Cathy entered the room, there was a large crowd that had gathered, some chanting the name of their chosen fighter – the crowd fairly evenly split between Jim and herself. Her gaze fixed on the ring as she strode up to it, her hands clenching and unclenching as she walked. Charlie was already there, a picture of worry on his face, as a former doctor as well as former officer of the Falcon he likely didn’t see a need for this.
She walked past him, squeezing his shoulder and giving him a quick smile as she strode past. Next in her sights was Jack, he was leaning against a pole, his eyes following her athletic frame as she started to move past him.
“Hang on a sec, Duster, you have something on your front.” he smiled, grabbing her arm.
“Where?” she asked, looking at his brown eyes.
“Right-” he lent forward and gave her a deep kiss, holding her close for a moment, before releasing, “There.”
The Marswoman smiled broadly and replied,
“Ah, I see, thank you Lieutenant.”
This was a fight that had been brewing for years; an argument that was never settled between the Captain and his former Executive Officer. Each had their reason for the fist fight; Cathy had protested against the mission and left the ship swiftly and Jim had watched his Executive Officer disrespect him and his mission orders in front of the senior staff. The two had remained apart for many years, due to serving on different ships. But, when word spread that the Falcon and Andes would be in the same starbase at the same time, it was a matter of time before the Marswoman and Earthling agreed to settle their differences.
She turned and continued her walk to the ring. Stepping in she saw J’het and nodded, moving towards her mentor and ‘coach’. With a bow of the head, she acknowledged the Vulcan’s presence and stood on her side of the ring, waiting for Hawthorn. As always, the Marswoman was calm, yet her eyes carried a fire, ready for this fight.
She was wearing loose fitting trouser pants, similar to her usual gi pants, and a strapless top. Scars could be seen partly on her back, faint lines on her elbow and, when the light caught it, a vague line across her temple. Her hands were bound lightly in cloth, but the rest of her was unprotected. As she brushed the hair behind her ear, the doors opened from the other side and Jim Hawthorn walked out.
He seemed taller than Cathy remembered, and it looked like he had been working out in preparation for this fight. His head was held high, triumphant and confident, just like he always had been. Jim stopped to wink at Brian Rogare, his current XO, then proceeded to enter the ring. His chosen ‘coach’ was none other than Sturnok Val, the smirking half-Vulcan who had stood by his captain for many years.
The crowd was straining to make each of their voices heard, phrases like ‘Take him the dusty plains, Raiser.’ and ‘Show this girl how its done, Hawthorn‘ rang through the air, as the referee motioned the fighters forward. Cathy’s gaze did not flinch as she stared into her former Captain’s eyes, grateful inside that they would finally get to sort out this issue. To make things fair, they had opted to use Viktor Dimetriev as the referee, the large Russian more than happily obliging.
“How’s the knee, Cathy?” Jim asked, but the voice carried no concern.
“Better than ever, Jim.” she replied as Viktor began reciting the rules, what little there were of them. There would be no biting, scratching nor foul play, winner was the last person standing.
With a brief shake of the hands, they stepped back, Cathy making a short bow and Jim just nodding. The bell rang out clearly and they began, Jim adopting a more boxer’s stance and Cathy taking an open handed, karate stance. There was that accomplished look on Jim’s face, making Cathy’s face twitch slightly in annoyance. She would wipe that smirk off his face.
Come on, you bastard. She thought as they circled, her mind was calm and focussed; and, surprisingly, it looked like Jim was just as calm, but the way his hands kept opening and closing said something different.
With a brutish swing, Jim used his height and power, launching a series of boxing jabs towards Cathy’s face. She stepped out the way, blocking most of them with her arms, letting the forearms absorb the blows. Timing was important as her right fist found the gap in his jabs, striking him lightly on the nose, enough for him to slow his attack. As he took a slight step back, Cathy delivered a strong front kick to his midsection, Jim making an audible grunt.
She waited for him to recover, noticing his face turning red from the attack. Flashing a brief smile, her face dropped back to seriousness. As he swung again, she grabbed his hand and pulled him towards her, hitting him hard in the short ribs. But instead of letting go, he reversed the grip and pulled her over his large back. Unable to compensate for this new direction, Cathy flew over his broad back, landing right leg first. The leg twisted slightly, and collapsed under her weight as she remembered to roll. There was hardly time for her to assess the possible injury as Jim charged her while she was still trying to stand, forcing her onto her back as she kicked upwards with her left leg.
The foot connected with his nose, making a satisfying crunch as the cartilage broke.
“You Duster!” he snarled, as he stumbled back.
Despite the twinges of pain, she managed to stand and look at him.
“You deserve every little thing that -urgh.” she had spent so much time talking she did not see the left hook as it collided with her temple. The second punch connected her chin as quickly as the first one and it was only the third one that she managed to block as she moved back towards the ropes. He constantly alternated between punching her face and her midsection, the blows she missed, striking her hard in the ribs – making it burn in pain.
Using her force and instinct her hands shot out in a palm heel strike, hitting Jim hard in the mid-section. Jim took a step back and then laughed,
“Silly, Raiser. You missed, you have gotten soft.” he taunted as he gestured for her to come closer.
Cathy looked up at him, a trickle of blood running down the side of her head. There was a tinge of anger that was surfacing, making her heart pound more. Grimacing she started to take steps forward, her right leg wobbling and struggling to keep her posture upright. That voice needed to be silenced, permanently if need be.
Her second wind was blindingly fast, her fists moving faster than he could defend. The knuckles crushed his ribs, the midsection contorting to get away from the power and the head snapping to the side as she struck hard and true. Her hand flew forward, straight for his throat, but changing at the last minute, striking his eye. He fell heavily to the ground, but there was blood on the Marswoman’s mind as she stepped forward, about to continue the fight.
A hand touched her shoulder, making her rage turn to someone else. It was Viktor and he was saying “Stop.”. For a moment, the beast in her refused to believe the words, then, she dropped her raised fist.
She stumbled back, hanging almost entirely on the ropes as the medical officer jumped into the ring.
You deserve much more than this, Jim… she thought, her face still twisted in a snarl. The medical man did his scan and shook his head.
“The winner of this match, Commander Raiser.” Viktor rumbled.
J’het jumped in, a broad smile on her face as she lifted Cathy’s hand in victory. The Marswoman stumbled but managed a smile for the crowd. Only then did she hear the crowd again, some were cheering, others groaning. It was over. She felt… better… and perhaps a bit weak.
Tags: charlie walter, creative writing, j'het, raiser
