Chapter 9: Preparations for Departure

The medical staff were extremely efficient assisting with Rick's injuries, but equally impersonal. He realized that they had to deal with countless fighters throughout the day and probably just wanted to get their work over with, so he didn't try to interact with them. Besides, he had plenty to think about.

Other than thanking them at the end, they didn't exchange any words. Rick was surprised at how good he felt: not just healed, but mostly pain free. His core had still received serious damage, of course, but that was his job to repair. He focused on it as he found a seat, trying to learn what he could. The explosive spheres attack had touched him so briefly, even the Dark Blood Kettle could only develop minimal defenses against it. A useful trick.

Though he'd wanted to watch the other events, particularly to find out exactly how the black sphere throwing event worked, Rick was just too exhausted. It wasn't just the injuries and the healing, it was the utter concentration for those two minutes of his life. Even though he'd been allowed in, he found himself wondering if he could really keep competing at this level.

Just when he was starting to feel a bit closer to normal, the cigarette-smoking man brushed past him, another cigarette dangling from his lips. "Come on. This is no place to talk."

"Uh, okay." Though a little suspicious, Rick decided it was better not to question his new sponsor. They only went a short distance off the field and stepped into a hallway underneath the main stands. Normally it would have been filled with crowds and concessions, but for the qualifying rounds it was nearly deserted.

"We need to talk terms, but first, you earned this." The man flipped a card toward him and Rick barely managed to catch it, because it didn't flutter like he expected. Though it was the size of a business card, it felt more like a heavy piece of tile in his hands.

Rick drew it closer to examine. Most of it was a plain, slightly reflective gray. His name and an ID number were printed on one side and below it he saw a circular pattern with a trigram inside it. Though it didn't mean anything to him, the way it glittered green meant it had to be the Jade Seal. The card itself felt both heavier and tougher than he expected, not bending even when he exerted his strength.

"Don't break the thing." The man cast him a sour glance as if expecting him to eat it. "The cards are tough, but they'll break if you put enough force into it. Now, the real credits are in a database somewhere, but they don't just give out new cards at random."

"So this Jade Seal... I've earned it permanently, no matter what else happens?"

"Well, not exactly. Some say all retirement from the Showdown is dishonorable, but there's different types. If you're found to be cheating or participating in some kind of felony, you might be dishonorably retired and all your accomplishments stripped. But if you formally give up, yeah."

Realizing he was being rude, Rick lowered the card and gave the man a polite bow. "Thank you for sponsoring me."

"Don't thank me. I'm doing a job, and I picked you because I thought you'd earn me money in the end." The man glowered at him for a bit, then removed his cigarette from his lips. "You can call me H. I might be rich compared to this place, but don't think I'm swimming in lucrim. If you perform well, this could be profitable for both of us. But if you can't keep up, I'll send you back home. Understand?"

"Yeah, I understand." Rick gestured to the seal on the card. "This is a good start, right?"

"Better than nothing," H said flatly. "You know the trigrams?"

"No, not really."

"Well, the one you got is so-so. It's a mark of commendation, and those are always good. But the real version has a wing pattern around the sides, whereas the plain circle is the junior version. So this is a start. Maybe when we compete in China you'll be able to impress some more representatives and get a better one."

Rick nodded quietly, resolving to look it up in more detail later. He had a feeling that he could win a Nobel Lucrim Prize and H would still glare and have something to criticize. At least someone who was blunt about their profit motive was being straighter with him than someone who pretended to be on his side.

"I decided to sponsor you for two reasons," H went on. "First, I do think you have some potential. You've got grit and you've done something with it. But second, to annoy Alger. Let's see if we can't wipe the floor with his golden child, eh?"

"You have something against Raggest?" Rick asked. H merely shrugged.

"The boy is Alger's tool, that's all. But we're getting ahead of ourselves. This isn't formal yet."

Rick hesitated, running his fingers along the edges of the card. "Why not?"

"We need to create a formal legal agreement of sponsorship. Here's how it will go: the Showdown will still be in Branton for a couple of weeks. I'll use that time to check on you, just in case something nasty comes up. You use that time to say your goodbyes and prepare. In that time, we'll figure out the exact agreement. If we're both on board at the end, we leave to the next city. If not, you stay here permanently."

"Got it."

"Let me see your portfolio, and give me a number and address. I'll send you the contract so you can look at it on your own time."

Since if anyone needed to see his portfolio, it was the man who would train him, Rick complied. H gave no indication whatsoever what he thought of the numbers, simply grunted and then left. Soon enough Rick received a message with a contract attached, so quickly that it must have been boilerplate. Sure enough, when he opened it, he saw that it didn't even have his name, just a placeholder.

Reading it beneath the stands was awkward, and the stadium was getting louder with another event, so Rick headed out. On the sidewalk, he realized that he was strangely adrift in Branton. He had no apartment to return to, no work, nowhere else he could stop by. In the end he went to a public park and found a shaded place to read the contract.

It started well enough: the health coverage was excellent and didn't cost him a thing. That made sense, given that he was now an asset. But soon after, he started running into things he didn't like the sound of at all. If he understood right, the terms contained more than a few traps.

After so many reversals, Rick didn't feel anything. He just made some calls.

~ ~ ~

"This isn't good, right?" Rick glanced between the siblings as Adsila and Wemilat read through the contract on their own devices. Wemilat winced, but his sister gave an encouraging smile.

"Almost all contracts are bad at first - they expect you to negotiate. I'm sure you can make him bend on the worst clauses."

"Are you sure? He seemed pretty ready to just leave me here if I didn't cooperate."

'Just a negotiating tactic," Adsila said, but Wemilat shook his head as he finally entered the conversation.

"Here's what I think you should do: send him back another standard contract that's much more in your favor. He won't accept it, but you'll be able to see how much he's willing to bend. Then whatever you agree on, we can have Dad look over it."

Rick blinked. "Your father is a lawyer?"

"He does some law work, including combat contracts. Good enough that he could find any nasty surprises hidden in the lawyer talk."

"Enough about that, Wemy." Adsila cut off whatever her brother was going to say next and saluted Rick with her phone. "You should be happy about this! Not just anyone can get into the Showdown, and I'm sure once you negotiate a better contract, things will go well for you."

"Hopefully." Rick glanced between them and sighed. "That means I'll be leaving the Refuge, but it's obvious that you can manage without me."

"I'll miss having you to help out with the bigger animals," Wemilat said, "but we can badger Delsin into it when it's really necessary. Just remember what I said, okay? These big events can be a rush, but they don't last for your entire life."

Adsila rolled her eyes. "Yeah, just remember how you're going to get old and decrepit and shrivel up like a prune. That's a great tone to set for a celebratory moment."

Rick smiled as he watched the two of them bickering, though with a tinge of sadness as he realized it would be the last time, at least in the near future. With the Showdown moving all around the world, he wouldn't be able to visit home all that often. That was one benefit of Melissa being away at the YLAA, since they were already accustomed to talking online.

The contract negotiation proved boring, but critical. As expected, H immediately rejected the counter-contract he sent with the siblings' help, but he was willing to talk. Not literally, and his messages were incredibly terse, but they slowly hashed out an agreement.

His first contract had given him an obscene salary of over six figures in lucrim per year... but with a caveat that had set off immediate alarm bells. Victory purses were added to his salary, but all training costs were subtracted from it. It had struck him as obvious that the contract could bind him in permanent debt, if expenses exceeded his salary and awards.

A naive young warrior might eagerly take the contract and enjoy a lavish lifestyle, only to lock themselves into what was essentially indebted servitude. From what he'd seen of Showdown sponsors, Rick wouldn't be surprised if they liked the idea of having complete control of a young person's training. Fortunately, H dropped all those provisions without any argument, as if he considered the entire discussion more of an inconvenience than anything.

He fought other proposals, however, always taking things back to the fact that he intended to earn money on Rick overall. In the end they settled on an agreement where H covered all training expenses, but also took the prize money, with a clause that forcibly retired Rick if his performance suffered for too long. As far as Rick could see, that was a good compromise, because it meant their motives were aligned toward helping him win as much as possible.

The only thing the contract didn't give him was all that much actual wealth. He'd probably get a fortune in training, but little of that would go toward his bank account. Keeping in mind what everyone had said about an exit strategy, Rick fought hard for part of his income to include direct contributions to his Graham's Stake Lucore. In the end he got a monthly contribution and bonuses if he won seals.

All in all, he was actually receiving less of a salary than when he had been working at the House of the Cosmic Fist. But considering that his benefits included room and board, countless training materials, total medical coverage, and bonus invested lucrim, Rick considered it an excellent deal.

H didn't seem to consider it at all, just begrudgingly signed the contract digitally. In the same message he also confirmed that Rick's records were adequate, so he ended with a time and place to show up with his bags.

There were still a few days left, but Rick wasn't sure what to do other than train. He helped out at the Refuge with a few problems that actually needed his help, and on one of the final days the siblings presented him with a cupcake with a candle in it as a minor celebration. Delsin left him a "condolences" card and otherwise avoided him. Overall, Rick was surprised by how few goodbyes he required.

With Melissa gone and Emily keeping her distance, who would he say goodbye to? Certainly not his extended family, who would only want money from him. Definitely not his old boss Jimmy, and Henry was no longer a friend. He thought about Tom, but they were barely colleagues and there was always the off-chance that could get him involved with Granny Whitney again somehow.

A brief vision of him sharing his cupcake with Granny Whitney and Jimmy almost made him laugh, if it wasn't so ridiculous.

Of course, the largest sore spot was Lisa, but it felt awkward to try to meet up with her one more time while she was dating someone. Maybe that explained why she had been more distant. Rick almost decided to let her go, then decided he was being an idiot. Lisa had been a great friend for years and it wouldn't be right to just let things go like that.

So instead he wrote her an email explaining what he was doing next. He tried to keep it professional but friendly, telling her that he'd give her his new number and offering to show her special serums and training mixtures to his sponsor. After agonizing over every word of the email several times and wishing he'd made different decisions, Rick just sent it.

Lisa didn't respond.

By the time the departure date came, Rick was more than ready. He had little to pack and found that he wasn't leaving much behind. When he arrived at the location, he was surprised to realize that it was a barren field with nothing remarkable. Though he stood around, expecting some sort of lucrim portal or something, what he got was a helicopter dropping out of the sky. A big gray military-looking one, but without any signifying information.

The bay door opened and he saw H standing near the side, his arms folded. Rick picked up his bag and jogged to meet him.

"Do we have all the contract and personal garbage finished?" H glared down at him, but seemed to be in a fairly good mood. His glares were complex and nuanced. "Then pretty soon we can get to training. Jump in and we'll get moving."

"Where are we going?" Rick asked as he stepped in. H just shook his head.

"It doesn't matter, because you're not participating in the next Showdown. No, I figure we have a month to whip you into shape, then you really test yourself."

When the helicopter shifted and they began to rise, Rick hastily grabbed a handhold near the side. He'd expected someone to tell him how to strap in, but to his surprise there didn't seem to be anyone else on the helicopter. Was it all a lucrim construct?

The door didn't even close as they lifted into the sky, air whipping around them so violently that someone without a strong lucrima would would have been in danger. Rick kept a firm grip on the wall, while H merely glowered down. Though the helicopter blades were deafening at first, an envelope of aura closed over them, smothering outside sounds and leaving a surreal quiet.

Once he got used to the circumstances, Rick stared down at Branton. It sprawled all around them, like most flat Midwestern cities, but it was rapidly condensing. Everything he'd experienced, reduced down to a single point on a map that most people never thought about. He tried to find the Peakless Wildlife Refuge from the air, but he wasn't sure if he could really identify it.

"Do you think I really have a chance?" He hadn't intended to voice his doubts and immediately regretted it, but the question was already out of his mouth. H just stared at him. "I just... I'm from the middle of nowhere, so can I really compete in something like the Showdown?"

"You think Branton is the middle of nowhere?" H flicked his cigarette stub over the edge and then the ramp began to close, leading Rick to wonder if it had stayed open just so he could finish smoking. "Might not be the center of culture, but it's a hot spot. Training updraft and all that."

"What exactly does that mean?"

"Take a place like New York City. The average generation rate is far higher there, among normal people or fighters. But the city is brutally competitive - the whole 'if you can make it there' nonsense. The strong go to New York, they don't come from there. If you want to find up-and-coming talent, you have to go somewhere more out of the way."

"And that means Branton? I didn't think it was anything special."

"No?" H gave him a flat look. "You think it's a coincidence that Branton has action in the criminal underground and activity from the Global Lucrim Authority? Like I said, it's a hot spot of activity. It may not have made you the strongest, but it got you off to a good start."

"Huh." Rick stared down at Branton, seeing it with new eyes. He'd lived in or near the city for much of his life, yet now it was retreating over the horizon.

There wasn't much he was leaving behind, yet it was still bittersweet to see it vanish.