“I’ve been told I’m a di-far.”

  “That is a Spacer term. Go with the Creator’s blessing. May you reach your family and kiss your daughter and wife for me. Physical longing and yearning are things I do not know. I suppose you will hunt for Grutch and Venna the Spacer spy.”

  “What? She had a part of this?”

  “I let that slip,” the Eye said. “I think she convinced the other Spacers to sell you to Leviathan. Leviathan is on the march. I do not think you in the Orion Arm can do much against them. I wish you well despite that.”

  “I wish you well, Eye.”

  The baseball-sized crystal from Helion flashed and was gone.

  Maddox felt a sudden sting of loneliness. Yet now he had a way of getting home. All he needed was a spaceship.

  -73-

  While unloading at the spaceport the next day, Maddox studied spaceship security even more closely. He didn’t think the five of them could storm onto a trader vessel and lift off. Could they hire on as extra crewmembers and hijack the ship while in space?

  That seemed even more doubtful.

  A possibility came from an odd direction.

  Dravek had been studying the problem of acquiring a spaceship longer than Maddox had. Dravek possessed a mind as keen as Maddox’s, honed by his experience as an intelligence officer. He’d wondered about something for some time: Tribune Culain had armed his legion with spring rifles. That had always struck Dravek as odd.

  Because of the question as to why, Dravek began a personality profile on the tribune. The tribunes of the North Pole spaceport—the larger city—were some of the highest ranked aristocrats of the region, some of the richest and most influential people. By going to the off-world run library, Dravek learned much about Tribune Culain.

  Little hints and ideas gave him the second method to extracting information. That way was Mara, through telepathic probing of his thoughts. It meant getting her near enough the grand villa to reach the man’s mind.

  After a detailed, two-pronged approach, Dravek discovered that Tribune Culain was a Honey Man bastard from the South Pole. Likely, he was two generations removed. How he’d gained the vast sums to begin a legion was unknown. How he’d earned the tribune status needed to launch raids on the South Pole was also a secret. That implied greater age on his part. That implied honey, the longevity treatment.

  Tribune Culain’s first raid forty-eight years ago had proven to be a fantastic success, earning him greater funds and status. Since then, he had one of the worst raid records. He also had one of the lowest raid attempts.

  By searching through library records, Dravek discovered that several of Culain’s legions had been woefully under-armed with weaponry such as spring rifles.

  That caused him to risk using Mara even more.

  She discovered a dark secret. Culain had alerted the South Pole Honey Men of the raids ahead of time. That had happened with the last raid as well. The Honey Men waited in ambush, collecting the dirigibles, helos and troops—more slaves for working the fields. In return, Culain received large monetary kickbacks.

  Mara also learned that Culain was a direct descendant of Grandma Julia, of an earlier generation than Ophir.

  Tribune Culain knowingly sent men to their enslavement and castration.

  Dravek reported to Maddox all he’d learned.

  For Maddox it was grist for the mill of his ideas. A plan had begun to unfold, a mad plan. He needed a dupe, however. Since Tribune Culain was so vile, Maddox decided he would be the target.

  This would be dangerous as well as highly risky. But as he’d told Dravek before, “Madness is our only hope. We’re not going home without it.”

  Maddox had more than one reason for getting it done now. Victory could be in trouble. He was fiercely homesick. Leviathan might be sending a fleet against the Commonwealth and had certainly already sent spies. Star Watch needed to know this yesterday.

  His risky and audacious plan involved a face-to-face visit with Tribune Culain. The tribune was hard to see, though, and suspicious of anyone who tried.

  Dravek learned more about him. Culain loved blood sports. There were more than a few at the spaceport, the largest city on Gath. Culain often attended the night exhibitions in The Pit. Culain had some questionable habits as well, another reason he went to the tunnels that held The Pit. The tribune also had an excellent spy service and usually knew when others tracked him.

  Dravek thought long and hard about all that, using Mara again to lift a few quirks from Culain’s mind.

  “He’s learned about Captain Maddox,” Mara reported. “He’s curious about him and has read a report from Grandma about what happened in the South Pole.”

  “Curious enough to see Maddox one on one?” asked Dravek.

  Mara scrunched her eyebrows. “I think Culain needs one more prod for that.”

  “Like what?”

  “Losing money on Maddox in a knife fight in The Pit seems the easiest way to stir him,” Mara said.

  “You saw something that specific in his mind?” Dravek asked.

  Mara nodded.

  “Could Culain suspect what we’re doing and be setting Maddox up?” Dravek asked.

  “You mean does Culain have Honey Men telepathic talent around him?”

  “Does he?” Dravek asked.

  “Yes,” Mara said. “Doing this will be a risk. But no, I don’t think this is a setup through me.”

  Dravek fretted. But in the end, he told Maddox about it, including his fears about a double-cross through Mara.

  At work the next day, Maddox talked about The Pit. He discovered it was one of the fastest ways to make currency. There were matches every weekend. He asked about how to get in The Pit against a fighter that would gain a big purse.

  “You don’t want to do that,” said his foreman, a squat man with a booming voice. “They’ll slice you up after a few minutes of fancy footwork. There are the main events, the killers, and the pasties they cut up for the crowd’s pleasure. Don’t be a pasty. Few ever come out alive.”

  Later, after work, a thin man with shifty eyes told Maddox he knew a way to enter The Pit.

  Maddox could feel other eyes watching him. He spotted two gunmen leaning against crates across an alley. Was this a setup? Was Mara double-crossing him or was Culain’s talent better than Dravek’s?

  Maddox trusted his intuition. It didn’t say anything negative. So, he figured he’d try this, trusting to his skills to see him through.

  That night he went with his shifty eyed friend. He entered a low building that smelled of despair, drugs and prostitution. He met a gangly man wearing a slick black suit and the same two gunmen as before.

  “Stick says you want a shot at some fast money,” the gangly man said, known as Casimir.

  “That depends,” Maddox said.

  “On what?”

  “What I’d have to do?”

  “How much are you hoping to make?” Casimir asked.

  “A big fat score,” Maddox said.

  Casimir watched Maddox closely. “You willing to face the Razor in The Pit for a chance at it?”

  Mara had planted the suggestion in Casimir’s mind earlier. Dravek had discovered these connections.

  “What would I make if I did?” Maddox asked.

  Casimir pulled out a slip of paper, set it against a crate and wrote on it. He handed the slip of paper to Maddox.

  His eyes went wide when he saw the amount. He’d have to work two years at the spaceport to make this much. Then he looked up in concern. “It isn’t a death match, is it?”

  Casimir’s eyes shone with evil delight. “No,” he lied. “It’s to first cut and the judges decide.”

  “Sure,” Maddox said. “For that amount, I don’t mind a few stitches. I need the currency.”

  “Who doesn’t?” Casimir said. “I’ll set it up. You show up first night of the weekend. If you fail to show up—” He jerked a thumb at the watching gunmen. “They’ll come hunting to kill you.”

  “There’s no need for threats,” Maddox said. “I’ll be there. You can count on me.”

  -74-

  Maddox went first weekend night. The place was a vast underground maze of tunnels, carved from volcanic lava. It was jammed with dressed-up people, smoke, booze and broads selling their charms. Almost everyone was drunk or high. A few big shots prowled the tunnels with their bodyguards.

  Maddox went to The Pit backrooms. He had to change into revealing fighting gear.

  “That way the crowd can see you spurt blood,” Casimir said.

  “One cut, right?” Maddox said.

  Casimir smirked.

  Maddox pulled off his boots, so he was barefoot. He then put on the loincloth outfit and took out a knife with a nine-inch blade. It was sharp and well balanced for throwing. He’d been practicing with it since agreeing to the match.

  Maddox warmed up, shadowboxing before a mirror to get limber and sweaty. Occasionally, through the stone wall, were bloodcurdling screams from the stands around The Pit.

  At last, Casimir told Maddox it was time.

  Maddox marched down a worn corridor with the two gunmen trailing. He turned a corner and went through swinging doors. He approached the arena, The Pit.

  Around The Pit were crowded stands with yelling, drunken people, at least five hundred. It smelled of alcohol, sweat and death. Bright lights shined from the ceiling.

  Maddox walked into The Pit, his bare feet stepping on fine sand. He noted covered areas that hid spilled blood. It reminded him of the Highland arena.

  Gricks and Hern were in the crowd. Maddox saw thick-faced Culain with massive bodyguards around him. The tribune sat on a front row bench.

  The Razor was Culain’s man. Everyone knew the tribune bet on his prized fighter.

  A hard-faced referee appeared, a man with a holstered sidearm and bloodstained leather shirt. He spoke into a microphone, his voice booming to those in the stands.

  As he introduced Maddox, a few boos and catcalls echoed from the crowd.

  Soon enough, the Razor loped into The Pit from the other direction Maddox had entered. He was a lean muscular man, shorter than Maddox. His eyes looked dead, and his face was pockmarked. Clearly, he took drugs. There were a few old wounds on his oily torso. He also moved with a jerky quickness. Maddox realized the Razor took enhancers. They surely gave him greater stamina and likely speeded reflexes. The man might not feel pain. He’d be like a snake that wouldn’t know when it was dead. Fighting him would be more dangerous than Maddox had anticipated.

  Despite that, getting into the spirit of things, Maddox practiced a few slices as the Razor strutted around The Pit, holding up his knives to the crowd. They cheered him, many blowing kisses.

  The announcer said it was a fight to the death.

  The crowd roared with delight.

  Maddox saw Casimir at the bottom entrance to the Pit. The man made an obscene hand gesture at Maddox, laughing at him.

  Maddox ignored the promoter. He’d always known it was a death match. He could finally drop the pretense of being a foolhardy individual. Now, he turned, keeping his eye on the strutting Razor.

  Mara and Dravek were also in the stands apart from Gricks and Hern. They were all watching for anyone with a dart gun. If Maddox started doing too well, it was possible Culain would have someone dart him with a muscle inhibitor. Someone else might try to shine a light in his eyes and momentarily blind him. Those were all tricks of the trade, ways to help a champion continue his winning streak.

  Thus, Maddox had his own trick. The longer the fight lasted, the more time Culain would have to signal a cheating move. Thus, the match needed to be as short as possible.

  “Start,” said the announcer, as he drew his gun and backed away.

  The Razor already faced Maddox. Now, the drug-enhanced knifeman began to stalk Maddox. He practiced slashing with his two knives, grinning, his dead eyes shining with contempt as he approached.

  Maddox feigned bewilderment.

  The crowd booed when Maddox staggered away.

  The Razor spat at the sand.

  Maddox noticed the gesture and how the Razor slightly turned his head to the left as he did it. The man dropped his guard in that moment just a bit.

  Maddox pretended to gain courage, charging.

  The Razor stepped in, slashing in a crisscross move.

  Maddox halted and jumped back fast as if terrified again.

  The Razor puckered his lips to spit, slightly turned his head once more—

  Maddox flipped the knife, grabbed it by the sharp tip and threw smoothly. The knife flashed through the air. The point sank into the Razor’s left eye, sliding into the brain and killing the champion.

  The Razor stood there for a second with the handle sprouting from his face like an obscene growth. Then he toppled backward.

  Maddox raised his long arms into the air and began to strut about The Pit, finally going to the dead champion, reaching down and yanking out his knife.

  It was then that the cheers began.

  ***

  At the start of the next workweek, at the spaceport, a man handed Maddox a slip of paper. It told him to report to Culain Palace tomorrow at the fifth hour as Tribune Culain wished to speak with him.

  -75-

  Maddox went to Culain Palace at the edge of the city. In many ways, it was a miniature of Grandma’s Palace at the South Pole.

  Maddox didn’t have his monofilament blade or pistol. He didn’t have anything but his wits, although he’d purchased a few heavy iron rings with odd designs on them. They would serve as brass knuckles if the need arose.

  He endured a thorough search and knew chem scanners had sniffed his clothes. Maddox now walked through a narrow corridor. He imagined spy devices scanned him. Then he felt something prick against his mind, feeling disquiet that he blocked the telepathic thrust.

  That proved Tribune Culain employed South Pole talent.

  Maddox knew this was madness. He was counting on the Honey Man’s greed for more. As a man aged, he became more of his essential-core propensity. If he was given to drink, by the time he was old, he was a converted drunkard. If he practiced sexual license, whatever direction that had taken, he would be consumed by the particular lust. If a man always attempted to help others, by the time he was old, he would do it as a matter of course.

  The difference was that a Honey Man lived longer than others did. He had the power of youth even when he was old. Thus, he could metastasize into whatever he was to an even greater degree. Given that Tribune Culain had sent legion men into castrated bondage, Maddox assumed that the man was a greed-driven evil force, always looking for opportunities to increase his wealth. Maddox had devised the plan upon that premise.

  A heavy stone door opened at the end of the narrow corridor. Maddox stepped into a sumptuous room with silk hangings, erotic posters and weapons on the wall. There was a mammoth desk with small gold statutes on it. Behind the desk sat a large man. Flanked on either side of the desk were genetically enhanced wrestlers. They almost seemed like desert Metamorphs, such was the breadth of their chest and shoulders. They each wore dark garments and heavy bracelets on their massive wrists. They stared at Maddox with baleful expressions.

  The man behind the desk had short gray hair, a broad square face and intensely black eyes. He wore a legion uniform and exuded power.

  “Sit, Captain, sit.’”

  Culain had called him Captain. Things were proceeding to plan.

  “Are you surprised I know your name, Captain Maddox? And that I know you’re from a different spiral arm than ours?”

  “I am,” Maddox said, as he sat in a chair.

  “Would you have some wine with me before we discuss why you’ve come to see me?”

  “I’d be delighted.”

  Culain opened a drawer and took out two glasses and a bottle. He uncorked the bottle and poured red wine into each glass. “This was grown on my own estates. It has a rich and exotic taste. I hope you enjoy it.”

  Culain pushed a glass across the huge desk.

  As Maddox leaned forward to take the glass, he noticed the creases on Culain’s face. He noticed that Culain’s hair was dyed, and his face was painted like a woman's. Both were done for the same reason, to make Culain appear older.

  That was a good sign for several reasons. If Culain cared what Maddox thought, that meant he might allow Maddox to leave. More importantly, Culain was likely one hundred and twenty years old but looked thirty or forty normally. Because he’d been around for so long, he tried to look his age.

  Maddox sipped the wine as he watched Culain sip his. It was rich and sugary, not to Maddox’s taste at all. He swallowed a minute amount. There was a slight taint. It was drugged.

  Maddox smiled and set down the glass.

  “Don’t you like it, Captain?”

  “On the contrary,” Maddox said. “This is a rare vintage, quite enjoyable. However, I wish to keep my mind clear. You’re an important man. I don’t wish to waste your time by speaking to you with cluttered thoughts.”

  “I see.” Culain rested his broad hands on his chest, intertwining his fingers. “Do you wonder how I’ve learned your identity?”

  “I imagine you spoke to one of the people with me.”

  “Do you recognize the name Gricks?”

  “You know I do.”

  “Do you know he offered to sell me information about you?”

  “What?” Maddox asked.

  “That surprises you?”

  “Yes. After all I’ve done for him, it surprises me a lot.”

  “It shouldn’t. I watched you destroy my knifeman in The Pit. You pretended to be a buffoon but are clearly something else entirely. That means you’re a trickster. You surely know that men are venal, grasping for what they don’t have. Gricks lacks his manhood, seeking it everywhere. Thus, he sells out his friends like a cheap whore to whatever bidder will pay the price.”

  Culain made a faint gesture. “In this case, I desired to learn about you. I knew that Gricks had fought in Legion Culain. How did he escape the debacle in the Highlands? Even now, my men are learning the truth from him. What do you think of that, Captain?”