Ritual Combat Page 3

  “You’re on Grakur, Space Ranger,” Blue Eyes said. “You don’t make demands of us. If you want to speak to the Council, you’ll need to go through protocol.”

  Yellow Eyes leered at Gwen threateningly. Gwen bit her lip to avoid sighing.

  “Is that what’s going on up there?” Gwen asked, pointing at the sky. “The Empire refuses to go through proper channels, and everyone’s involved in a giant pissing match?”

  The Graur exchanged a look. Both seemed a little confused, perhaps wondering if they were supposed to feel insulted. Gwen smirked.

  “I am not at liberty to comment on what may be happening in orbit,” Blue Eyes said. “My orders are to determine whether your request to meet the Tribal Council should be considered. Please show me your credentials.”

  Gwen took a deep breath of the hot, thick air and forced herself to relax. She told herself not to be a bitch. She’d get farther if she cooperated.

  Unzipping the pouch on her uniform, she produced her badge. She proffered it to the Graur.

  Blue Eyes studied it carefully for several seconds. Yellow Eyes glanced at it only briefly.

  “All right, Ranger Carter,” Blue Eyes said. “What is your business with the Tribal Council?”

  “I believe Kitekh Galesh and the crew of Cataan’s Claw have fled here, seeking asylum from the Council,” she answered. “I have reason to believe they may not be responsible for the kidnapping of Haneeta Mol. But I need to consult with the Tribal Elders to determine the best course of action.”

  Gwen fell silent and waited. Most of what she said was a bluff. She didn’t really know shit. She was just following the only lead she had, and her hunch told her JaQuan was at least partly on the level because Horay Kel had tried to kill her. She had no idea where to go, but since JaQuan had said Kitekh was planning to appeal to the Tribal Council, she thought she might be able to catch up with them there.

  And it didn’t hurt that she’d flattered the Council. The Graur already had their tails in a twist about Horay Kel’s invasion fleet. By saying she needed to consult with the Council on the best course of action, she was giving the Graur government the illusion of control. Hopefully, that would get her what she wanted.

  “All right, Ranger Carter,” Blue Eyes said. “Follow us. I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “You’re very kind.”

  The two guards turned as one and proceeded inside a control bunker. Gwen followed.

  So far, so good. She’d gotten through the Imperial blockade and down to Grakur. Now she needed to convince them to take her to see the Council. Once again, her police instinct told her she would find all her answers there. JaQuan and Galesh had nowhere else to run. It was therefore only logical to find them entreating the Tribal Council for aid. Gwen was determined to get to the bottom of whatever this was all about.

  JaQuan walked into the main chamber with sweat beading on his scalp and his heart pounding in time to the drums being beaten by the Tribal Council. He closed his eyes and slowed his breathing.

  He recalled the words of his trainer, Lucky Latiel Priestly, back in that rundown gym in Ferguson.

  There’re two kinds of focus, the grizzled, former Gold Glove Boxer had told him. External focus and internal focus. When you externally focused, you thinking ’bout what you gonna do to the other guy. When you internally focused, you thinking ’bout what he gonna do to you. Soon as you thinking like that, the fight’s over. He gonna beat you stupid. You stay externally focused. Make him go internal. Soon as he does, fight’s over. You win.

  JaQuan struggled to stay externally focused. It was hard not to think about the razor-sharp claws and brute strength of the seven-foot-tall behemoth the Council was sure to throw at him. How was he supposed to fight someone like that?

  But if that was his mindset, he might as well surrender now. Going internal was a prescription for disaster under any circumstances. Going internal against a Graur champion was sure to be lethal.

  He came to a halt and opened his eyes. The Tribal Council all stood under their respective banners, each with their arms crossed.

  To JaQuan’s right, the remainder of Cataan’s Claw’s crew stood inside a roped pen, with five guards surrounding them. Kitekh nodded to JaQuan.

  Standing across the room was a hulking, grey-tabby Graur who was even larger than JaQuan had been imagining. He had a black mane that he’d braided into multiple tails, and blue eyes so bright they seemed to burn with unnatural fire. His chest, abdomen, and arms were packed with rippling muscles, and his legs were corded so tightly it looked as though he could leap to any of Grakur’s four moons on them. He smiled menacingly at JaQuan.

  The drums rolled one more time. Then they fell silent, and the Chieftain stepped forward.

  “The Tribal Council will now consider the case of Kitekh Galesh’s innocence or guilt in the kidnapping and death of Haneeta Mol,” she said. “Also to be determined is her involvement in a treasonous terrorist cell.

  “Captain Galesh, your plea?”

  “Mighty Chieftain, Wise Elders,” Kitekh said. “I am innocent of these crimes, as is my crew with the exceptions of James Brody and Cooressa Fil.”

  “Your plea is accepted, Captain,” the Chieftain said.

  The drums rolled again,

  “The allegations against you and the others you’ve named can be neither corroborated nor disproven with the evidence available,” she continued. “The Council therefore orders you to engage in Ritual Combat to establish your innocence.

  “As you are physically unable to participate, the Tribal Council accepts your nomination of JaQuan Jones as proxy. Mr. Jones, this is your final opportunity to relent. Do you agree to act as proxy for Captain Galesh?”

  JaQuan opened his mouth to speak, but his throat was dry. He longed for water. And for a way out of this.

  “I agree,” he managed.

  “Very well, JaQuan Jones shall engage in Ritual Combat on behalf of Kitekh Galesh,” the Chieftain said.

  Once again, this declaration was punctuated by a drumroll. JaQuan did his best to avoid rolling his eyes. The melodrama of this ceremony was beginning to irritate him.

  “The Council nominates Gurinn Muur to act as its champion,” the Chieftain said. “Mr. Muur, do you accept this nomination?”

  “I do,” the tabby giant growled, never taking his eyes from JaQuan.

  The drums rolled a third time. JaQuan smiled at Muur, determined to cover his fear by acting confident.

  “Be it known that both combatants have agreed to Ritual Combat to settle this dispute. The fight shall commence on my mark and continue until one participant surrenders or is no longer able to go on.

  “Warriors, prepare for combat!”

  JaQuan relaxed all his muscles. He’d been here before. As soon as the bell rang it was on. Fight smart. Fight the way he knew how.

  It don’ matter if he bigger than you, Lucky used to say. It matter if you hit him ’til he don’ like it no more.

  The drums rolled a final time. Then, they beat out a solemn rhythm. Boom-boom-boom-boom. Boom-boom-boom-boom. Boom-boom-boom-boom. Boom.

  They fell silent. Tension crackled through the air.

  “Fight!” the Chieftain cried.

  Gurinn Muur flung himself into the air, crossing the room in a single, unbelievable bound. He delivered a smashing hook punch to the side of JaQuan’s head so devastating, JaQuan saw spots and went to the ground. He realized he was about to die.

  Idrib sat confidently on his throne. He tried to hide his smile, but he couldn’t manage it.

  Supreme Commander Grenuur Kruell stood before him, his head bowed, his right fist at his chest in salute.

  He wore a white cloak trimmed in red and blue, the symbol of his office, draped over his enormous golden shoulders. His black mane was neatly combed and braided. He wore a sword on his left hip and a beamer on his right, but Idrib suspected these were purely ornamental, worn because he was the top military commander in the E
mpire, not because he needed or used them. Idrib had yet to meet the Graur who didn’t prefer to fight hand-to-hand to inelegantly demonstrate their superior savagery.

  Having the allegedly fierce Graur warrior humble himself this way not only gratified Idrib, it amused him. He was smarter and cleverer than any of these beasts. They might be loyal citizens of the Empire, but they were brutes. They existed largely to enforce the law, and given how stubbornly they had resisted the legislation that had eventually elevated him to Emperor, Idrib took pleasure in having the greatest of them suborn himself.

  “Thank you for coming on such short notice, Commander,” Idrib said, feigning grace.

  “I live to serve you, Mighty One,” Kruell said.

  Good, Idrib thought. Let’s hope it lasts.

  “Commander, I need your help,” Idrib said.

  “You have only to ask, Mighty One.”

  “As you know, we have a developing situation with your home world. One of your captains has traced the outlaw vessel, Cataan’s Claw, to Grakur. When he arrived in system and demanded the crew be turned over to him, he met resistance from the Grakur Defense Force. They claimed territorial sovereignty and have refused to cooperate. The situation has escalated, and I now find myself in a standoff with the home planet of one of the Three Races.”

  “It is an unfortunate turn of events, Your Majesty,” Kruell said. “You had not yet ascended the throne when it began, and there has been some confusion over the authority of the Imperial Star Force.”

  Idrib frowned. He’d expected Kruell not to admit to any fault by his people, but it remained irritating.

  “Yes, well, I am on the throne now,” Idrib said. “But the refusal to comply continues. I need it to end immediately.”

  “It is a difficult matter, Mighty One,” Kruell said. “By the technical definition of the law, the Tribal Council is in the right. Grakur is Graur sovereign space, and Captain Kel overstepped his authority by entering the system and making demands.

  “However, the captain’s claim is righteous, since he is in pursuit of a terrorist. At this juncture, the actual importance of the triggering event has been lost. It has become a dispute over authority and the proper interpretation of the Imperial Constitution.”

  Black hatred swirled through Idrib’s mind. He knew all this, and it didn’t matter. He was Emperor. He was the law. The Graur Tribal Council had no right to defy him. There was nothing to interpret here. The Emperor demanded their cooperation.

  “Listen, Commander, this cannot be. I cannot have an entire system – certainly not one of the founding planets of the Empire – defying my will. They must be brought to heel.”

  Kruell frowned. His green eyes betrayed the quashed fury at Idrib’s words.

  “The Graur are a proud people, Your Majesty,” he said. “They will object to being viewed as needing domesticating. And when they object, they fight back.”

  “I am well aware of Graur behavior,” Idrib said, making sure the Supreme Commander heard the contempt in his voice. “What I need is a solution. How do I get them to cooperate without appearing weak myself?”

  Kruell thought carefully for several seconds.

  “Have you issued a writ, Your Majesty?” he asked.

  Idrib sat back in his seat, stunned. Of course! The Star Force had made demands. Idrib had backed them. But a writ from the Emperor superseded all other laws.

  “Will that work?” he replied. “They have resisted complying with my demands thus far.”

  “I believe it will,” Kruell said. “An Imperial writ cannot be refused. It trumps territorial sovereignty. The Tribal Council will have no legal precedent to refuse it, and they therefore will not lose any face for complying.

  “Once the fugitives are in custody and your daughter returned to you, you can grant a favor – some territory or resources as thanks for their role in apprehending the terrorists. That will soothe any lingering wounds and make you appear magnanimous. Everyone wins.”

  Idrib stroked his chin. All that sounded reasonable, although he hated giving the damned felinoids anything after they’d made trouble for him. Still . . .

  “And if it does not work?” he asked. “If they refuse?”

  “The Tribal Council would be in violation of Imperial law and would need to be removed,” Kruell said.

  Idrib smiled fiendishly. Orisin had been right. Meeting with Commander Kruell had been fruitful. But there was still one little hitch.

  “Commander, supposing for argument’s sake, the Tribal Council refused the writ and forced my hand to remove them. I do not need to tell you how many of your people serve in our armed forces. What do you think their reaction would be?”

  Kruell studied him for several seconds, as if he were trying to determine if Idrib were shrewd or sinister.

  “Of course, I cannot speak for any individual other than myself,” he said at last. “But I believe a majority of them will follow orders. The Graur are proud members of the Empire, and we serve its military for the glory of the Emperor, not for ourselves. Discipline and loyalty will win the day.”

  “Very well,” Idrib said. “I believe you are right: a writ is all that is needed to break this impasse. Should it require more, I am confident I can rely on you to deliver what is needed.”

  “I live to serve you, Mighty One,” Kruell said. “You can depend upon my leadership and the warriors I command.”

  “Thank you,” Idrib said. “I shall have a writ drawn up within the hour. Go and prepare to have it delivered with an entire fleet of warships.”

  Kruell looked surprised. Worry filled his green eyes. After a moment he saluted.

  “As you command, Mighty One,” he said.

  He turned and went out. Idrib tapped controls on the armrest of his throne. The image of the blockade at Grakur filled the center screen. He stared hard at it.

  “Soon this will be over, Galesh,” he said. “And then my victory will be complete.”

  JaQuan’s vision swam. He was vaguely aware of people shouting, but he couldn’t understand what they were saying.

  Above him, a giant Graur raised its foot to stomp on him. He had no rational thoughts. Survival was the only thing that mattered. He rolled quickly away from the behemoth’s foot as it came crashing down.

  Trying to remember what was happening, JaQuan fought to get to his feet. But as he made it to his knees, the Graur’s foot connected with his stomach, doubling him over and nearly taking his wind.

  He barely had time to suck in a breath, when an elbow crashed into his spine. Pain exploded like a grenade in the center of his back, and JaQuan was driven to the ground.

  What the hell was happening? He couldn’t get his bearings. He wasn’t sure how he’d gotten here, or why this violent felinoid was bent on harming him.

  “JaQuan, look out!” someone shouted.

  It sounded like Alan. Was Alan here?

  JaQuan rolled onto his back just in time to see the beast’s foot come towards him again. Instinctively, he put up his cover and took the blow on his forearms. The Graur’s heel bruised his left arm, but he otherwise absorbed the stomp.

  The Graur raised its foot again. Still acting on instinct, JaQuan drove his right fist towards his opponent’s foot intending to knock him off balance.

  But a strange sensation pulsed in his hand, and the Graur screamed. Blood spattered JaQuan’s chest. What the hell had happened?

  “Yeah! Way to go, JaQuan!” Alan cheered.

  The Graur broke off its attack, so JaQuan rolled to his feet. He put up his fists and tried to get his bearings.

  At last, his vision came fully into focus. He recognized his assailant, a giant, grey tabby named Gurinn Muur. The Graur had dropped to the ground and was holding his right foot. Blood dribbled from between his fingers. Not far away, two of his toes lay severed.

  More pieces fell into place. JaQuan had a Graur Far-Biter. He must have inadvertently triggered the discs when he attempted to punch Muur’s foot.

  �
�Finish him, JaQuan!” Rorgun shouted.

  He was here too?

  Yes, JaQuan was Kitekh’s proxy in Trial by Ritual Combat. He was fighting to establish their innocence.

  The last curtains of fog lifted from his mind. He had his wits about him again.

  Taking aim with the Far-Biter, he launched a second disc at Muur. The giant Graur rolled aside just in time. The disc embedded in the wood wall several feet away.

  Muur jumped to his feet. Blood continued to ooze from where his toes should have been. He limped painfully as he circled JaQuan, a feral snarl curling his lips.

  “You’re going to pay for that, human,” he growled. “I’m going to hurt you badly.”

  When the other guy start making threats, that’s when you know he about to go internal, Lucky had taught JaQuan. He be telling you how he gonna make you pay. That all bravado. He trying to convince hisself. Don’ let him.

  Steadied by his mentor’s words, JaQuan adopted the classic boxing pose. He smiled.

  “Better do it quick,” he taunted. “Before you bleed out.”

  Muur pushed off with his good foot, bounding towards JaQuan. He sank his hips and waited to take the punch on his cover, intending to return the attack with a devastating right uppercut to the Graur’s jaw.

  But he misunderstood his opponent’s intentions. Muur landed neatly on his left foot, then slashed JaQuan across the arms, drawing blood. White-hot pain seared from the wounds, and JaQuan screamed despite himself.

  Muur followed up by scratching JaQuan across his ribs. Agony roared from his side, and JaQuan fought to keep from going internal.

  He twisted his wrist to activate the Far-Biter’s deflector screen. It popped up between the Graur and him instantly, but Muur only grinned.

  “That’s only good against energy weapons,” Muur gloated. He drove a punch into the top of JaQuan’s head, staggering him. “It doesn’t work against hand-to-hand combat.”

  JaQuan turned and ran across the room, narrowly avoiding a slash of Muur’s claws to his back. But the hulking Graur was wounded and couldn’t move as easily. JaQuan managed to put some distance between them.