Eros Ascending: Book 1 of Tales of the Velvet Comet by Mike Resnick Page B

clambered out of the ring. They stood, staring at one another, until the young man took his seat and yelled “Time!”
    The Duke bounded out to the middle of the ring with a speed that belied his years, and DeWitt slowly moved out to meet him. They circled each other for a moment, and then the Duke, head low, bobbing and weaving, blocked a short blow from DeWitt and landed a quick three-punch combination, spinning away quickly and delivering a powerful kick when DeWitt pursued him.
    “He's rusty,” said Redwine. “His timing's off.”
    “He's wearing ten pounds on each foot,” replied Rasputin, as DeWitt plodded slowly after the jabbing, kicking pit boss.
    The next three minutes were pretty much like the first, with DeWitt landing an occasional blow but taking six or seven in the process.
    “You want your money now or later?” whispered Redwine.
    “I'll trust you for it,” grinned Rasputin. “Ten minutes from now will be fine.”
    Redwine shook his head. “He used to be such a damned fine ring general. If he could just get him in a corner where he could land a kick or two...”
    “Not today, Harry,” said the Security chief. “Three of his four weapons aren't firing.”
    “Sounds familiar,” commented Lori wryly.
    The Duke gained in confidence with each passing second. No longer did he strike and run; instead, he closed with DeWitt, as if the strain of carrying the weights around the ring had sapped most of his opponent's strength. Finally a whirling kick to the side of the neck dropped DeWitt to the floor.
    “Get up, you big oaf!” panted the Duke, standing over him, fists clenched. Suddenly he grinned. “Oh—I forgot! Getting things up isn't exactly your specialty, is it?”
    DeWitt's expression turned ugly, and he was on his feet in an instant.
    The Duke landed two quick left jabs, then closed with him again.
    “Low blow!” cried someone from the other side of the ring.
    Lori leaped to her feet.
    “Don't you hit him in the balls after all the work I've done!” she yelled furiously.
    “I tried,” laughed the Duke, “but he doesn't have any!”
    Everyone in the audience laughed—and suddenly Gamble DeWitt went crazy. He lumbered across the ring and hurled himself, feet first, at the Duke. He didn't hit his target dead center, but the very suddenness of his actions froze the Duke for an instant, and a lead-weighted foot caught the pit boss on the shoulder and spun him into the ring post. He bounced off groggily, and then DeWitt was all over him, pummeling him with sledgehammer blows. Finally he grabbed the Duke's arm and hurled him against the ropes. The Duke came flying off, and DeWitt cracked him across the throat with a karate chop, and as quickly as that the fight was over.
    While one of the men from the casino jumped into the ring to revive the Duke, Lori climbed the stairs and began unwrapping DeWitt's left arm. As soon as it was free she knelt down and took the weights off his feet.
    “I'd have bought out of my bet for five hundred credits about a minute and a half ago,” confessed Redwine.
    “I wouldn't have sold it to you for six and a half,” replied Rasputin. “Damn! If he'd just kept his mouth shut!”
    The Duke was awake now, and he was led, groggy and rasping, back to the locker room. Once the crowd saw that he was all right, they began to disperse, and Redwine walked over to DeWitt's corner.
    “Gamble?” he said.
    “Yeah?” said DeWitt, looking down at him.
    “My name is Harry Redwine, and this is the second time I've had the pleasure of watching you work. I made seven hundred credits off you this afternoon, so the least I can do is invite you by for a drink.”
    “Were you one of the ones who laughed at me?” DeWitt demanded.
    “Not me. I was cheering the whole time.”
    The fighter's face lit up. “Yeah?”
    “Absolutely.”
    “For just a minute there, it felt like the old days,” said DeWitt wistfully. “Not like ... well...” His voice trailed off.
    “I'll be