Read The Terminal War: A Space Opera Novel (A Carson Mach Adventure) for Free Online

finance his trip.  
    As expected, the odds above the bookie’s desk changed after Beringer placed his bet. Adira dropped to 50s because of the hefty sum.  
    At the bar, Sinju noticed and peered at Mach, his smarmy grin no longer visible. He crashed between the tables and headed straight for the bookie. It was too late, though. The biggest sin in the underworld was going back on a bet. Sinju was probably already coming to the realization that all was not what it appeared to be.
    At least Mach hoped it wasn’t. Blood dripped from Adira’s left eye, and she looked worse for wear.  
    Mach set his smart-screen to record, stood and stretched, giving Adira the signal to strike. She didn’t notice at first, too busy avoiding the increasingly frenetic swings as Bardoom went for his customary final-minute finish.
    Eventually, she glanced up with only fifteen seconds left in the round. The big Ephranian had her cornered, one fist clutching her throat, pinning her in place. He pulled his free fists back for his signature move: the double strike at the heart.  
    No human or fidian had ever survived the blow.  
    Adira twisted her body with such ferocity it would have snapped the spine of a lesser fighter. The sudden movement broke Bardoom’s grip.  
    She threw an uppercut at lightning speed, catching the bigger opponent off guard. Bardoom’s head snapped back, and he wobbled on his heels. The humans in the crowd collectively inhaled—the fidians whined.
    The light green vestan nanogloves, colored perfectly to match her skin, were an amazing and powerful piece of equipment. Tulula, a vestan engineer in Mach’s crew, had acquired them last week from her home world. Mach fell in love with them the moment he tried one on and punched a hole in the Intrepid’s mess wall.  
    Reactive nanosteel thread had more kinetic energy stored in it than most nukes when compared particle to particle.  
    Only a single raised voice could be heard in the club. Sinju held the bookie by the throat in a two-handed grip and shouted in his face. Beringer edged away from the desk and slipped behind a thick black roof-supporting column. Sinju shoved the bookie to one side and focused on the cage.  
    With only ten seconds left on the digital timer above, Adira threw a left-right combination connecting with Bardoom’s jaw. His arms dropped limply to his sides, and he sank to his knees. She raced around to his back, wrapped her arms around his neck and looked up at Mach.  
    He gave her a single firm nod.  
    Adira twisted.  
    A dull crack echoed through the silent bar. Bardoom slumped face-first to the ground. His legs twitched three times then relaxed in death.  
    An electronic buzzer signaled the end of the round, but this fight was already over. Mach walked between the tables, attempting to conceal any outward signs of pleasure, and grabbed Beringer by the arm. The older man trembled in his grip. “Confirm your winnings. Let’s move. We’re getting the hell out of this shit-hole.”
    Lights blinked on around the bar. Mach felt hundreds of eyes bearing down on him. Two off-duty CWDF marines glared at him as he dragged Beringer past their table to the bookie’s desk. It always amazed him that people had never learned only criminals and fixers got rich off gambling. The same principle had applied throughout the ages.  
    Beringer held his smart-screen over the glass pad on the desk. The bookie wiped blood from his nose and confirmed the transfer of two point two million eros. Mach ended the recording on his screen and mailed it to Babcock, his technical expert on the Intrepid .  
    Sinju stood to the bookie’s side and glared at Mach. “I want to inspect your fighter. Those punches weren’t natural.”
    “You inspected Adira before the fight,” Mach replied. Sinju had demanded Adira strip in the back room before entering his fighting cage. He patted down her clothes but was far too interested in staring at her breasts to notice the subtle