A Brother's Debt by Karl Jones Page A

something brought a grim smile to his lips.
    Half way through turning to face his attacker a fist crashed into the side of his jaw, sending him back into the wall, and he tasted blood. He saw the next blow, which was aimed at his gut, in time to twist away from it and the sound of his attacker’s fist impacting with the wall where he had been made him smile again, if only for a moment. From his cry he was sure the man had broken something.
    Since he couldn’t be certain how much damage the thug had done to himself, Step lifted his knee and drove it into his gut, doubling him up. He then grabbed his hair and smashed the thug’s face into the wall, just as had been done to him. After that he hooked his opponent’s feet out from under him and kicked him squarely in the face when he hit the ground. With a sigh the man went limp and Step turned his attention to the other three thugs who had chased him down the street.
    He had expected the other thugs to wade in and help their friend at any moment, now he saw why they hadn’t. One of them was on the ground, unmoving, and the other two were being held at bay by the man who had knocked him to the ground. Why he was involved in the fight was a mystery, but it was clear to Step he was no stranger to violence from the small puddle of blood beneath the head of the thug on the ground.
    While the remaining two thugs tried to get close enough to use the knives they were clutching, the stranger was holding them off with a knife of his own. An open wound, and the blood running from it down his arm, told Step at least one of the thugs had managed to get through the stranger’s defensive efforts. The knife wound didn’t appear to be hampering him however, though he seemed unable to do more than hold off the two thugs.
    Step sorted that problem by moving forward to help the stranger, whose intervention had initially endangered him, and then saved him. He grabbed the hand of the thug closest to him, so he couldn’t swing the knife, and twisted it away from the stranger. At the same time he kicked him in the side of the knee and delivered a swift chop with the edge of his hand to the thug’s throat.
    The move left the thug on the ground, gasping for breath, in a matter of seconds and Step had no difficulty prying the knife from his hand. Holding the weapon before him he faced the last thug, who quickly realised he no longer had the advantage of numbers, turned, and ran.
    “Well that was fun,” the stranger said with a smile that seemed to suggest he had found the fight little more than a pleasant diversion. Dropping the knife he had defended himself with he held out his hand. “Jay Vance, JV to my friends.”
    “Step Velkin.” He shook the proffered hand. “Thanks for the help; I don’t think I would have lasted long against all four of them.”
    “Least I could do after knocking you down. I’m guessing you probably would have gotten away if it hadn’t been for that, those guys didn’t seem too quick on their feet, all strength, no speed.” Since Jay was several inches taller than him, and almost as muscled as the thugs who had attacked him, Step found that comment a little hypocritical. “Besides, I couldn’t stand by and leave a fellow Mully to it, not when the odds were four against one.
    “I had your tat practically in my face when you landed on me.” He pointed to the tattoo on Step’s shoulder, visible where his top had been torn away. “Eighth fleet right? I was third fleet, engineer second class.”
    “Yeah, eighth fleet. Fighters, then scouts. Chamri, at least I was until a couple of weeks ago. That’s a long story though,” Step said, surprised to find another Mully, as members of the Mulnoy Navy referred to themselves, at least those who didn’t take themselves too seriously, out in the frontier sector.
    “A Chamri, huh! Well, Sir, why don’t we go inside and have a drink, you can tell me what leads an officer to leave the Mullies and end up out here