Zero Sum (7 page)

Monique stiffened. “Sir?”

“Cluck-cluck-cluck, Capitán Rice. I teach you to survive. Time to survive. I am a threat. Crush the threat.”

“Then I’ll do it my—”

“No. No. No,” Spinoza tisked. “Capitán Pollitos, the brain does the thinking, the fists do the fighting. Choose a subordinate.”

Monique’s eyes darted around. Sweat beaded on her brow. I wondered what the deal was. This was just training. Why was Monique so worried? Her jaw tensed and she looked down at the floor.

“Sheila, go,” she ordered.

Sheila didn’t seem bothered. “Full contact?” she asked Spinoza.

“Of course. We fight to incapacitate. You must call your offensive shots, but there are no other rules. Everyone else, get the hell out of our circle.”

I backed up. This was a first. I’d never seen a duel before. Jules never let me go watch the sparing sessions. (Said it would give me bad ideas.) Sure, I’d read up on the dueling tradition, but books can’t really capture this sort of thing. I knew that distance mattered. Classic mages liked to cast from far away. It gave them the time they needed to focus. A minority preferred close contact casting. Those mages were called cataphracts. Still others used exotic techniques like fortifications and golems. There was one constant, though: all the books agreed that casting speed was paramount. If you were too slow on your casts, you were toast before you started.

Spinoza and Sheila stood ten meters apart on the naked cement. Spinoza held his clipboard in his left hand and slid his pencil behind his ear. He paced laterally as Sheila began a chain of rapid fortifications. I recognized the anti-kinetic charm she placed on her robe, but the rest of her series went too fast for me to track. I swallowed. If I were fighting Sheila, that wouldn’t be good. You need to read your opponents casts to counter them.

“Don’t mind the mages, Dieter,” Jules said quietly. “Mind the mana.”
 

I nodded. Jules was right. I had an asset I wasn’t using. I primed my Sight and observed their auras. In a blur, Sheila was off. Not as fast as Rei, but quick enough to leave my eyes in the dust. One of the casts must have been for a spell called Burst. It enhanced your speed but cost you some agility. Sheila moved diagonal to Spinoza forcing him to exert effort and pivot. I watched as the air around Sheila’s hands compressed. With a jolt, she shifted, cutting towards him with a second Burst, and called out, “Vento!” My ears popped as the air rushed forward. Sheila thrust both her palms forward. The motion unleashed a surge of wind at Spinoza’s core.
 

The alguacil shifted one foot back and extended his clipboard edge first. “Cortada,” he called, and the incoming gust split in two. With his free hand, Spinoza grasped onto his flapping coat. In the midst of the gale, he called out, “Ocultada,” and shifted his feet wide. My eyes locked onto Spinoza’s fluttering coat. How could he cast anything while he was holding onto it? Was he going to fortify it or something? I frowned. I’d lost sight of his aura too. It was almost as though he’d…

“Dodge!” I screamed, but it was far too late. The coat was already fluttering to the ground. A voice announced, “Martillo,” from high above. A dummy! I flinched upwards to see Spinoza, foot extended, completing his flip. He brought the heel of his boot down on top of Sheila’s left tennis shoe. Bones crunched. Sheila yelped as Spinoza followed through with a sweeping kick to her uninjured right ankle.
 

Her balance shattered, Sheila toppled.
 

Spinoza shifted upward, palmed Sheila’s head, and accelerated her fall.

Roster let out a gasp as Sheila’s head met the padded cement.
 

My jaw dropped. Sheila’s head…
bounced
.

“Jesus Christ!” Sadie screamed. “What the fuck!”

Sheila twitched once and went still. Unaffected, Spinoza walked over and picked up his jacket. The long garment’s interior was lined with a silvery mesh. Chainmail, I realized. Redoing the top two buttons, he turned in the direction of the double doors and whistled. Two men in DEA sweats came jogging over with a stretcher.

“Be sure to check for a hematoma, yes?” Spinoza said to the men.
 

The two of them carried her away.

“What the hell was that?” Monique roared. Her hands trembled as she spoke.

“That, Capitán Rice, was a failure. What have we learned, pollitos?”
 

No one answered. We all were looking at Monique.

Spinoza shrugged his shoulders. “I tell you then: 1) attacks must always be faster than counters, 2) you mustn’t become distracted from your objective, 3) you can never assume your fortifications are sufficient, and 4) for the love of the Padre, pollitos, stay on your feet! Next choice, capitán.”

“This is insane,” Monique stuttered. “This is insane.”

“And life is not?” Spinoza asked.

“I’ll go,” Roster said, striding forward.

“Good man. Come as you wish.”

Roster called, “Burst!” and shot forward.

I blinked. His body flashed from stride to stride like a series of still images. He covered twice the distance that he should have. Each step was like a shotgun blast. At half the distance, Roster shifted low, called, “Amass!” and a molten metal coating enveloped both of his hands. Two steps from his target, Roster pivoted to strike.

“Wow,” I whispered to Jules. I’d no idea Roster was so strong.

Jules shook her head. “Too linear.”

Spinoza stood at the ready. His eyes were focused on Roster’s fists. Extending one hand, Spinoza repeated Roster’s cast. “Amass.”
 

Roster’s momentum shifted. He stumbled forward.

“What’s the…?” I asked.

“Nothin’ is easier than amplifying a cast,” Jules explained. “He shoulda waited till he was closer.”

“Oh.” Spinoza had simply doubled the weight of the metal. He’d turned Roster’s weapons into a pair of shackles. The Alguacil strode over to Roster as the big man struggled to stand back up.
 

“Martillo,” he announced.

Monique screamed as Spinoza brought the point of his elbow down on Roster’s shoulder blade.

Another sharp crack sounded, and Roster grunted in muffled anguish.

“My God!” Spinoza said picking up his clipboard. “No wonder you lose this silly war.” He leaned over Roster who was writhing on the ground. “Idiot boy. If you can cast with nothing but your hands, do not cast a spell
that confines
your hands.” He smacked Roster on the back of his head and turned to Monique. “And you. Do you know anything of tactics?”
 

Monique was in tears. She covered her mouth as Roster curled up in pain.
 

Spinoza slammed his clipboard on the ground. “Do you?” he shouted.

“Yes,” Monique managed.

“Then why did you send cataphracts to do the work of artillerymen?”

Monique looked at Spinoza in confusion.

“What am I?” he asked.

“A…a hunter.”

“And?”

“I…” Monique wiped the tears from her eyes. “I don’t know what you mean.”
 

I’d never seen Monique act this way before. Even after Lucas’ death, she’d been like a rock. Now her entire body was shaking. Spinoza didn’t sympathize. He was going red with fury instead.

“Ichijo Fukimura,” he shouted. “For the love of the Padre, demonstrate proper form.”

Fukimura was sitting quietly off to the side. “Hai.” The waif-like exchange student had a way of fading into the background. He rose, bowed, and walked toward Spinoza. He bowed again. And again. And—

“Enough,” Spinoza ordered. “Begin.”
 

“Bounce,” Fukimura called. With a rush, he catapulted twenty feet into the air flipping backwards. On his descent he called out, “Mato,” and flicked his right hand at Spinoza.

“Burst!” Spinoza shouted, shifting into a dead sprint. “Burst, burst, burst!”

In mid-air, Fukimura extended one hand, fingers up. “Wana,” he called.
 

Spinoza flinched at the word but kept on chugging forward.

Fukimura landed gingerly, still tracking Spinoza’s dash with his half-clenched hand. He closed his eyes and flicked his wrist downward. “Teiryuu,” he announced.

Apparently unaffected by the cast, Spinoza continued running—and then smacked into nothing. He bounced backwards as if he had struck a springy wall. Rubbing his nose, he smiled, crossed his arms, and plopped down on his ass. “Goodness, gracious, great balls of fire, Mr. Fukimura. You’ve gotten faster.” He turned to Lambda’s captain. “Now do you see Ms. Rice?”

His hand still extended, Fukimura tilted his head. “With respect, Mr. Spinoza, I must keep you in there until you reverse that.”

Spinoza’s smile broadened. He waved his hand and multiple invisible compressions of matter appeared before him. I looked on in amazement. Spinoza had somehow prepped a batch of projectiles without me even noticing. With another flick of his hand he dissolved them into nothingness.

“Hey, Spinoza, that’s cheap,” yelled Sadie. “You didn’t call that attack.”

“No, Sadie,” Fukimura replied. “He called Burst many times. Burst is a word with many meanings. It can mean to increase speed, yes? But in older English it meant to barrage an opponent with a weapon.”

“Now if we could get on with things…” Spinoza interjected. He was still sitting Indian style on the floor.

“Hai.” Fukimura waved his hand and released Spinoza from confinement.

Spinoza waved his hand as well. Fukimura’s head snapped backwards, firecracker shards dancing this way and that. He’d been hiding another primed spell. Within a flutter of robes, Fukimura collapsed to the ground. Spinoza stood, shaking his head in disappointment. “Fukimura, I said fight to incapacitate. In combat, this has only
one
meaning.”

“But he told you to dispel them,” Monique objected.

“And Spinoza did,” Jules replied. “He hit Ichi with the ‘balls-o-fire’ cast.”

The two men from the DEA had just finished delivering Roster to a cot. They huffed back over and picked up Fukimura’s limp frame. They certainly were getting their exercise.

I clenched my fists. I let my fingernails dig deep into the scar tissue. Standing on the sidelines sucked—and this guy was really starting to piss me off. Better late then never, I decided. I went to step forward—only to find resistance coming from the back of my shirt. Jules was pinning me in place. I turned to glare at her, but she didn’t flinch.

“You’re outa yer depth, Dieter.”

I put my hands up in surrender.
 

Dante had no such governess. He was boiling in place. But with his arm still locked in a sling, he was even more useless than I was. I felt really bad for him.

Spinoza examined his clipboard. “Sadie Thompson. Talented in defense against hexes, et cetera and so forth. Useless in an assault. Maria Espinosa. Still likes to talk to ponies, I see. He looked left and right. No ponies here. Monique Rice. The best PsyOps prospect of her class—and more than useless. Ms. Rice, you couldn’t lead lemmings to a cliff. Jay Dante. Where is Jay—”

Dante flashed into being behind Spinoza. He was already directing an elbow to the back of Spinoza’s neck. He connected clean.

Spinoza doubled over. His pencil skittered across the floor.

Dante said, “No offensive magic. No call.”

I raised an eyebrow.
Oh snap.
 

Dante pressed his advantage, lunging forward to deliver another blow. Spinoza tossed his clipboard behind him, forcing Dante to dodge. He grasped one side of his coat and flung it upwards, blocking Dante’s line of sight. In the single second that motion bought him, Spinoza cupped his free hand and uttered, “Vento.” He delivered the blast straight through his armored coat, directly into Dante’s midsection. Dante was catapulted into the air. He came crashing down on his wounded right shoulder and cried out in pain. The fresh fracture completely overwhelmed him. He looked like he was going to gag.

“That does it,” I growled. “Bring it, Spinoza.” I leaned forward to storm towards him, and found my shoes glued to the ground. My lower body was frozen in place. I looked down at my feet. Three circles. Three hastily drawn circles…I glared at Jules. She was hiding her chalk stained hands in her pockets and staring absently at the ceiling.

“Now
that
is what I call an incapacitation,” Spinoza said. “Excellent work, Ms. Nelson.” Spinoza put his jacket back on and headed to the stairwell. “That’s enough for today. Have a wonderful weekend, and I’ll see you all bright and early on Monday morning. Tata, pollitos.” He paused. “Oh, and Ms. Rice? Consider resigning.”
 

Spinoza walked out the door. His foot steps up the stairs mixed with the groans of my friends. Monique walked off toward the other end of the cavern. Sadie and Maria rushed over to help Dante. He still looked like he was going to pass out, but he did his best to bear it. Jules headed over to check on the other three members of Lambda that were now on injured reserve. I went to follow her.

“Hey! Um, Jules, could you break this binding, please?”

“Figure it out yerself, ya focker.”

I tugged at me feet. “Um, Jules?” I squeaked.
 

Jules kept on walking.

Not good. After all those coffee-pancakes, I really needed to pee.

Chapter 4

HE DID WHAT?

“Yea, right there,” I said.
 

The DEA medic nodded and secured the ice to my shoulder with layer after layer of plastic film. “You said this happened less than two days ago?”

“Yup. She tugged it right out. Vampire strong. Dieter weak. So it goes.”

“Normally, I’d immobilize it, but this doesn’t look so bad,” the medic replied. “No heavy lifting. Keep up the ice and ibuprofen, and you’ll be fine.” He cut the last of the wrap and taped it in place. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have another bone to fuse.” He stood and rolled his neck. “Fucking hunters…” Roster and Dante were in pretty bad shape. Roster’s scapula was shattered and Dante had re-fractured his clavicle.
 

As the medic walked off, Jules pounced.