James Axler – The Mars Arena

For a moment Ryan thought Connrad might be dead, as well. Then the baron surged up from the passenger seat and got out.

The baron spun to face Ryan, his hand clawing for his blaster. The only thing he touched was an empty holster.

Ryan grinned coldly. “Looks like you lose the whole hand this time. Guess they’ll be talking about the four barons from now on.”

“Fuck you!” Connrad yelled. He reached into the back of the wag and took out a machete, then charged at Ryan.

Lifting the SIG-Sauer, Ryan squeezed the trigger, then noticed the slide had blown back empty. When he’d been shooting at the wag, he’d emptied the magazine and hadn’t realized it.

“Got to have bullets for your blaster if you’re going to kill me with it, stupe!” Connrad screamed, taking a two-handed grip on the machete handle. “I’m going to make you into twins!”

Tripping the slide release, Ryan closed the empty blaster and shoved it into his holster. Just as the baron started his swing with the machete, Ryan cleared leather with the panga. Knowing he couldn’t stop the heavier blade without risking breaking his weapon, he used the smaller knife to parry the machete.

Metal screamed against metal and sparks flared when the keen edges met and slid against each other.

Ryan felt the anger burning in him.

Connrad closed on him, trying to use his greater weight to an advantage. “I’m going to break you, little man, but I’m not going to kill you. For that, I’m going to use a slow fire. Cut a piece of you off at a time and let you watch that piece burn. Then we’ll move on to the next piece. Death’s going to be a long time in coming.”

“No,” Ryan said calmly, “that’s not going to happen.” The one-eyed man whipped his free hand up suddenly, driving it into Connrad’s unprotected chin.

The baron groaned in pain and shoved back, getting more distance between himself and his opponent. The big man swung the machete again, slashing sideways this time in an effort to shear his adversary’s head from his shoulders.

Ryan ducked under the effort, but felt the keen edge shear a few dark curls from the top of his head. He kicked at Connrad’s knee from a squatting position.

The kneecap shattering sounded like the crack of a gunshot. Even hurting as he was, Connrad tried to swing the machete again as Ryan came back up to a standing position.

Sweeping his left arm up to block the baron’s weapon arm, Ryan rammed the panga’s point into the underside of the bigger man’s jaw. The blade slid home easily, gliding through flesh until it was stopped by the back of Connrad’s skull.

The baron heaved convulsively, collapsing first on his broken knee as life left him. The machete dropped to the ground.

Ryan yanked his weapon free and let the corpse drop to the ground. He turned around and found himself confronted by Hayden LeMarck.

The sec boss had his rifle leveled, standing less than twenty feet away. “I hadn’t counted on you killing Connrad. That’s going to create problems, unless I shoot you myself and bring you in. Mebbe then the other barons will believe Hardcoe didn’t have anything to do with Connrad’s assassination.”

Ryan breathed hard, giving in to his body’s demand for oxygen. The panga was still clutched in his hand, and the empty SIG-Sauer was in its holster. The only chance he had was for the Steyr.

“Man come out here looking for trouble. I didn’t go looking for it.” Ryan paused. “Seems like you come out here hunting it, too.”

LeMarck nodded back at the pit area. “You see all that fighting going on up there?”

“Yeah.”

“You caused that. You and your friends. Thrown everything that was balanced between the barons into a frenzy. Going to be a lot of chilling before things settle down again.”

“With Connrad dead, Hardcoe should have an easier time of claiming the villes.”

“Mebbe. Be easier to do if I chill you here and take your body back.”

“Be difficult to drag a man when you’re dead yourself,” a hard voice said.