Steve Perry - Matador 7 - Brother Death

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Brother Death

By Steve Perry

Chapter ONE

DEATH GAME FOR Bork's sister during the party.

On Muto Kato there was a ceremony designed to welcome babies to life, dating from the time when a

local disease made human pregnancies difficult. It was not so much a religious thing as a social

gathering that allowed people in those unhappy times a peek at the lucky family and, of course, the new

baby. In the hundreds of years that had passed since the infertile period, the ceremony had become a

tradition. It was called Baby Day.

Bork stood between his sister, Tazzimi, and his wife, Veate, who held their three-month-old son Saval

Antoon. They were part of a crowd of perhaps ten thousand parents holding most of the babies born

locally since the last such gathering. Eighty meters in front of them a raised platform held several

dignitaries, one of whom was making opening remarks to the assembled.

Muto Kato's bright sun shined down temperately and the air was filled with the sharp gingerspice smell

that came with spring on this continent. Flowers bloomed, trees greened thicker, the cycle of the seasons

renewed itself. There might be nicer places in the galaxy, but not many.

The baby's maternal grandparents, Emile Khadaji and Juete, were supposedly crossing Daito's

fairgrounds at that moment to join their daughter and son-in-law, as well as to meet for the first time

Bork's sister. Taz had come all the way from Tembo and her job as a cool to see her new nephew.

Ten meters away from Bork, a man focused his attention upon them. Bork felt the gaze almost as a

physical pressure, and he shifted his big frame but slightly to see the cause. At nearly two meters tall and

a hundred and twenty-five kilos on this world, shifting his frame without drawing attention took some

skill; fortunately, matadors had such training-you didn't get to be one of the best bodyguards in the

worlds of men without learning a few dance steps.

The man was paying most of his attention to Taz, Bork saw, and that was unusual. Taz was a striking

woman, sure enough, tall and muscular as were most mues of their kind, and certainly interesting to look

upon. But with Veate standing there breast-feeding a sleepy baby, watching anyone else ought to be

almost impossible. Veate was an Albino Exotic, and she commanded attention in the same way that a

sudden explosion commanded it. Everybody looked at Veate, some with more subtlety than others, but if

the eyes worked and she was around, they would fasten their gaze upon her eventually.

Only, this guy was staring at Taz as though she were the most fascinating thing on the planet.

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Something wrong with that.

Bork moved nonchalantly but carefully to put himself between the watching man and Veate. His wife

seemed intent on listening to the speech and making sure their son was getting fed properly. She didn't

glance at Bork, but she did put one hand out to lightly touch his arm, as if to make sure he was really

there.

The man flicked a look at him, but resumed his watch of Tazzimi after no more than a couple of

heartbeats.

Quietly Bork said, "Taz, there's a guy about ten meters to your left staring a hole through you. Anybody

you know?"

His sister didn't appear to hear him, but she said, "Nope. Never seen him before. I figured he was just

enjoying your wife's bare breast more than he ought to."

"Far as I can tell, it's you he's interested in."

The man took a deep breath. A fine sweat had broken out on his face.

"And he's gathering himself to move, too," Bork said.

"Yeah. Might be a problem."

"Left my spetsdods at home. I don't wear 'em much these days."

"My service gun is under a peace seal at customs," Taz said. She thought about it for a second. "Maybe

I'll just go get us something nice and cold to drink," she said.

"Good idea."

If the guy meant trouble, and if he were armed, better he should follow Taz away from this crowd of

parents and babies. Bork didn't want to think about who might get hurt if some psychoballoo started

shooting around here.

Taz headed toward the refreshment stands on the edge of the fairgrounds. She got about five meters

away, turned toward Bork and said loudly, "You wanted greenfruit juice, right?"

"Right," Bork called back. He turned away and pretended to look again at the speaker up front.

Adrenaline bubbled in him as he catalogued the man. He was average enough, not quite as large as Taz

herself. She'd go maybe one hundred and eighty-three centimeters and eighty, eighty-two kilos here, he

figured. The guy didn't have any obvious ethnic lines that leaped out at Bork. He was medium dark,

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somewhere about the shade of coffee-and-cream, dark hair chopped close. He wore baggy, bright blue

two-piece matching shirt and threequarter pants, orthosandals with paler blue stockings to the knees. He

had a matching synlin personals bag slung over his left shoulder on a wide strap, and looked like any

other local come for the celebration. Could be somebody's uncle or cousin, nothing to mark him as

unusual, save his intense attention to Bork's sister.

When Taz was thirty meters away, the man casually ambled after her. Yep. Coffee Cream over there

was trouble. He had the feel.

Bork let him cover five meters and glance back once to be sure he wasn't being followed. When Cream

returned his attention to Taz, Bork said to Veate, "I'm going to the fresher."

She nodded, and switched the baby to the other side, drawing stares from the people around her as

perfect breasts flashed whitely in the sunlight, shining like gravid pearls. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah. No problem. Back in a couple minutes."

She knew something was up but she didn't push it. Bork appreciated that.

Bork quickly angled off, and took a parallel course somewhat behind Cream. He'd worn light gray to

keep from getting too hot, but he felt a little sweat begin forming under his own loose-weave orthoskins.

Cream had one hand in the shoulder bag now, and Bork was fairly certain he was holding some kind of

weapon.

The big matador edged closer to the man tailing his sister, moving precisely and silently.

Cream was intent on his target, speeding up a little, gaining on her.

Taz kept her back to her watcher, as if she hadn't a care in the galaxy past achieving the drink stand.

A few more meters and Bork would be in perfect position to staple the guy into a meaty knot if he even

blinked funny. Unless that hand came out of the bag empty, Bork planned to arrange it so Cream was out

cold before he hit the plastcrete.

When Bork was still three steps away, Cream pulled a gun from the shoulder bag and began to swing it

up in line with Taz's back. She was five meters ahead, an easy shot.

Bork yelled, "Hey, you! Drop it!"

Cream jerked his attention away from Taz and started to turn, swinging the gun around to cover the

noisy threat.

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That was good. Bork slid into Arc of Air, a portion of the Ninety-seven Steps that covered a lot of

ground in a hurry.

"Static it, Jobo!" Taz yelled. "Move and I'll blast you!"

Cream's eyes grew wide and wild and he twisted, trying all at once to stop his turn toward Bork, to

regain his primary target, and to figure out what had happened. The gun-a satin-dull, blue-black carbon-

fiber spring pistol-wavered and moved back toward Taz.

"Needle him, Morry!" Bork yelled.

"Lose the gun!" Taz screamed.

The guy's mental circuits must have overloaded at that point. Both Taz and Bork were moving in on him

fast and he couldn't cover both of them. Bork was closer, but Taz was who he'd come to dance with, so

he half-twisted, half-fell toward her, shoved the spring pistol out and started pulling the trigger.

He got off two rounds before Bork slammed into him and smacked his upper back with the heels of both

hands in the third variation of Dark Shroud.

Bork had long ago learned that this particular sumito move was a very powerful attack, even from

someone with normal physical strength; done correctly, it would almost always ground a human target.

It grounded him, all right.

The spring gun flew one way, the shoulder bag another, and Cream's legs snapped up from the knees

hard enough to fling both sandals off and a good four meters away. He hit like a big rock falling off a

cliff on a high-gee planet. Hard enough to raise dust from the solid plastcrete and to flatten his nose and

abrade his face into a bloody mess. Whatever sense he had was knocked from him instantly. He wasn't

going anywhere under his own power for some time.

Problem with being so big and potent was that sometimes you didn't throttle it down enough and you

caused some real damage. Well, that was too bad. Guy should have thought about that before he thought

to take a shot at Bork's sister.

"Taz?"

"I'm okay," she said. "He missed."

She came to stand next to Bork. She had scooped up the spring gun and now held it loosely pointing

down at the fallen man. The gun was unnecessary.

Passersby began to gather.

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"You don't know him, huh?"

"Nope. But he's a clever dongo, whoever he is."

"Yeah?"

She hefted the spring gun in her hand, looked at it, then at her brother. "This is mine," she said.

"That's fine, I don't have any use for it."

"No, I mean it's mine. This is my service pistol. My number, my initials, right there."

Bork blinked and thought about that for a second. "How'd he get it?" He nodded at the unconscious man.

"Now there's the question of the hour," she said. " 'How?' indeed."

When Emile and Juete arrived, the local cools had already hauled the unconscious would-be assassin

away to the local medical kiosk for repair. Juete went to see her daughter and grandson. While Taz

talked to the officer in charge of the investigation, Bork explained the situation as best he could to his

father-in-law.

"Your sister have enemies who would follow her all the way from Tembo to Muto Kato?"

Bork shrugged. "I dunno. She's the assistant Chief of Investigators for High Crimes, whatever they are

on Tembo. Could be she stepped on somebody's toes there. Goes with the job, she says."

Emile Khadaji nodded. As the legendary freedom fighter called The Man Who Never Missed, he knew

about such things.

"Well, nobody was hurt, that's good. Anything we can do to help Saval . . ."

Bork nodded. "Thanks, boss." It was an old habit; he hadn't really worked for Khadaji for years, but

once upon a time a long way back, Bork had been a bouncer in The Jade Flower, the headquarters for

the revolution that eventually toppled the Confed. Another lifetime. "I'll talk to her about it."

So Khadaji went to see his grandson and Bork went to see his sister and the local cools.

"So, you figure out who he is yet?"

The Katoan policeman had a belt reader scanning the ID cube taken from the fallen man, but he shook

his head. "Fake," he said, waving the reader.

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"Taz?"

She shrugged. "I didn't get a real good look at him before somebody sanded his face off," she said. She

grinned. "Hell of a sidewalk tattoo."

Bork returned the smile.

"But it might be tied up with some trouble we're having at home."

Bork nodded, waiting.

"There have been some killings in the last six months," she said. "Rich and powerful people, humans,

mues, men, women. A dozen or so we know about. Not just in Leijona where I'm based, but all up and

down the east coast of Raion. Guy in Watu who owned a big villie plantation, couple of political types in

town, the mayor of Shaba City, a timber export king down in Tibois, like that. Other than the fact they

all earn more stads in a month than I'll see in a lifetime, they don't seem to have anything in common,

except that they all got murdered after they were warned it would happen. We don't have shit for clues.

Locked-room deals, most of them."

Bork nodded. "Even people with money get killed."

"Yeah, except that these people had some pretty good bodyguards who tried to keep it from happening."

"Any matadors?"

"No."

"Well, there you go," Bork said.

"Yeah, there you go. Thing is, these killers are beginning to worry a lot of people. I got put in charge of

the investigation, starting right after I get back from my vacation here to see my brother and his new

wife and nephew. I do pretty fair work most of the time. Maybe somebody doesn't want me involved."

"Well, if that's the best they can do they don't seem all that formidable to me."

"Oh, they are. This guy might not be connected to that, or maybe he just barely qualified or something.

You, ah, interested in maybe doing a little consulting work, Saval?"

"You want me to go to Tembo?"

"You're one of the best bodyguards in the galaxy. If you can't help me figure out how to keep these

toobies from slaughtering the local citizens, who else?"

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"I dunno. . ."

"I would consider it a personal favor," she said.

That's when Bork knew how worried Taz really was. The Borks seldom asked for favors, even of each

other.

Especially of each other.

He nodded. Bork had two families-one he'd been born to, another he'd chosen. Either one needed his

help, he would give it. Family meant something to him. "Okay," he said.

That was that.

Chapter TWO

THE BABY WAS asleep, angelic in slumber: he had wispy, almost downlike white hair and he was

paler even than his mother. You could see the tapestry of blue blood vessels under the translucent white

of him, and his skin made the finest spidersilk cloth seem coarse. People said he looked like his father,

but standing naked there in the dim nursery, Bork couldn't see it. Five minutes ago the baby had let out a

small squawk and rolled over in his sleep. Bork had gotten there from his own bed before his child

finished the turn.

He put one big hand out and touched his son lightly. At the touch, little Saval smiled reflexively.

Bork moved his hand back but stayed next to the crib, feeling for the thousandth time the weight of

responsibility that came with being a father. It wasn't uncomfortable, the feeling, but there were ways it

was heavier than a flexsteel bar loaded with plates. He had sometimes thought about it but never really

figured he'd get to be a da. It was a whole lot different than he'd ever guessed. Here he was, a father,

married to the most beautiful woman in the galaxy. Life sure was strange.

"He okay?" Veate said from behind him.

"Yeah." He continued to watch the baby.

Veate came to stand next to him. She slid one hand up Bork's bare arm and lightly squeezed his tricep.

"You're going to get eyestrain staring at him like that."

"It's just so amazing, you know? I mean, he's a little person and we made him. And he's so beautiful. I

have to say, he's the best-looking baby I've ever seen."

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She laughed. "Well, if it isn't Bork the master of objectivity."

He glanced at her. "What? You don't think so?"

"Are you kidding? I'm his mother. Of course he's the most beautiful baby you've ever seen. He's the

most beautiful baby ever born."

Bork nodded. "Yeah, that's true."

She punched him. "You're an idiot, you know that?"

"Huh? How come?"

"Great big thing like you in here stupe-faced over a baby. Some kind of tough guy you are. Sleel would

fall down laughing, he knew about this."

"Yeah? Last time I talked to Sleel, he said after seeing little Saval he and Kee were thinking seriously

about having one of their own. This is a special kid here."

Veate leaned over and kissed his arm. "What am I going to do with you? You get any prouder and you'll

explode. Come on." She tugged at him.

"Where?"

"Remember how we made this extraordinary babe?"

He grinned. "Vaguely."

"Vaguely? You thug!"

She started to move away in mock anger, but he picked her up, as easily as a normal-sized man might

pick up a small child. He cradled her. "Hey, I'm old," he said. "Can't expect me to remember everything."

"I expect you to forget your name before you forget lovemaking with me, Saval Bork!"

"Who? What did you call me?"

She pretended to pout. "That's better. Not good enough, but better."

He carried her from the nursery to their bedroom.

Love wasn't about technique, Bork knew that, but if you did love somebody, them knowing pretty much

everything there was to know about the physical aspects of it made it real interesting.

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"Lie back," Veate commanded.

Bork did so.

"Lume control, one-quarter on the overheads."

The computer brought the lights up obediently.

"Lume control, pink spot, centered on the bed."

Her white hair and skin turned to rose quartz.

"It's better for you when you can see me, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Bork said.

She straddled him, but sat on his belly, her fine pubic hair, now shaded pink, tickling his navel. She put

her hands on the thick muscles of his upper chest, leaned into them and massaged him, squeezing hard.

He enjoyed the feel of her fingers digging into him. After a moment, she slid her hands up to his neck

and worked the bands of muscle under his ears.

"Mmm."

She slid back a little. He felt wetness on his belly, smelled her pungent musk. The lightest touch of

warmth pressed against the base of his erect penis.

"And you like to smell me, too, don't you?"

"Yes."

She leaned back a little more.

"Mmmmm."

He raised his hands and pressed them lightly against her hips, urging her to move yet farther back.

"No, you don't. Not yet. You aren't ready yet."

"Hell I'm not."

"Hey, who's the albino in this bed?"

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He chuckled. "Got me. I can't even remember who I am." "Hah! You don't get off that easy. I'm going to

make you suffer."

But she didn't. Instead she raised herself up, touched him at the tip of his very much erect penis, then

slid down slowly until she ensheathed him completely to the base. Without lifting herself again, she

massaged him with internal muscles, clamping and relaxing, over and over again, until she brought forth

from him a powerful orgasm.

"Oh!"

Veate laughed. "You still don't get off that easy, you thug."

His laughter joined hers.

Through some acoustical trick, Taz heard her brother laugh, even though she was on the opposite end of

the house. Cooling duct or something, she figured.

She sat up and swung her bare legs over the side of the bed. She hadn't been able to sleep. Might as well

do something useful.

She slipped a robe on and padded down the hall to the gym. Saval had a good set-up, as complete as

many small public gyms. Even though he favored free weights over machines, he had, along with the

couple tons of flexsteel plates and bars, a full ROM unit, a state-of-the-art computer-controlled SSA LS-

21. Gym rats around the galaxy liked to joke that the initials for the Strength Success Associates

Corporation who made the machine really stood for "Suffer, stupid asshole." The unit could measure

tonus and nerve conduction close enough so that when programmed properly it would take a user

exactly as far as she could go, no more, no less. It wouldn't let you overextend yourself; on the other

hand, you couldn't slack your way past it.

The gym lights blinked on as Taz stepped inside. The far wall was mirrored, and she watched herself as

she slipped out of the robe and stood naked in front of the LS-21. She was in good shape, she knew.

Most mues of her kind were; it seemed a waste not to be, given the potential. HG engineering had given

her great-grandparents thicker and heavier bone structure, a slight advantage in tendon leverage, and

attachments, and more muscle-building hormones than standard humans, as well as a faster metabolism.

Great-grandfather and -mother had been designed for planets with a gee-and-a-half or better. Maybe the

desire to use her body hard was built into her gene structure, she didn't know, but she did muchly enjoy

working up a good sweat.

Saval was a bug about free weights, called them more "organic," but Taz preferred the machines. They

were less risky than the heavy bars, even with the safety fields. The machines wouldn't let you go past

your limits; the flexsteel didn't know what those limits were, didn't care.

The SSA stood there like a larger version of a child's girder construction set, a tall rectangle with cams,

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Steve Perry - Matador 7 - Brother Death

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