Page 25 of Star Champion

“All in,” she murmured. Then she lifted the knife, held her breath, and sliced through the first thick hank of hair.

In the fading light the next day, Jemm walked with brisk, purposeful strides to the docks. She was dressed in full bajha gear. Under her suit a thick, reinforced padded work vest masked the fact that she had breasts, which she had further bound underneath the vest with some spare fabric. She wasn’t big on top, never longed to be, thank you very much, but it was best everything was tamped down, nice and neat.

Nico was chatty, giving her all sorts of playing advice she did not need, but it made him feel important and it kept her mind off what she was about to do.

Ahead the docks loomed. Twenty-four years on Barésh and Jemm had never set foot beyond the outer secure area, let alone the docking tubes that led to actual starships. The closer they got to the port, the more the street widened—to allow truck travel—and the better the surface was beneath their boots. Most colonists walking this close to the docks had reasons for being here, and so it was no surprise seeing the curious glances and some suspicious stares thrown their way. A flycar whooshed by, slowing, the upper-class occupants behind shadowed windows wanting to have a look at them. Jemm’s fingers lifted involuntarily to her hacked-off hair. Some tufts wanted to spring straight up; others swirled into waves. It left her earlobes and neck exposed. But haircuts were commonplace. Maybe the sight of a fully suited-up bajha player got them to wondering about her. After all, she was a long way from the nearest club. That, and Nico’s ragged-around-the-edges appearance and tough-guy swagger did not hide the fact that they were a pair of trill rats loose in an area reserved for compound cogs, elites, and crews from the docked vessels.

Like the trio of starpilots, two males and female, who crossed the street in clean, crisp indigo-blue uniforms with silver trim.From worlds afar.Jemm gazed with awe at the woman, and instinctively tried to meet her gaze, to give her a sisterly nod, as one female working in a mostly man’s world might do to acknowledge another. But the woman starpilot looked right through Jemm. Of course, she would. They headed for the lone virtual reality arcade in the area, probably in an attempt to pass some dead time and avoid downtown while doing it; Barésh could be intimidating to the uninitiated.

Jemm and Nico slowed to allow a truck to pull off the street and park in front of the arcade. Three men jumped out to unload it. One bald, sinewy fella had so many tattoos decorating his scalp it looked like a helmet. He opened the tailgate and withdrew some rope as the driver, a huge brute sporting a red beard with knotted ends, charged around the truck, headed straight for Nico. “You’ve got some nerve, Aves!”

“Run!” Nico’s shout ricocheted off the buildings as he shoved Jemm out of the way. Then Red Beard grabbed Nico and threw him up against the closest wall.

CHAPTER7

Nico hitthe arcade’s façade so hard it knocked off some loose plaster. A light overhead smashed to the sidewalk, glass tinkling, but the patrons inside went on playing, wearing goggles with twinkling lights and headphones.

“This is from Migel Arran—with love, mate.” With one hand wrapped in Nico’s sweater, Red Beard drove his fist into Nico’s face and plowed another punch into his gut. “And that’s from me, for making me chase you around the city all week.”

Jemm yanked open the zipper on her gear bag. It was a capital offense in the colony to use a sens-sword as a weapon, but that was moot at the moment. She had to save her brother’s life.

But Nico climbed back to his feet and lunged at Red Beard. Another group of pristine starship crewmembers cruised up the street. They saw the commotion and did a quick about-face.

“Now, now. What ya trying to do with that, lad?” A pair of arms cinched around Jemm as tight as bands of trill, yanking her backward into a hard body and pinning her arms flush to her ribs.

She bucked and twisted. “What the crag. Get off me, you rotter.”

Her attacker caught her using her thumb to arm her sens-sword and kneed it out of her hands. It skidded across the concrete, bright bursts of violet energy fizzing and snapping as the baton-blade collided with bits of glass and plaster.

“Never allow an opponent to take your sens-sword away, Jemm. It’s the most unforgivable gaffe in the sport of bajha.”Her father’s words boomed like detonations in her ears. Her face blazed with shame.

“Get off!” She slammed her boot heel hard onto a foot. But the boot was made of thick, expensive leather, and it was like she had touched him with a feather. Body armor made it difficult to find another place to land a kick.

“Be still!” He jerked her sideways, clamped a hand over her nose and mouth, cutting off her breathing. Black spots filled her vision and she almost passed out. He removed his hand and awareness flowed back like fresh water into an ore pit. “That’s better,” his swank-scented voice said in her ear. “We’re not supposed to hurt ya, lad. But if ya don’t listen, I’ll make sure your manager never walks again.”

The man was large enough to make good on his promise, and something in his tone told her he would be happy to. The gangster with the head tattoos circled Nico and Red Beard, holding the coil of rope. Bot-rope. Built to obey verbal orders, its flexible trill core made it unbreakable.

Dear dome. What were they planning to do to Nico? They were large men dressed in black body armor and heavy leather, steel-toe boots. They might be armed, as well, sponsored by their boss who earned the right to carry by circumstance of birth.

Nico spat blood on the pavement. “Right nice to hear that Migel Arran loves me so much. Who can blame him? It’s my bubbly charm.” Red Beard’s punches should have knocked him out cold, but he was on his feet. Her brother was somehow able to take more punishment than anyone she knew, even having the wits to argue with charm. “I’ve got a love note of my own to send. Tell him if he wants Sea Kestrel playing Eighthnights at Rumble, the weeknights are mine. We ain’t bound by contract, and Arran knows it.”

“His rules aren’t up for debate, Aves.”

“We ain’t bound by his rules,” Jemm spoke up. “If he thinks he can control us by force and threats, he can find himself another champ.”

That drew Red Beard’s attention the way dropped crumbs drew cave-scampers. “Ooh. A battle of wills between Sea Kestrel and Migel Arran, eh? We’ll see who’ll win that war, won’t we?” Red Beard hustled over to her, moving close enough for her to smell the faint odor of swank on his breath. That was all she needed—another coward who substituted the chemicals for courage.

She kept her face impassive as he lifted a lock of hair off her forehead. “Youth. So fleeting. Especially on Barésh.” He examined her as if looking for places to land future blows. It was how these things went if you defied those with power. The second encounter was always worse. A third was most always fatal. “Arran’s got a spot saved for you in the prison league if your manager decides to ignore the rules. Young lad like you?” He winked, making a clicking sound with his tongue. “You’ll be a sweet piece of meat amongst all those hardened criminals, won’t ya?”

The thought of being discovered as a female behind bars made Jemm shiver. That she did and Red Beard noticed left a bitter taste of hatred in her mouth. It would not matter whether or not she was guilty of any crime if someone like Migel Arran wanted her arrested. Nico had talked before of bajha matches played by prisoners who arrived in chains and left the same way. Penal ships transported them from planet to planet, and system to system, where they would dock at settlements, stage matches for money and move on. Convict players who died along the way were replaced by an endless supply of petty criminals in the frontier.

“Aye, Sea Kestrel, torn apart by the big bad carnivores. Nothing left but feathers.” The other gangsters burst into laughter. “Let him go,” Red Beard growled and walked away, wiping her brother’s blood off his knuckles with a rag.

Set free, Jemm almost staggered, but used her innate balance to catch herself with a graceful step forward. The man who had held her walked into view. “Poor birdie,” he said with a wheezy chuckle. “Tweet! Tweet!” Red sparkly lights implanted in his teeth made his mouth look as if it were filled with fresh blood. The red reflected light in his eyes was ghoulish as he waggled his elbows like a pen-fowl. “Chickey, chickey!”

Red Beard was back in Nico’s face. “Arran wants you to know it’s not only Narrow Margin you gotta give up to keep the peace. It’s Ore’s Head, too. It’s no secret ya got matches scheduled there with your other players.”

Nico appeared as jarred by the warning as Jemm was surprised by it. “Is that so?” he managed, but he sounded less plucky now.

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