"You don't want to find a couple of friends first?"

  The Tserri hisses back, "No friends, me. Need them to fight, you?"

  Scanning the terrain without having to turn is a definite advantage. Bruen surveys the roundish heaps of fused stone that make up his pitiful estate. One atop the other like a series of stone bubbles, they provide the necessary privacy his people need.

  Unfortunately, that means that his soldiers also have all the room they need to store their equipment and few personal possessions. No obvious weapons lay around.

  "For you? I wouldn't be willing to share the fun," answers Bruen casually.

  Noftun the wild is taller than Mos Bruen by only a partial bit. Bruen's slouching posture, leaning back subtly on tentacles spread seemingly at random, adds to the apparent height difference. A perhaps earned confidence shines in the single amber eye of the cybernetic prospector. He takes a step to his left, circling around the rune encrusted general.

  Ducking the Tserri's cross swipe, Bruen whips two of his tentacles up from the ground at the whirring weapon.

  Mechanical claw spread wide, Noftun blocks the tentacle coming from the lower right. The tentacle striking from the lower left, a feint to influence the movements of the miner, goes without answer. It strikes the side of the weapon, but not hard.

  Stepping close, Noftun grabs at the base of Bruen's upper tendrils with his empty claw. Bruen lets him. Bruen then wraps all three of the tendrils in that cluster around the arm. A lunge with his pedipalps, another feint, aimed at the base of that limb causes Noftun to protectively swing the blade to intervene.

  Bruen releases his hold on Noftun. At the same time he pulls back, he also twists his body hard. Tentacles whip out to strike the back of the Tserri's legs.

  Noftun stumbles back a step but immediately recovers. He uses the range to leap at the still off balance Bruen. The tip of his cutting torch lights then flares to life over a ubit long and keeps growing.

  Peripheral eyes see the plamsa torch coming at incredible speeds. Tendrils reach out to the ground. Grabbing hold, he pushes hard at the angle to speed his spin. He rolls across the stone and crashes into a concrete covered dome.

  Vapor flies from aerosolized stone when the plasma burns through it. As well as the stink of seared chitin and flash boiled blood. Noftun lands after scoring a hit across Bruen's torso.

  Bruen heaves a massive breath, working his lung hard. Finally, an opponent that means to kill him. An honorable fight.

  Blue stains his black uniform, flowing from the deep cut in his side. He still has all of his tendrils, but the runes around the gash are black. They twist at unnatural angles that fade away to mundane sear marks upon his laminated carapace.

  Another leap sends the miner onto the prone general, plasma cutter flaring brilliant white-red. He screams as he falls on top of Bruen, fangs shining scarlet in the plasma fire. The stench of burning flesh and black smoke cloud the already smokey air.

  The fire cuts off suddenly.

  Wires and tubes clasped within his upper tendrils, Bruen throws the Tserri from him with his rune enhanced lower tendrils. Almost quick enough to avoid the spinning teeth of the huge battle knife. It tears into his torso, severing nerves and muscles. Shining blue spurts from the wound and clouds of it sparkle in the artificial light, trailing from the hungry blade.

  Regaining his balance first, Bruen readies himself for another lunge from the half wild Tserri. He holds the synthetic tubing and severed metal cords loosely in his functioning tendrils. The left cluster of upper tendrils hangs limp.

  Noftun, already climbing to his feet, snarls in rage. As soon as he has the leverage to move he leaps again. The blade, gleaming azure, swings down in a wild arc.

  The cords and tubes whip up. The spinning teeth slice through the first to land, but more continue to wrap around it until it chokes and dies. Blue tinted smoke joins the growing smog around them. Tendrils grab the arm holding the knife and wrap around tightly.

  Red blood splashes from inside the Tserri's armor as he rams into the ground. Still holding tightly, Bruen rolls on top of Noftun's back. He pulls back on the arm causing Noftun to roar in pain.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  Noftun reaches back with his mechanical claw even as Bruen wraps his tentacles around his legs and confines the other arms with his working tendrils. His claw grabs frantically seeking a hold on the blood slick uniform, but the black zelsilk slips from his weakening grasp.

  "Yield, you," demands Bruen through the agony.

  The warrior miner fights for breath, fights to grab his opponent, and finally fights to remain conscious as his brain and body starve for air. A fight he loses. Bruen presses mercilessly until the warrior's struggle ceases.

  He stands and screams for a medic. The watching soldiers and aviaformes scatter. Out of the thinning smoke a silver plumed individual steps forward with a quick-thinking soldier.

  "Make sure he'll live," orders Bruen. "I am in some danger of bleeding out, but not quickly."

  The argent feathered healer trills his understanding and sets to work. He applies a stimulant once the soldier restrains the unbreathing warrior. The injection revives the Tserri who awakens with a snarl. The reflexive swipe with his claws lacks the force to break free of the casteless soldier's grip. The medic backs away as quick as possible.

  When Noftun relaxes the soldier releases him. The miner steadies himself and the soldier glides over to guard Bruen.

  Confusion clear on his furred face, Noftun asks, "Under arrest now, me?" He rubs at his sore limbs, massaging feeling back into bruised flesh.

  Bruen spits blood specked with black char into a rag held by the silver medic. His tendrils wrap gauze around his wounds. The general cannot trust an alien, healer or no, to do it without further harming the tattered runic arrays.

  "No," answers Bruen distractedly. "But I am hungry. You can buy me a meal, in honor of my victory."

  Noftun laughs sardonically. "No money, me."

  The smile melts from his face when the soldier guarding Bruen tosses him a pouch. "I'll make it back in drinks," the soldier assures him.

  The wild one opens the small pouch to see credit chits. Low denomination chits, but identical to those used on Kalibern and by the free fleets. He holds one up and opens his mouth to ask, but Bruen speaks first.

  "From the station, yes. This one," and he indicates the soldier with his upper tendrils, "likes to make bets with the gullible." Bruen then declines the numbing liquid the medic offers. He needs to retain his faculties. A little pain can be borne, until a healer of his own kind can be found. The runes that suppress pain flicker between weak and nonfunctional.

  "I don't lie to them about anyone's skill," objects the soldier. He holds his tendrils in a semi-relaxed state, but the ever-present spear maintains a ready tilt.

  "Of course not," agrees Bruen. Noftun shakes his head, ears twitching.

  "Why not angry, you? A joke, our fight?"

  Bruen's mouthparts twitch as he carefully tightens the last bandage. It must be healed by a thaumatist and until then he will be in great pain.

  "You acknowledge your defeat? Yes, good. You won't try again?"

  "Not soon," grunts the battered warrior. He slips the small pouch into a pocket built into his armor. "Fine. Where can food be found?"

  "Follow me."

  Gliding to the exit of the large area, Bruen leads the Tserri warrior to an aviaforme diner he knows the dust eaters favor. The soldier guarding Bruen, receiving no additional orders and seeing a clear purpose, leaves in another direction.

  "Kroww, nss hsi! Isk'n-ever left alone, me," exclaims Noftun, laughing. "But what-shiss, nkat hsi?"

  'Such bravery, you! Leave enemies alone with me,' whispers Bruen's translator. 'But not attack again, you?'

  Sparks fly out from the Tserri's chest plate, splashing his face and singeing the fur on his lower jaw. He curses and pats at his face with all three of his claws.

  "Almost there," Bruen offers.

  Noftun nods, slumping in true defeat. "One more thing to fix."

  At the diner they find a small crowd of mixed species. Selber tourists, Tserri miners, aviaforme settlers, and various castes of his own kind. He spots the dull green robes of a solitary Somner hiding in the corner.

  "Order for us. The waitresses all have translators. I'll have grilled meat, whatever's fresh."

  Bruen waits for Noftun to nod sullenly before leaving him. Bruen heads to the robed loner and joins their table, sinking into the shallow pit with a soft sigh.

  The thaumatist turns their body to see who had joined them, revealing their face to Bruen. Metal veins spread across the chitin, black in the dim lighting. The Somner gasps when he sees the state of the general.

  Pulling a vial from the broad leather strap running across his robes, the thaumatist takes quick, short breaths. Inhaling the contents of the glass tube causes the metal veins to glow a harsh violet to Bruen's central eye.

  "What happened, Mos? Where was your Somner!"

  The Somner carefully peels away the gauze. He clacks his pedipalps loudly when he sees the state of the augmenting runes. Then again when he notices the way half of Bruen's upper tendrils hang limp.

  "I sent her to lead an installation project for our new allies. Didn't expect to get into a blood duel." Pain flares when the suppression array finally burns out. "This isn't supposed to be a dangerous posting, after all."

  The thaumatist pauses his work when the cybernetic Tserri joins the table, setting three bowls of grilled meat strips down. Noftun curls up in another of the seating pits before popping a strip of white flesh into his mouth. He chews contentedly, eye closing and ears laying back.

  "He needs repairs as well," states Bruen calmly.

  The Somner waves acknowledgement, returning to his work. The smell of the meat proves too tempting to ignore, however. All three eat while the thaumatist replaces the arrays damaged by the duel.

  "What were your intentions for challenging me?" Bruen picks up another morsel and consumes it while waiting for Noftun's reply.

  The Tserri finishes his mouthful, then wipes grease from his face with one claw. "I wish to challenge Gelen. Pack Leader of the free fleets, me," he laughs. He takes another bite before continuing, "Much glory from defeating you, I thought. Fight the Supply-Master to a draw, you!"

  "And you needed this glory to challenge your leader?"

  "Only heroes can be leaders," answers Noftun with a shrug. "Big hero, you. Yosip. Why not me?"