The Duellist

There was a roar as the copter's engines burst to life, the whole body rattling as the blades got up to speed. It was deafening.

"Is this thing safe?" Jayden shouted.

Wim smiled.

They took off, lurching into the air like a drunken bumblebee. Jayden winced, gripping the seat. "Is that pilot even qualified?" he said.

"What?" Wim shouted.

Jayden shook his head. "Forget it," he said. He looked out of the window.

Despite his misgivings they cleared the patchwork fence about the port, heading with reasonable smoothness over the surrounding land. Below them the muddy remains of the jungle stretched in all directions, the powering smoke stacks on the horizon coming closer.

Wim leaned forward, calling Jayden towards him. He shouted, "Back in the twentieth century, Jayden, the land below us was all rainforest. As big as Western Europe, as big as the Amazonian rainforest. The two together were called the Earth's lungs." He pointed down at the mud. "Guess we ripped its lungs out."

Jayden looked. The noise was giving him a headache. "You saying the Congo was some kind of utopia?"

Wim leaned back. Ignored him.

The helicopter closed the distance to the smoke stacks quickly, the images coalescing slowly through the pervasive smoke, great clouds of it roiling around, filling the air long before they reached the source. What emerged resembled a massive insect - four huge legs supporting a massive metalwork platform high above the mud below. From it multiple metal drills reached down into the gelatinous surface below, an army of people in brightly coloured overalls, masks, swarming over its surface or working in the mud. A constant stream of trucks were winding from the mud towards the far horizon, an equal number returning.

The helicopter banked, swinging around the platform. High on the metalwork of the he could just make out as it did so a filthy Achilles Corp. symbol.

"What is it?" he shouted. Wim looked at him.

"I thought the Congo was your area?" Wim said loudly, leaning close to speak.

"Only since Friday night."

"Right." He looked out of the window, pointed. "That is a mining construct. It drills into the ground, plants explosives in the holes and blows the ground to pieces. The trucks come in and pick up it up and dump it on the platform's conveyors. The spoil then goes into the platform where the extraction processes take place." He sighed. "No more inefficient old practices. That thing gets the lot."

Jayden stared. From the pattern on the ground it was clear that the operation was gradually cutting the ground away in a huge swathe, taking every piece of mineral wealth hidden beneath it. "What happens to the slag?"

"Gets dumped." Wim turned, shouted to the pilot and the helicopter lurched about heading off after the trucks. A short time later the site of the dumping became clear. Behind the mining construct a whole new land surface was emerging, baked and lifeless, a sea of steaming mud and slag stretching away into the distance. Even as they watched, trucks added more steaming muck to the devastation.

Wim stared at him. "Well Mister Achilles, this is your responsibility now. Your legacy."

"That's right, Wim. Mine." He pointed out of the window. "And over there will be another construct belonging to Collister Maclean." Pointed in the other direction. "Over there one belonging to Mariner Sketch. Do you see?"

"Well, there's always competition, Jayden."

He shook his head. "Wim, this isn't just competition, this is survival of the fittest."

Wim nodded. "I can't pitch this in the helicopter, Jay," he said, shouting. "Let me take you to the UN base."

"Your day out, Wim," he said quietly, watching Emma. She was looking at him, her face neutral. Wim stared out of the window.

******

"The beans in the coffee you're drinking were grown here on Earth, decades ago," Wim said. "When it was still possible to grow things outside of the domes. They were expensive at the time, now they're nearly beyond price."

Jayden sipped his coffee. It was very good. Wim stood in front of a presentation screen, on it an image of the Earth as it was. Jayden had the strangest feeling that he'd seen this presentation before. It hadn't convinced him then, either. At least the coffee was good, he thought.

He stared out of the window as Wim waxed lyrical behind him, his voice betraying his tension. Beyond the window the UN dome was visible overhead, not a permanent structure like the geodesics over the orbitals. This was more like an enormous tent, a semi-rigid resin bubble. Huge steel pylons and cables surrounded it like a skeletal metal hand, anchoring it against the mother-storms that ripped around the globe.

"...atmosphere scrubbers built on an industrial scale could conceivably restore the atmosphere in twenty years, but without new plant growth..."

In the compound below him a myriad people were going about their business, soldiers in UN uniform, people in white overalls. The far side of the dome seemed to have a hospital of sorts set up in it - a series of steel cargo pods joined together with a huge red cross painted on one. At its door were the usual cluster of white overalls, a queue of people in scraps of clothing, beaten, wretched, stretched from its door. It appeared to be some kind of immunisation program - white coated techs administering shots as fast as the confused rabble would allow.

"...so what we need is for the corporations to come on board, with their money we might make the kind of difference the planet needs to restart the repair process. We anticipate results will start to show between twenty and thirty years from now. With the most optimistic projection it would be fully self-sustaining in fifty years."

He finished. Jayden didn't react, sipped his coffee.

"Jay?" Emma said softly.

"Forget it," he said. "You're living in a world of your own. You're so far away from reality you haven't even noticed that nobody else has come with you."

Wim sighed heavily. "I told you this was a waste of time..."

"Jay, how can you say that?" she said tiredly, resigned. "Look out of the window..."

"I am looking out of your window, Emma," he said quietly. "And do you know what I see?"

"What?"

"I see refugees. I see sick people. I see people in need now. Now. What do they care about fifty years from now?" he said, sipping his coffee, staring into the distance. "You're so hung up on solving the problems we may have in the future that you've forgotten about the ones we know we have right now..."

Wim snorted. "What? A lecture from the voice of business, Jayden?" A bitter chuckle. "Those refugees you're so concerned with, who do you think is administering to them - your corporations?" Wim said, mocking. "No, it's us. Don't lecture me Jayden. Go look at yourself in the mirror first."

Jayden smiled. Turned to face them, meeting Emma's eyes across the sparse interior of the demountable office. "Okay. No lectures," he said finally. "The proposal you've placed on the table holds no interest for the Achilles Corporation." He put the cup down on a low table. "We're done. I have work to do," he said. "Thanks for the coffee."

Wim sighed again, shared a long look with Emma. Finally he turned away, facing the wall, running his hands through his hair. She turned back to look at Jayden, her face serious. "What if we funded a partnership bid for you?" she said quietly.

Jayden stopped, eyes flicking between them. "What?"

"In return for your cooperation with this initiative, we would buy you a partnership at Achilles Corp.," Emma said evenly. "You'd be the youngest partner in their history, that's got to tempt a man like you."

"That's illegal," he said grinning.

Emma smiled. "We can work out the details of how we conceal the payment," she said. "I have some ideas on that. But are you interested?"

Behind her he could see Wim turn, looking at him intently.

He paused, thoughts racing. "I'd have to think about it," he said slowly. "And what you've got on the table is still unattractive - there's no way I'd sign off ten percent, partnership or not, you'd need to move on that before I could even consider it."

"There's room for negotiation, Jayden," Wim said.

He nodded. "Okay, at this stage I'll think about it. When you have a firmer proposal, come and talk to me and we'll discuss options. I'm not ruling it out."

A partner at twenty seven? he thought. Unheard of. As they left the office he couldn't help grinning. He caught Emma's eye, saw her smile gently at him behind Wim's back.

******

Jayden stifled a yawn, rubbing his forehead, an old duellist trick.

Around him the party was in full swing, besuited executives loitering in the dimly lit Achilles' Conference Suite, drinks in hand - chatting business. He checked his watch, half ten. Where the hell had Niamh gone? he thought, although he had a suspicion he already knew.

"So, how do you find Commercial Exploitation?" Brandon said, smiling.

Jayden sipped his rum. Brandon was one of the other senior executives, a man he had seen about but hardly spoken to since he'd arrived. Tall, slim, immaculate in a grey Todori Nakamura suit, margarita in hand. He looked more than a little drunk, Jayden thought. Face flushed, pupils dilated.

"Yeah, it's good," he said, noncomittally.

Brandon sniggered. Jayden revised his estimate of drunkenness upward. "Good?" he said. "Commercial Exploitation is the business, man!"

Jayden nodded. He'd had enough of Commercial Exploitation to last him a lifetime, busting his balls all week to get up to speed. Sacrificing his Friday night on its altar was definitely not on the agenda. "Which, portfolios are you managing then?" he said blandly.

"All the big ones, Jay," he said, waving his margarita to emphasise the point. "I've got South America and North America." Strong emphasis on the 'and'.

Jayden sighed. An hour, Niamh had said, an hour, just for the boss to show willing. That was three hours ago and she hadn't been seen since. Probably found some new fucktoy to play with, he thought bitterly. "That's nice, Brand. How are those working out for you?" he said.

Brandon chuckled. "They're a bitch, the whole fucking place has fallen apart and they're too fucking stupid to see it." He swigged his margarita. "Can you believe they keep asking for environmental concessions? Environmental concessions - place is a fucking toilet." He laughed loudly. "Not as bad as Europe, though. Just ask Philip." He pointed at a squat balding man in his forties standing near the spotlit bar. Philip looked over as he heard his name called.

"Yeah, life's a bitch." Especially when you're dating one, he thought. If you could call what they did dating. He smiled bitterly. Checked his watch again.

"Not for you though, eh, Jayden?" Brandon said, sniggering. He swigged his margarita.

Jayden looked at him. "What do you mean?"

"Senior executive at twenty seven, fucking the boss, light load to carry..." he said easily. "Guess that's got to feel nice."

Jayden stared, a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach. "What do you mean 'light load to carry'?"

"Man, what have you got to manage... The fucking Congo? Who has ever given a fuck about the Congo?" he said, laughing. "Nobody cared a fuck about that place before the Earth went to ratshit, now it's easy pickings. Pay your bribes, take your spoils - the fucking interior minister doesn't even live in the Congo, did you know that?"

He knew it. Worthless bastard had a nice place in the Brussels Dome. "I've got Environment, too."

Brandon laughed. "Environment? Much profit in that is there?"

Jayden felt cold, a knot of cold anger settling in his gut. He looked around for Niamh, scanning the crowd around the room. He picked out a few people he knew, spotted Harding at the back with some of the other senior partners. "Brandon, I would love to stay and talk, but you're boring me fucking rigid," he said, voice icy. He patted him on the cheek, as he might do a small child, handed him his empty rum glass. "So I'm going before I feel the need to hit you."

Brandon stared at him, unsure whether he should laugh along or take it seriously.

Jayden didn't give him time to formulate a response, he stalked from the room. He tried Niamh's office, but wherever she'd gone to fuck her latest acquisition it wasn't there. Probably in the elevator he reflected.

He took the elevator down, resisting the urge to press all the call buttons to see if any were on hold. The receptionist disavowed all knowledge of her whereabouts when he asked. Swearing, his anger impotent, he grabbed his cell, dialled her number. She answered after six rings, video at her end had been disabled.

"Niamh, where the fuck are you?"

"Uh, what? That..." She broke off, breathless. "Uh, that you Jay?"

"Fucking hell, Niamh..." he said coldly. "If you want to go and fuck someone at least let me know first."

"Uh, Jay, I'm, uh, not..."

"You think I'm fucking stupid?" he barked.

"No... It's, uh..."

"Oh, shut up," he said. "I'm going home. Have a nice fucking night."

"Jay, wait, I-"

He hung up.

******

He wasn't asleep when she called, but he was in bed - lying on his back, staring into space. Eventually the angry buzzing of the intercom forced him to take action. He rolled out of bed, still wearing his pants, padded through into the living room.

He pressed the intercom. "Yeah?"

"Jay, it's me," Niamh said. "Let me up."

He buzzed her in, unlatching the door for her at the top of the stairs as he did so. The apartment was small, something he'd started renting when he was duelling, but it was located in New York Dome, which meant that the size was worth the tradeoff with the convenience. He went to the small open plan kitchen, flicking the coffee machine on, waiting as it started bubbling.

The door opened. "Hey Jay," she said. She looked good, he had to admit, a black catsuit cut short at her knees and elbows, clinging to her athletic body, her short hair leaving the long pale expanse of her neck on view. "I'm sorry about... You know? We okay?"

"You were fucking then?" She flushed, looked away. Closed the door behind her.

He sighed. "Who was it?"

"Does it matter?"

"No, not really," he said. "You could have fucking warned me..."

She shrugged. "It just sort of happened."

He laughed hollowly. "Thank fuck I'm not married to you."

"Don't say that, Jay." She looked hurt.

He poured himself a coffee. "Want one?"

"Sure, why not?"

He sat on the sofa, flicked the TV on, the room filling with flickering blue light, volume right down.

"You're really pissed, aren't you?" she said after a moment, her expression guarded.

"Niamh..."

"Look, don't be," she said. "I know we were never, you know, exclusive. But if it pisses you off this much, I'll stop, Jay-"

"It's not about that. Not all, anyway."

"Oh." She stopped, sat down next to him on the sofa. "What then, what have I done that's pissed you off this time?"

For a while he looked at the TV screen, watching the images flash, not really seeing them. "Are you carrying me, Niamh?"

She looked at him. "What the fuck are you talking about, Jay?"

"Work. Brandon suggested that you were carrying me - not giving me the full workload I should have." He looked at her.

She shrugged. "You're not up to speed with the division, of course you haven't got a full portfolio, how could you?"

"And that's all?"

She nodded. "Sure, yeah. Brandon's full of shit."

"So what will I be getting and when, then?" he said, carefully, watching her.

"Uh, I don't know, yet. We'll see how things go."

He exhaled. So that was it then - he wasn't trusted, wasn't up to the grade. "You bitch," he said, voice hard.

"Fuck you." Angry.

He glared at her. Through gritted teeth said, "Do you know how hard I fucking worked to get these fucking business qualifications? Do you have any idea of the hours I put in?"

"Jay..." Placatory.

"I don't deserve to be carried, Niamh, I'm sharper than half those fuckwits you've got working for you. Better qualified, better results, so what is it?"

She shrugged.

"I don't look right, is that it?" he pointed to his face, the duellist tattoo. "Don't fit in."

"Jay, you were a duellist, not a business analyst. You did really well at Response Solutions, it suited you, you've got to do the same here. It's different, Jay, not as fast, longer term. You're not used to it yet."

He sighed, leaned back in the sofa, his head rolling backwards, looking at the ceiling. He felt her hand on his chest, stroking his skin. "I won't fuck anyone else, Jay, okay? And I won't carry you, either. Once you're up and running properly, you'll get Europe. Deal?"

For a time he was quiet, staring upward. Her hand was more insistent, sliding over the hard muscle of his stomach, tracing the tattoo across his skin. She was breathing hard. "Come on, Jay. I'll make it worth your while, honest," she whispered, eyes pleading. With her free hand she unfastened the top catch of her catsuit, her firm cleavage bulging. He felt himself getting hard.

He looked across at her and she shuffled over, straddling him. "Honest," she said quietly, leaning towards him. She unbuttoned another button, her tits spilling out of the top, no bra to contain them. She reached up, pulling the suit down her arms to her waist, leaving herself topless, small nipples hard, wrinkled.

"Come on, Jay, don't make me beg..." She cupped her tits, massaging the tips, teasing her nipples. His cock was so hard it hurt, crushed against his pants, her weight pressing into him.

"Bitch," he said, softly, his breathing hard. She smiled, rocking gently against his erection.

"See, your body wants you to agree..." Slowly, her eyes holding his, she lifted her tits, her tongue flicking out to touch her nipples. She circled each of them slowly, leaving her skin wet with saliva. "Come on, Jay, please don't be pissed with me."

He watched her closely, his heart racing. From this close he could see the faint freckles dusting the bridge of her nose, sprinkled on her chest. "Okay, I'll deal," he said quietly, smiling.

She smiled lasciviously. "I knew you'd see it my way," she said throatily. She leaned in close, her mouth closing on his, her tongue sliding into his mouth. He slid his hands up, fondling her tits, teasing the nipples with his thumbs. Her hands were on his chest, rubbing his skin, fingernails scratching lightly.

With a sudden movement he twisted, pushing her backwards onto the sofa, his body pinning her. She squealed. "What, want me helpless is that it?" she said. "So I can't get away?"

"You got it, Niamh," he said, kissing her neck. "This is my place, my party... And you've got some making up to do."

She giggled. "I'm at your mercy, you could do anything..." He licked along her collar bone, kissing her under her chin, heard her moan slightly, tilting her head back offering him her soft neck.

"That's right. Anything."

Her hands looped around his back, pulling him into her, her tongue searching out his mouth. He reached down, slipping his hands between them grabbed her catsuit. With her tongue still twisting in his mouth he ripped it open, the sound of tearing fabric loud in the small room. She broke off kissing him, looked down at her ruined outfit. "Fuck," she said. "That cost a thousand dollars." She was naked underneath.

Jayden grinned. "You can afford it."

"Bastard," she said without rancour, smiling, her hands still around his back.

He stood, pulling the remains of the ruined catsuit from her, leaving her naked on the sofa. Discarded his pants and shorts on the floor. "Fuck, Jayden, you know you've got the sexiest body I've ever seen," she said, reaching for him, splaying herself on the sofa.

He stood next to her, his cock next to her head. She looked up at him, wordlessly took his cock in her mouth, sucking him, her hand gripping the base of him. He could feel her tongue licking, twisting about his cock, her jaw working, sucking him gently. He leaned forward, pushing his cock further in, forcing her head back. For a second she pulled him out, glared at him, called him a bastard. Then she slipped his cock back in, her mouth working him willingly.