Chapter Twelve
Undercover
The Cazadora’s gym smelled of sweat, old socks and
overcrowded Rangers. Florescent lights buzzed overhead,
drowned out by the jeers and shouts of those gathered,
clutching bet tickets to their chests, counting coins, urging
their chosen champion on. In the ring, two figures circled
each other, their weaponry cast aside, barefoot and ready to
fight.
Rear Admiral Tripp entered the gym with a slew of aides
following him, and took in the scene. “They still do this?”
he said to no one in particular.
The catcalls reached a feverish pitch as the two fighters
launched themselves at each other. It was easy to see that
they had fought before – they knew each other’s tricks, so
they had to invent new ones to get the upper hand. A groan
rang out from part of the crowd as a precisely aimed blow
reached its target.
“Rear Admiral?” asked one of his aides. “Why is the
Commander fighting one of his lieutenants?”
“Up is not your everyday Commander,” Tripp said,
crossing his arms, his eyes on the fight. “Tricks like this
boost the morale of his Rangers – they eat it up.”
“Clearly,” said the aide. “They’re even taking bets! Who
would bet against their own Commander?”
“Clearly,” Tripp raised his eyebrows. “You’ve never
seen Lieutenant Taz in action.”
In the ring, the fighters seemed to be evenly matched. He