NationStates Jolt Archive


A Blade and a Bullet

Allanea
30-08-2006, 16:03
“Senator! I do not believe you are actually accusing a sitting member of the Cabinet of treason! Control yourself!”

The elderly Mr. Pyontkovich (D-Massachusets) blinked at the Secretary of State. “Why, indeed I am. You’re connected to Aiyana Tiercean. A well-known welfare-statist and medical lobbyist in the Eternal Necrontyr Empire. Surely you will not deny this?”

Victoria Sheshet, the Secretary of State, raised her eyebrows. “So, sir, are you implying that my good friend, Aiyana Tiercean, is a welfare statist politician? Are you by chance also implying that I had ever been in a close relationship with a police state activist? Is this what you’re trying to say, Sir?”

“And a Union front figure in the Necrontyr Empire, Ms. Sheshet. As a former Ambassador to the Empire, you could not fail to notice this, could you?” – the elderly man smiled happily.

He did not expect what was coming else.

Nobody really did, though.

The Secretary of State stepped from behind the podium, and approached the Senator – slowly, inevitably, like Death itself.

“Mr. Senator, I will send you my seconds.”

“You…”

Next to him, his supporters already began to cheer. He had no option of backing down. And among Kazansky’s cabinet, the Attorney General began to move. “Mr. Senator, there’s no need to wait for seconds. I’m an authorized Notary Public. We could sign the Duel Agreement immediately – unless of course you are concerned about your safety and would not like to duel.” His voice seemed to drip acid.

Now he could not back down at all.

An Allanean duel is in some ways an old-fashioned deal. Each side picks a second, which acts as a witness to make sure the terms of the duel are not violated. If they are, the offender is tried for murder or attempted murder, of course. In others, they are not. For example, there’s no traditional set of weapons.

“I request that a pistol and knife for each duelist will be chosen as weapons of choice. No limit on amount of ammunition, but no explosive ammo.”

“The senator is an old man, and you’re a Special Forces veteran! At least make the starting distance twenty-five meters!”

“Five meters”. – replied Victoria, her voice cold as ice.

“But that’s… certain death for both of you!”

“I’ll just shoot first”.

“Why don’t you compromise and put it at twelve meters?” – smiled the Attorney General.

And so it was done.

Outside Liberty-City, two days later

Perhaps it was because Massachusets was only recently acquired by the United States of Allanea, but the good Senator knew nothing about guns. He was carrying an ancient Tec-9 semi-automatic pistol, the kind that’s not really even used by most people in Allanea, with an unnaturally long magazine poking out of his pocket. He was also wearing a suit and tie, standing front towards Victoria.

“Ready your arms!” – screamed one of the seconds, and within a flash, Victoria pulled out her Desert Seagull and loaded it. The Senator was still struggling with his immense pistol as Victoria advanced on him, slowly, turned sideways at him.

Ten meters

He raised the immense, heavy pistol, hands shaking. And then Victoria fired, twice.

The old man was thrown back, his mouth opening in a scream as he pulled the trigger.

Yes, he definitely has no fucking clue. Victoria continued advancing as the Tec-9 sprayed ammunition pointlessly around her. Two more shots – and the Senator screamed in pain, his left palm becoming a bloody half-stump with three of the fingers removed by the jacketed hollow points.

And then, he got lucky.

Victoria did not scream when three nine millimeter rounds hit her in the belly, three times.

She did not scream when two more rounds hit her in the left leg.

She only screamed when she fell to the ground.

It was a scream of rage – because the man that had so insulted her and her friend was still alive and would now kill her – because of sheer dumb luck.

Several years earlier, Team Dagger Training Camp

“I don’t care it fucking hurts, you stupid Khristian rats! You need to get up! You need to go there and take down that combat drone, and you do it NOW! I don’t care how much pain you’re in! Do you think if you lose and that drone goes home and kills your mother and wears her skin, you’re going just say “I’m sorry, mom, it HURT?”

The trainees rise. They’re scorched by stunner fire, thirsty, hungry, and they’ve gone on for thirty hours without screen. But they go there.

Viccy – Cadet 5664 – is the first across the protective wall, where the drone with the stunner stands. She slams him with the rifle butt, right in the head…

Present day

The Senator is only two meters away. He’s struggling with his pistol, trying to get it to fire again. He doesn’t notice Sheshet’s hand move.

The pistol fired twice more, the bullets ripping right through the Senator’s kneecaps. He screamed and fell once more, dropping the magazine. She fired once more – but by some miracle, the old man was alive. He dropped the pistol, reaching for his knife – a small Kershaw, maybe three inch long.

Viccy emptied the magazine and dropped the Desert Seagull.

Despite ten .50 Action Express rounds through his body, somehow, the elderly man was still alive. Most people die after the first one. He raised his knife protectively, whispering something.

“Please… please…”

Under standard dueling agreements, any side may call for mercy at any time.

The other side doesn’t have to grant it.

Victoria kicked the Senator in the palm of the hand holding the knife.

“You fucking slut!” – screamed the Senator – “You brown-nose! You…”

“You shouldn’t have said that.”

She dropped on him, blood squirting from holes in his chest, ignoring the pain as he stabbed her with the small knife.

The monstrous ABK Mk I bayonet-knife rose and fell. Again, again, again…

Victoria woke up in a hospital. The Senator didn’t.