In the cold of space you find the heat of suns

Spacer crews travel the Far Borders and the Fringe of occupied space, trading. Spacing is an ancient and honourable profession carved out by millenniums. Most spacers start out as fourteen-year-old boys seeking a future. Few survive a decade spacing.

20. Loyalties

It was a crew of eight. Seven were swathed in hooded cloaks and the seventh, the man who had spoken, had his hood and cloak swept back. His hair and eyes were dark. There was no mistaking his resemblance to the Silver Leaf’s cat.

“It is good to see you, little brother,” he purred.

Sasuke moved towards him but Jiraiya caught him. “It is a trick, Sasuke. Itachi died.”

“Is that what they told you, little brother? That I was dead?”

Sasuke looked from Jiraiya, to the man who looked so like his brother, to Kakashi.

“Jiraiya-san, Kakashi-san,” the man acknowledged.

“I do not know you,” Kakashi replied.

“If that is the game we must play,” the man agreed. “Do you want to know how we found you, Kakashi-san?”

All eyes went to where the senbon lay discarded on the floor.

“Genma-san did try not to tell us,” the man said sadly, “but…” His smile was mocking.

“You evil bastard!” spat Rin.

“And Rin-san, how pleasant. So many former acquaintances in one place. You remember Kisame?”

The biggest of them pushed back the hood of his cloak revealing pale blue, scaly skin and one small white eye. The other socket was covered with a patch and in his forehead was embedded an Uchiha plaque.

Sasuke’s breath caught, “Kisame-san?” he asked.

“Little Sasu-chan,” the sharkman replied, “you have grown well. Itachi-san has missed you so. Please forgive me if I am forced to kill Kakashi-san. I am certain that the two of you have become close. Kakashi-san, at last we fight in earnest.”

Sasuke started forward again, pulling against Jiraiya’s grasp.

“Sasuke, remain where you are, “ the Captain ordered. “I am Tsunade, Captain of the Silver Leaf. I demand that your captain identify him or herself and your ship.”

A medium-sized figure spoke from the anonymity of his hood. “I am Raiga, Captain of the Morning Mist. Our spokesperson is Itachi. Our champion is Kisame.”

“We achnowledge your challenge and prepare our reponse,” Tsunade replied. “Watch them,” she told Ibiki. She beckoned Kakashi to her.

They stood together, heads bowed, voices low. “Kakashi?” she queried.

“Unless he is less of a fighter than he once was, I cannot beat him.” Kakashi admitted.

“Can Naruto?”

“Kisame has greater strength, an implant and experience: he is likely to win.” Kakashi took a deep breath and exhaled; trying to push his thoughts past Naruto’s death. “We could rechallenge. Kisame is not that well-adjusted to the implant. If he uses it against Naruto, I would have a good chance against him. Use Jiraiya as spokesperson. Rin may have to drug Sasuke. He is confused and he may behave unpredictably. Tell Jiraiya to draw out the negotiations. I need time with Naruto and with Sasuke.”

Tsunade spoke to Jiraiya while Kakashi guided Sasuke to where Naruto was standing.

“Sasuke, listen to me,” Kakashi began. “You must trust me. I vowed to keep you safe. I cannot hand you over to another crew, whoever they are or whoever they are pretending to be.”

“But it is Itachi,” whispered Sasuke.

“I do not know them but I know they should not have you,” insisted Naruto. “You belong with us not them. They smell wrong. They did bad things to Genma. They will have to kill both of us to get you and then keep you. I go first, Kakashi-sensei.”

“But…” Sasuke was split between his remembered brother and the thought of losing the two people who meant most to him.

“I love you, Sasuke,” Naruto told him.

“Naruto?” he begged.

“Kakashi-sensei, may I wear our plaque? I have it with me, in my lockbox. Please could Shikamaru help me adjust my collar? I think Ibiki would be best on the activator.”

“I am Jiraiya. I am spokesperson of the Silver Leaf. We evoke our right to rechallenge.” Jiraiya was pleased to see the traitor taken aback.

“We acknowledge your right to rechallenge.” Itachi replied, suddenly interested in the other members of the Silver Leaf’s crew: the big scarred man, the two brown-haired youngsters and the blond.

“We demand to see your reparation.” Jiraiya continued.

Itachi snorted. He turned, took three steps and pulled a small, slight figure away from the side of a much larger one, who moved as if to intercept only to be pinned in place by the intensity of Itachi’s glare. Itachi pulled back the slight figure’s hood to expose a youngster whose prettiness rivalled Sasuke’s beauty. “Our cat.”

“We would prefer an alternative reparation,” Jiraiya stated.

“There is no alternative reparation on offer, old man,” Itachi replied. “Do you accept the challenge, or will you hand us your cat without a fight?”

“We accept the challenge. Our champion is Naruto.”

Itachi’s eyes devoured the blond youngster who briefly came to Jiraiya’s side to accept designation as champion. He had planned so long and so carefully yet Kakashi could still surprise him. Where had the skinny scarecrow found someone capable of fighting at this level? Or was the youngster merely a distraction so that he could judge Kisame’s form?

“He is a hybrid,” Kisame murmured.

Itachi looked again, shocked that he should have missed the signs. When he thought of hybrids he thought of Kisame and this one could almost pass as human. He was too young, though, still immature. He had no hope against Kisame.

“A beserker,” added Kisame.

There was a controller about the youngster’s neck. Itachi was thankful that Kisame was doing his job and living in the moment. What else had he missed? Rin was up to something, but that was to be expected. Sasuke? He looked for the beauty that was his brother. Such an unexpected bonus. The information he had received suggested that the boy was hard and empty; this youngster was anything but that.

“Do I activate my implant?” Kisame asked.

Itachi hissed slightly. A double challenge; damn Kakashi. A lifted finger indicated that they should use their tried and trusted technique for making such a decision. A count of three and each left hand formed a gesture. They agreed: the implant would remain inactive until the second combat; until Kakashi.

Kisame hated to see Itachi like this. He stank from the unfettered emotions coursing through his body; even his judgement was suspect. He looked toward Kakashi, towards the past; better times. Trust Kakashi to have a strategy that rivalled what Itachi could produce at his best. Kisame had supported Itachi’s plan. He hoped that Sasuke could help him anchor Itachi to reality. Killing Kakashi was unavoidable. Kakashi would not hold it against him. He would be sending Kakashi to his Beloved; releasing him from the trap in which Fugaku-sama had caught him. It was an act of mercy. Not so the boy. He was beautiful, with hair so bright and eyes so blue. Lucky boy, to have the genes of a canine rather than a shark.

Then Kisame saw it: the plaque. He watched as Sasuke threaded the controller through the holes and then, carefully, gently, fastened the collar round the boy’s neck. He saw Sasuke’s fingers linger on the boy’s skin, the way the boy captured his hand and kissed the inside of his wrist, the look they exchanged. The boy had what he would always be denied. His Uchiha loved him. Kisame raged: the blue eyes would be dull; the long limbs broken; the yellow fur soaked in blood.

They began.

Naruto kept his distance: once caught the huge man would break him. He drew a knife for each hand: the sharkman’s skin was too tough for teeth or claws. Flash attacks: Kakashi had told him he was the faster. He must improve Kakashi-sensei’s chances: he must do as much damage as he could before he died. He ran in an arc, building up speed, jumped to change direction and darted in with a lunge to the back of the right leg. His knife sliced flesh but missed the tendon. The sharkman had moved just enough. Another attack and another: each different from the last. Some, not many, made contact. A few, very few, threatened tendons or sliced muscle.

The boy was a persistent fly with a particularly nasty sting. It was time to swat the fly. Kisame struck but the boy’s body had already gone; instead he caught an arm. The boy was immediately twisting it from his grasp so Kisame threw him toward the wall and was rewarded by the sound of bones breaking. He charged, expecting the boy to be crumpled on the ground. Instead he had leapt past Kisame’s shoulder, striking for his implant with his remaining knife. The knife cut his brow and cheek, removing his patch. Kisame’s anger cooled into incisive calculation. The boy was not trying to kill him: his aim was to create an advantage for Kakashi and he was having some success. There was no hint of him losing control. He seemed oblivious to any pain from his damaged arm and showed no sign of tiring. It must be ended quickly. To do that Kisame had to catch him.

A straightforward attack would not do it. The boy was too fast. He must feint, a move Kisame had practiced all his life but had never had to use. Who would have thought that a mere boy could be such a worthy opponent? He waited for the boy’s next attack. Right, twist, not-twist, right and he had him. This time he would not let go. He sunk his teeth into the boy’s shoulder; shuddering at the smell and the taste of fresh, warm blood. The boy was human enough to lose concentration for the split moment he needed. Kisame shifted his grip. He held the boy above his head; back arched. Kisame went down on one knee, presenting the other as an anvil on which to smash the boy’s spine.

Kisame looked to Itachi and saw his pleasure. Then he looked towards Sasuke and saw his hopeless despair. He felt his agony.

No.

He tossed the boy, who performed one of his unlikely contortions and landed crouched on his feet and one hand, his shattered arm hanging uselessly. Then the boy was up, running, building up momentum for another attack, ready to spring should an opening present itself. And Kisame gave him one. He felt the boy’s knife punch into him, between his ribs, towards his heart. Kisame hugged him, making a show of crushing him but pushing the knife deeper. “Save him from becoming as his brother,” he whispered into the boy’s ear.

Naruto had lost. He had known it from the moment the sharkman had him held. It made no sense for him to be thrown clear, nor for the sharkman to expose his chest or to force the point of Naruto’s knife into his heart. Then the words; the confirmation that Kisame had let him win. He felt the arms around him loosen as the sharkman collapsed and rolled onto his back, exposing his chest and the hilt of Naruto’s buried knife.

Itachi stared at Kisame’s body. He had not only lost, he had allowed the youngster to win. He had betrayed him. Kisame, his Companion, had betrayed him. If he had not already had a knife in his chest, Itachi would have put one there. Fury simmered and then boiled within him. It roared in his ears. He felt a hand on his arm. Itachi resisted the urge to cut it off. It was Raiga, ordering him to wind up the challenge. Zabuza and Chojuro were already retrieving Kisame’s body.

He stalked over to the boy, who looked up at him with a sweet innocence that Itachi knew to be false. They were obliged to give him over and Itachi could not afford for Jiraiya to interrogate him. Itachi half dragged, half lifted the boy into position. He glanced towards Zabuza, checking that he was occupied trying to lift Kisame’s body; then drew his knife. He gutted the boy, sliced his throat and tossed him toward Jiraiya.

Then he ran.