Read Online My Life: An Ex-Quarterback's Adventures in the Galactic Empire by Colin Alexander - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Colin Alexander
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he did. He charged me, arms out to grab me with his outsized hands. I ducked, spun and slipped by him, a maneuver with which I’d had much practice.
Clutching air instead of me, he lost his balance, stumbled and sprawled forward on hands and knees. I was past him, but immediately I saw that the accomplishment was worthless. There are very few large, open areas on a starship that aren’t meant for cargo. This is especially true on a warship. Either Srihani don’t like congregating in groups or the crew are, like submariners, a selected population. Regardless, the mess was one of those few areas and it had been quite full. When the fight started, the crew spread out to give us room. The result was two rows of crew standing in front of the exit. They were obviously eager to watch a fight and I doubted they would step aside to let me out. If I had tried, they would probably have tossed me back at Kolgorinn.
The time I took to make that assessment cost me a chance to kick him while he was down. He was back on his feet, looking a bit more wary, as I faced him again.
This time he advanced on me deliberately, the way a boxer works to cut down the space his opponent can work in. Once he had closed the gap between us, he struck out with a series of rights and lefts. There was no finesse to his attack, just brute force, but there was a lot of force. I was able to block the punches, giving ground as I did so, but I had no opportunity to counterpunch.
Usually, if you block a punch with a hard blow against the inside or outside of your opponent’s arm, you’ll create an opening for yourself. Most people aren’t ready for that to happen and that split second, while they are realizing what you’ve done, is enough time to step in and hit them. Even if there’s no chance at first, the blows against the punching arms will weaken them. Neither seemed to be happening with Kolgorinn. The punches kept coming in closely spaced flurries and it was all I could do to keep him off of me. The barrage effectively prevented me from attacking him and, sooner or later, one of those pile drivers was going to plaster me against a wall.
Trying to trade punches wasn’t going to be the solution. With that in mind, I stepped back deeply when he threw his next right, just leaving a soft left-handed block to guard my face. I had stepped too far away for him to reach me with the punch, which gave me the time I wanted. It was too far even for his long arm, but my leg was longer than his arm. My weight shifted to the forward foot and I brought the right leg back around in a roundhouse kick. It was a gorgeous kick, if I do say so myself. It connected solidly with his upper chest, knocking him backward several paces. But he didn’t go down. He spat on the floor between us and checked the motion in his shoulder. I was astonished. I could swear there had been a crack when the kick landed, but he just seemed to shrug it off. Maybe he was high, or maybe he was too stupid to know he’d been hurt, it didn’t matter. How was I going to put him down? Conceivably, I could have tried repeating the performance on his head, but frankly, I had better chances of going back to Dallas and playing football.
That was when Angel yelled, “Hey, Danny, here!”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him toss something to me. I grabbed it by reflex, without really seeing what it was. It turned out to be a knife. Actually, knife is too mild a term. The thing was called a dushuku, a weapon with a six-inch blade of incredibly hard alloy. Driven by enough force, a dushuku could punch through steel plate. Rooted along the spine of the blade was a row of flexible barbs. On the way in, they would lie down flat along the blade. When it was pulled back, though, they would splay out against resistance. You could rip a sizable chunk out of a body with a single thrust.
The sight of the dushuku stopped Kolgorinn in his tracks. It stopped me, too. Angel, doubtless, would have rushed in and
Clutching air instead of me, he lost his balance, stumbled and sprawled forward on hands and knees. I was past him, but immediately I saw that the accomplishment was worthless. There are very few large, open areas on a starship that aren’t meant for cargo. This is especially true on a warship. Either Srihani don’t like congregating in groups or the crew are, like submariners, a selected population. Regardless, the mess was one of those few areas and it had been quite full. When the fight started, the crew spread out to give us room. The result was two rows of crew standing in front of the exit. They were obviously eager to watch a fight and I doubted they would step aside to let me out. If I had tried, they would probably have tossed me back at Kolgorinn.
The time I took to make that assessment cost me a chance to kick him while he was down. He was back on his feet, looking a bit more wary, as I faced him again.
This time he advanced on me deliberately, the way a boxer works to cut down the space his opponent can work in. Once he had closed the gap between us, he struck out with a series of rights and lefts. There was no finesse to his attack, just brute force, but there was a lot of force. I was able to block the punches, giving ground as I did so, but I had no opportunity to counterpunch.
Usually, if you block a punch with a hard blow against the inside or outside of your opponent’s arm, you’ll create an opening for yourself. Most people aren’t ready for that to happen and that split second, while they are realizing what you’ve done, is enough time to step in and hit them. Even if there’s no chance at first, the blows against the punching arms will weaken them. Neither seemed to be happening with Kolgorinn. The punches kept coming in closely spaced flurries and it was all I could do to keep him off of me. The barrage effectively prevented me from attacking him and, sooner or later, one of those pile drivers was going to plaster me against a wall.
Trying to trade punches wasn’t going to be the solution. With that in mind, I stepped back deeply when he threw his next right, just leaving a soft left-handed block to guard my face. I had stepped too far away for him to reach me with the punch, which gave me the time I wanted. It was too far even for his long arm, but my leg was longer than his arm. My weight shifted to the forward foot and I brought the right leg back around in a roundhouse kick. It was a gorgeous kick, if I do say so myself. It connected solidly with his upper chest, knocking him backward several paces. But he didn’t go down. He spat on the floor between us and checked the motion in his shoulder. I was astonished. I could swear there had been a crack when the kick landed, but he just seemed to shrug it off. Maybe he was high, or maybe he was too stupid to know he’d been hurt, it didn’t matter. How was I going to put him down? Conceivably, I could have tried repeating the performance on his head, but frankly, I had better chances of going back to Dallas and playing football.
That was when Angel yelled, “Hey, Danny, here!”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him toss something to me. I grabbed it by reflex, without really seeing what it was. It turned out to be a knife. Actually, knife is too mild a term. The thing was called a dushuku, a weapon with a six-inch blade of incredibly hard alloy. Driven by enough force, a dushuku could punch through steel plate. Rooted along the spine of the blade was a row of flexible barbs. On the way in, they would lie down flat along the blade. When it was pulled back, though, they would splay out against resistance. You could rip a sizable chunk out of a body with a single thrust.
The sight of the dushuku stopped Kolgorinn in his tracks. It stopped me, too. Angel, doubtless, would have rushed in and
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