Janson was good—better than I’d given him credit for. He was angry though, and that made him sloppy. I pressed my advantage, driving him back with a flurry of strikes.

  He stumbled, his foot slipping on a loose rock. I saw my opening and lunged, the buzzblade aimed at his throat. The shield caught it—but the message was clear. If this had been a fair fight, I’d have just won.

  Janson got back up, sputtering in a rage. I was humiliating him—not by killing him, mind you. My blade couldn’t penetrate his shielding, but that truth had become a growing embarrassment. I was treating him like a child, the way a father trains his son by putting him in armor and giving him a dull sword to fool with.

  We broke apart, both of us breathing hard. Janson’s eyes were wild, his face splattered with blood and sweat. I could feel the adrenaline surging through my veins, the thrill of the fight singing in my blood.

  “You’re not bad for a soft old man,” I told him off-handedly. “But you’d have no chance without cheating.”

  “You laid out the terms for this challenge,” Janson said. “Now, you whine about them. Do you surrender and give your life? If you do, we will make this a clean, honorable thing. You may kneel before me and, after admitting Techborn superiority, take your own life with your blade.”

  I snorted at him. Blood dribbled from my check—he’d nicked me somewhere along the line. I didn’t even know exactly where…

  “My offer should not be refused lightly,” Janson warned me. “I’m in a generous mood right now, but if you persist, I shall perform the full torment of Nine Deaths.”

  A few of the Techborn gasped at that. Apparently, the Nine Deaths was an unpleasant process, even to these goons.

  Naturally, I wasn’t even listening to his big talk. I was judging my timing. There was more than one element at play, here. There was Janson, sure—and the duel. We were both tired, and there was a chance he could get lucky and nail me one of these times.

  But there was another element I was playing upon: the crowd. These men were watching closely. If I won this duel in the wrong way, I figured they’d fall upon me and tear me apart. I had to do it in a way that would allow me to walk out of this alive.

  “I issued a challenge,” I said. “Are you going back on your acceptance?”

  Janson showed me his teeth. His gambit to get me to surrender and give him a clear win, with me on my knees accepting my death meekly—that was out the window. I think he knew that now.

  “Very well. We shall finish this game.”

  He came at me then—and it became clear I wasn’t the only one who’d been holding back. He was fast, and he was mean. I had to use every ounce of my superior skill and strength to avoid death.

  It was time for me to change things up. When I got the chance—I went into a clinch.

  Each of us grasped the wrist of the other man’s weapon hand. We strove together, grunting and sweating.

  I was larger and stronger. If I could hook an ankle and flip him on his back—

  “This isn’t a wrestling contest!” Janson shouted. “You have forfeited the duel—and your life!”

  The Techborn around us surged forward uncertainly. They didn’t seem to like the idea of me punching their leader and strangling him into unconsciousness.

  Chapter 35

  In order to penetrate his personal shielding, I had grappled with Janson—and he wasn’t happy about it.

  “Foul cheat!” he howled.

  My hands got closer and closer to his throat. If I could choke him out before he could stick me….

  The Techborn troops surged a step forward again—would they intervene?

  I decided to switch tactics. My hand moved low, instead. I switched off his personal shield. It flickered out, and he cursed my mother in a foul way.

  Janson could have called his mob in to pull us apart—but he didn’t. I’ll give him that much.

  As I’d let go of his knife-hand, he had free play with it. This situation only lasted for a fraction of a second before I sprang away—but it was enough. He drew a red line across my ribs. The cut was deep, and it would have been fatal if it hadn’t been for the human ribcage. Even then, it felt like he’d cut a series of gouges into those bones that I wouldn’t soon forget about.

  “Come on, fight me!” I shouted. “Or are you going to piss yourself without your precious shielding?”

  Janson’s eyes flicked to the sides. He was measuring his troops. He couldn’t just order me struck dead and keep his honor in their eyes, as much as he might like to.

  Then, he eyed my wounds. I had a few of them by now, and he nodded, almost to himself.

  I knew what his calculus was—what it had to be. I would bleed out soon and weaken, if he could only fend me off for long enough.

  We began to circle and slash again, back and forth. When I lunged in, he danced back. He was playing for time, a wise strategy.

  The Techborn backed off, giving us room. They clapped, they chanted, and they cheered.

  “Not bad, for a peasant,” Janson panted. “But you’re still going to die here, Tanner—you and all your little Duster friends.”

  I spat at his feet. “We’ll see about that.”

  We crashed together again, blades flashing in the sun.

  The fight was brutal, a dance of death on the edge of the cliff. Janson was good, I’ll give him that—but I was better. I had to be—for Hammer, for Megan, for all the Dusters who’d suffered under Techborn bootheels.

  We traded blows, our blades sparking as they clashed. My blade hit harder, with more arm-power behind it. His guard was pushed aside, and I cut him a good one in the thigh.

  Blood gushed, and I grinned at him.

  Maybe I shouldn’t have looked so confident, so dangerous, because that’s when Janson chickened-out. He flipped on his shielding again. The shield shimmered around him, a sparkling barrier of energy that turned aside my strikes.

  There was some grumbling from the Techborn. I guess Janson wasn’t going to get out of this with a pristine heroic rep—but if I was dead, and he hadn’t been branded a total coward, he must have figured that was good enough.

  I kept pressing, kept pushing, looking for a weakness.

  There. A flicker, a momentary gap in the shield’s coverage. These things weren’t perfect. They fuzzed and jumped now and then, like a signal with static in it.

  Lunging, I felt the buzzblade humming in my hand. Janson tried to twist away, but he was too slow. The blade nicked him in the side, slicing through his armor like it was paper.

  Janson staggered back, his eyes wide with shock. He looked down at the wound, at the blood welling up between his fingers. He counterattacked, but I fended him off. Even as he did so, the shield…

  Techborn technology was good—for Haven-7. The trouble with all of it was it was old. Seriously old—it had all been made long ago, at least a century ago. And, as anyone who’s familiar with gadgets and gizmos, they eventually wear out.

  Janson’s shield belt chose this moment to fuzz out. It flickered like a dying flame, then went out—for good.

  “Impossible,” he gasped. “What did you do…?”

  I grinned, a feral thing. “Maybe some of that blood running down your side shorted it. Looks like your luck’s run out, Janson.”

  That was it, I was no longer on the defense. I pressed my advantage, hammering at his upraised knife with blow after blow. Janson fought back desperately, but he was as wounded as I was now, slowed by pain and blood loss.

  My vision blurred now and then. My breath was ragged. I was tired—even more tired than I should be.

  I began to consider desperate plays. I could grab one of the Techborn crowd and draw his pistol, gunning down Janson and maybe a few others before I was shot down in turn. That would have been a fun way to go out—but I wasn’t quite ready to die. Not yet.

  Another option was to throw my blade. I was good at that, and with a little luck, I might catch Janson by surprise—but if I didn’t kill him, he’d immediately come in grinning to butcher me. Again, that option didn’t appeal.

  In the end, I took a very direct approach. I simply marched right toward him. He jabbed and retreated. He didn’t have a shield now, so he was hoping I’d bleed out first. Soon, his back was against the line of Techborn. Rather than breaking their circle, he in turn began to walk backward in a staggering circle.

  He didn’t want to let me get in too close. He didn’t want to grapple. He wanted me to die on my feet, to collapse in the dust. From the way I felt, he might just get his wish, I knew.

  But I wasn’t going to let him watch me die safely. I kept advancing, pushing him back with slashes and thrusts. That forced him to retreat—which he did—until it became comical.

  After perhaps two full circuits of the ring, he stumbled a little and had to dance and hop away from my endless attacks. That’s when everything changed.

  One of the Techborn—I’ll never know who it was, but I’ll forever live in gratitude—released a twitter of laughter.

  It was a small sound—high-pitched and unmistakable—but it was mocking laughter. There was no denying that.

  Cuts and bruises? Janson could take those. He was a tough man. But being laughed at? No. That was something no tyrant could tolerate. That’s why in history, they always butchered the comedians first.

  Janson growled and stopped retreating. He came at me, aggressively counterattacking. The crowd cheered him on—and the cheers quickly transformed into a roar.

  They all seemed to know what was coming next—the slaughter of this over-muscled mouthy upstart. They were hungry to see it, every last one of them.

  I was retreating now, looking for the opening I knew Janson would eventually give me. My skill was greater than his. It was only a matter of time. When the moment came, I simply reversed myself, lunging in and thrusting deep.

  It was an uppercut to the belly. The buzzblade slid between the plates of his armor, and Janson’s eyes went wide.

  My blade sunk deep, driving up through the stomach and into the heart—which was instantly stilled. He staggered back, his knife falling from nerveless fingers.

  Janson slumped to his knees, then flopped onto blood-darkened sand and stones. His eyes glazed over in shock. The dust between each rock transformed into mud as his blood—and mine—pooled around him.

  I stood tall on the blood-slicked earth. I lifted my blade overhead and shook it, grinning.

  “A great man has passed,” I lied.

  The buzzblade hummed in my hands, as if hungry for more. I switched it off. I was spent. Every muscle ached, every bone felt like it had been cracked in two.

  The sound of boots on gravel made me look up. The Techborn soldiers were coming, their faces hard and angry beneath their helmets. I tried to push them away, but it was useless.

  Hands grabbed me, hauled me away from Janson’s corpse. A fist slammed into my gut, doubling me over. Another caught me across the jaw, snapping my head back. I tasted blood.

  They beat on me like a drum, their armored fists rising and falling. I felt ribs crack, felt my flesh split and tear. The world spun, going gray at the edges.

  This was it. This was how it ended. Not with a bang, but with a whimper. Dane Tanner, the great hero of the Duster rebellion, beaten to death by a bunch of faceless goons.

  I waited for the killing blow, for the darkness to take me, but it never came.

  Through the haze of pain, I heard a new voice, sharp and commanding.

  “Enough!”

  The blows stopped. I forced my head up, blinking blood from my eyes. A figure stood before me, tall and regal in black armor. I recognized her instantly.

  Callista.

  The soldiers stepped back, lowering their fists. Callista strode forward, her eyes fixed on me. “Dane Tanner?” she said. “You have caused me a great deal of trouble.”

  I spat blood at her feet. “Glad to be of service.”

  She backhanded me, her armored gauntlet splitting my swollen lips. “You killed Janson,” she said loudly, so all the assembled men could hear. “The overlord of the Techborn. My commander.”

  I grinned, feeling the blood on my teeth. “Guess that makes you the new boss now, huh?”

  Callista’s eyes narrowed. “Indeed, it does.”

  “You’re welcome,” I said.

  She turned to the soldiers. “Take him. Bind his wounds. I want him alive.”

  They hauled me away, dragging me through the dirt. I didn’t struggle. What was the point? Janson was dead, but the Techborn lived on. Cut off one head, two more would take its place.

  Back at their encampment, they threw me into a cage. I caught a final glimpse of Callista. She stood tall and proud, the Techborn army assembled before her. She had become their new overlord.

  My last thought before the darkness took me was a bitter one. She was still hot. I couldn’t deny it.

  Awakening later, I realized I was still in a holding cell. It was on the back of a wagon now—a slaver’s rig. I’d been captured this way by the Techborn a long time ago. My memories of these slaver-carts weren’t fond ones—but at least, I was alive.

  My head pounded as if Tuskers were using it for a drum. Someone had sprayed some fresh skin cells over me, stopping the bleeding, but everything hurt—a broken rib, face mashed and swollen.

  I was alive, though. Callista had seen to that.

  Later on, the cage door rasped open. There she was, resplendent in her black armor. Overlord Callista now, I supposed. She looked down at me, her eyes unreadable.

  “Too many lives have been lost in this struggle,” she said. “On both sides. The Dusters, the Techborn… It’s time for peace.”

  I snorted, a harsh sound that made my ribs ache. Peace? After everything that had happened? But I kept my mouth shut. Callista was calling the shots now.

  “Do you agree?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.

  Tasting blood on my tongue, I nodded. “Yeah,” I said. “Your colony has suffered enough.”

  She eyed me. “So, it’s true… what Malcus says his tests prove? You are from Earth?”

  Shrugging, I gave her no direct answer.

  Callista had me hauled out of my cage. I was able to mount a walker. With her at my side, we rode out onto the battlefield. I knew dozens of thunderbolts were aimed at us. I hoped they could control themselves, as Callista was carrying a white flag.

  Together, we approached the wrecked gates of Cinder Hollow. Half the town appeared to have been burned and destroyed. Dead men and Tuskers lay here and there—but the defenders were still manning their fort, still holding out. They were tough bastards.

  My pain was a dull throb as Callista and I dismounted. We walked toward the walls of the town. I kept my spine as straight as I could. I didn’t want to show weakness—not in front of her, or the Dusters.

  The men on the walls were restless, their weapons trained on us. I could feel their anger, their hatred. I couldn’t blame them. The Techborn had taken everything from them—their homes, their families, their hope.

  Helga stepped out to meet us, her face unforgiving. She held up a hand, stopping the Dusters from firing… for now.

  Callista spoke first. She demanded slaves, tribute, the usual Techborn bullshit. I was tense as I waited for Helga’s response.

  “There will be no such concessions,” Helga said.

  I felt a surge of pride. That was the Helga I knew. The one who’d fought beside me, bled beside me.

  Callista’s eyes flashed with anger. “I’ve brought you this prisoner. I return him as an offering for peace. In return, you will give me nothing?”

  “We’ll return any prisoners we have as well, but we’ll not be played for fools!”

  For a moment, I thought Callista might withdraw and then order her troops to attack. She was a new overlord, and she was looking for a win.

  But then she paused, looking out over the battlefield, at the bodies strewn across the sand, Techborn and Duster alike.

  Something changed in her then. Maybe it was seeing all the dead up-close and personal. I could see it in the set of her shoulders, the look in her eyes. She turned back to Helga, her eyes softening.

  “All right. I propose a truce—a return to the way things were before. The Techborn will stay in our city. The Dusters will possess the rest of Haven-7.”

  “And there will be trade between us? Instead of demands and bloodshed?”

  Callista swallowed hard. This had to be a bitter pill for her, but it was clear that the Dusters weren’t going to give in on this. The fight over Cinder Hollow had cost so much, and it hadn’t yet surrendered. It was easy to imagine how devastated the whole colony would be if the war continued to every town on the planet.

  I watched, disbelieving, as Helga considered the offer. This was it—the moment of truth. The future of Haven-7 hung in the balance.

  Slowly, Helga nodded. She agreed to the terms. I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.

  It was over… the war, the fighting, all of it. Haven-7 would have peace—real peace, not just a temporary ceasefire.

  I looked at Callista, at the woman I’d both hated and lusted for. I saw something different in her now. Maybe there was hope for these crazy colonists after all.

  My eyes then turned back to the walls of Cinder Hollow, to the Dusters who’d become my family. They had a lot of work ahead of them, rebuilding, healing.

  For now, in this moment, I allowed myself to feel something I hadn’t felt in a long time.

  Hope.

  Chapter 36

  Oddly, once peace was declared, Callista didn’t immediately turn around and take off. Instead, she asked Helga to allow her to tour the town at my side, as if she figured she was an honored guest.

  Helga was shocked, but she went along with it. Anything else might endanger this new peace. A treaty had just been agreed upon, sure, but to me, this was outright insane behavior. I supposed I had to chalk it up to her general weirdness. The woman had her own ideas concerning acceptable conduct.