Chapter 45: Granny Whitney's Team

When the day arrived for him to be kidnapped, Rick was ready. Melissa had argued that she should come along, that it might be safer for her to be with him, but he had refused. It might have been nice to have her with him, and he respected her desire to see the fights... but he didn't want her to be in the same room with Granny Whitney, ever.

Even if it was just instinct, or unjustified paranoia, he wanted to be careful. So Melissa had gone to stay with a friend for a while. Once he was gone, he'd text her, presuming that he'd be allowed to do that. In any case, he waited alone as he felt lucrim concentrate outside his apartment.

There was a knock on the door. Rick picked up his backpack with all his things in it and walked out. Unsurprisingly, Granny Whitney stood at the door. She looked mildly irritated to see him prepared, but covered it with a warm smile.

"I see someone warned you, dearie."

"I agreed to fight in this match for you," Rick said, "and I'm not going back on my commitment. Besides, if your rival is really targeting your fighters, I'm safer wherever you're taking me."

"You're a very reasonable young man." Her next smile looked authentic, though that didn't make it comforting. "And for the record, I have no plans to imprison you or anything of the sort. We're merely all taking a little retreat together, to make sure there aren't any... last second surprises. From anyone."

As she stepped away from the door, Rick looked beyond her, wondering how she had arrived. Soon he got his answer as Granny Whitney pulled a pair of car keys from her handbag and lifted them before her, lucrim pulsing through them.

Aura slid between the different elements of the keychain, powering the external Lucores there. The power quickly multiplied, arcs of light showering through the air by the balcony. The arcs grew concrete, forming a shape that floated there, like a bird opening its wings to fly. Rick had seen lucrim vehicles before, but never one this intense, so he watched curiously as it manifested...

As a car. A little blue economy car, just floating in the air beside his apartment.

"Get in, dearie." Granny Whitney hopped over the railing easily, sailing toward the car. The door and upper part split open to allow her to enter and she landed on the seat with her purse in her lap.

Rick followed more slowly, a bit disoriented by the whole thing. He wasn't exactly concerned about the gap, since the fall wouldn't really hurt him, but he wasn't used to just throwing himself over the railing. But since keeping her waiting might go poorly for him, he forced himself to jump into the car, which opened to swallow him as well.

Then he found himself floating in the air... in what felt like a very ordinary vehicle. It was more spacious than a normal car and the seats were much nicer quality, but otherwise it was bizarrely ordinary. There was no steering wheel, of course, and the dash had a few pictures of children, a stuffed sheep, and a pair of knitting needles.

Humming to herself, Granny Whitney set her keys into the ignition, imparted a command, and then sat back. The vehicle smoothly flew away from the apartment parking lot, then began to climb rapidly. He barely felt the movement, as if the lucrim shell around them was compensating for it somehow.

"Now, I wasn't going to trouble you with details, dearie, but it seems that you've already learned some of them, so we might as well." She smiled over at him. "Yes, I fear one of my rivals is indeed targeting my fighters. Not that I wouldn't do the same in his position - it's rather difficult to replace fighters at this stage. I just wanted to be sure everything went smoothly."

"Just who is this guy sending hitmen? And is a random match in the Underground really this important?"

"It's more important than you know. Branton may not be the largest city, but the Underground is a rather notable fighting arena. As for your first question... his name is Gerald. He's a nice enough sort, he just likes using hitmen a bit too much. Oh, but I suppose you'd know him as the American Basilisk."

Rick stared at her. "You're telling me that a notorious mob boss is competing in this event so seriously that he's sending hitmen to disable the competition?"

"That's about it, dearie. And there are hitwomen, too. Don't be closed-minded."

"That... you still didn't really answer my question. I don't see why this is worth so much trouble from everyone. The rewards can't be that amazing."

Granny Whitney chuckled like he was a child making an amusing spelling mistake. "Oh, the rewards are rather good, but you'll recall those are mine. But no, they aren't the reason. This is about honor, about respect. When it comes to the world of lucrim, that is ultimately the currency of power. Yes, this little fight is just a game, but it is a game about control."

Her voice went hard at the end and Rick swallowed his remaining questions. If Granny Whitney was someone who casually spoke of competing against a person as dangerous as the American Basilisk, then she was even more of a threat than he thought. He realized that Henry had probably dodged a bullet getting taken out of the competition - working for a mobster had to end poorly.

Then again, perhaps Rick was in exactly the same position. He glanced at the old woman from the corner of his eyes, wondering if she was running part of the criminal underworld. Based on what he'd seen... he doubted it. Not that he thought she couldn't, but he felt like her interests lay elsewhere. Hopefully not with him, once she got what she wanted.

If two such important people were competing in this event, then who was Alger to host it? Rick had always assumed he was just a local fight enthusiast, but perhaps there was more going on. He vowed that once he got out of this, he was staying far away from this kind of shady business.

Rick had a feeling he wouldn't be able to keep that vow.

In surprisingly little time they began to descend again, breaking through the clouds. He looked out the window and saw that they were already outside Branton, flying over empty fields. The vehicle might look ordinary, but they had made very good time.

As they descended, he saw that what appeared to be an ordinary farm house from the air was actually a much larger complex. That wasn't a barn, it was an armored bunker. Rick swallowed and tried not to let it get to him.

When they landed, Granny Whitney recalled the lucrim vehicle almost immediately, forcing him to rush to land on his feet instead of being dumped on the ground. Once he had his balance, he tried to check his phone, only to find that he had no reception. They should have good reception even out here, so he could only assume...

"That isn't going to work, dearie." The old woman began walking away from him toward the central house. "Take some time away from all these modern screens and enjoy nature, okay?"

That was obviously not the purpose of all this, but he had no choice but to humor her. They walked up toward the large farmhouse, which looked to be much more elaborate than he'd thought at first. This place had never been used as an actual farm, that much was obvious.

Still, it was strange being out in the country. It had a different smell, more different than comparing the city center to the suburbs. An earthy smell, but more pleasant than what he'd grown up with in the trailer park. Above all, it was silent, just the sounds of the wind in the trees. He'd spent some time outside the city visiting distant relatives, so it wasn't exactly shocking, but out here the stillness of it all was eerie.

As they reached the door, it opened and a young man pushed through. His lucrima felt strong but disrupted, in the 60,000 lucrim range but difficult to evaluate. Though he wore training gear, it was old and stained. When they approached, the man smiled and rushed to shake his hand.

"Hey, man, how's it going? I'm Anthony, nice to meet you."

"Uh, nice to meet you too." Rick shook his hand and tried to pull back, but Anthony wouldn't let go. Instead he kept a grip on his hand and pulled him out to the edge of the porch, movements a bit jerky and manic.

"This is a nice place, you're gonna have a good time here." When they got a short distance away, he leaned closer and spoke in a lower voice. "Listen, man, do you got any elixir?"

Rick realized what was happening and forcibly pulled his hand away. Anthony was a power addict going through withdrawal - now that he was looking for signs of addiction, he spotted them immediately. The other man twitched in response and frowned.

"Come on, I need-"

"Anthony." Granny Whitney spoke warmly... from just behind them. Rick hadn't heard her move and Anthony jumped in place. "You know this is for your own good. Just calm down and get through it and you'll feel much better in a few days."

"Yeah... yeah, Granny, you're right. Let me just take a walk around, clear my head..." Anthony nodded and headed out into the farm, entirely too quickly.

Granny Whitney floated behind him, her knitting needles sliding smoothly from her handbag. As graceful as her movements looked, they weren't slow: Rick could barely follow them with his eyes, much less avoid them. She struck Anthony in the neck with her needles as she landed behind him and his entire body went limp, slumping to the ground.

"He's a good lad, just a bit mixed up." The old woman turned back to him and smiled. "Would you carry him in for me, dearie?"

Rick headed back to pick up the power addict, carrying him over one shoulder and hoping the man didn't vomit down his back. It seemed like whatever Granny Whitney had done to him had disabled him completely, because he didn't respond at all.

Inside, Rick found the house to be well-furnished, if a bit rustic. The living room was to the left, so he headed there to set Anthony down in one of the overstuffed chairs. He almost didn't see Emily there, since she sat with her legs crossed in a dark corner. When he smiled at her she just nodded in acknowledgment - clearly she wasn't in the mood to talk.

Since Granny Whitney had vanished, Rick decided that he was probably free to spend his time how he wanted. Three days in this place... that would be extremely strange, if he didn't already have plans for it. But for now he needed to get his bearings and find the other fighters.

Leaving the living room, Rick headed in the other direction, to a kitchen area. It appeared to be devoid of most of the items he'd expect in a kitchen, but a woman sat in one of the chairs, staring out the window. He realized that he recognized her: it was the woman he'd seen with Granny Whitney, presumably their group's cruiserweight.

"Hi, I'm Rick."

"I'm Malati." She shook his hand reluctantly and then pulled back. "No offense, but I don't want anything to do with you fighters. I'm just doing what I need to do, then I'm getting back to my life."

Not the best start, but he didn't need to engage her in a long conversation, so Rick just nodded. "I'm here under duress too, for whatever that's worth. Rest assured, I'm not trying to pry into your situation, I'm just noting who's here since we'll be fighting together."

"We won't actually ever fight together. Our points count toward the same ends, but otherwise we aren't involved."

"That was what I meant, but fair enough. I won't bother you too much, but I'm curious: how does someone who isn't interested in fighting end up in a situation like this?"

"There are certain bills I need to pay and my options were limited. Eventually you get... stuck in a rut." Malati fixed him with a stern gaze. "I guess you're better than Anthony, but if you keep talking to me I might revise that opinion. Are we done yet?"

"Fine, just one more question: have you seen our heavyweight? He's... uh, I think you'd remember him."

"Back porch." Malati pointed into the hallway, then turned back to staring out her window. Rick nodded his thanks and went in the direction she'd indicated, though his thoughts stayed with her a moment longer.

Could he sense a slight disruption in Malati's lucrima? It might be presumptuous of him to draw conclusions when he was still a novice at sensing lucrim portfolios, but he thought there might be. Perhaps something like a chronic illness... it wasn't like his sister, but in a way he was reminded of her. He wondered if that was the source of the bills she needed to pay and if Granny Whitney had either offered her a way out or forced her into it. Either way, he should ask Emily later.

The fact that Malati had apparently stumbled into this role bothered him more than whatever her personal situation was. She had a generation rate well above 150,000 lucrim and felt strong enough, far above his power class. How did someone just wander into a life like that? Yet he knew that many of his own decisions had been determined by the ruts he'd worn for himself...

Well, he was going to be getting out of one rut. It might be stupid, but whatever was left of him would definitely be out of the rut.

After a couple wrong turns that revealed empty bedrooms, Rick discovered which of the halls led out to the back porch. It was actually more of a deck, an expanse of polished wood that looked out over the nicely cut lawn.

Teragen sat there, just as inhumanly intense as he had been before, even though he was just sitting in a chair. Granny Whitney stood beside him, speaking softly, but he could barely hear her as he reached the doorway.

"-know you don't need it," the old woman was saying, "but it's better to be certain about these things. I don't want you starting a war with the American Basilisk."

Instead of answering, Teragen just looked up at her. Granny Whitney sighed.

"I don't care what you want, that fight gains me nothing. Just cooperate, or our deal is off and you'll have wasted all this time."

Rick wasn't certain if her words got through to Teragen, because at that moment the huge man looked back, straight at him. Not as if he was surprised, but as if he'd known Rick was there from the beginning. As Granny Whitney turned toward him, Rick decided to just head out onto the deck, since he would look like a childish eavesdropper trying to hide.

"We were in the middle of a conversation, dearie." Granny Whitney seemed truly annoyed with him, perhaps worn thin from dealing with someone she couldn't bully. Rick raised his hands and sat down in one of the furthest chairs on the deck.

"Don't mind me, I just need a few minutes to collect myself."

Clucking disapprovingly, the old woman lingered a while longer, then wandered out into the yard. He realized that she was checking invisible lucrim defenses, so subtly woven into the hedges of trees around the farm that he hadn't even noticed them. But that was a distraction, since his real purpose was finally within sight.

Instead of paying attention to her, Rick ran through his exercises again. As he did, he took the Deathbane out of his backpack and slowly opened its special case. He turned the potent bottle over in his hands as he continued meditating.

Was this stupid? Undoubtedly, but it might still be his best option. Rick stared at Teragen, trying to read him. His body seemed to be built entirely from tightly corded muscle, bursting with power, but he might be tense beyond even that. Or perhaps bored, not wanting to waste time in this hiding place. He wanted to fight - hopefully that was a good thing, not a bad one.

When he finished his exercises, Rick drank the Deathbane. As he swallowed it, he realized that he was fully committed now. Fear or caution had nothing on his desire to avoid wasting that much money.

Rick stood up and walked across the deck toward Teragen. It became more difficult to walk as he drew closer, the air itself resisting him. Not the man's aura, which was suppressed, but some kind of secondary aura that bent the world around him. He was unquestionably the most powerful person Rick had met directly.

When Rick got close, Teragen looked up at him. The power in those eyes nearly froze him in place, leaving Rick with only a few seconds of movement before he was overwhelmed.

So he used them to punch Teragen in the face.