Worlds' Title Fight

By Scot Savage

"Nemo Regit Mea Vita" is a Latin phrase that means "No one controls my destiny."

That is the motto of Rodrigo “Peppy (Pepe)” Velez, a proud Mexican-American boxer and current undefeated seven-time world champion. Just when he is on the verge of retirement so he can live a quiet life with the woman he loves, he is faced with one more challenge in the form of Fighter X the Ultimate… a welterweight champion from another world!

Peppy doesn’t realize that there is more at stake than just his title belt and his undefeated streak. If he losses, another alien race will suffer for it!

Can Peppy muster up all his strength and courage to meet the alien challenger… and is he willing to pay the ultimate price for victory?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Nov 3, 2011
• ISBN: 9781387198573

Book preview

Worlds' Title Fight

Worlds’ Title Fight

A Novel

Scot Savage

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Scot Savage Enterprises

Schaumburg, IL

www.havevampirewilltravel.com

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Scot Savage Enterprises

Copyright © 2009 by Scot Savage

ISBN # 978-1-387-19857-3

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including, but not limited to, photocopying, recording or by any information storage retrieval system, without the express written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews or where permitted by law.

Cover Art by Cristian S. Aluas

CSA Designs

Printed in the United States of America

¹⁰ ⁹ ⁸ ⁷ ⁶ ⁵ ⁴ ³ ²

Dedication

To Rita Maria Felix da Silva who inspired the phrase

Nemo Regit mea Vita.

Champion’s Ballad

Once upon a time, in the Prime Universe, in the Milky Way Galaxy, in the solar system of Sol, on the planet of Terra (also known as Earth), lived a proud Mexican-American World Boxing Champion that could never be beaten.

He always emerged victorious and never tasted defeat or was ever held to a draw.

And his name was Rodrigo José Peppy (Pepe) Velez—The Latin Whirlwind.

Despite being of humble birth and a product of the working caste, Velez still managed to succeed without bowing down to Corporate Rule.

Velez was an enigma to the Corporations.

On one hand, they loved him because his contests drew vast amounts of money from Upper and working caste alike.

On the other hand, they were concerned that Velez’s unconventional success might spread radical ideas that even the common man could cross over the forbidden boundary that separated social status.

The Corporations tried in vain to knock the upstart off his pedestal, but Velez managed to defeat every Corporate crusader, one after the other, that they sent into the ring.

Velez defied the Corporations attempts to tame and humble him as he crushed opponent after opponent. He vowed never to be owned by the Upper Caste.

Nemo Regit Mea Vita! Peppy would proclaim to those that sought to conquer him.

No one controls my destiny!

It seemed that Peppy Velez was invincible and that no fighter of this world could defeat him.

No fighter of this world!

No fighter of this world—that is—until some unexpected visitors made their return after a long absence.

PROLOGUE

A Brief History of the World

Just after the turn of the 20th century, the world received its first visit from a race of beings known as the Acroydians.

Unlike the views of H.G. Welles, the purpose of the aliens’ visit was not one of conquest, but rather of commerce. The Acroydians gave the Earth many special gifts to help their economy flourish; however, the aliens did not do this out of the kindness of their hearts.

In the world known as Terra, the Acroydians saw great potential. Although they were not as technologically advanced as Acroydia, the Terran race was the fastest developing world that the universe had ever bred. The Terrans of the early 20th century had reached a level of development and technology that took the Acroydians ten times longer to accomplish.

The Acroydians believed that within the next thousand years, the Terran race would far surpass them and become one of the major powers in the universe. The Acroydian Empire could not accept that; however, their sense of honor forbade them from destroying a world that was still considered primitive.

In order to combat the future Terran threat, the Acroydians played on their sense of greed. If they were given enough gifts and knowledge, the Terrans’ world economy would boost to the point where they would become too comfortable and complacent.

As large corporations grew throughout the world, they discovered that it was not profitable to explore space. The Terrans put their time and money in the exploration of Inner Space rather than Outer Space. Instead of building space ships, the Terrans used the technology gifted to them to burrow deep underground or reach the bottoms of the oceans where they could extract much-needed minerals without damaging the environment or interfering with aquatic life. Their technology even enabled them to make areas of Antarctica habitable.

Since there was no interest in conquering space, the Corporations decided to conquer something that was more realistic and tangible: the world and its people.

The technology and knowledge from the Acroydians mostly fell into the hands of the wealthy who, in turn, became even wealthier. The selected few bid their time and when North America was on the verge of economic collapse from a Great Depression and two World Wars, they moved in and slowly took over the world.

Democracy was soon replaced by the rule of the Corporations, namely a Syndicracy. Political leaders still existed, but they were now reduced to either figure heads or Corporation puppets. The real leaders were Corporation Presidents, CEOs and other Senior Executive Officers who preferred to rule from behind the scenes.

On the positive side, the Corporations united the world and put an end to hunger and disease. They took care of the needs of everyone, regardless of social status. The only unemployment that existed was the result of anyone that chose not to work. Everyone had a place in this Syndicracy.

The only problem was that once someone found their place, they had a tendency to remain there. A caste system soon emerged in which only the wealthy and privileged ever ascended up the social ladder and obtained any positions of authority. Very few people of humble birth were able to reach the Upper Echelon. They were mostly reduced to manual labors or middle-class office workers.

In order to distract the lower caste workers and keep them pacified, a great emphasis was placed on sports. Vast amounts of money were poured into franchises, sports teams and athletes. Winning a championship for your Corporate sponsor was the single greatest honor that a citizen could accomplish. Those that excelled in sports were one of the fortunate few groups from the lower caste that had even a remote chance to move up to the ranks of the wealthy, just enough to keep the masses in line and give them a ray of hope.

Over the first half of the 20th century, the Acroydians would return every five to ten years to see the results of the seeds they planted and they were most satisfied. Seeing that the Terrans were no longer a threat, the Acroydians had no further reason to return in the last fifty years.

Now certain circumstances have forced them to make one more visit.

CHAPTER 1

The Captain of the Great Acroydian Imperial Diplomatic Flagship put down his navigation charts and activated the view screens. He rubbed his double-jointed chin and gazed at the beautiful planet. It looked more like a marble—a big, blue marble in space.

They had finally arrived after the long trip of millions of light years and found this seemingly peaceful world. It was the first time that the Captain had seen Terra and he was impressed. In some ways, the Captain was envious as it had been a long time since he had been to a world that had not experienced war in over a half century. The Terrans may have been wallowing in their own greed, but it was effective in preventing them from killing each other.

So this is Terra. The Captain finally spoke. A beautiful world, indeed!

It only looks beautiful from a distance, sir, said the First Officer. Terrans are no more than economic gluttons. They’ve lost their drive and determination. They are slowly stagnating and they don’t even realize it. If we hadn’t introduced them to solar energy, they still would be using fossil fuels as their main energy source.

We shouldn’t mock them too harshly. Their laziness, lack of drive and their worship of financial gain was our doing. Have they made any advances in space exploration since last we were here?

None, sir. The only have satellites for telecommunication.

"Strange that they don’t explore Outer Space. They have accomplished so much in the last ten thousand years—more than we ever could. All that’s holding them back is that they won’t stop counting money or looking at profits."

That’s a moot point now, sir. As long as they maintain the decadent lifestyle that we’ve introduced them to, it will be a long, long time before they are a threat to us. For now, these Terrans are nothing more than the unknowing key to our total victory over our ancient enemies. The Arch-Graf has given us the highest honor of selecting us for this mission. When we succeed, we will be the greatest heroes that Acroydia has ever known.

That matters little to me, Commander, answered the Captain. "Completing this mission and still maintain our honor is my only reward. I am growing weary of this long war and can’t wait for it to end. Instead of this diplomatic mission, I’d just assume be part of an all-out attack on our enemy, and have one last glorious battle and die with honor and dignity rather than perpetuate deception. If only the Arch-Graf gave us all the details of our mission before we left our home world. Now we are at the mercy of the Ambassador.

Just between the two of us, there’s something about him that doesn’t sit well with me. I won’t stop being apprehensive until our mission is finally revealed to us. All I know is that it is not a mission of destruction; otherwise, we would have been ordered to fully arm this ship.

"Nevertheless, Captain, secrecy is vital. The Arch-Graf must believe

this is highly critical when he chose to keep us ignorant."

I am not one to question the Arch-Graf, sighed the Captain. He has selected a fine crew. We will carry out our orders. The Captain looked down at the control panel and took a reading. How much longer will it take before we are in range to communicate with the Terran leaders?

About half a rotation, sir.

That still leaves us plenty of time. The Captain slowly got up from his command chair. "It has been many years since we sent envoys to the surface of Terra. It should be an interesting and educational experience for both races—another seemingly friendly exchange of cultures.

Inform the Ambassador and his staff to be ready. I wonder if the Terrans have a worthy champion to meet our challenger. This Terran sport of boxing that every crew member was required to learn about is an entertaining sport, but it pales in comparison to our own defunct sport of arena-brawling. How long must we wait for the Ambassador to reveal our champion? I will retire to my quarters now. You are in command.

As you order, Captain. The First Officer saluted.

The Anthropologist looked out the window of his hotel room and gazed upon the sky. It was a cloudy night. Perhaps some rain later in the evening?

Although the Terran’s monitoring devices did not, as of yet, detect the presence of the alien vessel, the Anthropologist knew, for a fact, that it was out there. He was not certain as to its actual distance, but he could still feel their presence. It sent a cold shiver down his spine every time he thought about it. They were out there! No doubt about that. He knew that they would return to Terra sooner or later.

It was a simple plan: use the Terran’s ignorance and sense of greed so the Acroydians could annihilate their enemies without the Terrans being any wiser. Would Terra know that they were unknowing pawns in an ancient war? It is very easy to blind humans of your real intentions when glamor and riches get in the way. That’s the advantage that the Acroydians have when dealing with a capitalistic and materialistic world. The Anthropologist couldn’t blame the Terrans for that. It was a part of their culture—a culture that the Acroydians introduced. It was the Anthropologist’s job to study Terran society, not judge it.

Unlike the native Terrans, the Anthropologist had a good idea of the game that the Acroydians were playing. He had been putting his theory to the test for years. Now it was time to see how well he knew his enemies.

A glance out the window down to the outdoor swimming pool showed all the young, well-to-do professionals splashing around without a care in the world. One particular young, blonde girl, wearing a small yellow bikini, caught his eye. He chuckled to himself as all the young men tripped over themselves to try to get her attention. If only he could pursue a life of such bliss.

This was not to say that the Anthropologist had a miserable lifestyle. His superior intellect allowed him to gain the resources to live comfortably while he continued his study of the Terrans. Even with his vast resources, he was barely able to obtain this hotel room.

Every place of lodging within a thirty-mile radius of San Antonio had been booked solid for weeks. It’s amazing how a big-name national hero returning to his birth town could draw such a swarm of people. It wasn’t every day that the working caste could see a living legend at an affordable price.

Because the Upper Crust considered this bout to be insignificant, they preferred to view the fight via closed circuit telecast at their private clubs rather than showing up at the stadium and having to sit with the rank and file. As a matter of fact, this show was specifically set up for the working caste.

For years, the Anthropologist followed the champion’s career. Ever since the Anthropologist discovered this great athlete, he never missed a performance.

His ticket was on a nearby table. The event was a boxing match. A certain legendary world welterweight champion had come back to his childhood home town to defend his title against the German National Welterweight Champion. The fight was to take place at the SBC Center, the home of the multi-winning NBA champion, San Antonio Spurs. The preliminary bouts would start at 7:30PM.

Unknown to his enemies, the Acroydians, the Anthropologist had the uncanny ability to sense potential greatness by merely looking at an individual. He had seen this potential greatness, by pure chance, early in the champion’s career. He had been following the champion ever since.

Now the Anthropologist’s inner senses seemed to be paying off. This champion did, indeed, go on to do great things and some that none of his contemporaries could ever hope to accomplish. Soon, the Acroydians would catch on to this individual and make contact eventually.

The phone suddenly rang. It was the concierge desk giving him his courtesy call that the shuttle bus which was going to the SBC Center had arrived. Time had flown by faster than expected. It didn’t matter. He was anxious to leave.

The Anthropologist took a last look at himself in the mirror before he left. His appearance was that of a short, middle-aged man with dark hair along the sides of his balding head. He chose this plain look because it made him inconspicuous.

He caught a blemish below his right eye. Some silver scales were starting to show. Quickly opening up a nearby make-up case, he took out the bottle of liquid skin and applied it to the area. Within seconds, the substance took hold and the scales soon became human skin. He rubbed his finger against it to check his work. It was soft, warm and nearly impossible to spot that the tissue was false.

He had lived amongst the Terrans for a long time and, so far, no one knew or suspected what he truly was. It was relatively easy to be undetectable when everyone around you was too pre-occupied with their own problems, ambitions and concerns. If only the Terrans knew what their real problems were.

Overall, this world contained the most ignorant, self-centered, and

stubborn people that he ever encountered and, yet, because of a few enlightened and caring Terrans, it made the entire race seem worthwhile. He could never understand why he loved this world that was his second home or why he loved its people so much. They were capable of such evils as starting global nuclear war (fortunately, for the Corporations, it was not profitable) or for such good as banding together to aid victims of a natural disaster. There wasn’t another race like them!

The Anthropologist quickly collected his ticket and left for the event.

Willie the Hammer Watts put the last piece of tape on the hand-wrapped fist of his fighter. The representative from the challenger’s camp intensely stared over the old man’s shoulder to make sure that the job was being done properly. Occasionally, the rep would run his hand against the wraps to make sure that there were no strange lumps that would give their own fighter any trouble—not that there would be any.

If this were forty years earlier, it would have been Willie sitting in the chair getting his hands wrapped. It didn’t seem that long ago that Watt’s chest of flab was once as smooth as an ironing board. He once had muscles of rock and a chin of granite.

It was hard to picture that this old, graying, black gentleman was once a successful light-heavyweight contender. He no longer had the speed or the razor-sharp skills of his youth, but he could still throw a hard right hand.

A respectable record got him a shot at the championship. It was a bogus split decision that was one of the factors that made his dream fall short. The other factor was the routine medical check-up that resulted in the discovery of blood clots that were slowly developing in his brain.

Fortunately, the damage was caught early and Willie could still live his remaining years as a healthy man, provided he quit fighting immediately.

The Boxing Commission agreed and Willie was forced to take an early retirement to avoid permanent and irreversible brain damage. He didn’t like it, but leaving the boxing ring was in his best interest. He had earned plenty of money in the fight game and it would last him a long time due to some very shrewd and successful investments.

Now that Willie had plenty of time on his hands, he needed something to keep himself occupied. He occasionally volunteered to teach and coach boxing to young men as an alternative to them hanging out on the street and getting into trouble. He never took coaching too seriously until he met up with the young man that was sitting before him.

Although Willie was disappointed that his dream to become a world champion had fizzled, he did have the consolation of training a world champ, and possibly one of the greatest fighters that ever lived.

Finally, Willie turned around and the rep from the challenger’s camp finally saw the old man’s face instead of the back of his head. How’s that look to you?

Alright to me, the rep answered with a slight German accent as he took out his marker and signed the wraps. No sign of horseshoes here.

A few chuckles from the camp followed as the rep made his way back

to his own fighter’s locker room. Even the champ forced a half-smile from his somber face. Even after all this time, the champ was still a bit jittery before a fight. He had a habit of remaining quiet so that he could stay focused on his battle plan.

Make a fist, Son. Willie instructed. Not too tight? Feel okay, Champ?

Si, the champ answered with an emotionless face and a cold-as-ice stare.

Chill out, boy! Willie gave his fighter a playful slap on the cheek. You’re gonna’ do fine, as always.

Ditto! another handler said. That’s right, Champ. No casinos are taking bets on Bieche to win—just on how long he’ll last before you knock him out.

The champ still kept his intense stone face and only muttered, Mis acciones son mis palabras, mi amigo.

My actions are my words, my friend. The young cornerman heard it many times. Yeah, yeah—and never underestimate any opponent, no matter how much of a bum you think he is. But, come on, you could take this guy in your sleep.

Are you that sure? the champ responded.

Friggin’ A! The young handler gently touched fists with the champ.

Si, the champ answered back softy. Friggin’ A.

CHAPTER 2

The doors slid open and the Captain stepped into the private chambers of the Ambassador. In the Acroydian culture, the term Ambassador has a very different connotation. In the Terran language, the term connotes to someone of a peaceful nature that acts as a liaison between one country to another. The Ambassador of the Great Acroydian Empire knew little in the art of negotiation and diplomacy. His duties usually consisted of being sent ahead to an alien world to herald the news of upcoming destruction from the hands of his people. He would inform the aliens to arrange a formal surrender lest the Great Acroydian Fleet render everything to dust.

Fortunately for Terra, the Acroydians were bound by strict wartime regulations which required that this world had to be dealt with in a more indirect and tactful way. The approach was simple: appeal to the Terran’s sense of greed.

You requested to speak with me, Ambassador? the Captain addressed.

Yes, Captain. The Ambassador peered over the many rows of data banks which he was scanning. I know that you are very busy with your duties, but this interruption will be worth your time as I will now give you more information as to the true nature of our mission.

Thank you. That information would be most appreciated. He peered over behind the banks in order to see the Ambassador face to face.

The Ambassador was a short, sneaky and bastard of a being who had no personal life of his own. His only thrill and pleasure in life was to gratify his beloved Arch-Graf. It was easy to devote all his time and energy to his sovereign as he had no family or personal relationships to occupy his time.

Although the Captain had the utmost respect for the Ambassador’s professional abilities, he didn’t care much for the diplomat personally. He was a vile, loathsome and miserable excuse of an Acroydian. The Captain was wise to keep his personal opinions to himself and always spoke to the Ambassador with respect when in his presence. The Captain maintained this practice only because the Ambassador had manipulated his favor to the Arch-Graf, and he always seemed to get his way.

This wasn’t to say that the Captain would patronize the Ambassador, but he never pretended to be his friend or ally either. He only approached and associated with the Ambassador on an as-needed basis and, unfortunately, the present was one of those times. He always tried to keep such meetings to a minimum whenever possible, and always sticking to the business at hand. His duties as commander of this vessel had kept him occupied enough to stay out of the Ambassador’s hair. The Captain had his job and the Ambassador had his. If they both performed their duties without interference from the other, everything would be fine. This attitude and philosophy didn’t put the Captain on the Ambassador’s good side because he preferred others to kowtow to him. On the other hand, it didn’t put the Captain into disfavor either.

Is there something that I should see, Ambassador?

Over here, Captain. The Ambassador pointed his crooked finger to a terminal. I did some research on the championship belt. Take a look at this report.

The Captain scanned the report and was astonished. The stone on the belt was, indeed, the one that they were seeking. If this report is true, our enemies won’t stand a chance once we win that belt. We’ve finally located the key to victory. You were right all along, Ambassador.

The Captain’s old spark of battle glory briefly ignited. The old barbaric, warrior instincts that he had kept buried deep inside were starting to resurface. He now found this plot to be fascinatingly delicious even if his logical and reserved side hated to admit it. This sport of boxing is geared toward the instinctive violent nature that almost all Terrans seem to have. It brings back the memories of the arena-brawls when I was young—before the war. I particularly remember a favorite brawler of mine in the junior weight class. No one could defeat him! He was considered one of the greatest fighters in all Acroydian History. He won over two hundred contests and—

The Captain stopped when he realized that he was getting too involved in the past. He scanned the report again because he needed something to keep the conversation going so that the Ambassador would lose track of when he recently went off on a tangent. "Ha! Look here. These so-called combatants wear padded gloves instead of just taping their fists. Where’s the sport in that?"

Actually, the Terrans wear them to protect their own hands from injury rather than to prevent injury from their opponent. The Ambassador smiled to himself as he, once again, knew something that the Captain didn’t. You see, when a fighter is not concerned with hurting his own hands, he will hit even harder. It makes the fist even larger and amplifies the force of the blow, more so than with an ungloved fist.                                                        

This sport has so many rules, Ambassador. For example, they don’t allow punches below the belt or hitting the opponent while he’s down. This Marquis of Queensbury was obviously a man of honor.

Sadly, Terran boxers only fight for money rather than for honor and glory.

"I disagree, Ambassador. I believe that they do it for money, honor and glory as well as the right to be called champion. The Captain looked at the report once more. Interesting. Just like in the arena-brawls, boxers are matched up by gender and weight class. I hope that the Terrans will give us a good run before succumbing to defeat. I’m sure that this mysterious warrior that you have in suspended animation will not disappoint us."

Acroydian Might never fails, the Ambassador said proudly.

What of the Terrans? Do you think they can find a worthy champion to meet our own and make the match somewhat competitive and entertaining?

Indeed, they have, Captain. The Ambassador then found the correct image and data file. "There he is: the current Unified Boxing Association World Welterweight Champion. He is a marvel even by Acroydian standards. It’s amazing how a few select Terrans can excel if they put their hearts, minds

and souls into it."

The Captain studied the image intently. Look at that fiery determination in his eyes. It’s obvious that defeat is something that he rarely experiences.

That, Captain, is the undefeated and untied, pound for pound, best fighter that Terra has to offer; perhaps, even in the entire history of the sport. If only he knew that his impending defeat will be the key to our victory. It will be an interesting and competitive contest, at first. Then our champion will slowly pick this Terran champion apart. Don’t cry for him, Captain. He’ll be well compensated. He can wipe away his tears of defeat with the new wealth we’ll bestow upon him.

It’s a shame for a warrior of his caliber and valorous past to have to suffer.

He will perform honorably, the Ambassador said confidently, but he will fall as everyone else does when faced against Acroydian Superiority.

The Captain rubbed his chin. Yes, this one could make this contest competitive. I’d like to learn more about this Terran champion.

We have obtained visual recordings of his previous fights. You may view them at your convenience.      

I’ll do that. Now, if you’ll excuse me. I must get back to my duties.

As the Captain left, he had a terrible feeling that this might not go as smoothly as the Ambassador believed. Many were going to suffer over this contest.

CHAPTER 3

The senior security officer poked his head into the champ’s dressing room. Ten minutes, folks!

Not much longer, Champ. Willie did not expect an answer from his fighter who was still in the corner of the room doing a few warm-up exercises so that he would get to the ring a little sweaty rather than cold and dry. His fighter was never talkative before a fight—only in the dressing room afterwards.

This time, however, Willie was surprised to hear a response.

Do you think he’s out there, Willie?

"A lot of people are out there, Son. As a matter of fact, everyone is out there. That always happens when you fight in San Antonio. It’s a regular homecoming and family reunion. Don’t worry, they’re all here and you’ll get to see everyone—your friends from school, folks from your old hood and even Sheriff Salt’s widow showed up for this one, too. Everyone who is related to you by blood or marriage is here including your in-laws, Champ. Everyone except, of course, your mom."

Willie knew that something was bothering the champ and it was not the absence of his mother as she never watched her son fight. Even though the champ’s mother hated boxing and believed it to be a violent sport, she didn’t stop her son from pursuing his dream even though she could have done so by refusing her permission for him to fight when he was a minor. Although she always told her son that she was proud of him and supported his career in other indirect ways, all she asked was not