The Duellist

"Thanks, Jay," she said seriously.

He smiled. Left the cab, watched as it drove away, her eyes watching him from the back until it vanished out of sight. "Fuck," he said when she'd at last gone from sight.

Three hours later he called her from the Bitter End. By that time he was ferociously drunk on Trent's best rum and she wasn't answering. He left a garbled message on her answering machine before staggering back to the duellist group he'd hooked up with.

She didn't phone him back.

******

Jayden sipped his coffee, chewed codeine tabs. His head was pounding.

He looked at the coffee, swirling the oily liquid in his cup. It seemed that the UN had run out of the good stuff, or he was no longer worthy. Either way, this wasn't it - the black liquid tasted bitter, leaving an unpleasant clinging aftertaste.

He still felt a little delicate. After he'd phoned Emma, Friday night had blended into Saturday in an incoherent stream of parties and drinking until he'd woken up on Sunday morning with the mother of all hangovers, grateful for the small mercy of lying on his own bedroom floor. He'd been surprised to find himself alone. He could still remember glimpses of a dark haired woman, his cock in her mouth, and a room that smelt of cigarettes and stale beer.

Of course, he realised, it could have been a dream.

"Okay, Jayden, one percent of the total profits to be ploughed back into the local renewal schemes. I can accept that," Wim said, sighing, running his hand through his hair. He paced the floor of the meeting room.

Between them several beech effect tables had been pushed together to make a rough square, their surfaces scarred by protruding power sockets, the limbs of dark microphones protruding like antennae.

Emma sat across from him, casual in jeans and a blue short-sleeved top. When he'd entered she'd looked at him as if she'd wanted to say something but nothing had been said. Now she wasn't looking at him at all.

"But what about the global effort, I can't agree to this without some real commitment to that," Wim continued.

Jayden smiled tentatively. Spoke slowly, his voice a little hoarse. "Wim, I've already said. One percent for local initiatives taken from profits made in the country concerned. For the global effort an additional half of one percent of Achilles' total profits from exploitation of Planet Earth."

Wim stopped pacing. "Half of one percent is hardly a commitment."

Jayden shrugged. "Make a counter offer."

"Two percent on top."

He shook his head, immediately regretted it. "No."

Wim groaned.

At last Emma looked at him, her face placid. "One and a half percent on top," she said. "Come on, Jay. A partnership at twenty seven. Paying for that's going to cost us almost that much in the first year anyway..."

He smiled. "Assuming I don't get killed."

Emma shrugged. "Yes. Assuming."

Jayden sighed. "Okay, look, you two are clearly amateurs. This is what I'm going to agree to. One percent local for local initiatives. One percent global for global initiatives on top, plus you get Achilles' name on your 'Global Renewal Commitment' document. Just say yes or no."

They exchanged a glance. Emma shrugged. Wim said, "Okay, yes."

"Good. Now explain to me how the UN is going to fund my partnership bid without us all getting locked up."

Wim sighed, nodded to Emma. She turned to look at him. "My family."

He looked at her pensively. "What, your father?" he said, struggling to keep the dislike from his voice.

"That's right, Jay, my father," she said, her voice resigned.

"Then no," he said, his voice hard. "I don't want anything from your fucking father, Em, not a damn thing."

"Oh, grow up Jay," she said loudly. Wim stared between the two of them, his face uncomprehending. "It's not my father's money, it's the UN's, he's just the conduit."

"Shame, it'd almost be worth getting killed just to spite the old bastard."

"Don't be so fucking ridiculous," she said angrily.

Jayden felt his anger spike, his hangover forgotten, was about to shout a reply when he caught Emma's eye. She looked worried, concerned, a little upset. His anger dribbled away. He settled back in his seat. "Okay, truce," he said at last. Wim watched the two of them, his face thoughtful.

She exhaled, calming herself. "Look, all you need to know is that I will give you the money up front. How we filter it through to my family is a matter for us."

He leaned back, thinking. "Are you connected with the UN?"

She shook her head. "Not officially. I've done some voluntary work, but I've done similar things elsewhere."

"Okay. It's simple enough. It'll work if nobody asks questions," he said.

"If they do, we'll say that we're, uh, together," she said, glancing quickly at Wim. He seemed to be lost in thought, scratching his beard and staring quietly out of the window.

Jayden grinned. She glared at him.

"Okay. You've got a deal," he said. "Wim, I don't expect to see you again, at least until after the duel, understood?"

Wim turned to face him, nodded. "Not unless something goes wrong."

"Good. Em, I expect you to be in touch. We need to be able to look together if we have to."

"Of course," she said quietly, her face assuming that same enigmatic look he'd seen at their first meeting.

"If there's nothing else?"

******

"He was drunk, you know." Wim said after Jayden had gone, slumping in a chair.

"I know, Wim." She hadn't moved, sitting looking at the door through which he'd gone.

"Can you imagine turning up to a negotiation hung over like that? The man's a complete jerk."

"He seemed to do quite well," she said.

"You're defending him again."

Emma looked at him sharply. "We're asking him to duel for us, to help us out - I think you should cut him some slack."

Wim laughed bitterly. "He's not doing it for us, for what we believe in," he said, angry now. "He's doing it for himself, for the partnership we're buying him... Don't kid yourself, Emma."

"Doesn't matter, Wim," she said. "He's going to fight because we asked him to, he could be killed..."

"Well, I for one wouldn't see that as a great loss," Wim said.

"You know, you can be a complete asshole at times Wim."

He nodded. For a while he said nothing, thinking. Then: "You still have feelings for him, don't you?" he said quietly.

Emma looked at him, ready to protest, to deny it, but found that she couldn't meet his eyes. Finally she shrugged, said, "I don't know, Wim." She looked back at the door Jayden had used. "I'm sorry."

He nodded. "Please be sure to let me know when you find out, eh?" he said.

******

"Hi, boss," Toni said. "Your girlfriend is here to see you."

Jayden looked up from the screen. "My what?"

"Your girlfriend, didn't get her name. Tall, slim, blond hair..."

"Right, sorry, okay... Show her in."

His move into John's old office had been completed wholesale. He'd simply discarded John's rather stuffy choices of furniture and replaced it with his own more modern furniture. In similar fashion, Toni had ousted John's old secretary, a guy called Michael. Jayden still fully anticipated finding his body tucked away in one of the cabinets.

"Hi, Jay," Emma said. "Hope I'm not disturbing you."

"Not at all," he said. "Coffee?"

She nodded, Toni waved acknowledgement from the door.

"So what brings you into the capitalist stronghold?" he said, placing his electronic pad on the desk.

"You," she said, looking at him boldly. She sat in one of the sofas, crossing her legs. She wore a black suit, her skirt cut short at mid thigh.

"Oh?"

"The money is available, I just need an account I can pay it into."

He sighed, leaning back in his chair. "Ah."

"What, did you think this was a personal call?" she said, smiling, tension visible in the set of her body.

"Actually, yes," he said, turning serious.

She paused. Sighed. Said, "I just need some time, Jay, okay?"

He grinned. "Don't take too long, I could be dead in a week."

She didn't laugh. "That's not funny."

Toni arrived with the coffee, placing a tray on the low coffee table, pouring two cups from a stainless steel pot.

"Thanks, Toni," he said. She left, closing the door behind her.

"Not funny, maybe, but true enough."

She stood, crossing to his window, standing with her back to him, looking out. The suit clung to her figure, emphasising her long legs, her slim waist. "Jay, don't push me, okay. I need to think things through."

"Last time I ended up on my own at the altar," he said quietly, saw her flinch slightly.

She turned to look at him, her face pale, hurt. "I suppose I deserved that," she said. "Give me the account number."

He passed her a printout. "Like I said, don't wait too long, Em."

She didn't answer, looking at him for a long moment before she nodded and walked out.

******

Jayden settled into the meeting room in his usual position, the place that not too long before had been John's. Rear three-quarters of the table, opposite side of the room from the door. Around him the senior executive management of Commercial Exploitation perched like so many vultures - a collection of faceless suits in shades of grey and black.

He knew most of them by name, of course, but they didn't intrigue him, didn't excite him. Drab people, he thought, in a drab, dirty business. Niamh sat at the head of the table, elegant in a slim-fitting black Dior suit, and, breaking with routine, Harding sat next to her, squat and inelegant in a black Todori Nakamura suit that probably cost more than Jayden earned in a month.

"...so profits are up by three percent this quarter, thanks in part to the excellent work initiated by John and now carried forward by Jayden," Niamh said, making sure she caught the eyes of everyone in turn. "Our intention now is to move full scale mining into Rwanda under Jayden's leadership, with an estimated uplift to margins of between one and one point five percent."

Heads around the table nodded. He waited, observing, an actor in a play. He watched Niamh, the way her body moved, her natural confidence, her elegance in this crowd. No matter which way he looked at it, he felt like he was betraying her.

"...into Europe with two new investments producing hydroponic growth plants for the new domes." She paused. "Okay, has anybody got anything to add?" A cursory glance along the table.

"No, good. Then-"

"I've got something to add," he said.

Heads lifted, a spike of interest. She stopped. Looked at him oddly. "Go on..."

"Rwanda is a mistake. There's plenty of material left in the Congo for exploitation. Moving to Rwanda now is a mistake."

"What?"

A small murmur ran around the room, not speech, nothing so coherent - more like a collectively taken breath.

He sighed. It had never been this personal before. He felt sick. "I'm calling you out, Niamh."

She chuckled. Realised that he was serious, stopped. "You can't, I'm a partner, you haven't..." She looked at Harding, realisation dawning.

"Yes I can, Niamh."

"My God, you set me up. Jay..." The hurt was naked in her voice. She stared at him, the situation sinking in slowly, her face moving between incredulity, hurt, anger. Her eyes hurled his betrayal back at him, shining with unshed tears. "Why?"

He stared at her, his resolve fraying at the edges, coming apart. Harding stepped into the breach. "Challenge duly noted and sanctioned. Niamh, you're entitled to a proxy," he said. "Let me know when you've chosen. I'll let you have the date as soon as I can. Standard rules apply."

He stood. "If there's nothing else?" A quick glance about the room. "Good."

For a time then he and Niamh stared at each other across the tables. At last she said, "Get out, all of you." Her mask back in place.

He didn't move, letting the rest of them shuffle out. She watched him.

"Why, Jay, why?" she said at last. "I thought we were together."

"Until you found a new man to fuck," he said, he didn't mean it, wanted to cover the emptiness he felt inside.

She flinched. "That's not true. I thought we were different, Jay..." She stared at him. A tear escaped her eye, running down her cheek. She brushed it away.

He couldn't meet her eyes, pretended not to notice, examined the tabletop, his hand - ignoring her.

"It won't stop me killing you," she said after a while, her composure back in place. "You know that..."

He looked up. "I know. Business is business, right?" He stood. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry Niamh."

She laughed. "Everyone's sorry, Jay."

He nodded. Left.

A partner at twenty seven. Unheard of. All he had to do was take his lover's job off her and throw her on the street.

Survival of the fittest, he thought.

It made him feel no better.

He set off to get very badly drunk.

******

"...that's right sports fans, you heard it here first. Now we've got some great news for you duelling fans. Looks like a biggie at Achilles next weekend."

Jayden stared out of the window of his apartment, it was the third time he'd listened to the download and he still struggled to believe it.

"New senior executive Jayden Carney's bloodlust doesn't seem to have been sated by his bloodless coup earlier this month, he's on the move again. You've got it, this time he's called out his boss, junior partner Niamh O'Hara. The boy's got guts, we'll give him that..."

The sun was just setting beyond the dome, the orbiting city moving slowly into the shadow of the Earth. A few halogen lamps had started to ignite, the lights at the heart of New York Dome standing out bright against the encroaching night.

"...but this might be a fight too far for the golden boy. It seems that Achilles have nominated Stanislav as proxy for the fight. Regular listeners amongst you will know Stanislav as duellist of the year last year after his kill during the Global Inc. contract duel..."

He winced. Stanislav.

"...but Jayden's woes don't end there. It seems that Niamh O'Hara is more than a little annoyed with the challenge, she's decided to duel herself. That's double trouble for the golden boy..."

It still hadn't sunk in. Niamh was going to duel. He would actually have to kill her to get her partnership from her. He couldn't even begin to think what that would be like.

"Now for those stats lovers amongst you..."

He turned it off, stood in silence, watching the light fade.

******

Somewhere in the distance an alarm was sounding. Persistent, angry, buzzing through his dream like a swarm of bees. He rolled over, tried to ignore it but, like a fish on a line, he felt himself being pulled inexorably from sleep.

He surfaced like a drowning man, gasping, fumbling for something solid to hold onto. He'd dreamed that he was killing Niamh, strangling her, choking her pretty face with his bare hands, her pale skin purple, her emerald eyes bulging, petrified.

He sucked breath, his chest heaving, body soaked in sweat.

Slowly he became aware of the noise. The videophone bleating like a duel armour proximity alarm.

For a long while he lay still, heart pounding, racing, waiting for the nightmare to loose its grip on him. The room was dark, a low green glow from the digits of the clock alarm casting a weak, sickly light. Finally he rolled over, sat on the edge of the bed, gathering his thoughts. Trying to get Niamh out of his mind. He padded over to the phone, rubbing life back into his face.

Emma's face filled the screen. "Jay?"

"Hi, Em," he said, struggling to stifle a yawn. "You know it's..." He glanced at the clock. "One am, right?"

"I need to see you," she said, her image tense on the screen. She'd been crying, he could see it in the puffiness around her eyes, hear it in the brittleness of her voice.

"Sure, Em. What's wrong?"

She shook her head, wiped her eyes. "I've left Wim."

He nodded, struggled to banish the grogginess. "Okay. Where do you, uh, want to meet?"

A pause. Hesitation betraying a little uncertainty. "Can I come there?"

"Yeah, of course." He tried for a reassuring smile. "How long?"

"I'm on my way now."

He nodded and she hung up. Sleep was reluctant to loosen its grip, lying thick and oily over everything he did. He rubbed his hand through his hair, poured himself a glass of water, put the coffee machine on. If he was quick he might just have time for a shower, he thought.

******

She was at the door, buzzing the intercom, when he emerged damp but awake from the shower. He opened the door still toweling his hair dry, dressed only in jeans.

She was waiting for him, casually dressed in jeans and a grey tee shirt, her hair loose about her shoulders. For a second she stared at him, a smile flickered and failed, her face wary, almost afraid. "Jay..."

"Hi, Em. Come in." He stepped back from the door, letting her inside. She had her Gucci, a small holdall that he took from her. "I've just made some coffee, want one?"

A nod.

He poured two cups. "Want to talk about it?" he said softly.

She hadn't moved, standing on the threshold. "I didn't know where else to go, Jay."

He nodded, watched her. She wasn't crying, that seemed to have passed. He picked milk from the fridge, poured. Gave her time.

She swallowed. "Oh God. That isn't true," she said. "That isn't what I wanted to say." She pushed her hair back with her hand. "It seemed so easy when Wim was shouting, when I was in the cab, why is it so hard now?"

He crossed to her, handed her the coffee. "You can come in, you know..."

She shook her head. "Let me finish, Jay," she said. Sipped her coffee. "I thought about what you said, about not waiting too long..."

He nodded, waited. All of a sudden his heart was racing. She was right in front of him, so close he could touch her, all he had to do was reach out.

She sighed, seemed to be wrestling with what she wanted to say. "Wim accused me of fucking you..."

Jayden snorted, shook his head. "You told him the truth?"

"I told him I was going to," she said, looking at him. He stared at her.

Time dragged, tension creeping between them.

Slowly, almost nervously, he reached for her, unsure what he was going to do, his need nascent, unformed. She opened her mouth as if to say something and, in that moment, something broke in the tension between them. Without knowing how it happened, she was in his arms, her mouth colliding with his in a hot rush, his own desire sparking to meet hers. Together they stumbled into the apartment, her tongue wild in his mouth, her skin tasting of tears and scent.

His hands were on her body, under her shirt, the feel of her bra strap rough against the softness of her back, the play of her muscles under her skin. They made it to the sofa in a chaos of mutual pulling and pushing, falling back onto it over the arm, her body falling with him.

Her mouth was on his chest, her tongue flicking over his nipples, her hands stroking over his skin. He pulled at her tee shirt and for a moment she broke contact, kneeling above him, lifting it over her head, discarding it. Unbidden she reached behind herself, unfastened her bra, letting it fall free, her eyes watching his, a small shy smile on her lips. Her tits were small, upturned, their pink nipples highlighted by the whiteness of her skin, the tan lines following the shape of her bra.

He groaned, reached for her and she came into his arms, giggling slightly, her skin soft and warm against his chest, her tongue meeting his. Slowly, gently, he rolled her over so that she lay on her back on the sofa. He knelt beside her, slid his hands along her belly, luxuriating in the feel of her skin, unfastened her jeans. She blinked, looking into his eyes, lifted her hips to allow him to push them down from her waist.

Her hands reached for her knickers, hooking her thumbs in the waistband. He stopped her with his hands, parting her legs instead. Bending forward he kissed a line along each thigh, tasting the soft, damp flesh at the hem of her knickers, breathing in her musk.