The Teragoid Incident

Chapter 3 – The Bout

“You were a little slow the other day, Joe, be careful,” said Perez.

Muschivk grunted, while putting on the armor required for formal hand to hand combat. “You’ve been missing a lot of practices lately, Perez… don’t get all cocky,” he said.

“Why are they broadcasting this,” asked Perez.

“I guess the little shit pissed off too many people. There were 200 plus requests put in to view the bout,” said the COB.

“There are only 164 crew aboard,” said Perez.

“Funny thing about math…” said the COB, “I guess some folks really wanted to go, and Reagan’s personality is such that he probably pissed off the observers and special teams and recon pilots as well.”

“That dude is so irritating that I think people will come over from the next sector station to see this bout,” said Perez.

“Yeah, well, you’re assigned to be his second, dumbass,” said Muschivk.

“Why the hell did you do that?” said Perez, opening his eyes wide.

“He didn’t, I did,” said Wamamere. “You’ve always had this problem with people slower than you, and you really suck at bringing younger people up. You are way too impatient with your perceived inferiors. I’m making the Lt. YOUR problem. You could have defused him the first time with all this, but you chose to go head-to-head with him over the Fusion Two modifications.”

“That’s not fair, he should have read the daybook. It’s his job,” said Perez.

“There’s that word again. Fair. Part of your job as a Senior Enlisted is to train junior officers and like I said, he’s YOUR problem now,” said Wamamere. “We’ll discuss this later. Get your ass over there and help him out before he shits himself.”

“Yes, COB,” said Perez stiffly.

Wamamere had just noticed Reagan enter the gym and was standing by the entrance looking around at the crowds. He was wearing a very fancy martial arts uniform made out of some kind of silky synthetic, with lightweight chest armor and sparring pads and carrying a bag. He was as white as his gi. Perez started to feel sorry for the little shit. Perez walked over to the entrance and held out his hand for the bag.

“Sir, I’ve been designated to act as your Second for this bout,” said Perez.

“What? I though the captain would designate an officer for that. Why would you agree to that?” asked Reagan.

“I didn’t agree. The COB told me to. He doesn’t want you to embarrass yourself any further,” said Perez. “And, once you step on this floor, ship ranks don’t matter, only Dan ranks do. Do you have one? That’s a fancy uniform there.”

“No.. I was a 5th Kyu in a Japanese Karate before I went to the academy, but I never really practiced after that,” said Regan, “this was a costume from a play at the academy, and I left it in my bag when I shipped out. By accident. Is it okay for this?”

“That’s just fine,” said Perez. “After this, the COB said you’ll be in classes with us, so you’ll be in the club classes to start.”

“Club classes? What do you mean?” asked Reagan.

“Yep. The Captain said you were going to train with us. He was getting ahead of himself. You need some basics.”

“I could beat that old man,” said Reagan, “He can’t really be that good!”

Perez snorted. “Reagan, I am designated as your Second here. That means I have two jobs… well three. One, advise you on strategy; two, keep you from running out of here; three, keep you alive… so... , get in the ring and do your best. You’ve had the Academy basic course for Midshipman, I’m pretty familiar with that. Keep moving and try to wear him out, and stay away from his kicks if you can. Two, get up there, do your best and Joe won’t hurt you or humiliate you if you try hard. You’re gonna take some hard shots, but this ship has the best medical section in the sector. You almost certainly won’t die.”

“It’s the only station in the sector!”

“See?”

“Is that supposed to be funny? And how are you familiar with the Academy basic combat course? That’s Midshipmen only.*”

“It’s what’s known as gallows humor. It’s traditional. You’ll see,” said Perez, ignoring the last question.

“Why are you helping me,” asked Reagan.

“Told ya. COB told me to. He thinks I have a problem dealing with assholes… He’s right, I do,” said Perez.

“You can’t speak to me like that!” said Reagan.

“In here I can. Told ya, ship rules don’t apply in the dojo. In here it’s by martial arts rank. In here... Cohen bows to Joe,” said Perez, “… and him,” pointing to the COB.

“I don’t understand any of this,” said Reagan.

“I know you don’t. Your family bought your commission, and you went to the Inner Guard Academy straight out of secondary school. You’re Terran, American, right? An Earthman? My family owns and breeds dogs, I know who you are. The Interplanetary Dog Show Reagans, right?” said Perez.

“My father is Robert Reagan, the LIII, the current master of ceremonies, yes, I’m the third youngest,” said Reagan.

“Anyway, we’ll talk about this later… Third: don’t be stupid and try any dirty tricks. Don’t even think about it, they won’t work, and he’ll seriously hurt you if you do. Stay within the rules and you’ll be fine. Think about it this way… you’re not trying to win, you’re trying to do your best. Nobody even expects you to even land a punch. It’s all kind of fun, really,” said Perez.

Perez grabbed Reagan by the arm and started him moving toward the center ring. It was just a circular line on the mat floor about 8 meters in diameter, there were two boxes on opposite sides. Perez started with a rundown of the rules, “You stand in the ring and try to land a solid punch or kick on the opponent.  No biting, eye gouging, bone breaks or joint breaks. No punches to the center face, kidneys, throat, sternum, genitals. Do NOT try to kick him in the balls. I tried it once and didn’t walk for a week.”

“You’re not wearing a martial arts uniform,” said Reagan.

Perez was in navy phys fitness sweats. “I only got the one, I use it for format tests and bouts. I ordered a second after I made CPO, but it’s not here yet.”

“Because he won’t let me order them for him,” said the COB.

“Since I’m not technically special forces anymore that would be wrong,” said Perez.

Wamamere said, “You’re such a putz sometimes, Randy,” in his slightly Britishy accent. Ken shook his head.

“Reagan, I heard Perez give you a rundown of the no-no’s. That’s fine for this bout. This bout is a standard tournament elimination round best of 7 points, or until you yield.  There are three rounds, each 2 minutes long. The target areas are anything chest, head (not face or temples), back, sides. Nothing below the belt. Since you are not wearing a belt, we will lend you one.” The COB looked hard at Perez and Perez bowed and trotted off to the locker room to get one.

“Now as the senior practitioner aboard, I will be adjudicating the match, and the Unarmed Combat AI will be calling the impacts. I assign the points, I call them blue or red. You will be blue. There will be two side judges, who will determine fouls. Three fouls is considered a warning, two warnings a disqualification. In your case you should attempt to avoid this outcome, as I would take it amiss.

A warning can also result from drawing blood, deliberately leaving the ring to avoid a hit, and dropping to the ground and covering. You can be hit outside the ring but cannot score. It’s simple enough, really. Do you understand these rules?”

Reagan nodded.

"Young man, I need a verbal assent for the AI, " said the COB.

“Yesss..., I do,” said Reagan.

“Excellent. Try not to get killed.”

Perez was standing behind the Lieutenant with a blue belt. He held it up for the COB and said. “Reagan said he was 5th Kyu once. Blue, right?”

“Yep. Put it on.”

Perez said, “Stand still.”

“But…”

“Shaddup.” Perez quickly wrapped the belt around Reagan twice and tied it off in a flashy square knot so the ends hung down, then he leaned forward, “Listen. They are messing with you. You are not popular here. They want to see you squirm. Do you have real pride in you? If you do… then go in there and do your best.”

The XO came up next to Perez, “Randy, I heard Ken made you this loser’s second. Sorry about that.” She looked both dashing and deadly with her stocky, trim form with a black belt and tight fitting black gi, and a truly impressive number of gold stripes on the belt.

“Don’t mess with him, he’s about to go in,” said Perez

She stopped and looked at Perez, “You’re taking this seriously? Excellent. Maybe there’s some hope for you, at last,” she smiled.

She looked at Reagan, “Robert, I will be your side judge. Is this acceptable to you?”

“Yesss...”

“Don’t just say yes. I think you haven’t grasped the full implications of what you have done, because these next few hours will determine your life. You somehow made it to full Lieutenant with your particular defects, and ... “

Perez stepped between them, “Barb, let him get through the bout first. He’s got enough problems right now.”

“Randy, you’re sooooo cute when your all dutiful and empathetic and all,” she said, batting her long black eyelashes. She turned to Reagan, “Am I acceptable as your side judge?”

“She means: she is going to be watching you for fouls and improper behavior. If you feel she might be biased, you can request another, but it has to be a black belt, and it cannot be me or the COB, and it can’t be the CO either.” said Perez, sighing.

“No…. She’s fine,” said Reagan.

“Excellent, “ said the COB, “Let’s get this party started,” and he grinned a big wolfish grin.

Perez pushed Reagan into the ring and pointed to a tape mark, “The COB is going to drop his arm and say begin. Don’t jump the gun or he’ll get angry. You don’t ever want to get the COB angry.”

Reagan stood on the tape mark, and the COB moved in between the two and tapped him, “Face this way.”

Reagan turned around and faced the other side of the circle and the opponent.

Muschivk stood up and ambled to stand on the other tape mark. His uniform was sewn and patched in several places and his belt had a ridiculous number of hash marks on it. Ken’s belt had no hash marks on it, but his uniform was crisp and clean, and his belt had a weird thin gold chain strip running through it. Muschivk put his sparring helmet on, and said, “All set.”

Ken raised his hand in a chopping motion and said, “First round, are you gentlemen ready?”

“Ye...es, ” said Reagan

“Ready, ” said Muschivk.

The center judge dropped his hand. Muschivk took a simple step forward and kicked. Reagan somehow managed to get his hands up and it knocked him over. A buzzer buzzed from empty air. An air warning by projection. No speakers.

“Get up,” said Perez, grabbing the young officer by the arm and standing him up.

“No point, blocked,“ said Ken, “...ready, begin.”

Reagan sort of hopped to his feet and sort of kicked out. Muschivk slapped it aside, and nodded, then kicked again. Reagan ducked and it went over his head, and the world turned upside down as somehow his legs went out from under him, but before he hit the ground something exploded in the middle of his chest. Buzz.

“Point, Red,” said the COB.

“Get up,” said Perez, “actually, that wasn’t half bad.”

Reagan huffed to his feet and struggled to breathe.

“Can you continue, “ asked the center judge, formally.

Perez came over onto the mat and smacked him square in the center of the back. Reagan took a deep breath and the pain in his chest went away. Perez ambled off the mat again.

Reagan nodded, breathing hard.

“Ready, begin.”

Reagan dodged left and ducked his head. Nothing happened. Muschivk was standing there waiting, so Reagan went back right and punched for the side of Muschivk’s head, but didn’t connect with anything, but a second later he toppled forward from an impact in back of his head, then the center of his back exploded, and somehow he was lying face down on the ground. Buzz.

“Point, Red,” said the center judge, “Can you continue?”

Reagan nodded and rolled back to his feet. He suddenly realized he had this strange feeling, like he was a little kid having fun. He started to grin. He stepped to the mark and raised his hands in a boxer’s like stance. He was down three points. Buzz.

“Ready… begin.”

He launched himself forward to try and get inside the huge man’s reach. He ducked and threw two punches and a front kick. He hit nothing and looked up and around and tried to figure out where the Master Chief went.

“Over here,” rumbled Muschivk, as a wrecking ball exploded into the side his head and the world turned upside down. The other side judge raised his hand. Buzz.

“Halt,” said the COB. He looked at the side judge.

“Tournament rules, no grappling. Objection, ruling,” stated the side judge on Muschivk’s side.

“Wasn’t specified either way,” said Muschivk.

Ken looked at Muschivk and smiled a beatific smile. “No grappling. No point.”

Perez leaned into the ring and picked up Reagan and turned him right side up. “Don’t worry about it. Ken is messing with the Master Chief,” he murmured as he set him on the tape mark, “You’re doing pretty good. You surprised him twice.”

“How the hell can you tell,” gasped Reagan.

“You got 30 years of experience doin’ this? I can tell. Shaddap and fight.”

“Ready… begin.”

Reagan jumped right this time and threw an awkward front kick, then two punches. Missed. Turned, spotted the huge man that seemed to be able to move faster than light, and threw a front kick like he’d seen in the movies. His foot kept rising as if it was made of air, and a sledgehammer came down on the top of his head. The world blanked out for a minute. Buzz.

“Point, Red. That’s four, for the end of the round.”

The world fuzzed in. He stood up a little wobbly. “I thought it was to seven.”

“It is, knucklehead. You can only get three points now,“ said Perez

“I really wanted to hit him once,” panted Reagan.

“That’s good,” said Perez flatly, “It’s good to want things you can’t have.”

“Are you guys all friends? I don’t understand,” said Reagan, his pulse rate slowing.

“No, not really. They don’t like me very much, but that’s just because I’m an asshole. We train together every day, or in the case of the CO and XO, every other day. I missed the last couple of weeks because of the special tasks we’ve been assigned, but, in any event about half of us (the crew) have served together for around twenty years, in various places,” Perez said flatly.

“Next round, two minutes,” said Ken.

“Take a bunch of deep breaths,” said Perez, pressing on the center of Reagan's back.

“Time,” said Ken.

Reagan stood up and went over to the tape mark. He took his boxer’s stance again. He figured he might try to grab and knee Muschivk before he could get away.

“Ready… begin.”

Reagan jumped forward and tried to grab the Master Chiefs chest, but somehow something happened, and he ended up flat on his back. There was a huge hand across his face, and then an immense impact across the chest. Buzz.

“Point, Red”

He thought about it and figured Muschivk had just picked him up by the face and slammed him to the ground. He got up. Maybe stay a little further away this time.

“Ready… begin.”

Reagan faded back about a meter, and Muschivk just stayed where he was. Reagan jumped forward and kicked then jumped back. Muschivk just stood there. Waiting. Reagan stepped to the side and jumped forward and then started to kick. Muschivk wasn’t there. He turned around frantically and tried to get his arms up, when an irresistible force shaped like a foot picked him up and swept him across the ring and into the side bleachers. Buzz.

“Blocked, no point. Can you continue?” asked Ken.

“Ye… es,” said Reagan, faintly.

He tottered over to the mark and got into a wobbly fighting stance. There seemed to be some kind of weird burning tightness in his gut. Perez picked him up and faced him the right way.

“Ready… begin.”

Reagan jumped up and kicked to the right.

“What the hell was that for?” rumbled Muschivk, eyes wide, “I’m over here, you moron!”

“I was guessing. You went left last time.”

Musckivk's eyes opened wide in disbelief.

“Halt. Cut the chatter. Begin,” said Ken.

This black wave swept over him and he was pounded five or six times, and he fell down. He felt like he was facing an unstoppable force. Buzz.

“Point, Red, next point is match. Can you continue?”

Reagan slowly staggered to his feet. He nodded and staggered over to the tape line.

“Ready… begin.”

Reagan’s world exploded into simultaneous pressure on his front and back and then went dark. Buzz. Perez noticed he was breathing evenly, and he appeared to still have all his extremities.

“Point, Red, Match,” said Ken, and pointed to Perez, “You, get him to sick bay and get him checked out.”

“I didn’t hurt him,” said Muschivk.

“The universe and you have different definitions of the word ‘hurt’, Joe.... Sick bay, Perez. Now.”

“Yes, COB.”

Perez picked up the Lt. and slung him over one shoulder and trotted off to Medical.

Ken said, “You were really holding back there, Joe. How come.”

“He was starting to enjoy it. That means we can help him,” Joe said, "He's had something done to him."

“Another puppy?”

“I collect them. It’s good for the Navy.”

*The Special Operations groups provides the unarmed combat and weapons training for the Academy. Reagan would have known, if he wasn’t a transfer from the Earth Defense Force, or the Inner Guard. The GalCop navy is called the ‘Outer Guard’