An Even Break 1.5: Violent Interlude: An Even Break, #1.5

By CR Williams

There wasn't supposed to be anything but training and learning here. One fight was finished, another, bigger one was coming. He was preparing for war while he had time. But he still had enemies, enemies who had no qualms about striking from the shadows against the innocent if that's what it took to get to him. So it was that the time of learning was, against his will, turned into a time of teaching. He was a trainee, he was a student, and he was a target. He accepted that. Now others suffered pain and loss because of him. He would NOT accept that. So it was that he turned to another role, that of teacher. Because his enemies had to learn something important:

 

Don't make William Sparrow angry.

 

And he was going to make it a very hard lesson indeed.

• Language: English
• Publisher: CR Williams
• Release date: Dec 2, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393744832

Book preview

THE STANDARD DISCLAIMER

Characters in all my fiction books are based on real-people only remotely. I borrow characteristics and propensities, attitudes and beliefs, expressions and exclamations from people I know or know of on a piece-by-piece basis on occasion. I have not and do not transfer anybody real to fiction whole-cloth, however.

Now let’s go on to the story.

CR Williams

His name was Jonson and he was a farmer now. He was not a farmer before, back when he had another name that some still know him by (indeed, some know him only by the name he had even today). He was something different then. Now he was a farmer, which was just as hard in some respects as what he was doing. But that was all right with him. He was used to doing hard things. He was content with what he was then, just as he was content with what he was now.

What he was and had done left him with certain characteristics which remained with him even a decade after he changed what he was (at some levels—at other levels he would always be what he had been born to be). So it was that the single Stinger and the fast landing boat it escorted did not escape his notice when they appeared over the top of the trees that surrounded his farm for miles in all directions. The air and the aerospace craft were miles away but his eyesight was still very good because of enhancement he received while he was what he was before.

He stopped for a moment to observe the two aircraft. They approached his fields for a little while but halted and started circling while still two miles distant. They were HaHarev designs—adversary craft of those types were different enough to be distinctive to him even that far away—but that meant little since government agencies other than the military used those kinds of ships to a greater or lesser degree. So their appearance was no clue as to who they were or what they were doing in the area.

He considered making a call but decided instead to continue moving the trailer to the storage shed. If they had business with him they would eventually come on and show him what it was. If they were doing something else, they would not come. It was as simple as that.

He’d positioned the trailer, unlocked the shed and was getting the first bag onto the back of the trailer prior to pushing it toward the front when the ground car came out of the trees on the long 'driveway' that joined an actual highway—something rare for this region of Refuge—three kilometers away. The low-clearance grav pointed first at the farmhouse but then turned to where he now stood at the back of the trailer and waited.

His mind made connections as he waited. The Stinger and the lander—related. Security. No private agency, this. A few with off-planet contracts had older models, mil-surp stuff, but on Meeklat itself only the government would deploy such. Khasut Prati, or other?

The car slowed and stopped a polite distance away. A point in their favor. He’d had others, people come to offer him work like he used to do, pull up close enough to almost hit him with the doors as they opened. A point of impoliteness that irritated him. Another job offer? He'd had them come before. He’d sent them all away. He liked being what he was now. Marie was happy with what he was now. He was not inclined to change that.

Still, he would be polite because they at least for now were polite. He would still test them, of course. He always tested them. It amused him to do so with those who came like this.

The doors opened and a man and three women climbed out. And here was the first surprise—none of them were wearing suits. The women were in clothes suited for outdoor work for all that those clothes were of obvious quality. The man was in fatigues and boots without any insignia but one that Jonson could not see clearly yet.

No one ever came to offer him employment dressed so practically. His curiosity increased.

The man turned to face him as two of the women came around the car and the other from the back to stand beside him. And here was another thing—one of the women, the younger one by his judgment, was only very attractive. The other two were most striking in their beauty. Those two, red-headed and raven-haired to a fault, and the other, a blond, smiled at him quite wonderfully.

More connections coming in his mind.

Good morning sir, the man said, can I give you some help with that?

For all his past experience he did need a (very small) moment to process that. Really a surprise, that question.

His mind identified the design on the man's fatigue shirt then and he nodded to that man and to himself.

I'd be pleased to have you help me, Commander. He pointed at the shed. Save some time if you can hand them to me from there.

William Sparrow smiled and took gloves out of a cargo pocket as he went forward then. The redhead and the dark-haired one came behind him a foot or so back. The blond followed but more slowly, looking around as she walked.

Just Will or Sparrow as you please, sir, he said, extending a hand in response to Jonson's offering, My Companions Niara and Raevin, my sister Lisa, he continued, indicating the pair and the trailer in turn. He shook the hand firmly and then nodded at the aircraft. Sorry for the intrusion. I couldn't talk them out of sending someone with us.

Not an issue, Will, Jonson said, I know how they can be and you rate the overwatch even if you don't want it. At least they're not landing on the front yard. And I'm a working man now so please call me Jonson.

Very well, Sparrow said, going to the door of the shed as Niara and Raevin went up and over the side of the trailer.

We'll stack them as you load, Raevin said, when Jonson looked up at them in surprise.

The work will go much faster that way, Niara said.

He suspected that they spoke like they were one person as a matter of course.

Sir? Lisa asked, Would it be all right if I go and look at the animals? She pointed at the corral beside the barn where one of his horses stood.

Lisa is the equivalent of a veterinarian, Sparrow said from where he stood in the door with a sack of feed in his hands, She won't do anything to upset them I assure you.

No assurances needed, Will, Jonson said as he took the grain and put it up beside the other sack on the trailer, Go ahead and look all you want to, young lady, he said to Lisa, Mindful of the brown and white one though. He has a bit of a mean streak he likes to show to strangers.

I'll watch out, sir, thank you, Lisa said and walked quickly away with interest on her face.

Jonson looked at Raevin and Niara. You have gloves?

In the car, Niara said, but our hands are not as soft and sensitive as his. Her smile and her tone marked it as a jest.

Jonson smiled to show his understanding. Go and get them on anyway. Better to use the protection when you have it.

They immediately climbed down and went to get their gloves. By the time they were back in position there were six bags waiting for them to move forward and stack, which they began to do without another word.

They didn't speak as they worked except as it was needed for the work they were doing. With three others to help him the trailer was ready to move in five minutes.

Where is this going? Sparrow asked as he took a grip and a foothold beside Jonson on the tractor. Raevin and Niara sat on top of the stacked sacks of grain.

This load there, Jonson moved his head to indicate the storage room built onto the side of the barn, the rest moves to a newer shed. That one took some damage last time the winds came through. Need to look it over and decide about repair or replacement. He started the tractor up and eased the load into motion. Now while we've got a minute, what can I do for you, Will? I'm guessing you didn't just decide to stop by and help an old farmer with the chores while vacationing in the hinterlands here.

Sparrow smiled and shook his head a little. No, though I wouldn't mind staying a few days away from cities and press and politicians if I could manage it. His look and his tone became a bit more serious then.

I need your help, Jonson.

The assets are in place?

Yes ma’am. There was no need to insert additional resources.

Good. Send the signal to initiate first phase.

Abel Haruman was waiting for him with three others.

He’d been about to explain the song he started humming to himself a minute before to Anita. Then he realized that there was a reason his subconscious started the replay of the chorus of Hair of the Dog by Nazareth:

Now you’re messin’ with a...a son of a bitch (now you’re messin’ with a sonovabitch)...

He was usually more alert to promptings of his subconscious. But he also knew that he didn’t get it right all the time either.

Now, for example. But he did know now why he’d started humming that song.

What was unexpected was not that Haruman set an ambush. It was that he’d known Haruman intended to do it but still gone and walked into it. (Well, there was also the part about wondering how Haruman was able to set it up so quickly. He’d not known how long he would be out or what way he would go back to barracks. He had to give Haruman some credit for being able to keep some kind of surveillance on him—which in turn made him wonder why Haruman went to the trouble of arranging for surveillance on him. Had he been blown or blown his own cover? (Not that it was very much of one. In all honesty, it was probably people’s politeness that kept him from being recognized more than anything.) Or was it something else that made him such a focus of the man’s ire? He’d likely never know. Or he might be one of their agents or influenced by one. They weren’t stupid and he was not fooling them. They surely knew where he was however incognito he might delude himself into thinking he was. He’d been able to avoid it up to now by choosing times and routes so that he was in more open or exposed areas. But no one human could stay aware and alert for days and weeks. Even those with enhancements and training like he had now would eventually let down. And there was plenty of time for Abel to find him making a slip like this one. It was a long school and more mentally than physically wearing, somewhat the reverse of the one he finished before coming here. The other one included a lot of mental—emotional too, for that matter—stress, of course. It just wasn’t the same kind of wear as Logistics School was to him. But he felt that he had to run it and the ones before it whatever kind of stresses they offered, just like he had to run this one and the ones that would come after it.

So he’d come and started this one after just a week of recovery time, which meant that he was still weary of mind and body coming in. If he’d had a choice, he would have scheduled more time between courses. That wasn’t possible for a couple of reasons. So he slipped into formation and then into a seat in a classroom intending to go quietly through and then be on his way to the next one.

That plan didn’t gone awry quickly, but it did awry. He saw how he began attracting attention pretty quickly, but seeing it he didn’t see any way he could have avoided it. He was one of a small number of non-Alliance personnel going through the school and the only one in this class group. That was the first thing. The second thing was that he was from Miranda—in fact he was the first Mirandan to go through any Alliance training of any kind. Anybody from a world where men still fought with sword and bow and where magic was an everyday fact and not part of a fiction story plot was going to attract interest and curiosity. That morning PT was not much more than a long warmup for him after what he’d been through previously was another thing. It required additional conditioning after class—rather, his overarching Mission required it. There were others that worked out extra as well, but not the way he did. A few, mostly some not in his class, recognized his routines and their origin but appeared also to recognize his wish to keep those things close and so just nodded to themselves and went on about their business. Others were impressed enough by what he did that they remarked about it to others.

Besides that, there was the sword and archery work that he had to keep up. He’d not been able to attend to that much at all in the other school and he needed to keep those skills current and available. He could not afford to miss an opportunity to work them. He would need them when he got back home. He’d not neglected practice with modern weapons either—there was a very good simulator system on base and the few that saw him running combat exercises in it were sometimes left open-mouthed by his performances there. (Of course, very few of those so impressed were combat veterans. Those just nodded knowingly and kept their counsels to themselves, respecting his unspoken request for privacy.)

So he went through his extra work—by itself enough to impress many another exerciser in the area—and then he took up the sword and the bow, sometimes including armor, and worked with them. There were a few students of the sword and a sword-study group that met on the base that was more serious about doing it right. He worked with them regularly—it was helpful to have a live person on the other side sometimes—but it wasn’t the same as training back home.

That training especially attracted spectators. HaHerev maintained separate barracks for male and female, but the classes were co-ed and they were allowed to mix for most of the time and could, within specified times, even visit each other’s barracks. He attracted some interest from the first because he was better looking than he gave himself credit for and fitter-looking than ninety percent of the males in the school if not on the base itself. The workouts and training drew more interest as time passed. He couldn’t figure out a way to do everything needed privately and couldn’t get them barred from the training area. When, as inevitably happened, he was asked about his practices, he shrugged and said only, I’m from Miranda. It’s part of the culture. Which didn’t help very much to reduce the interest because of what Miranda was and what they all thought they knew about it by now.

But more than one could tell that for him it was more than ‘cultural’, what he did. There was too much focus, too much intensity radiating from him sometimes for it to be simple and normal practice for him. There was more to it than that. They knew it. He’d done more with swords than just sparring. But they didn’t know how to casually or politely try to find out about that. No one they knew of was able to draw him out—no one that would talk about it, that is.

He couldn’t do anything about that. He could only put in the time and do the work and ignore them.

Easy enough to do given what he went through in the past. People watching weren't at all the same as people trying to kill him.

He did other things to distinguish himself as well. He was not given to going out much when they were allowed liberties, for one thing. He went out with them some, yes, and there were others who did not go to bars or use certain of the available recreational facilities off base. But they were Orthodox (some of the Christians were also quite strict about what they did and did not do in their free time) and he was not so he stood out a bit on that account. But he didn’t drink and he didn’t care to seek women (working women or other kind of pick-up), so aside from a few forays to restaurants or theaters with a group and a couple of solo trips looking for gifts for those back home or visits to the local animal shelter, he stayed mostly on base and studied or trained more or worked through correspondence—of which he seemed to get a lot more than the other students did. He was not stand-offish or aloof in the least. He built a number of friendships with both male and female students and other service members while he was there. And he worked well in teams and groups that the course required them to form from time to time. In the end, though, he was and remained a private and politely isolated individual as much by choice as by circumstance.  Most of them understood his wishes and his needs and did not concern themselves with that—unlike a few others who had problems of their own.

He would not have wanted for feminine companionship even given his dearth of social activity. The army of Meeklat—Refuge in the language he had grown up with—was pragmatic about such things. As long as combat or combat-support effectiveness was not affected and it was not a case of one in power taking advantage of one not, they allowed boys to be boys and girls to be girls if that’s what they wanted. Being admittedly from Miranda, which place of actual sword-and-sorcery spawned a romance and glamour all its own, he was bound to attract some interest just from that. Add that he was quietly confident, a natural leader, fit enough to be a Commando and polite and friendly with everyone, that he liked animals to the point where he spent some of his free time at the local animal shelter walking dogs and socializing cats and the check marks on the list of ‘favored for relationship’ got quickly more numerous. Not just that, he also showed signs of being wealthy—some of the purchases and shipments he made that some of them knew of were not things even an officer’s salary would bear and his uniforms, simple and unadorned as they were without the insignia or badges and patches that so many others with egos larger than their accomplishments affected, were nonetheless of better-than-issue quality and tailored besides. Other of his personal affects and gear was all of high and higher quality as well. No way could anybody who couldn’t tap a rather significant bank account afford all that.

And beyond all that, there was a definite—though well-restrained—dark side in him. It was never fully displayed. Only some hints were seen and those only on occasion. But it was there. They saw it sometimes in him when he trained. They sensed it in him at other times. And some were drawn by it.

So there were a number of things about him that marked him as worthy of a woman’s interest. Thus, he did not fail to attract it. Offers were made and rejected with delicacy and politeness, which rejections solicited quiet inquiries.

He’s married, was the first response.

For most, that was enough. For others:

So? It was not unknown for some to break any vows they might have ever made. And there were some sub-cultures that allowed for indulgences outside of marriage.

His wives are beyond gorgeous, was the answer to that, both of them. And he loves them. Period. Trust me, honey, there’s nobody here gonna even make his eyes flick.

(Now that he thought of that, he had to wonder how that had not blown his effort to stay in the metaphysical shadow. Only one person from Miranda had more than one Companion. His dual Bonding had not yet been duplicated by anyone else there. But he really wasn’t fooling anyone—well, some, but not nearly as many as he wanted to—anyway and it was just a polite fiction among themselves and within his own mind that he was, in the end.)

That appeared to shut that down. But they still gathered to watch him train and they still talked about him and compared him to others they knew or knew of, and that talk did not stay in the groups it started in. Because of that, others became jealous, as irrational as that idea was, given that he would not be where he was for very long.

Finally there was the matter of grades. His compared to theirs, to be exact. He was pretty much the top student in the course. He said repeatedly it was because he put more time and work into it because he had to. He did put more time in than almost everyone else, that was true—not going out much worked to his advantage in that. But he was smart too. He had the ability to learn, to learn quickly, and to retain what he learned. And he could take that learning and run with it if he had to. Some recognized it and understood. Others recognized it and became more jealous.

Why some others could not be content with their cliques and their followers and their circles of power and influence was something he wondered about on occasion but didn’t concern himself with as a rule. He was there to get through the course and make contact with those who were capable and who might help him and otherwise to do what he needed to do. All else, including petty games of localized power, were decoration in his mind. When it began to look like it might get physical, however, he had to start paying some attention.

A handful of challenges both physical and intellectual had already been dealt with. He declined when he could, worked out a tie or a loss when he could, won when he had to. He seldom had to win so he didn’t. He wasn’t trying to make any points or gain influence among an organization he was just visiting. And no one was trying to kill him here, which point he could appreciate more than anyone that hadn’t had someone trying to kill them at least once. Winning was not necessary here, so he seldom did even when he clearly could have.

(Which point, now that he thought about it, might have just exacerbated the jealousy or need to show dominance and superiority. It might be taken as a challenge or an insult if they knew he let them win. He sighed to himself and wondered briefly if there was ever any way to be sure where people were involved.)

But if winning was not a necessity for him, not submitting to people like Haruman was. He would not allow that one or any other one to rule him. He had commanders enough already (though admittedly his chain of command was far shorter than most anyone else’s here even when counting those he was Bonded to) and he would not willingly add people like Haruman to that list. So he rejected and resisted attempts first to overawe him, then to dominate him non-physically, and finally to maneuver him into a fight in the barracks, all as carefully and quietly as he could. He had not reported or complained. It was not serious enough yet. He did not want to stir the watchers that he knew were there even though he requested that they not be. (Standing with governments could only go so far with people like him. They were going to try and take care of him and that was that. Which, he acknowledged, was actually a good idea whether he liked it or not, given that there really were people out to get him.) There was a point where he would talk to someone, yes. But until that point was reached, he followed the custom of the service and did his best to handle it in the house.

Now, tired from a longer-than-usual day, and a little distracted from talking to the friend he was escorting back to barracks (the base was far safer than the city around it, but that didn’t mean it was completely safe for isolated women late at night) he took the short route back from the communications center without thinking. So here he was between two storage buildings at night in what wasn’t really an alley but wasn’t a street either. Fortunately there was much better illumination here than in the average alley so he saw Haruman and one other waiting a fair distance away. Unfortunately, Haruman and one other could see him too.

He didn’t spend time wondering how they knew where he was or were able to set this up so quickly and he didn’t waste time or energy getting angry at himself for letting down. He just slid to the side and pivoted so that his back was to one wall, guiding Anita back with him, and looked back where he’d come from. Two others were there now, appearing from the opposite direction they turned into the alley from. The hazards of urban terrain, he thought, not that woods and forests and mountains are much better. But even if that way was clear he could not have run without perhaps abandoning his classmate. He would not do that.

Stay by the wall, Anita, he said softly as they closed in slowly (probably thinking they were increasing his apprehension by slowly closing the jaws of the trap), Say nothing, do nothing for me. I know you can fight. She was one of his occasional sparring partners and one of the much smaller number that knew what he (thought he) was hiding from everyone else. He took the gloves that he was never without from a pocket and started putting them on. This needs to play a certain way. If he worked this out right, it could turn out to be a good thing that he was caught out like this. Haruman was the most obvious, but he had the feeling there were one or two others that still had some thought of trying him out. This could be the route to making sure nobody (else) took a real shot at him. The trickiest part, he thought, would be not getting his other watchers stirred up.

Assuming he won, of course. The fact that he faced worse odds and won in the past was helpful but not automatically applicable. He’d also faced worse odds and lost. Nothing was certain in combat except, maybe, that there would be a winner and a loser.

Of course, he had a few extras now he didn’t have back when he’d lost. That didn’t make it certain, of course. It did tilt the odds in his favor more than the four approaching him would realize, though.

Understood, Anita said. She put her back against the wall and prepared to defend herself but not anyone else. She was pretty sure she wouldn’t have to worry about him anyway.

Haruman stopped with one beside him directly in front. The other two spread a little to the sides and around but they didn’t fully surround him. That gave him the option of flanking them. He triggered some of his enhancements and waited to see if that’s what he would do.

Finally got you, you little sonofabitch, Haruman said, And out with a woman, no less. What would your wives think if I told them about that?

They would think it good of me that I was performing the duties of my rank and station, he answered, and they would appreciate me making sure their friend got back okay. Anita had been exchanging messages with his Companions from shortly after he met her after starting this school. They’ve become fond of her and would take unkindly to anything happening to her.

Haruman recovered quickly from the first failed attempt at intimidation.

Oh, nothing’s going to happen to her, you little bastard.

He sighed inside. He was a little smaller than average, but it was nothing like the average difference back home. And he bet he massed about the same as Haruman, who was softer. He had muscles where Haruman only had dreams of them. But Haruman still tried to provoke him with that adjective. Interesting fail, that was.

Plenty about to happen to you though!

And you’re not concerned that either of us will report your unprovoked assault upon my person?

Haruman sneered. My word against yours. And I got more witnesses. He indicated his partners in crime. No cameras this sector. Maybe you should have thought of that before you came walking this way.

He hadn’t known he would be walking this way until he had been, but Haruman didn’t need to know that. He also didn’t think Haruman’s witnesses would go as far as Haruman thought they would.

And I got influence here you don’t know about, Haruman boasted.

He wondered why so many bad guys gave in to the fiction that they were some kind of Evil Overlord candidate. Had none of them ever read the list of what not to do if they were Evil Overlords? As for whatever influence Haruman thought he had...well, there was influence and there was influence. He was willing to match his against Haruman’s any time. He was pretty sure which one of them would hit with the bigger hammer.

Focus. So what happens now, Abel?

Now I knock you off your high horse, fucker.

I didn’t bring a horse to be high on and none of my mounts back home are very tall. So what horse is it that you think I’m riding, Abel?

You know the one! Fucking strong-and-silent act! All look-at-me-and-my-fucking-sword playing like some fucking dumb knight! Got everybody all google-eyed about it!

Jealousy does not look good on you, Abel. And has it escaped your notice that I'm not interested in whatever attention your fevered imagination has developed your delusions about? Not that ‘everybody’ cares as much as you seem to think. He shrugged. Maybe I’m just not as perceptive as you are.

There might really be an element of jealousy about the attention he did not seek to it, but he thought it was really some kind of power play. An odd one, though. As if beating him physically was going to get Haruman anything but apprehension and fear. It might, assuming he succeeded, get him some reputation points somewhere down the road. And it was a form of power that was used at times in administrations and offices pretty much everywhere. And some people did better with it than with other forms of manipulation. And some enjoyed it more than other forms of manipulation. Haruman was likely one of those. Probably going to go up on charges