Chapter 6

We ended up in an eatery run by an ex-Guardian just outside of the Armoury, the Guardian headquarters for the four sections they looked after. It was called that because, essentially, it was one to deal with any civil insurrections in the lower levels, not that there had been one for several Imperial years. Kirim was perking up somewhat at a large platter of what appeared to be strips of cooked marinated meats and various types of bread coated in oils and herbs. The place was full of off-duty Guardians and was buzzing when we got there as the local commander had just announced the Court’s decision on healthcare and that compensation claims would be backdated to the take-over by Municipal Services.

“This is marvellous news, Dave,” Kirim said around a mouthful of food. “So many get injured each year and have to be let go. Yes, their injuries were eventually taken care of, but by then, they were practically destitute and struggled to find employment again as they often weren’t fit enough to re-apply.”

“I’m surprised no one knew about transferring your benefits with you,” I replied, her eyes narrowing.

“We were told by our worker representatives that we couldn’t ... I’m wondering if money changed hands,” she all but growled.

“Make sure you mention that to the Imperial auditors, as I’m pretty sure the Empress will want to find out what happened to all the money as from what the broadcast said, she’s covering the costs until an investigation reports back to her.”

“I will,” she nodded, then scowled as a rather large (and pungent) Guardian plonked himself down next to her.

“So this is the janitor you gave me up for,” he stated, an evil glint in his eyes.

“I never gave you up. There never was anything to give up, Jorat,” she spat back. “Frankly, your idea of polite conversation is disgusting and your personal hygiene an utter disgrace.”

“Always putting on airs and graces as if you’re something special,” he snarled. “Yet you go hanging out with a slave.”

“She is special, and even going out with a slave, she’d still be doing better than if she went out with you,” I replied calmly. “Now go away and have yourself a shower; this is a private conversation.”

There was much-stifled laughter in the background; it seemed Jorat was not popular amongst the Guardians present.

“Fuck you, slave. I sit where I li ... ow!” he sneered, pointing a finger at me, then screaming as I reached out and bent it upwards almost to the point of dislocating it.

“Apologise to the Lady for interrupting her meal, then leave. You won’t get a second chance.”

He reached down suddenly to pull his knife, only to howl as I dislocated his finger, grabbed it, and slammed it into his leg in a single move. I was then on my feet and stiff-fingered several of his nerve clusters, causing him to lose control of his voluntary reflexes (and his bowels too, I suspect) and fall vomiting onto the floor, where I grabbed his collar and dragged him out of the premises to the other side of the pathway.

“Next time you get in my face or bother her, I’ll cut your balls off and make you eat them,” I said in quiet, deadly tones, meaning every word as I left him whimpering in the dirt.

Turning, I walked back to the eatery, whose entrance was full of staring Guardians who silently parted to allow me back in, most of them concealing grins.

“Sorry about that, Kirim,” I apologised. “I can’t abide rudeness to a Lady.”

“He’s had it coming for over a binary cycle since you started dating, mouthing off to anyone who would listen.” A Guardian, whose voice I recognised as Baltus, stated.

“I know. I figured him to have more sense than actually to bother David here, though,” Kirim chuckled. “It’s not like some of us don’t know what he’s capable of from the incident at the medical centre.”

“True. Three muggers ended in two dead and one crippled for life,” Baltus replied.

There was a murmur of astonishment from the crowd.

“That was him?” one of them asked.

“Too bloody true. I’m assuming he’s just a slave because he has anger issues,” Baltus chuckled, making both me and Kirim grin.

“Generally stops people from picking fights with me, yes,” I laughed.

“Other than those who are utterly brainless,” Kirim added.

At this point, the eatery door crashed open, and a maddened-looking Jorat stood holding onto the door frame, brandishing what had to be an illegal weapon, as Kirim had informed me that only on-duty Guardians were permitted to be armed.

“Should have killed me, slave!” he slurred.

“Why?” I replied with a slight smile. “I’m going to enjoy what you now have coming to you much more because you’re too stupid to learn.”

He then tried to aim the wavering gun at me, but he struggled due to his lack of coordination due to the nerve pinches and the knife still embedded in his thigh. It was too late for him anyway as I’d picked up the sharpened skewer that passed for a fork on Vreekoos and launched it directly into his eye and what passed for his brain, causing him to drop on the spot.

“Could you arrest me after we’ve eaten?” I asked into the silence.

After much discussion as to whether anyone saw anything, they did, which gave us time to finish our meal. Apparently, it’s a rule.