Empire of Light

Chapter Twelve

Corso glanced up at the sound of helicopter blades cutting through the howl of the wind. He looked at Breisch, directly in front of him, then back up through the transparent window in the roof of their tent in time to see a shape pass across the face of one of Redstone's moons.

'Concentrate on your breathing,' instructed Breisch, without opening his eyes.

They knelt facing each other, on the antique rug spread out beneath them. The tent itself was constructed from multiple layers of highly resilient but extremely light nano-carbon, and was big enough to house up to half a dozen men with plenty of room to spare. Yet, once packed away, it was light and small enough to carry on one man's back.

Corso closed his eyes and focused on the thump of his own heartbeat, like a wet meat clock hammering out the seconds remaining before the fight. The sea hissed against the shore a few metres away. He recalled the words Breisch had repeated endlessly, until it became a kind of mantra: Death is inevitable. The key to survival lay only in giving up the fear of dying. Conversely, the key to victory lay in exploiting an opponent's own fear of death.

Corso opened his eyes again, unable to concentrate. Instead he studied the man opposite. Breisch was hard and wiry, with gaunt features, a veteran of a hundred challenges, which made him either one of the deadliest or luckiest fighters alive on Redstone, depending on whom you asked.

It had been a considerable surprise to him when Breisch had calmly admitted, shortly after the beginning of their professional relationship, that he fully expected to die while taking part in a challenge.

'It's better than dying old and infirm,' he had stated, in the same calm, clear tone he always spoke in. 'And, frankly, I consider it vastly preferable.'

'But you don't have to take part in challenges any more, if you don't want to,' Corso had argued. Despite his long tally of violent victories, Breisch had never requested a seat in the Senate, claiming to have no interest in politics. 'It's hardly like anyone would blame you, after so much time. You could still honourably refuse.'

'Because I'm old?' Breisch smiled more easily than anyone Corso knew. 'Even now, people still issue me challenges, because they want to be the one who finally takes me down. And one day, when I'm old enough, they'll get their wish. I can't imagine anything worse than retiring to some quiet life of public service. Better to go out fighting, don't you think?'

Corso had long since got over the irony that Breisch had once trained both of the Mansell brothers, who had been part of the fateful expedition to Nova Arctis. He had since worked hard to put his resentment and anger aside, and to accept that Breisch was not responsible for the actions of either Kieran Mansell or his psychopathic brother Udo – only for the quality of their combat skills. A little while later, they began practising some basic moves on the broken shore outside the tent, the stars clear and sharp in the evening sky.

The old man lunged at Corso with a wicked-looking blade, constantly feinting in different directions and throwing kicks and punches when they were least expected. They were both dressed lightly despite the freezing weather, so that nothing restricted their movements.

Despite his exertions, Corso could feel the cold seeping deep into his bones, and the sound of his breathing was like a death rattle as it emerged from the breather mask strapped over his lower face. He knew his fighting skills had improved vastly over the last few months, but he didn't allow himself to forget that perpetual expression of disgust Breisch had worn throughout the first weeks of their training.

Breisch feinted again and Corso anticipated his next move, darting to one side and turning at the same time to slash towards the old man's neck with a dull-edged blade. Before he got the chance, Breisch had responded with a backwards kick that sent Corso sprawling on to the frozen gravel.

Corso grunted as he pulled himself up. The old man was driving him even harder than usual.

Breisch looked down at him with a satisfied grin. 'I thought maybe you were getting too distracted, but you still did better than I thought you would.' He reached down with one hand and helped his pupil stand.

After a while they went back inside, Breisch warming a couple of high-protein meals on a hotplate, then retiring to his sleeping mat to rest before the coming challenge. Corso felt too wired-up to do the same.

This would be his tenth challenge since Dakota had departed, and Breisch's training was the only reason he had survived them. So far he had not been obliged to fight anyone else who also had the benefit of Breisch's intensive training, and with any luck he would never need to. When it was almost time for the fight to start, Corso heard the sound of engines coming closer. He pulled on some thermal gear that would keep out the worst of the cold, and snapped a fresh breather mask over his face before stepping outside.

He could see half a dozen helicopters parked on a flat area about a half kilometre inland, under the shade of a canopy tree whose massive trunk reared up for almost two hundred metres. This was a popular destination for Freeholders intent on slaughtering each other in order to gain wealth, power, women, or any combination thereof.

He watched as a balloon-wheeled truck came rolling up towards him, disgorging two passengers similarly swaddled in cold-weather gear. One he recognized as Marcus Kenley, the Senate's Speaker, a round-faced man with thin grey whiskers visible around the sides of his breather mask. The other was Lucius Hilgendorf, the head of State Security under the post-coup administration, and by far one of the most dangerous men Corso had ever encountered. Above his mask, his eyes glowered like a snake whose tail had just been trodden on.

'Lucas,' said Kenley, stepping forward and shaking his hand warmly.

Like Corso, Kenley was a moderate in the Senate. Hilgendorf, who was anything but moderate, merely nodded. Kenley's job here was to act as Corso's representative both inside and outside of the ring of combat, which essentially boiled down to making sure the other side did not cheat. Hilgendorf was there to play a similar role for Corso's opponent.

'Senator Jarret has asked me to make an offer,' said Hilgendorf, stepping up to Corso. 'He wants to know if you're willing to negotiate a non-lethal outcome.'

'What you mean is, you're willing to let me live if I agree to surrender without a fight and automatically relinquish my Senate seat and my vote.' Corso smiled grimly and shook his head. 'Please tell Senator Jarret that if he'd wanted a "non-lethal solution", he shouldn't have issued his challenge in the first place.'

Hilgendorf was anything but a patient man. 'Senator Jarret's a war veteran and a recognized Hero of the State. Maybe you should take some time to reconsider before making any snap decisions, Senator. You're standing on pretty thin ice these days.'

'Unless you've got a serious offer to make,' intervened Kenley, 'you should remain silent, Mr Hilgendorf

Corso raised one hand. 'It's okay, Marcus, it's only protocol. Mr Hilgendorf's just here on a formality, isn't that right?' he said, looking Hilgendorf directly in the eye.

'We're offering you an opportunity to step down before you get hurt,' Hilgendorf insisted. 'After all, none of your previous opponents possessed the… unique skills you and Senator Jarret both share.'

Corso frowned, momentarily thrown off-balance.

'Then I'll extend the same courtesy to Mr Jarret,' he replied, unsure exactly what Hilgendorf had meant. 'If he throws in his glove, I'll let him leave here alive. Otherwise, you can tell him I look forward to meeting him in combat.'

Behind his mask, Hilgendorf's expression seemed to freeze in place. 'Very well, then. I'll pass your decision back to him.'

'You can take the truck, Mr Hilgendorf,' said Kenley 'We'll walk to the meeting ground.' Kenley cast a questioning look at Corso, who nodded his assent.

Hilgendorf turned away without another word, and climbed back into the truck. A moment later the vehicle's caterpillar treads gripped the shattered stone beneath it, and headed back the way it had come.

'Fun ride on the way here?' asked Corso.

'How could you tell?' Kenley grumbled. 'Look… in all seriousness, Jarret isn't like anyone else you've been up against. He's got a hell of a reputation in the combat ring. You must know that, right?'

'And I don't, is that it?'

Kenley started to say something, then seemed to change his mind. He nodded along the frozen shore. 'Care to take a stroll?'

Corso glanced back at the tent, where Breisch was still resting. 'It'd be warmer inside.'

'Please,' Kenley insisted. 'Indulge an old man's intense paranoia.'

Corso shrugged, and they began to walk parallel to the waves beating against the shoreline. In the distance, a lighting rig was being set up at the combat ring, and soon sent beams of blazing brilliance slicing through the freezing mist that clung to the terrain further inland. The voices of the work teams racing to get everything ready in time carried to them across the still air.

Kenley stopped after a minute and turned to face Corso. 'There are rumours that Legislate forces are planning something at the Tierra cache.'

'I guess bad news gets about fast,' Corso replied, feeling weary. 'Okay, they're not just rumours. We found smuggled shipments of armaments being taken to the research base there. There's a new batch of technical and research staff just arrived there too, and I'm not sure I can even bring myself to tell you just how many of them I think are Legislate agents.'

'But surely there must be something you can do,' Kenley protested. 'You're in charge of the Peacekeeper Authority.'

'Yeah, but nobody elected me. And I was only accepted at first because everyone I dealt with was shit-scared of so much as sneezing in Dakota Merrick's direction. Everything went downhill once she left. And now we've managed to speed up the production of new superluminal drives, it's just a matter of time before someone decides to make a grab for the cache.'

'You make it sound like there's going to be a war.'

There already is a war, Corso thought. Yet most people seemed unable to grasp the notion that a conflict happening thousands of light-years away could possibly impinge upon them. Far fewer seemed to appreciate the enormous danger they were all facing.

'The way things are looking, it's going to be a pretty one-sided war.' He lowered his voice, even though there was no one nearby who could possibly hear them over the crashing of the surf. 'Did you find out who ordered the arrest of Martinez and his senior officers?'

Kenley nodded. 'It was Jarret, after he arranged a quorum of senators through a series of back-room deals. I don't have any hard evidence, but I'm very, very sure he's got his hands deep in the Legislate's pockets. More than that, he has someone working for him on board the Mjollnir.'

Corso stopped and stared at him. 'Who?'

'His name's Simenon. Martinez's second in command.'

Corso's mask made a harsh metallic sound as he sucked in his breath. 'Damn.'

They started walking again. 'We have people on the frigate, too,' Kenley continued, 'so we have some idea what happened. The quorum sent Simenon a directive that put him in charge and gave him the authority to throw Martinez, and any of his senior officers who didn't comply, in the brig, as well as putting the remains your man Driscoll discovered under lock and key until the Mjollnir got back to Redstone.'

'And you think the Legislate is secretly backing Jarret?'

'I picked up a rumour that the Mjollnir's next stop after here is Sol. A military R amp;D base on Earth's moon went silent a week back, and there's good reason to believe that's where they're going to take the remains of the Atn. They're stopping here first so they can replace the crew with more of their own people.'

'Under Simenon's command, I presume.'

Kenley nodded.

'Idiots, fucking idiots. All this time wasted, and we could have cracked that damn Atn open to see what's inside.'

'The thing I don't understand is why Jarret would get into bed with the Legislate like this,' said Kenley. 'He despises them and everything they stand for. It just doesn't make sense.'

'Look, we're still losing territory to the Uchidans. The whole reason for the expedition to Nova Arctis was because of pressure to found a new Freehold colony. With the whole galaxy potentially open to us, there's now an even bigger pressure to try again somewhere a lot farther away. My commandeering the Mjollnir gave Jarret the perfect excuse to call me out, and, if he wins, jurisdiction over the frigate then passes across to his side of the Senate House. That means control over the terms of settlement, once a new system is located, stays on their side.'

Kenley nodded, understanding. 'And then we'd be out in the cold, wouldn't we? But that still doesn't explain his connection with the Legislate.'

'The Legislate wants the remains Driscoll found, right? With me out of the way, Jarret's going to be within his rights to hand them over. And founding a colony is a very expensive business, remember. Lots of motivation there to climb right into bed with the Legislate and get busy.'

This was assuming Whitecloud had really found something significant, and not just a pile of million-year-old junk. But Corso tried not to think about that possibility too much.

'And you really think the other side of the House is going to just roll over and play dead if you win tonight?'

Corso breathed hard. 'I don't know. Maybe not. But at least, with Jarret out of the way, they're going to have to figure out some other strategy that doesn't make it so damn obvious they're in cahoots with the Legislate.'

'I think you'd better be prepared for the worst, Lucas. Things could get very ugly, even with Jarret dead.'

Corso studied Kenley's face. 'You have something in mind?'

'I think at the very least we should set up safe-houses around Unity. As somewhere we can retreat to if necessary.'

'You really think it'll come to that?'

'Worse things have happened.'

Corso nodded. 'You're talking about another coup?'

Kenley's expression was grim. 'Just tell me one thing. Are you absolutely certain whatever Driscoll found out there wouldn't actually be safer in the Legislate's hands?'

Corso laughed. 'You weren't there in Ocean's Deep, Marcus. It was a total travesty. I don't think the Legislate could have botched it more if they'd tried.'

Kenley reached out and put a hand on Corso's arm, halting him. 'Lucas… were you aware Jarret was trained by Breisch?'

Corso stared at him and remembered what Hilgendorf had said. 'You're certain about this?'

'Very.'

'But Breisch never…' he paused. Breisch never told me. Corso's hands curled into fists at his sides.

'Jarret is the kind of man who prefers not to pick on people his own size, if you follow me, Senator,' Kenley explained. 'He has a reputation for treachery.'

'I know that. But Breisch…'

'The old man has a strong sense of personal ethics, and he was deeply offended by the way Jarret misused the skills he'd learned. He finds people with influence in the Senate and first arranges for the murder of someone very close to them,' Kenley continued. 'Then he leaves just enough clues to show he was responsible, so the target winds up calling him out for a fight. Sound familiar?'

Corso heard a whine like the jaws of a trap shutting tight around him. Bull Northcutt had murdered Corso's fiancee years before, for the exact same reason.

'But why didn't Breisch warn me?'

'Maybe,' Kenley suggested, 'he's hoping you'll kill Jarret for him.'

Harsh, pumping music floated through the air towards them from the direction of the combat ring, and Corso recognized the call. He stared back towards the tent, standing further around the curve of the bay, and decided now was not the time to confront Breisch. Anyway, by now he would be waiting at the combat ring with the rest.

He turned back to Kenley. 'Come on, Marcus. Let's get this over with.' They turned from the shore and headed inland, finding their way along a narrow path trodden through hardy grasses and spiny plants by decades of fighters and their audiences. Corso mentally reviewed his training as they walked. There were certain tricks Breisch had taught him; now he would have to watch out for Jarret using those same ploys against him.

They ascended a steep incline and were dazzled by an eruption of light and music as they reached the crest. A casual observer, with no knowledge of Freehold customs or laws, might have concluded there was a party taking place here; in a sense there was, albeit with a deadly conclusion.

Wagers would be made, small fortunes won and lost. None of it was strictly legal, of course, but old habits died hard, and everyone knew what refusing a challenge entailed.

Huge portable heating units, scattered here and there, pumped out heat, while a speaker system filled the air with crunching martial pop; tales of the Freehold's legendary warriors and their excesses bellowed over a monotonous beat.

The audience for this challenge was sixty to seventy strong. The few women present were either wives and mistresses, or more likely whores flown in for the pleasure of the senators, military officers and hard-faced bureaucrats standing around in anticipation swilling hot beer.

The combat ring itself was a circle of open ground marked by a perimeter of hissing flares pushed deep into the soil. It extended a little over eight metres in diameter, more than enough room for two men to try their damnedest to kill each other.

A muffled cheer went up from dozens of breather-equipped throats when they saw Corso and Kenley approaching. Jarret's entourage considerably outnumbered his own, which comprised a dozen or so of his advisers and various Senate staff gathered together over to one side, a few looking distinctly uneasy. They knew what they would face if Corso died today and there was no one left to protect them in the Senate.

Corso scanned the rest of the crowd until he saw Jarret himself, standing with the bearing of a king returned from a victorious campaign, his arrogance barely masked by the tan-and-silver breather he wore over his lower face.

Corso's own senior Senate staff approached him and he was glad to see Nastazi, Velardo and Griffith all present. These three were the men Corso trusted. The rest were good enough at their jobs, but one or two of them were probably spies.

'McDade's your marshal for the challenge,' declared Nastazi. 'There's even a rumour he pulled strings in order to get the job.'

Corso nodded. 'Well, the man hates my guts, so that's hardly surprising. Anything else I should know before I murder his nephew?'

'There was a move within the Senate to block us from flying out here to witness the fight,' said Griffith, behind whom the flares hissed and spat sparks into the night. 'They cited security measures: a report that the Uchidans had got wind of the fight, and might try a strike against the Aaron peninsula while it's taking place. Be warned, they mean to fight dirty, Senator.'

Corso paused, staring out into the darkness. He was thinking of Dakota, but why had she popped into his head just now? She had already disappeared, swallowed up by the mystery of the Maker, leaving him alone and defenceless as head of the Peacekeeper Authority.

The music peaked, and he listened carefully as the address system was handed over to McDade, who began to list both parties' grievances as a precursor to the challenge itself. The next step would be to offer both himself and Jarret one last chance to back out of the contest.

'Is there any truth to that report?' Corso replied quietly to Griffith. 'Is it likely the Uchidans would use a high-profile challenge like this as an opportunity to carry out a tactical strike while everyone's looking the other way?'

'There are a dozen reports of suspected offensives every day, Senator. I imagine they just picked one of them and blew it up out of proportion. They're trying to make it look like you're disrupting the normal process of Senate business, by making a nuisance of yourself

'I am making a nuisance of myself,' Corso replied. 'That's the whole point.'

Breisch approached, moving with the kind of casual, easy grace that came from years of intensive physical training. Corso drew in a breath, forcing himself to keep calm.

'I gather Mr Kenley's spoken to you about my connection with Jarret,' said Breisch. 'I'm sorry I didn't tell you before.'

Corso couldn't keep the mixture of confusion and anger out of his voice. 'So why didn't you?'

'I made you work harder than you ever have before, Lucas. There's a part of you that always stands back, that refuses to wholly engage with the fight. You've learned, over the past few days, to put that part of yourself to one side and fight without distraction. I cannot emphasize how important a step forward that is. If I'd told you about Jarret, you would have likely fallen into a false belief system, and concluded that Jarret might be more than an even match for you.'

Breisch shook his head. 'Besides, I only trained him for a short while, and he's never picked fights he can't win. But this time is different. He's undoubtedly more skilled than most of those you've faced, but you're more than capable of defeating him.'

Corso took a moment before replying. 'I think I might have done the same in your position, but I need to know I can trust the people around me implicitly.' He reached out and took Breisch's hand and shook it. 'I want to thank you for everything you've taught me, but I won't be requiring your services any more.'

Breisch didn't seem surprised, merely nodded his head fractionally. 'I wish you well, Lucas. You exceeded my expectations.' Then he turned and walked back to join the crowds waiting for the contest to start.

McDade, now finished with his preliminary announcements, jumped down from the marshal's platform and headed over to Corso.

'Senator,' he acknowledged with a nod.

'Mr McDade, I hear you worked quite hard for the chance to be marshal tonight.'

McDade met Corso's gaze easily. 'We may not agree on many things, Senator, but you still deserve the same chance to fight for what you believe in as do any of the rest of us. I can't say I'll be sorry if you lose, but any man prepared to walk into a combat ring deserves respect, whether or not he walks back out of it.'

'Jarret's a known killer. He's murdered people who didn't have a chance of beating him. Are you sure he deserves that level of respect?'

Corso watched as McDade fought to control his temper. 'The Senate floor's the place for debate, Mr Corso,' he replied tautly, his manner suddenly much more formal. 'I'm here in my official capacity as judge and marshal of this challenge, to offer you your final opportunity to back down.'

Corso listened as McDade continued with the familiar litany: 'You may stand down from this challenge, with honour, while waiving your rights to your Senate seat and your family's inheritance. If you decline to do so, the challenge will not end until either yourself or Senator Jarret is formally pronounced deceased. Do you agree to such terms of challenge?'

'I agree to the stated terms, Mr McDade. I am both willing and of sound mind, and wish to challenge Senator Jarret to a duel to the death.'

McDade looked over at Kenley. 'Will you attest that you have heard and witnessed Senator Corso's decision?'

'I attest to the Senator's decision, and uphold his right to participate,' Kenley responded.

McDade nodded. 'Good luck, Senator,' he said finally to Corso, then glanced briefly over at Jarret, with a small smile curling up the corners of his mouth. 'Because you're going to need it this time.'

Corso stared back at him calmly, watching as McDade turned on his heel and went over to read the same terms to Jarret.

'How did it ever happen?' he asked Kenley, over the din of music and voices. 'How did they turn me into one of them?'

Kenley shrugged. 'You said yourself, the only way to beat them was at their own game. Besides, the way you're going, most of the opposition is going to wind up dead before long.'

Corso grinned at this. The copters and trucks formed dark silhouettes against the evening sky as he looked west, towards the great swell of the ocean beyond the shore, and spotted the figure of a woman standing well apart from the rest, too far outside the pools of illumination cast by the lights for him to make her out clearly.

Somebody shouted for quiet, and people began shushing each other. The music was replaced by an angry buzzing sound as it was turned off.

McDade strode to the centre of the combat circle, and began. 'This Challenge takes place regardless of the legal restrictions placed on us by the Consortium trade treaties, and is therefore not officially recognized by our Senate.' His amplified voice rolled out across the hills beyond the canopy tree. 'However, we here, every last one of us, will attest to the God-given rights of the victor as derived from the ancient precepts of our society. We came here to escape the bloodless atheism of the Consortium and the moral corruption of our fellow human beings. We came here to build a society of warriors willing to fight for their right to participate in our democracy, and who do not constantly live in fear of death. It is my firm belief – McDade was clearly happy for this opportunity to lecture Corso and his entourage – 'that justice and might will win out this evening, and that we will overcome our oppressors and those who stand against us, for together we are strong, and they are weak.'

A huge cheer went up from the crowd gathered around Senator Jarret.

'This challenge,' McDade continued, 'takes place because Senator Corso chose to commandeer our proud flagship the Mjollnir for reasons that have never been properly explained nor justified to the Senate's satisfaction. Since Senator Corso has refused to relinquish his Senate seat, and until these questions have been answered to the satisfaction of all, Senator Jarret has asked that the two of them should meet in a challenge of deadly combat. Is there anyone here with reason to believe this contest should not take place?'

There was, of course, no answer.

'All right, then,' McDade finished up. 'This is a senatorial contest, and the winner can, in turn, be challenged at any time by any citizen or non-citizen who chooses to do so.'

Corso returned his attention to Jarret and his memory flashed back to the time he had similarly faced Bull Northcutt on the shores of Fire Lake. Both men were of a piece: hair shaved close to the skull, active subdermal tattoos that recorded previous kills in graphic detail, and thickly overdeveloped muscles that hinted at steroid abuse. Jarret had stripped down to a pair of loose camouflage-style trousers and a light shirt that clung to his augmented musculature. His exposed skin glistened with thick grease that would be good for keeping the cold out for a few extra seconds. Clearly the man was gambling on an early win.

At that point, McDade stepped out of the ring and removed an antique pistol from within his own bulky winter gear. Following their cues, Jarret and Corso both stepped just inside the ring's perimeter. Two long, curved knives lay, crossed over each other, at the ring's precise centre.

McDade raised the pistol high over his head, its barrel pointing upwards. 'On my mark,' his voice boomed over the sound system.

Corso pulled off his heavy coat and threw it outside the circle. His skin wasn't greased, but he wore a tight, long-sleeved tunic made from layers of fibre that efficiently contained his body heat. Already the cold bit savagely at the exposed skin of his neck and face where it wasn't covered by the breather mask.

McDade fired a single shot high into the air, then retreated quickly back into the crowd.

Corso sprang forward, as if someone had sent an electric jolt through his body. Jarret simultaneously threw himself towards the knives and grabbed one.

It was the obvious first move for both of them to make, and Corso had been gambling on this. Instead of reaching for a knife, he aimed one booted foot at Jarret's head, connecting with a dull smack. But Jarret saw it coming at the last second, and responded by slashing out low with his newly acquired weapon, aiming for Corso's thigh and the delicate femoral arteries.

Corso jumped back out of reach, the blade missing him by millimetres. Jarret came up fast and they faced each other warily, both now oblivious to the baying of the audience.

Jarret was undoubtedly daring and vicious. For all his accustomed bluster and swagger on the Senate floor, he was now thinking strategically, his movements considered and economical, despite the intense violence of the moment.

Breisch had taught Corso that it was not always necessary to go straight for a weapon; the overwhelming desire of one's opponent to get hold of one was another weakness to be exploited. From personal experience, Corso knew that it was a move that could end challenges in seconds rather than minutes. However, instead of disabling his opponent, Corso's opening ploy had left him on the defensive, and lacking a weapon of his own.

Jarret came towards him fast, moving his knife in swift patterns through the air to make it harder to block. Corso feinted to one side, then managed to grab Jarret's knife-hand before flopping on to his back.

Jarret was pulled along with him, and as Corso hit the ground he shoved both feet into his opponent's stomach, so that the momentum of the fall carried Jarret over the top of his head. Corso meanwhile kept a tight grip on Jarret's hand and wrist, twisting hard.

Sharp grit dug into Corso's back even as he caught sight of Jarret's pained, tight-clenched expression as he rolled past him. The man's knife-hand was seriously injured now, placing him at a serious disadvantage.

A soft murmur arose from the watching crowd, and Corso estimated they were already almost a minute into the challenge.

He got himself back upright, surreptitiously scooping a small handful of dust and grit into his left hand. He found he was now close to the centre of the combat arena, the remaining knife within easy reach. He took it, and found Jarret ready facing him once more, his own blade now grasped in his weaker left hand. By now the cold would be seeping in past the dense grease coating his skin, sapping his strength. Corso could feel it too: an icy numbness spreading through his arms, while slowly and inexorably weakening him.

Corso caught sight once more of that same lone figure standing well back from the howling mob of onlookers. It seemed impossible, but in that moment he felt certain it was Dakota.

He went on the attack, moving in fast, and gratified to see Jarret take a defensive step backwards in response. Corso swung his knife towards his opponent's head, but Jarret ducked easily, and attempted to parry left-handed. Corso dodged the blade and threw the handful of grit straight into Jarret's eyes.

As Jarret backed off, something slithered across his eyes. Corso realized that he had artificial nictitating membranes – secondary eyelids. He had hoped to blind his opponent, but the ploy had not worked.

Corso covered his brief disappointment by going on the attack once more. Jarret stood his ground, blocking Corso's stabbing thrust and taking the opportunity to punch him hard in the throat. Corso jerked back, ignoring the pain, and moved in close to his rival once again.

When he had the chance, he grabbed hold of Jarret's injured hand once again, and twisted it as hard as possible.

Jarret's teeth clenched in agony, then Corso felt something slice through the flesh over his ribcage. He twisted away, but did not dare spare a glance down in case Jarret took advantage of his distraction.

At least two minutes had passed, and the fight became more desperate, Jarret feinting towards Corso, then kicking out hard once he was close enough. Corso neatly avoided the kick and threw himself forward, trying for a chance at Jarret's jugular. Instead Jarret managed a successful slash at Corso's back, scoring a deep flesh wound.

They hit the ground together, Corso on top. Jarret lost his grip on his knife once again and it spun out of reach. Corso tried to get in close with his own blade, but Jarret fought furiously, pressing the heel of one hand against Corso's face while maintaining a grip on his knife-hand with the other.

A deep thrumming began to fill Corso's ears at the same moment he realized most of the blood staining the ground immediately around them was his own. He had to finish it right now, or he was going to die.

He let go of his knife and used his feet to propel himself in an arc over the top of Jarret's head that landed him on his back, head to head with his opponent on the frozen soil. Then he quickly reached up and wrapped both arms around Jarret's neck before the other had a chance to twist out of the way. Corso sat up quickly, digging the heels of his boots into the hard soil and pulling Jarret after him, twisting his neck backwards.

Jarret struggled and let out a gargling scream, then there was a terrible, sickening crunch as his neck snapped. He twitched spasmodically for a few moments and then fell still. Corso released him and struggled back to his feet, before retrieving one of the knives and stabbing it into the ground to signal the end of the challenge.

Kenley and some of Corso's staff darted forward, grabbing hold of him before he crumpled to his knees. His entire body now felt like it was on fire. As if from a great distance, he heard McDade call out the duration of the fight: three minutes and twelve seconds, Corso's longest-lasting challenge yet.

The air was filled with shouting and booing from Jarret's angry supporters – as well as from those who had bet on the wrong man.

'Close,' Corso mumbled, half aware of Kenley's face near to his own. 'Too close.'

'You'll be fine. The doctor's ready to stitch you up now.'

As they carried him out of the combat ring, he looked around again to see if he could spot Dakota – but she had vanished, if she had ever been there at all.

Corso was gently heaved on to a stretcher, and realized Breisch was holding one end of it. He was then lifted into the back of an aid-copter originally used for ferrying injured soldiers out of the battlefield.

'Put him down now. The rest of you, outside,' he heard Breisch order. 'Everyone but the doctors.'

Someone pushed a needle into his arm and Corso tasted peppermint on his tongue. Two faces hovered within view, as he saw scissors cutting away his shirt, revealing a wound in his side which was much deeper than he had realized.

For a little while, everything seemed to get increasingly far away.

'Second wound's on his other side,' he heard a doctor say. 'We'll have to turn him. Ready… now.'

Everything got dark.