Deathwatch (The Faded Earth Book 1)(38)

Novak gave him a frank look. “No, you don’t.”

Eshton shrugged. “It’s part of the job. We wear faceless helmets for a reason. We protect them, but we also judge and sentence them when it’s needed, and most people seem happy with the bargain.”

“And I suppose it works in your favor for them to be afraid of you?” Novak asked shrewdly.

Eshton raised his palms. “I’d be lying if I said it didn’t help keep the peace. Granted, some of us turn out to be a lot fucking scarier than others.”





18


Beck ducked, spinning on one foot beneath the powerful but wild swing, and danced away from her attacker. The small tablet in her hand pinged at her constantly, the volume increasing with every second she ignored it.

Her fingers tapped out an answer to the question written on the screen, drawn from one of several potential disciplines within the Deathwatch. This in particular was a mid-level inquiry about the array of possible punishments a Sentinel in the Enforcement division would have at their disposal for a person accused of thievery.

Her answer was a single word: investigation. Because you don’t punish someone based solely on accusation. Two weeks of relentless training and classes shaped her mind in ways she would scarcely have believed.

In the process of typing out the answer, Beck wandered too close to the perimeter. Her cohort stood in a loose circle around the mat, each with a slim prod. One of them did their duty and gave her a shock. This had happened so frequently as to become a non-event. She took the hit without stopping, throwing herself into a diving roll to slip past Caleb, who barreled toward her as mercilessly as ever.

As she popped back to her feet, facing him, the tablet pinged another question at her. This time it was a math problem having to do with the thermal regulation system of a standard set of Deathwatch armor. Beck only had to glance at the numbers to remember them, a handy trick that helped make her deft with machine languages, and worked out the solution in her head. She never took her eyes off Caleb as she typed in the answer. When he rounded on her and began to level a kick, her fast response saved her an extra five seconds.

She dropped the tablet into her left hand at the last possible moment, dropped to her knees, and thrust a fist into his liver as his leg brushed her left shoulder.

Caleb flew off balance and crashed to the ground like a bag of stones, coughing and retching. The hit hadn’t been enough to cause serious harm, though liver shots were certainly capable of it. The proof was in his reaction; he rose to his feet a few seconds later with murder in his eyes.

Beck didn’t pause to think or consider the consequences. She stood facing what her instinct told her was a very real threat to her life. The tension in his muscles, the unchecked fury contorting his face, the savage movement of his body as he lurched toward her.

She did the last thing he would have expected and threw herself at him. Literally.

Her timing was imperfect, but the leap was close enough. Instead of trying to match him blow for blow, which even with her rapidly increasing strength would have been sheer idiocy, Beck put every ounce of her weight behind the knee extended in front of her. Waiting until he was nearly on her was dangerous, but she had to win this in one shot.

Her leg connected with his rib cage just to the right of his diaphragm, his forward momentum acting to double the force of the impact. For the second time in half a minute, Caleb dropped to the ground, but not before his fist solidly connected with Beck’s jaw, snapping her head to one side and making spots dance in her eyes.

“Enough!” Reeves bellowed, his voice warbling through Beck’s ringing ears. He stomped onto the mat, moving to Beck. “Park, are you hurt?”

She raised herself up slowly, sitting back on her feet and gingerly rubbing her jaw. She worked it up and down, then side to side. It was tender but not terribly painful. “I don’t think it’s broken.”

Reeves nodded curtly, then focused his attention on Caleb. “Johnson, how about you?”

The ruddy man slowly rolled over onto his back, and the vitriolic glare she expected was nowhere to be seen. Instead he blew out a breath and grinned painfully. “Broke at least two ribs, sir. I think I’m done for this cycle. Hell of a solid knee, Park. Well done.”

Beck frowned so deeply it felt like her face might break after all. “What.”

Reeves squatted down and helped Caleb to his feet, carefully. Both of them put out hands to haul Beck to hers, and Caleb put a finger just behind his right ear and whistled.

She knew the gesture; she had seen Eshton do it when using the subdermal communicator embedded there. The kind you only got once you became a full member of the Watch.

“Son of a bitch,” Beck breathed. “You’re a ringer.”

Caleb laughed, wincing as he did. “Ow. Fuck, that hurts. I’ve never been taken out this early in a cycle. You win the prize. Now, if you’ll excuse me...”

He limped toward the edge of the mat, reaching it just as a suit of pristine armor appeared. Beck did a double take. Though it had the same shape as every other set she had ever seen, it was crisp white instead of dead black.

Reeves smirked at her confusion. “Caleb is part of a rare breed. He’s a part of the Medical division. Field medic. We only have enough of them to have one in any given Rez. He’s also been through instructor school, so we keep him here when there’s a cohort to teach.”