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.
Corso jumped back out of reach, the blade missing him by millimetres. Jarret came up fast and they faced each other warily, both now oblivious to the baying of the audience.
Jarret was undoubtedly daring and vicious. For all his accustomed bluster and swagger on the Senate floor, he was now thinking strategically, his movements considered and economical, despite the intense violence of the moment.
Breisch had taught Corso that it was not always necessary to go straight for a weapon; the overwhelming desire of one's opponent to get hold of one was another weakness to be exploited. From personal experience, Corso knew that it was a move that could end challenges in seconds rather than minutes. However, instead of disabling his opponent, Corso's opening ploy had left him on the defensive, and lacking a weapon of his own.