Empire of Light (14 page)

‘I think at the very least we should set up safe-houses around Unity. As somewhere we can retreat to if necessary.’

‘You really think it’ll come to that?’

‘Worse things have happened.’

Corso nodded. ‘You’re talking about another coup?’

Kenley’s expression was grim. ‘Just tell me one thing. Are you absolutely certain whatever Driscoll found out there wouldn’t actually be safer in the Legislate’s hands?’

Corso laughed. ‘You weren’t there in Ocean’s Deep, Marcus. It was a total travesty. I don’t think the Legislate could have botched it more if they’d tried.’

Kenley reached out and put a hand on Corso’s arm, halting him. ‘Lucas . . . were you aware Jarret was trained by Breisch?’

Corso stared at him and remembered what Hilgendorf had said. ‘You’re certain about this?’

‘Very.’

‘But Breisch never . . .’ he paused.
Breisch never told me.
Corso’s hands curled into fists at his sides.

‘Jarret is the kind of man who prefers not to pick on people his own size, if you follow me, Senator,’ Kenley explained. ‘He has a reputation for treachery.’

‘I know that. But Breisch . . .’

‘The old man has a strong sense of personal ethics, and he was deeply offended by the way Jarret misused the skills he’d learned. He finds people with influence in the Senate and first arranges for the murder of someone very close to them,’ Kenley continued. ‘Then he leaves just enough clues to show he was responsible, so the target winds up calling him out for a fight. Sound familiar?’

Corso heard a whine like the jaws of a trap shutting tight around him. Bull Northcutt had murdered Corso’s fiancée years before, for the exact same reason.

‘But why didn’t Breisch warn me?’

‘Maybe,’ Kenley suggested, ‘he’s hoping you’ll kill Jarret for him.’

Harsh, pumping music floated through the air towards them from the direction of the combat ring, and Corso recognized the call. He stared back towards the tent, standing further around the curve of the bay, and decided now was not the time to confront Breisch. Anyway, by now he would be waiting at the combat ring with the rest.

He turned back to Kenley. ‘Come on, Marcus. Let’s get this over with.’

They turned from the shore and headed inland, finding their way along a narrow path trodden through hardy grasses and spiny plants by decades of fighters and their audiences. Corso mentally reviewed his training as they walked. There were certain tricks Breisch had taught him; now he would have to watch out for Jarret using those same ploys against him.

They ascended a steep incline and were dazzled by an eruption of light and music as they reached the crest. A casual observer, with no knowledge of Freehold customs or laws, might have concluded there was a party taking place here; in a sense there was, albeit with a deadly conclusion.

Wagers would be made, small fortunes won and lost. None of it was strictly legal, of course, but old habits died hard, and everyone knew what refusing a challenge entailed.

Huge portable heating units, scattered here and there, pumped out heat, while a speaker system filled the air with crunching martial pop; tales of the Freehold’s legendary warriors and their excesses bellowed over a monotonous beat.

The audience for this challenge was sixty to seventy strong. The few women present were either wives and mistresses, or more likely whores flown in for the pleasure of the senators, military officers and hard-faced bureaucrats standing around in anticipation swilling hot beer.

The combat ring itself was a circle of open ground marked by a perimeter of hissing flares pushed deep into the soil. It extended a little over eight metres in diameter, more than enough room for two men to try their damnedest to kill each other.

A muffled cheer went up from dozens of breather-equipped throats when they saw Corso and Kenley approaching. Jarret’s entourage considerably outnumbered his own, which comprised a dozen or so of his advisers and various Senate staff gathered together over to one side, a few looking distinctly uneasy. They knew what they would face if Corso died today and there was no one left to protect them in the Senate.

Corso scanned the rest of the crowd until he saw Jarret himself, standing with the bearing of a king returned from a victorious campaign, his arrogance barely masked by the tan-and-silver breather he wore over his lower face.

Corso’s own senior Senate staff approached him and he was glad to see Nastazi, Velardo and Griffith all present. These three were the men Corso trusted. The rest were good enough at their jobs, but one or two of them were probably spies.

‘McDade’s your marshal for the challenge,’ declared Nastazi. ‘There’s even a rumour he pulled strings in order to get the job.’

Corso nodded. ‘Well, the man hates my guts, so that’s hardly surprising. Anything else I should know before I murder his nephew?’

‘There was a move within the Senate to block us from flying out here to witness the fight,’ said Griffith, behind whom the flares hissed and spat sparks into the night. ‘They cited security measures: a report that the Uchidans had got wind of the fight, and might try a strike against the Aaron peninsula while it’s taking place. Be warned, they mean to fight dirty, Senator.’

Corso paused, staring out into the darkness. He was thinking of Dakota, but why had she popped into his head just now? She had already disappeared, swallowed up by the mystery of the Maker, leaving him alone and defenceless as head of the Peacekeeper Authority.

The music peaked, and he listened carefully as the address system was handed over to McDade, who began to list both parties’ grievances as a precursor to the challenge itself. The next step would be to offer both himself and Jarret one last chance to back out of the contest.

‘Is there any truth to that report?’ Corso replied quietly to Griffith. ‘Is it likely the Uchidans would use a high-profile challenge like this as an opportunity to carry out a tactical strike while everyone’s looking the other way?’

‘There are a dozen reports of suspected offensives every day, Senator. I imagine they just picked one of them and blew it up out of proportion. They’re trying to make it look like you’re disrupting the normal process of Senate business, by making a nuisance of yourself.’

‘I
am
making a nuisance of myself,’ Corso replied. ‘That’s the whole point.’

Breisch approached, moving with the kind of casual, easy grace that came from years of intensive physical training. Corso drew in a breath, forcing himself to keep calm.

‘I gather Mr Kenley’s spoken to you about my connection with Jarret,’ said Breisch. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before.’

Corso couldn’t keep the mixture of confusion and anger out of his voice. ‘So why didn’t you?’

‘I made you work harder than you ever have before, Lucas. There’s a part of you that always stands back, that refuses to wholly engage with the fight. You’ve learned, over the past few days, to put that part of yourself to one side and fight without distraction. I cannot emphasize how important a step forward that is. If I’d told you about Jarret, you would have likely fallen into a false belief system, and concluded that Jarret might be more than an even match for you.’

Breisch shook his head. ‘Besides, I only trained him for a short while, and he’s never picked fights he can’t win. But this time is different. He’s undoubtedly more skilled than most of those you’ve faced, but you’re more than capable of defeating him.’

Corso took a moment before replying. ‘I think I might have done the same in your position, but I need to know I can trust the people around me implicitly.’ He reached out and took Breisch’s hand and shook it. ‘I want to thank you for everything you’ve taught me, but I won’t be requiring your services any more.’

Breisch didn’t seem surprised, merely nodded his head fractionally. ‘I wish you well, Lucas. You exceeded my expectations.’ Then he turned and walked back to join the crowds waiting for the contest to start.

McDade, now finished with his preliminary announcements, jumped down from the marshal’s platform and headed over to Corso.

‘Senator,’ he acknowledged with a nod.

‘Mr McDade, I hear you worked quite hard for the chance to be marshal tonight.’

McDade met Corso’s gaze easily. ‘We may not agree on many things, Senator, but you still deserve the same chance to fight for what you believe in as do any of the rest of us. I can’t say I’ll be sorry if you lose, but any man prepared to walk into a combat ring deserves respect, whether or not he walks back out of it.’

‘Jarret’s a known killer. He’s murdered people who didn’t have a chance of beating him. Are you sure he deserves that level of respect?’

Corso watched as McDade fought to control his temper. ‘The Senate floor’s the place for debate, Mr Corso,’ he replied tautly, his manner suddenly much more formal. ‘I’m here in my official capacity as judge and marshal of this challenge, to offer you your final opportunity to back down.’

Corso listened as McDade continued with the familiar litany: ‘You may stand down from this challenge, with honour, while waiving your rights to your Senate seat and your family’s inheritance. If you decline to do so, the challenge will not end until either yourself or Senator Jarret is formally pronounced deceased. Do you agree to such terms of challenge?’

‘I agree to the stated terms, Mr McDade. I am both willing and of sound mind, and wish to challenge Senator Jarret to a duel to the death.’

McDade looked over at Kenley. ‘Will you attest that you have heard and witnessed Senator Corso’s decision?’

‘I attest to the Senator’s decision, and uphold his right to participate,’ Kenley responded.

McDade nodded. ‘Good luck, Senator,’ he said finally to Corso, then glanced briefly over at Jarret, with a small smile curling up the corners of his mouth. ‘Because you’re going to need it this time.’

Corso stared back at him calmly, watching as McDade turned on his heel and went over to read the same terms to Jarret.

‘How did it ever happen?’ he asked Kenley, over the din of music and voices. ‘How did they turn me into one of them?’

Kenley shrugged. ‘You said yourself, the only way to beat them was at their own game. Besides, the way you’re going, most of the opposition is going to wind up dead before long.’

Corso grinned at this. The copters and trucks formed dark silhouettes against the evening sky as he looked west, towards the great swell of the ocean beyond the shore, and spotted the figure of a woman standing well apart from the rest, too far outside the pools of illumination cast by the lights for him to make her out clearly.

Somebody shouted for quiet, and people began shushing each other. The music was replaced by an angry buzzing sound as it was turned off.

McDade strode to the centre of the combat circle, and began. ‘This Challenge takes place regardless of the legal restrictions placed on us by the Consortium trade treaties, and is therefore not officially recognized by our Senate.’ His amplified voice rolled out across the hills beyond the canopy tree. ‘However, we here, every last one of us, will attest to the God-given rights of the victor as derived from the ancient precepts of our society. We came here to escape the bloodless atheism of the Consortium and the moral corruption of our fellow human beings. We came here to build a society of warriors willing to fight for their right to participate in our democracy, and who do not constantly live in fear of death. It is my firm belief – McDade was clearly happy for this opportunity to lecture Corso and his entourage – ‘that justice and might will win out this evening, and that we will overcome our oppressors and those who stand against us, for together we are strong, and they are weak.’

A huge cheer went up from the crowd gathered around Senator Jarret.

‘This challenge,’ McDade continued, ‘takes place because Senator Corso chose to commandeer our proud flagship the
Mjollnir
for reasons that have never been properly explained nor justified to the Senate’s satisfaction. Since Senator Corso has refused to relinquish his Senate seat, and until these questions have been answered to the satisfaction of all, Senator Jarret has asked that the two of them should meet in a challenge of deadly combat. Is there anyone here with reason to believe this contest should not take place?’

There was, of course, no answer.

‘All right, then,’ McDade finished up. ‘This is a senatorial contest, and the winner can, in turn, be challenged at any time by any citizen or non-citizen who chooses to do so.’

Corso returned his attention to Jarret and his memory flashed back to the time he had similarly faced Bull Northcutt on the shores of Fire Lake. Both men were of a piece: hair shaved close to the skull, active subdermal tattoos that recorded previous kills in graphic detail, and thickly overdeveloped muscles that hinted at steroid abuse. Jarret had stripped down to a pair of loose camouflage-style trousers and a light shirt that clung to his augmented musculature. His exposed skin glistened with thick grease that would be good for keeping the cold out for a few extra seconds. Clearly the man was gambling on an early win.

At that point, McDade stepped out of the ring and removed an antique pistol from within his own bulky winter gear. Following their cues, Jarret and Corso both stepped just inside the ring’s perimeter. Two long, curved knives lay, crossed over each other, at the ring’s precise centre.

McDade raised the pistol high over his head, its barrel pointing upwards. ‘On my mark,’ his voice boomed over the sound system.

Corso pulled off his heavy coat and threw it outside the circle. His skin wasn’t greased, but he wore a tight, long-sleeved tunic made from layers of fibre that efficiently contained his body heat. Already the cold bit savagely at the exposed skin of his neck and face where it wasn’t covered by the breather mask.

McDade fired a single shot high into the air, then retreated quickly back into the crowd.

Corso sprang forward, as if someone had sent an electric jolt through his body. Jarret simultaneously threw himself towards the knives and grabbed one.

It was the obvious first move for both of them to make, and Corso had been gambling on this. Instead of reaching for a knife, he aimed one booted foot at Jarret’s head, connecting with a dull smack. But Jarret saw it coming at the last second, and responded by slashing out low with his newly acquired weapon, aiming for Corso’s thigh and the delicate femoral arteries.