long View. No, Liesel won't try to tie you down. " He leaned forward. "What she might like, mind you, is some exchange of information, and other cooperation. "
Tregare nodded. "I could manage that, I expect. But back to Bleeker and his group. What's in mind, there?"
"As a matter of fact, Rissa has more or less taken over that problem. She's inveigled Bleeker into making a bet he can't afford to pay off, without losing control of his own holdings, on the outcome of her death duel with Stagon dal Nardo. "
A picture came to Tregares mind: the slim young woman he'd known as Tari Obrigo, facing the powerful dal Nardo, now grown to full strength. "What kind of weapons will they use?"
"None, " said Hawkman, "except themselves. By Rissa's choice, they'll fight nude and weaponless. "
Halfway rising, Tregare sat back. "She's insane!"
Hawkman nodded. "That's been the general consensus, but Rissa disagrees. And after she did a few practice sessions with Ernol Lombuno, who's the best unarmed combat specialist we have at Hulzein Lodge, the consensus isn't so solid. " He shook his head. "I wish I could stop fearing for her, though. And while Liesel doesn't let on much, she's worried, too. "
Abruptly, Tregare made up his mind. "If Tari—Rissa— agrees, I'll do the marriage thing for you, all right. Make it clear that afterward she won't be bound by it if she doesn't want to be, in anything other than legal formalities. As long as they may be needed. " He paused. "Now then—you say there's nothing I can do about this dal Nardo duel, to head it off, or get to the bastard first?"
"No, Bran. If you killed him while he had a challenge pending, you'd be outlawed here. " Hand gesture: Tregare held his reply. "Yes, I know you're outlawed on more worlds than I know of, and don't give two small damns. But here you want to outfit a fleet. If you killed dal Nardo, unlawfully by our customs, you'd be totally cut off from supplies. And Hulzein Lodge couldn't do one thing about it. "
No way past that edict; all right: "Then I promise you only this. If Stagon dal Nardo kills that woman, he won't outlive her. Not long enough to get hungry. "
Near time to bunk down, Hawkman asked if Tregare could get him a talk circuit to Hulzein Lodge. "Sure. " But Bran had to go through Base Two, then to Port, where a lazy-sounding operator patched through faster than her drawling voice might have suggested. When he heard "Hulzein Lodge" he handed the phone to Hawkman and left the scouts control room, to give his father reasonable privacy with his call. A time later, out of sheer boredom Tregare was preparing to light one of his rare cigars when Hawkman opened the door and beckoned to him. So he went in and picked up the handset. "Yes? Tregare here. "
"And about time, too. " Liesel's voice, his mothers. "All right, I know pretty well why you've avoided us. Are you done with that nonsense?"
"Nonsense?" He needed time—time to fight against being pushed back into his childhood. He said, "That's not what it felt like. Still doesn't, if you want to know. " Inside him, leaping, came the spark of challenge from long distant in his past. "Your side of it, I'd like to hear. "
More stalling, that was, because she could only say what he already knew, and that's what came over the circuit. When she was done with it, she said, "Hulzeins don't ask forgiveness; you know that much. What I'm asking is, are you ready to do business?" And that, of course, was exactly how it would be, with Liesel Hulzein. Looking over to Hawkman, Tregare felt his breath come shuddering out. "Business, yeah. Hawkman told me about it, the marriage and all. " Oddly, he felt tremors within him that he didn't understand. So he said, "We've talked that out; he can fill the story for you. Me, I've had a long day. The duel, whenever—I'll see you there. "
He handed the phoneset back to Hawkman, walked out and to bed.
Neither the next day nor the day after did Hawkman return to Point One. He said he wasn't needed there until it came time for the duel, and meanwhile Tregare found himself enjoying the chance to show his father the facilities and planning at both bases: the cabins defenses, the escape tunnel and pillbox, the embryonic spaceport down at Two. At dinner in the cabin with Deverel and Kenekke, Hawkman shook his head. "You're prepared, here, for just about anything that could happen and much that can't. "
Bran sipped wine. "You think I'm overdoing it?" "Not at all. Or rather, if you didn't, I'd worry about the entire concept of heredity. " He laughed. "But you restore my faith, if it had ever been shaken, in the Hulzein genes. "
And Tregare said, "I don't think your side short-changed me, either. " The look on Hawkman's face made him glad he'd said it.
The morning they were to leave, Tregare packed a travel bag. Seeing his father's raised eyebrows, he said, "I expect to be gone from here more than just the day. "
"I was planning to invite you to the Lodge. Will you come?"
"If I'm alive, I will. " Yes, now it's time for that.
They went to the aircar; Bran took the passenger's seat and gestured Hawkman to the controls. The older man said, "You want me to fly the pass?"
"Sure. Maybe you can show me some pointers. " So Hawkman brought the propulsors up to speed and they lifted from the plateau, making a wide climbing sweep to head upslope toward the pass itself.
Hawkman's technique was, to begin with, neither flashy nor overly cautious; as the summit approached and the cut's walls began to narrow, he maintained a safety cushion of about a hundred meters' altitude. He needed at least half of that, because at the dogleg's first turn he dipped the car into a vertical bank and threw the nose ninety degrees left, broad-siding. His half-roll, then, gave him a few seconds to spare before broadsiding the rightward turn also. The dogleg was on the downslope side, so the lost height in the two maneuvers gave no real risk.
Then the strong westward current caught the aircar and spat it free of the pass, at a height that allowed Hawkman to make another lazy swing and head for One Point One "Do I qualify?"
What impressed Tregare about his father's maneuvering in the pass was its sheer efficiency. "How many times, you've done that?"
"This was my third experience, piloting westward. "
"You're a quick study; I'll say that. "
"Possibly I take after my son, who did it first and with no guidance at all. "
"I had a lot of luck. " Bran laughed. "Maybe that's heredity, too. I hope so. "
"Perhaps the heredity factor is the tendency to make luck. "
Descending on a smooth slant, the aircar bore to the left of the spaceport. Ahead, Hawkman pointed out a small enclosure, alongside an open space where an aircar and two groundcars sat. "The arena's bare dirt. The fence keeps gawkers away. "
Tregare said, "Who's all the company, then?"
Preoccupied with landing, Hawkman waited until he'd brought the car to a stop not far from the enclosures gate. "The aircars not one of ours, so the dal Nardo contingent must be here first. The groundcars would be the referees and medic's teams. "
"Referee, huh?" Bran began to realize he didn't know much about this situation. "You know who it is? You satisfied?" He was pulling on the hood mask, glad in the day's warmth that the thing was lightweight porous fabric.
"I have no idea. But the officials must be approved by both sides, and I can't imagine anyone slipping a ringer past Liesel. " And as Bran started to leave the aircar, Hawkman said, "We must disarm ourselves now. Only the referees may have weapons. "
Tregare didn't like it, but rules are rules.
The wooden fence stood about three meters, at the small gate a young grey-robed woman asked for bona-fides. "We're with the Obrigo group, " said Hawkman. "I understand there'll be three more—plus our principal, of course. "
She nodded. "That's the agreed number. Go on in, please, Mr. Moray. " She looked a question at Tregare but didn't say it.
Inside, Bran was surprised at how small the place really was. Roughly fifteen meters across, total, and the dueling ring itself no more than seven. Without asking, he guessed that being forced outside that ring meant defeat, with the losers life forfeit; that was the way such events usually worked. The dirt surface was dry and solid, with only a few piles of loose dust here and there.
Tregare looked at the others already present; besides himself and Hawkman there were ten. All right—the black robe and two grey were the officials; the man and woman in white coats had to be medics.
Then he put attention to the dal Nardo group. Hawkman was right—Stagon was grown to be a bull indeed. Bellowing like one, too—mostly at the referee and that person's aides. Tregare looked at the man, closely and with heed to detail. Obviously he outweighed Tari—no, Rissa, damn it!—by more than two to one, with strong thick limbs and a neck like that same bull. A black beard, trimmed short but not neatly; no doubt the man cut it so as to give his opponent no grabbing handle. The gross belly was probably misleading; the way the man moved, quickly for his great size, the fat hid hard muscle.
Hovering around dal Nardo were five others: two men and one woman (Tregare's instincts dismissed those three as inconsequential), a hulking shape that stood completely concealed by robe and hood, and a slim young man, gaudily clad, who moved like quicksilver. Bran nudged his father. "Who's the Fancy Dan there?"
Hawkman was frowning. "I don't like this. That's Blaise Tendal; he kills for hire and has collected for more than twenty assignments. He's impotent with women, one hears, and hates them for it. Of course he can't be armed here, but still—"
"Course he can't. " Tregare grinned. " 'tother hand, you and I, one at each foot, shake him upside down a little, we'd know for sure. "
Hawkman smothered a chuckle. "I wish we could; I really do. But the referee's duty would be to stop us, at gunpoint if necessary. " He clasped Brans shoulder. "I like your thinking, though. "
Before Tregare could answer, again the gate guard admitted a group. Four, this time: in front, Tregares sister Sparline Moray walked beside a young black man: next was the woman Bran knew as Tari Obrigo and was trying to rethink as Rissa Kerguelen. In the rear walked a man built like a bear and moving like one.
Bran again nudged Hawkman, "Besides Sparline and Rissa. should I know about the others?"
"Ernol Lombuno, up front: he's the one Rissas been training with. Behind is Splieg; he's here if we need muscle. Splieg once, not too long ago, stunned a charging bushstomper with his bare fist. He's not fast, but not easy to stop, either. "
Tregare grinned. "Nice you have some talent on hand. Just in case. " But he was looking at Rissa Kerguelen. She was the Tari Obrigo he knew, and yet she wasn't, quite. What's the difference?
She moved the same—or maybe better now, with the recent combat training. Not black, today, the tied-back hair, but dark brown—and the sun brought a few reddish glints to it. He squinted, sharpening his distance vision across ten meters or so, and noticed that there was no mole at the left nostril, and that when a brief smile showed teeth, the upper incisors no longer protruded. "Disguise, huh?" Hawkman nodded. "Good job, it was. "
"Subtle, Bran. That's the" trick of it. "
"I—" But now, a distraction. Stagon dal Nardo's raucous voice had receded in importance to mere background noise, but the younger medic called something to "Tari" and the bullish, bullying man was crying foul. Whereupon Rissa shook her head, seemed to shout without raising her voice much, and said, "Claim and be damned to you!" She added a few choice remarks, then turned to confer with Sparline. Hawkman moved over toward them; Tregare followed, but stayed back when his father hugged the young woman and spoke to her in low tones that Bran couldn't hear.
The black-robed referee spoke. "It is time. Tari Obrigo challenges Stagon dal Nardo to the death. Weapons, none. Clothing, none. Seconds and other agreed parties are present. Now, if they wish, the opponents may speak. Challenged party speaks first. "
At the Slaughterhouse and serving under Butcher Korbeith, Tregare thought he had learned about cruelty and sadism. But hearing Stagon dal Nardo, Bran decided he'd been playing in a beginners' league. Point by point, dal Nardo detailed the breaking and crushing and gouging and biting-away that would constitute a vivisection, by teeth and nails, of his young opponent. Feeling shock dim his mind, Tregare shook his head to clear it, and was reminded of his promise to Hawkman: that dal Nardo would not outlive this woman. Not long enough to get hungry. It helped a little, but he could have used something more. And what's all this doing to HER?
Then the roaring man, with one jerk, disrobed the hulking figure beside him: a tall woman who was a shape of horror. Not just the battered, crudely-stitched face—could there possibly still be an eye in that bleeding socket?—but also the bruises and gaping cuts, one arm bending at the wrong places, the blackening breast half torn away, the few broken teeth that showed behind swollen bloody lips. Peace take it, was there any part of not bloody? And dal Nardo laughing: "Here's what I do, only in practice!"
With no thought, Tregare began a lunge toward the man, but Hawkman pulled him back. "You can't. Not now. "
Gasping for breath, Bran let himself be stopped. He saw his sister lean toward Rissa, and heard: "It's a fake, most of it. " And then, coming to himself a little, looked and realized that most of the woman's mutilations were a clever job of makeup. Not the arm, or some of the cuts, but a lot of it. Still, though...
His mind leveled out on two imperatives: he would not throw up and he would stay conscious. The rest blurred on him. He heard dal Nardo gloat over the sexual indignities he intended to inflict between the time he rendered his victim helpless and the moment of death; accordingly Tregare decided that if it were his lot to end dal Nardo, the man would not die a functional male.
After dal Nardos invective ran downhill, calling Rissa Kerguelen "fertilizer" and "mouse, " it was her turn. She didn't say much. Bran caught, "If I squeak like a mouse... you shit like a bull, but from your mouth. " Her face, pale under sun-color, showed no expression as she taunted dal Nardo into obvious rage. At the end she thanked him for the warning of his sexual intent. "I shall make certain you are unable to fulfill it. "
Then the seconds began to prepare their principals. Tregare saw Sparline saturate Rissas hair with grease and then, after discussion he didn't understand, spread the stuff over her entire nude body, leaving only hands and feet free of the stuff. Again dal Nardo cried foul and Bran realized the man had his own hands coated with adhesive and was demanding a share of his opponent's lubricant; the referee gave him short shrift.
Finally the argument stopped; the huge man and slim woman stepped to face each other.
"I see the bull is constipated, " said Rissa Kerguelen.
Afterward, Tregare could never sort out the action in sequence. The man charged. True to her word, Rissa in diving aside clawed for the crotch—drawing blood but doing no real damage. First grabbing himself, dal Nardo cursed and waved a bloodstained hand.
Wrong move. She caught his thumb in both hands, braced to slam both feet into his face, and somersaulted backward to face him again. That thumb, now, jutted at an odd angle. He charged; she dropped and tripped him to fall over her, but before she could get up and away he recovered, and hit her across the mouth and chopped at her ribs. He missed a kick as she rolled free; the black man's shout warned her she was too near the ring's edge. She scuttled and feinted, turned at someone's shout and caught a handful of dust, thrown directly into her face. From outside the ring.
The coxcomb! Tregare reached for a weapon he didn't have, then shrugged off Hawkman's restraining hand. "Yeah, I know. But just wait!"
Others were crying foul; the big man Splieg had one hand at dal Nardo's chest, the other fist raised like a maul. Rissa wiped knuckles at her eyes. She must have seen the gaudy man skulking back, for her hoarse croak said, "Dig your grave, Blaise Tendal! If I live, you are a dead man!" And Ernol Lombuno shouted that Tendal was dead, either way.
With order restored, again the duel began. Now it was all hitting and feinting and dodging, dal Nardo getting most of the better of it. Rissa backed away, and shouted, "It is time, dal Nardo!" But she was losing; what could she do? With the sweating Bran could see, and the panting he could hear...
Feints to eyes and groin, a wrench to the broken thumb. Then a full lunge, stiffened fingers to the larynx. But the thrust slipped off, and his arms closed in effort to crush her slim rib cage.
Hawkman's clutch hurt Tregare's arm: it wasn't needed; he couldn't have moved anyway. He saw her try to kill by concussion, both palms slammed to the ears; it didn't work. The man was bending her backward; the spine didn't have much more leeway before it would break. The heel of her hand punished dal Nardos smashed nose, to no avail. She clawed for the carotid and drew blood, but nowhere enough.
She had to be close to death; for a moment her hands dropped. Then she thrust a thumb into his right eye and his arms refused to hold their killing grip. Released, she drove her other hand at the larynx again.
This time, Stagon dal Nardo fell and died.
If there was anything Tregare didn't need, it was more confusion. Staggering, Rissa challenged Blaise Tendal. That treacherous man said he'd do the challenging. Hawkman shut them both up as Sparline and the medics worked over Rissa and got her into a robe. And then somehow Hawkman was announcing a marriage, as of now, between "our victor, Tari Obrigo, " and, gesturing toward Tregare, "one not to be named publicly at this time. " Bran heard Rissa mumble, through swollen, bloody lips, something about having the wrong legal identification; apparently Hawkman reassured her.
