Doctor Who_ Match of the Day - Chris Boucher [54]
There was no warning from the flight deck before the shuttle disengaged. The noises from the hydraulic rams and the abrupt slamming of airtight hatches vibrated through the fabric of the craft, murmuring into the air of the compartment as faint, disorientating echoes.
„Last scuffling time I fly with this outfit,‟ one of the men said. „The in-flight service stinks. No bastard tells you what‟s happening. And where‟s the finger snacks and drinkies?‟
„I‟d give up a bollock for a drink right now,‟ another said.
„You couldn‟t spare one.‟ This from the woman.
„You could,‟ the man guffawed at her.
„She could spare two,‟ another of the men said, „both of them yours. That‟s after she rips your lungs out.‟
The man had stopped laughing. „She knows I didn‟t mean anything by it. You know that don‟t you?‟
„Yes,‟ the woman said without looking at him. „I know that.‟
„I mean I‟m not stupid,‟ he said. „I‟d have to be seriously stupid wouldn‟t I!‟
„All right you‟ve made your point,‟ she said and shot him a look that silenced him.
„I blame the tourist for all this,‟ one of the others said and glanced across at Keefer.
„What for?‟
„He‟s rich, I don‟t scuffling need a reason.‟
It was a joke but there was a challenge in the tone that Keefer recognised and without looking at the man he said flatly, „Yes you scuffling do, scuffwit.‟
Everyone fell silent for a moment and looked at him.
Everyone except the watchful woman, who carefully showed no interest: who showed unmoved and watchfully unmoving.
And that was it. That was what was different about her, why he had thought he knew her. It was not who she was he recognised, it was what she was. The woman was a duellist, small-time maybe, local spot challenges or next-day Guild agreements, but formal: a contract duellist rather than some kick-arse psycho scuffler.
The shuttle motors cut in suddenly, carrying the tense silence away. The abrupt humming in the fuselage quickly leapt to a howling and a bone-scratching rattle as the shuttle plunged through the upper levels of Piran‟s thickly poisonous atmosphere. The noise built and the rattle became wrenching and both kept increasing until everything was overwhelmed and there was one pulverising sensation of sound and movement. Still the shuttle fell on, and bucked and shuddered and roared crashing through the fiercely freezing pressures crushing down towards the surface.
When the vertical thrusters finally dropped the heaving craft into the dome, none of the passengers moved or made a sound. The sprung landing deck absorbed the last of the shuttle‟s energy in a series of sickening lurches, the dome above it clanged closed and the recycling pumps clattered into action.
„Scuffling scufflers,‟ someone said eventually. „I‟ll need a liftload of money before I do that again.‟
„If you‟ve lost your nerve there‟s nowhere safe to go,‟ Meta said and pressed his attack, slashing the blunted training sabre against Leela‟s marginally weaker left side. „Nowhere safe to hide.‟
She parried the hit and he pivoted, aiming a full strength forearm smash at her face. She avoided the blow easily enough but Leela was abruptly conscious that the young fighter was suddenly much more aggressive. He dropped low, and using both hands, swung the sabre at the back of her knees. Meta was not one of the strongest of the trainees, too timid to be a natural duellist, but just the suggestion that she might be weakened in some way and he had turned into a pale version of the dead butcher Baloch.
Leela leapt the blade and as its momentum carried through and unbalanced the swivelling Meta she kicked him hard on the upper thigh. He went sprawling and she was fairly sure his leg would already be numb and would soon start to ache badly.
The crowd watching from the specially erected viewing stand applauded enthusiastically and a chant of „Leela, Leela, Leela‟ broke out.
Leela ignored them and went to help Meta to his feet.
„Ouch,‟ he said, smiling apologetically. „That‟ll teach me to get carried away.‟
„You will get carried away feet first,