To Clan and Conquer (Clan Beginnings) (4 page)

Instead, the Dramok’s shoulders sagged and he scowled.  “You are an ass.  Try not to get yourself dismembered.”

The weapons commander rolled his eyes.  He stomped out of his quarters.  Piras followed him as he headed for the transport that would take him to the shuttle bay.

“After shore leave is up, we’re going to check out those strange energy readings reported by the border defense stations.  I’ll need you at your post, worthless as you are.”

Lidon stepped into the transport, turned, and gave Piras a formal bow.  “Yes, Captain.  Shuttle bay.”

An instant before the door shut between him and Piras, Lidon reached out and tweaked the Dramok’s still swollen crotch.  He grinned as Piras’ growl was cut off by the closing door.

* * * *

Tranis whooped warm air into his lungs, squinting against the bright sunlight.  The surroundings hadn’t been so damned blinding when they started the match.  The bit of cloud cover that had kept things comfortable for sensitive Kalquorian eyesight were long gone.  Every expression on the muddy field looked ferocious simply because each man strained to see through narrowed eyes.  The spectators on the sidelines, almost everyone else who’d been granted shore leave, wore dimming goggles.

Tranis snarled, fangs down, at the Nobek in front of him.  He wanted to make sure the other man knew it wasn’t just a light-blinded face he was making.  He cupped the rough-hided kurble ball in his swollen hand.  It was getting hard to curl his fingers around it now that they were late in the game and the poison had done its work.  Only professional players were allowed to use the lethally dosed kurble balls, but the recreational versions were plenty nasty too.

The Nobek defender in front of him, a fighter pilot named Nemu, gave Tranis a feral grin.  “Your mouth is bleeding, Dramok.”

On Tranis’ left, Lidon promised, “Don’t worry.  I’ll see to it yours bleeds too.”

The two men growled at each other, and the primitive sound of it sent a thrill through Tranis.  The game had gone off wonderfully.  Nobeks had actually vied to be on Tranis and Lidon’s team.  They knew if they managed to do well with a Dramok hurler and a crippled flank defender, they would have the greatest bragging rights.

The pair had surprised everyone.  Tranis never let the ball’s intermittent protruding barbs vary his accurate throws.  Nor did he flinch from the stampeding Nobeks from the opposing team.  Not an easy task; the opponents were a brutal bunch looking to throw him hard to the ground, with a few punches and kicks added in for good measure.  For Lidon’s part, the Nobek had stood fast on his braced leg to absorb the attacks when he wasn’t throwing himself bodily into the fray.  He seemed to take great delight in proving just how savage he was.

Even Tranis was impressed with his teammate, though he’d been sure the Nobek’s injury would only spur Lidon to fight all the harder.  The muddy condition of the field had worried him for his left defender, but Lidon’s traction shoes had put him on even footing with the rest of them.

As they readied to line up for another offensive, Lidon’s gaze swept the intimidating wall of Nobeks ready to stop their march down the field.  “To your right.”

Tranis’ right flank defender, a ship security lieutenant named Mucod, crouched slightly at his side.  His hands hanging loosely in front of him as he eyed the cluster of defenders tensing in a tight knot.  Tranis was a left-handed hurler, which meant most his throws went in that direction.

Mucod nodded.  “I’ve got them.”

Tranis looked over the gang of muddy, bloody, snarling Nobeks waiting to run over him.  His team was ahead and close to scoring again.   One more goal and the game would be theirs.  His ballooning hand and poisoned system just had to hold out.  The Dramok thought he might have half a dozen plays left in him.  This close to victory, he wasn’t about to forfeit.

He got into position for his throw.  Lidon and Mucod were on either side of him, crouching low, getting ready to launch themselves at the other team.  The runners lined up behind him, tensed to either defend him or take the ball from his hand.  Runner-catchers swept to the sides.

“Vortex!”  Tranis yelled.  A hurl play.

His entire line growled and showed their fangs.  The defenders answered with the same.  Every last man was aroused, including Tranis.  Kurble brought that out in those devoted to it.

Tranis gave his team their directions in a roar.  “Sideswipe ‘board, barricade port, punch center!”

He dropped back, cocking the ball for his throw.  Lidon and Mucod surged forward.   Three catcher-runners on the right took off in blurs, running around the opposing team.  The remaining two catcher-runners on the left ran at the defensive line, helping Lidon on that side.  The four runners at Tranis’ back ran at dead center, opening a sightline for Tranis to the three catcher-runners now downfield, racing to lose their guards.

One was clear for a catch.  Tranis set his feet as Nobeks in front of him fought brutally.  Barbs suddenly shot out from the ball, turning it into a spiked nightmare that punctured his hand yet again.  He shrieked as it fed poison into him, but more in defiance than pain.  He threw the ball at the clear catcher-runner just before Lidon and Mucod were trampled over.  As Tranis was brought painfully down to the ground, he saw his teammate catch the still-barbed ball.

The play ended.  The attackers who’d piled on top of Tranis, four of them, picked themselves up, giving him a few punches for good measure.  He spit out a mouthful of mud and accepted Lidon’s hand up.  Unfortunately, Tranis used his left hand.  He winced as his poisoned, punctured hand was squeezed.

Lidon scowled, but there was admiration in his look too.  “I see a shitload of pain inhibitors, anti-inflammatories, and poison antidote in your future.”

Tranis grinned, refusing to acknowledge the throbbing hell of his hurling hand.  “I’m not even close to finished.”

“I can believe that, but we’re within scoring range again, and one play could finish the game.  They’re going to come at us with everything this time.”

He was right.  The catcher-runner had gotten the ball only a few feet from the goal.  The opposing team wasn’t just growling; they were roaring defiance at Tranis’ group.  The onlookers were screaming wildly.

Adrenaline galloped through Tranis’ body.  “Let them come, and we’ll shut them down.”

The two teams lined up.  Tranis looked over his options, noting Nobek Nemu in front of him had a bloody lip, just as Lidon had promised he would.

By the ancestors, he loved this game.

Tranis called the play, and the teams went into motion.  Lidon had been right; the defenders sent everyone at the Dramok.  He saw it when one intentionally targeted Lidon’s bad leg, making the Nobek scream with pain and fury as he went down.

Tranis delivered the ball to his catcher-runner, winning the game.  Then he ran right at the man who’d hit Lidon and started pounding him with all he had.  The pain in his swollen hand was merely a nuisance as he traded blows with the Nobek.

Their fight prompted a free-for-all.  The air was alive with thuds and screams and howls as both teams commenced to beating the shit out of each other.  Tranis was dimly aware that many of the spectators had joined in.  Two more Nobeks jumped him and had beat him pretty good when Lidon suddenly barreled in, knocking them both sprawling.

Security forces, assigned by Lidon to keep order during the game, broke up the melee.  Tranis was flat on his back in the field, his eyes closed tight against the too-bright sky.  He had to breathe through his mouth because his nose was broken.  Damn, he hurt, but at least he didn’t think anything else had been broken.

A shadow darkened his closed lids, and he opened them to see Lidon crouching over him.  The Nobek studied his face.  “It looks like you’ll need a little reconstructive work.  Your nose is all over your face.”

Tranis blinked up at him.  “Why can’t I just keep some scars?”  When Lidon’s eyebrows rose, he added, “You wouldn’t believe the shit I catch for having my rank at my age.  I wouldn’t mind giving my looks a little age and experience.”

Lidon snorted.  “A Dramok who keeps his fighting and battle scars is seen as a challenge to Nobeks.  They’ll make it a point to kick your ass on a daily basis.  Try a beard, if you want to look older.  I think it would suit your face.”

Tranis considered it.  A beard might indeed lend some maturity to his looks.  “Thanks.  I’ll give it a shot.”

Lidon grabbed his uninjured right hand and hauled him to his feet.  He gave Tranis a dark look.  “I should beat you myself.  I don’t need a Dramok defending me, you know.”

Tranis snarled at him.  “Who said I was defending you?  Do I look like I have a death wish?”

Lidon raised an eyebrow at him.  Tranis realized that after the pounding he just took, he might indeed look that way.

He blew out an exasperated breath.  He didn’t want Lidon mad at him.  “The man that targeted your leg was the most convenient person to hit.  Damn it, Commander, the game was over, and only a couple of real fights broke out during the whole thing.  Everyone knows fights are the best part of kurble.”

Lidon stared at him.  Then he snorted and shook his head.  Finally he grinned.

Tranis grinned back for a moment before his stomach started to churn.  He waved at the Nobek.  “And here comes the worst part.  Stand back.”

Lidon got out of spew range quickly.  As the first heave doubled Tranis over, the weapons commander waved at the waiting medics.  Then Tranis didn’t notice much else as his stomach turned itself inside out trying to get the poison out of his system.

* * * *

The destroyer’s handsome head medic had almost finished putting Tranis’ face back to rights.  He seemed extremely amused; not just at Tranis but with everything going on around him.

Dr. Degorsk gave Lidon a sidelong look.  “A Dramok that plays kurble.  Did you put him up to this, Lidon?”

Tranis turned his gaze to the weapons commander, who sat on the treatment table next to Tranis’.  These two were on a familiar name basis?  Funny.  The joke-cracking doctor was nothing like the stern Nobek.  He couldn’t imagine the two of them being close enough to use names.

Lidon looked between doctor and patient and smirked.  “He invited me into his game, Doctor.”

The Imdiko’s eyebrows shot up.  “You’re kidding.  No, not possible.  You don’t know how to tease.  Maybe you were hit on the head?  No again, since that’s the least vulnerable part of your body.”

Tranis was shocked.  The medic was baiting Lidon, making fun.  And yet Lidon just sat there, a strange half-smile on his face as he regarded Degorsk.

Tranis gave the Imdiko his full attention.  Degorsk was about his height, his body made up of lean, sinewy muscle that his long-sleeved formsuit did nothing to conceal.  The hands wielding a skin suturing device over Tranis’ face had long, dexterous, almost dainty fingers.  His clean shaven, sharp features were softened by his easygoing smile, which showed off perfectly straight, white teeth.  His waist length blue-black hair was worn in a thick braid.  Tranis had a sudden vision of all that hair loose and spread over a pillow.  He was still slightly aroused from the kurble game.

The rest of the medical examination and treatment section wasn’t nearly as pleasant to look at.  Injured Nobeks who’d been involved in the game took up all the tables with medics running scanners over their battered bodies and various healing instruments fixing the worst injuries.  The Nobeks were grumbling about being tended, of course.  They only submitted to what was required so they could return to duty on time.

Several runners and the opposing team’s hurler were vomiting from the kurble ball poison.  The sound rocked Tranis’ still complaining stomach.  It groaned loudly.

Degorsk’s grin stretched his face.  “It speaks!  You’re looking a little green, Commander Tranis.  Shall I grab a basin?”

Between clenched teeth Tranis muttered, “I’m fine.”

The Imdiko snorted and set the suturing device down.  “Injured Nobeks are a pain in the ass to deal with.  Now I have to treat masochistic Dramoks too?”

He grabbed Tranis’ hurling hand and looked the swollen appendage over.  Tranis hissed at the slight pressure of Degorsk’s grip.  A noxious scent issued from the blue-tinged flesh.

The medic took an appreciative sniff.  “Smells like good income, were I in private practice.  A beachside retreat at the very least.  Damn my love for duty and Empire that keeps me poor.”

While Tranis gaped at the man’s antics, Lidon shook his head.  The Nobek’s smile was getting larger, and he watched Degorsk intently.

Tranis didn’t know whether to be pissed off or amused.  He scowled, deciding indignation was the best option.  “Do you offer any treatment or just talk your patients’ ears off?”

Degorsk gave him wide eyes, but his smile never wavered.  He shot a look over his shoulder at Lidon.  “He’s a mean one, isn’t he?”

Lidon pressed his lips together as if to keep laughter in.  Then he said, “Five older Nobek brothers.”

Degorsk rolled his eyes.  “That explains a lot.  I’ll add a lack of humor to the list of disabilities in your file, First Officer.  Excuse me so I can get you your treatment and salvage your ears.”

The Imdiko moved towards a bank of shelves lined with bottles and jars of medications.  As he passed one of the examination tables, he peered into a bowl of puke a sick Nobek had balanced on his thighs.  Degorsk ordered the attending medic, “Don’t let the dining hall have this for soup base, okay?”