Free Machine World (Undying Mercenaries Book 4) by B. V. Larson Page B

the short straw a second time while dealing with me.
    “Let me guess,” I said, “a couple of extra fingers?”
    He threw a punch at me, which I ducked. He caught a little bit of my left ear, but it was no big deal.
    Harris was between us instantly. He pushed us apart and shoved his face into each of ours.
    “We’re doing this one by the book,” he said. “You hear me?”
    “Loud and clear, Vet,” I said. My eyes never left Johnson’s. We stared each other down for about two more seconds before backing off.
    “McGill?” Harris asked in a sarcastic tone. “Would you mind going over there and standing with the rest of the candidates?”
    I did as he asked. Moments later, the veterans slashed their captives free. I looked from one face to the next in the starlight. Two of them I recognized. One was none other than Weaponeer Sargon. The other was a short stocky woman built like a fireplug. She was from 1 st Platoon, but I couldn’t remember her name.
    “Here’s the deal,” Harris said. “All of you have been advanced to candidacy, but only one of you will be given the promotion. As the existing veterans of third unit, it’s our job to watch and judge this contest. Your boundaries are the walls of this canyon. Do not exit the boundaries. To do so will result in immediate disqualification.”
    As he spoke, I began to frown. It was dawning on me that this was some kind of arena-combat scenario. The other candidates were already eyeing each other and separating. I took this time to examine my surroundings more closely.
    We stood on a beach that was only about ten meters wide. The canyon was circular and about hundred meters across. The walls were quite forbidding. They were sheer and vertical. The only easy path out of the canyon was the foot trail we’d come down on, which wound its way up along the walls and under a waterfall at the far end.
    I’d gone swimming down here a number of times in the small, cool, deep lake that formed the center of the canyon.
    “Oh,” Harris said, “one more thing. McGill? Would you be so kind as to give me your weapon?”
    “You mean my knife?”
    “Exactly.”
    I drew it out, flipped the blade so that I held the tip and flicked it at him. He flinched, but didn’t jump out of the way. The blade stuck in the sand between his boots.
    Smiling grimly, Harris picked up my knife. “The last man—or woman—who’s left alive in this canyon tonight is a veteran. That’s it, no more rules. Go! ”
    The fireplug-woman moved first. She caught Sargon by one foot and pulled backwards. He went down on his face, growling. A thin, rat-faced man joined her. Together, they dragged Sargon out into the water.
    I thought about intervening, but I didn’t have time to see how that struggle ended. Something hit me, blindsiding me, knocking me back into the water.
    A dark figure loomed over me outlined by the stars. He had a big rock in both hands, and a snarl on his face. I fought to get my hands in between that rock and my skull. He still managed to deliver a glancing blow, and I could feel the blood leaking out of my scalp.
    The veterans were cheering. They called out encouragement, catcalls, and slammed their hands together in applause when someone landed a hard blow.
    The guy with the rock kept coming after me. Feeling a little dazed, I decided to disengage. I swam away with long strokes toward the center of the lake.
    The guy with the rock didn’t follow. Instead, he ran off toward the foliage along the shoreline.
    The fireplug-woman with her rat-faced companion managed to drown Sargon. There was nothing I could do, and it made me angry.
    They’d teamed up, plain as day. That seemed unfair. I could only wonder if they’d known ahead of time how this trial was going to go. I hadn’t seen them talk or negotiate anything in the canyon. I could only surmise that they’d been in cahoots from the start.
    “Well played, well played,” Harris said, talking to the fireplug and her sidekick.