Blackjack Dead or Alive (The Blackjack Series Book 3) (36 page)

I was numb from neck to nuts, muscles twitching at random, like aftershocks. I got to my feet and saw her coming for another pass. Spreading my feet, I squared, trying to anticipate her next attack. I had gone against Apogee at full speed more than once and broke even, there was no way I was losing to her less talented copycat. A long furrow split the ground as she ran at me, and I was ready to grab her. Once I had hands on her, she was done.

I was patient, biding my time, prepared for the hit. She came into the Ring of Fire, and I sprung at her. A mocking chuckle floated in surround sound around my head as I hit the ground on all fours. I bounced to my feet in time to get hit. This time she aimed under my ribs, digging up into my lungs. Each strike was a thousand punches in the space of a second. Discarding technique and strategy, I started throwing haymakers, the exact ones Apogee and I laughed about in training, but if one of these caught Alacrity, there wouldn’t be enough of her left to scrape into a plastic baggie.

I wasn’t connecting. She was too close to miss, which meant she was evading my punches, her ripostes striking me unabated. I felt heat and moisture gathering around my nose and lips, my own breath leaking from my lungs as she reversed flow of oxygen into my body. My arms were tiring, my lungs were burning, and my legs wobbled, struggling to hold my weight. I sank to my knees, then onto my side, curling up in the fetal position, but she switched from punches to kicks. Her legs were exponentially more powerful than her arms, each kick a jackhammer at Mach 10.

The constant thrumming of Alacrity’s kicks slowed then stopped, and I saw her looking down on me. She hadn’t said a word, not made a sound as she dismantled me, and I admired her restraint. It took a true pro to not gloat as they dominated you. I didn’t have that it in me. I thought she was going to speak, but she was concentrating. She was still moving at super speed, the outline of her body crackled with the occasional spark, as if her molecules were having trouble containing her shape.

I lashed out with a kick that struck her leg, but passed through without her noticing. I tried again, and she shook her head as if she had just caught me nicking from the cookie jar. She reached down for me with a hand that was moving so fast it was immaterial. I moved away from her, but she kept pace without seeming to actually move. At this speed, Alacrity was vibrating fast enough to be out of phase with the rest of reality. She wasn’t standing, she was hovering, as her hand touched my chest, it didn’t press the flesh but passed through, scrambling the molecules.

Blinding pain seared from the spot, but that was a fraction of the agony I felt when the hand disappeared inside my chest and penetrated my epidermis. Everything shut off as my internal organs were subjected to torment no human was meant to endure. I knew I was screaming, but I couldn’t hear it over the sound of my guts dissolving. Though Alacrity’s face showed no emotion, she was enjoying this. Killing me would hurt Apogee, two birds with one stone.

I tried to fight, but nothing was responding and blood started pooling in the back of my throat. I felt the ground beneath me vibrate, and at first I thought Alacrity had transected me, but no, I knew what that distant rumble was. The world vacillated, and I put what reserve I had left into escape. My legs scrabbled for purchase, and her eyes squinted through her mask of calm as I rolled away.

Time stopped for a moment when the purple streak that was Apogee struck Alacrity. The rules of deep space seemed to take over and the world ceased turning. Light burned my eyes, like staring straight into a solar flare. There was no sound in the corona, an untainted quiet that stretched for a long time. The Earth reasserted her laws with an audible snap, Alacrity’s last moments were a nuclear shadow scorched onto the back of my eyes.

It took a moment for my vision to clear, and when it did, Apogee knelt over me. Her hair was an unkempt snag of tangles, and a welt was blossoming to a full bruise on her jaw. Her lips were thin with worry, and I noticed her outline was shifting in a pattern similar to Alacrity’s. She was still moving at super speed herself. She must have hit Alacrity at her maximum velocity, her own vibrational pattern disrupting the other. All that remained of Apogee’s nemesis was a small puddle of pinkish goo surrounded by ash and small tufts of blond hair.

“Bitch got what she wanted,” Madelyne muttered.

As she slowed down, I turned onto my side and hacked up a wad of blood. I wiped at my nose and mouth, and my hand came away slathered in wet crimson. My insides felt mealy, but I was breathing and I could move. I got to my hands and knees, but had trouble standing. Apogee’s calloused hand rubbed my back, a salve that made the pain manageable.

“Come on,” she said, her voice hollow and distant. “Let’s finish it.”

I stood, ignoring the groan and protest from my body, and found my doppelganger and Silverback had Epic on the defensive. The gorilla had abandoned technique and fallen into a berserker rage, roaring as he hurled punches at Epic, his deep red eyes glowing in the dim room. Each hairy fist struck with the force of a nuclear weapon; beating against the hero’s muscles with shots so powerful they emitted sonic booms as the air rushed to escape the vacuum. Blackjack 2.0 was the weaker of the two enemies, but he was circling behind Epic and throwing choice shots at his neck and back. He fired a nasty kick at the back of Epic’s legs and brought the big man to a knee.

“Leave him alone,” I boomed, taking a painful step forward. They complied, holding their assault, and favoring me with almost comical wonder. Silverback’s eyes flared down, and he shook his head as if clearing it.

“You and me,” I said, pointing at my doppelganger. “Right now.”

He stepped away from Epic, who took the moment to catch his breath. The big gorilla turned towards me as well, but begged off at a look from Blackjack 2.0. Nodding, Silverback propelled himself at Epic, who was waiting to engage the monster, the short rest doing more for him than it had for me.

Apogee eyed me, words on the edge of her lips when I heard a crackle of energy from behind. I hadn’t started reacting to the sound before she had moved us both to a new spot fifteen feet from where we had stood. The violent shift did bad things to my equilibrium, fresh nausea fighting its way into the grab bag of ailments I was dealing with. A red whip scored the grass we had occupied; a dozen more headed our way as Bloodstrike’s power dappled the air between us.

“I got her,” Apogee said. “Take care of your double.”

My head bobbed in a lank, facsimile nod that she smiled at, kicking up a small cloud of dirt and debris as she ran at Bloodstrike. The gust of wind she left in her wake caressed me, my flame kissed skin a little too sensitive to the temperature change to really enjoy it.

Blackjack walked toward me, and only as he came closer did I notice the swarm of camera drones surrounding him, filming every possible angle. Others buzzed about, catching the other villains and heroes fight, but the majority centered on Blackjack 2.0.

“Haha,” I wondered aloud, and then one of the cameras spun around, giving me access to a small video screen. It crackled and a second later, I saw the robot rabbit’s form appear. It was a 3-D representation, not an actual filmed robot, but the twisted smile and the rotten, dirty fur were unmistakable.

“Hello, Blackjack,” he said. “It’s finally time to settle the matter of which Blackjack is worthy, and which one will be dead.”

I took long, cleansing breaths as Blackjack 2.0 approached. I could tell from his easy saunter that fighting with Epic hadn’t taxed him. Silverback had been doing the heavy lifting from what I had seen, while my doppelganger held back, waiting for me. He could easily have peppered me with arrows as he closed the distance. They wouldn’t have been more than a nuisance, but it might have given him an edge, but the bow and quiver had been discarded. He wanted to hit me. He looked spry and loose.

I could only imagine what I looked like.

With about ten feet separating us, he charged, putting on a burst of speed I would have had trouble replicating, but I lowered my head and ran at him. I planned to use the rocket boots and ram him when he made his move, but he leapt at me, throwing his left hip out and powering a strong kick at my midsection.

It caught me by surprise, I hadn’t expected the same tactics from this duplicate. I backpedaled and circled to my left as he landed, spun, and swung a wide-sweeping reverse kick with his right leg that I barely avoided by taking another step back. He hurled himself in the air, spinning as he did and extended his left leg in a powerful kick that caught my shoulder and hurled me across the room. I jumped to my feet as fast as I could, but he was on me, and I had to dive away from a kick that would have scored me into the net from 30 meters. He whooshed past me and my first blow missed, a back fist designed to take his head off.

He rolled lithely to his feet, and we circled each other. I labored for breath, my lungs refusing to fill to capacity, but he seemed unbothered by his exertion. Moving on the balls of his feet, Blackjack 2.0 embodied power and grace in a way I never dreamed possible. My instinct was to rush him, put hands on him, and let it get ugly, but he was ready for it. I could see it in the set of his shoulder and hips. He was squared, ready for me to be stupid. I had to wait him out, be patient. It took effort, but I checked to him.

Blackjack 2.0 charged in with a straight kick that I side-stepped, walking into a spinning reverse kick that caught me flush in the chest and sent me stumbling back. I almost lost my footing, but he didn't relent firing another kick that I managed to block. He followed up with a sidekick to my midsection that knocked me off my feet and left me momentarily breathless. I rolled away, coughing as I came to my feet, and he paused, standing on a mound of rubble and looking down on me. This was easy for him.

But why all the kicking? It was the same in Amsterdam until I got him up close. The guy was really good with the kicks, sure, but I wasn't – and he was supposed to be a copy of me. Maybe he wasn't up to close range at first. His blows were nothing I hadn't felt a million times. If others were to be believed, I could punch as hard as Epic - so he was keeping his distance. He'd done the same in our first fight.

"Fancy kicks," I said. "Blackjack doesn't kick like a bitch."

I beckoned him closer. He dove at me, extending his right knee, pushing me a step back, creating the space he need to power his left foot into my face. The powerful kick staggered me a step, but I dug in and got ready for the follow-up. Blackjack 2.0 didn't hesitate, spinning in the air and hurling a flying sidekick at my midsection. I stepped aside - the move Apogee had taught me with one slight modification. I didn't half-shuffle off and kick back. Instead, I dove in and caught his leg as he was about to recoil for a follow-up, I dug my other arm under his crotch and spun. Blackjack 2.0 weighed a ton, easily as heavy as an M-1 Abrams tank, and I struggled to pick him up, but the leverage I generated with my hips and back helped me finish the move.

He soared through the air, striking the wall with so much force; he broke through in an explosion of dust and rock, obscured from me in a second.

It wasn’t that he was heavy, I realized, he was draining me. I thought back to Amsterdam, when the other guy had turned the fight on me by draining my strength. It was subtle, but I could feel the difference now that we weren’t in proximity. I found a large piece of fallen masonry, a huge block of 3D printed concrete that must've weighed a couple of tons. I lifted it without difficulty, and threw it at the spot where Blackjack 2.0 had ended up, the projectile mushrooming into a hailstorm of debris when it struck.

"Hey, Epic," I said as the big guy drove a fist into Silverback’s solar plexus. Their fight wasn’t as dynamic as mine, and by the looks of the crater hollowing under their feet, it looked like they had settled for a straight-up slugfest. "How much do you weigh?"

His head pivoted towards me in surprise, "What do you want to know that for?"

"I need to know," I said. Silverback tried to take advantage of Epic’s distraction, bringing both down his arms like paired wrecking balls. Epic blocked the attack with his forearms, but was driven back a step. Silverback tried to replicate the move, but Epic was faster than I ever accounted for, lashing out with a savage jab that collided with a dull thud across the gorilla’s prominent jaw, following with a cross that drove both of them a foot deeper into the crater.

"About 350, I guess," Epic said.

I'd picked the hero and thrown him around before, so I had a good gauge of his weight. Most of us big guys were heavy – in the case of Epic excessively so – but none of us were more than a ton or so. Even the really big guys like Silverback or Primal. I doubted the gorilla weighed more than a few thousand pounds. Yet Blackjack 2.0 felt like he weighed twenty times that. That could only mean one thing: Blackjack 2.0 was a suit.

"Tricky, tricky, Haha," I said, knowing his cameras were around, watching and recording everything. "You cheat like you always have. You can't just play it straight with me can you?"

One of the floating drones moved toward the edge of my vision - it was the one with the video display of the rabbit head - but I stared straight at Blackjack 2.0.

"Bad form, Dale," he said in his psychotic game show host voice. "Giving away secrets like that. You keep them inside, make your play; you don't rub them in the face of your opponent."

Through the particulate haze, I saw a shadow emerge, my duplicate, shedding remnants of rubble both mountainous and synthetic. He came slowly at first then charged at me, the pebbles and dust billowing from him as blue-white fire blazed from his boots. Haha’s version of my Asskickers was much more precise, the thrust more controlled. The angle was flawless, and Blackjack 2.0 swiveled in flight, intent on ending the fight in one shot.