Counterweight by A. G. Claymore Page B

military but no Consul since the first one had any actual military
experience. Chances were good he’d overreact, sending a massive force to keep
this insignificant ball of water in his domain.
    Cal closed the data and shut off his implants, finally
hearing the growl of his stomach. He started walking. He could wait for a few
more days before calling Flemming with the news.

Changing Trajectories
    Breaking Point
    Planet 3428
    R ick
looked down at the steel counter. Next to the springbuck he’d dropped were the
wooden tokens the commissary clerk owed him for the kill. Most of them, anyway.
The clerks always kept some of the tokens if you were a pariah like Rick.
    Of course, the clerk wouldn’t simply hand the tokens over;
he had to drop them on the bloody counter. Rick looked up at the arrogant young
jerk. You could always find those who approved of class distinctions. Even a
blood-soaked meat jockey could feel superior to someone.
    Superior, even to an engineering officer. Rick at least had
the grace to realize he was applying a different type of class structure with
that thought. He had to admit he felt more useful than the clerk because he
knew how to keep the Canal running while this jackass did nothing but
put meat in storage and hand out tokens.
    And the clerk was a lousy four. Rick’s precognitive
abilities were more than three times stronger. He shook his head. He was
quickly losing the moral high ground here. He turned and walked out, ignoring
the startled protest. Let the little bastard have the tokens, but he’ll have to
clean off the blood first.
    He descended into a dark corridor beneath the hangar deck
that led to the ventral Engineering nexus. He usually took this route so he
could avoid his ‘betters’ and he was in no mood for any more provocation this
morning.
    As he approached an intersection, a shadowed form stepped
out from the right branch and stood facing him. “Hello, Ricky-boy,” Ted’s nasal
voice grated, oozing with menace. “We hear you’ve been harassing Nell again.”
    It figured. Nell was angry at his defiance but she could
hardly use the real story to enlist Ted in her vengeance. He was unlikely to
ambush Rick over his refusal to show up at the abandoned shuttle and so he’d
been fed some tale that would be more amenable to jealous ears.
    Rick could easily handle Ted.
    Four more shapes appeared from behind stanchions.
    Even with his precognitive edge, five assailants might just
have the advantage.
    “You need to stop following her around when she’s out
hunting,” Ted growled. “You really think she’s got any interest in a loser like
you?”
    There it was again. Despite Rick’s superior abilities, he
was dirt under the feet of this quartermaster’s assistant because his ancestor
hadn’t been a willing mutineer. A man can bottle rage for a long time but,
sooner or later, that bottle will fill up. Sooner or later, that rage will need
to find an outlet and Rick didn’t like to walk away from a fight.
    The small group was starting to spread out, surrounding him,
unaware of what they’d awakened. Rick knew he’d have to take the initiative if
he wanted to maximize his advantages and so he launched himself to the left,
aiming a punch at the closest assailant.  The man adjusted his position,
but few people had Rick’s lead-time and he adjusted the punch to where it would
connect with the man’s nose.
    Only a handful of people shared Rick’s obsessive need to
spend his off-duty hours working off anger, and he was the only one who did it
with a bow. Even compared to the other bow hunters, he was strong.
    A sickening crunch and the man was on his knees, blood
gushing around his fingers. It was a solid hit and Rick knew the man’s eyes
would swell shut within seconds. He swung to the right, deflecting a punch from
attacker number two and driving his left fist into the second man’s belly.
    A blast of garlic-laced breath told Rick he had a moment’s
respite from the second