Tethered Worlds: Blue Star Setting Page 20

  "I think you better go in," Max said.

  "I think you're right."

  He walked in, trying to act as if he had not just been spying on her. Why did it take such courage?

  She faced him formally. "Avere, Jorh-Dahk Quext."

  Surprise mixed with reluctance at being addressed by a name he felt didn't fit. "Max, is she Sojourner?" he sub-whispered.

  "I don't know. I'd suggest you return the formal greeting."

  With the suddenness of the hatch slamming shut, he realized he didn't know her name. "Max!" He sub-shouted. "I—"

  The highlights in her onyx hair took on a razor-thin tint of red.

  "Is it now customary to privately speak to your compy while also speaking to a human?"

  Her long adolescence soprano was steady in timbre. This wasn't going well. It was time to come clean and start over.

  "It's not. I didn't know you could hear it."

  "I know not the words said, but I can sense the back-and-forth."

  "I'm sorry. As to the formal greeting, that is, what's now considered such, somehow in all that has transpired, I've never learned your name."

  She accepted it without remark. "Avere, Jorh-Dahk Quext. I am Khai-aLael Khrais."

  "Avere, friend, Khai-aLael Khrais."

  "Are we friends, Jorh-Dahk Quext?"

  He realized the mistake. The traditional sayings were just words to him, but to her, someone inculcated in that culture, they meant something. At this rate of bumbling, they would soon be enemies. It was time to skip past the formalities and try interacting in a way, hopefully, less changed since her time.

  "Pardon my imprecise words," Jordahk said. "Perhaps soon. I noticed you exercising." "Noticed" was a bit of a stretch. "I need to run through some pankido routines. I'm told you're knowledgeable about such things. If you're not too tired, would you consider partnering up?"

  The truth was, she didn't look tired. Her strange hair always looked a little wet, and now the highlights became bluish.

  Her expression turned from thoughtfulness to confidence. "I have spent many hours in a pankido dojo and would enjoy the refresher."

  He wasn't sure how that was possible. Perhaps from her perspective it was true. They set up in the center of the bay, beside the shuttle. He tossed his coat aside and set his treaders for dojo mode. They flattened to his leg and became more flexible. The expensive shirt Aristahl gave him, programmed to cream color, was detached from his pants. He ordered it to mimic loose, traditional cloth. Not because the self-cleaning garment constricted his movements in any way but rather to be more casual and open.

  They exchanged slight bows in the formal tradition and began the first ring. To Jordahk's surprise, she did know it. The rings were not easy to do, even the first one. It wasn't just about doing a series of moves. It was about having the balance and flexibility to perform the proper locks, blocks, moves, and strikes.

  After only a few contacts, it was clear her bones were even harder than his. Her scent was familiar—like the Thule-Riss Range after winter's final thaw but before spring growth. He was pretty sure he smelled okay but doubted his scent could be described in such flowery language. Her blocks were slightly different in execution, but the level of moves in the first ring were such that he was able to compensate. Her personality took on a slightly different flavor, that of a girl dedicated to getting her art right.

  They completed the first ring, and Jordahk took it as a personal victory. Where his verbal diplomacy failed, they were able to meet on this level. She wasn't winded, neither was she perspiring.

  "Let's do the second ring, if you know it. I have a goal to learn the fourth ring, but I've got a long way to go." He wanted to move things forward in a way that was working, while she still had the look of a martial artist in her eye.

  "I accept your challenge, Jorh-Dahk Quext."

  Something would have to be done about that, but after. She stepped into him, initiating the offensive opening of the second ring. They started moving faster and hitting harder, as was fitting. But the differences in her blocks were accentuated by the more aggressive moves, and now her locks were also showing differences. When it came to them, doing it wrong caused torque and pain.

  She grabbed his wrist with one hand and turned her body, pulling him forward. She put her second hand to his wrist and twisted it upward. That wasn't how Jordahk knew the move, and his locked elbow strained. He could have sworn he heard it creak. He placed his leg between hers and brought them both down in an unorthodox trip. She moved through the fall and rolled to her feet, hardly touching the deck.

  Jordahk went down a little harder. "Ouch! Adam, this place needs mats." He tried to stay patient. "What were you doing?"

  Her expression vacillated between insulted and embarrassed. "That is the proper move. I have done it many times." Her eyes flashed a flicker of doubt.

  "Okay, let's slow down. Max, you got some official VAD of the second ring being performed?"

  A VAD appeared before them from one of the many bay projectors. Two people, dressed in a modern variant of the traditional garb, went through the second ring as Jordahk knew it.

  "That is wrong. They are cutting corners with those techniques." The martial artist was back.

  "If I may." It was a resonant voice, not heard in some time. She seemed to perk up when she heard it.

  "That's Wixom," Jordahk said. "He's, uh, also in here." Jordahk lifted his wrist. "Yes, you've something to add?"

  Another VAD appeared. Although the projection was crisp, the recording was old. Two men dressed in actual traditional garb were doing the second ring. To Jordahk the moves seemed a little off, and when they started the locks he realized it was what she had performed.

  "Apparently, pankido has evolved since you..." Jordahk paused. "Learned the rings. Perhaps we could try some basic exchanges individually."

  The martial arts persona within her was having none of that. She stared intently at Max's VAD. "I can do it."

  "But you've hardly—" He stopped when she turned away from the VAD, giving him an intense, no-nonsense look. Her natural gray eyes bored into him. Jordahk reconsidered. "Okay, we'll try it."

  They began the second ring again, albeit slightly slower. They were careful through the locks and were able to progress. He was amazed that just two views of a non-instructional VAD had allowed her to perform the second ring with reasonable competence. How was that possible? It took him years to get as good as he was. He doubted he would do nearly as well trying to imitate the older form.

  But their zeal for pankido outpaced their combined ability to perform the second ring. The VAD, from a single angle, didn't fully demonstrate the proper footwork. It was causing problems, sometimes leaving them too far apart, and other times tangling their feet. The blocks were still problematic, and some intentional strikes were becoming difficult to land properly.

  He tumbled awkwardly out of an exchange and somersaulted backwards trying to regain his feet in some semblance of skill. She seemed to do such things effortlessly. Minor frustration built upon resuming, though he knew he shouldn't let it. Footwork and subtle differences combined to thwart another of his strikes. He was falling away, but something within him rose up desiring to complete the strike anyway. He twisted his body around and backhanded the target area, her upper arm, with his other hand. Then he rolled into a stylish somersault and came up in a ready pose.

  He was pleased to see exhilaration bloom in her eyes. They resumed, and at the next strike choreographed for her, she leaned with impressive flexibility and landed a clean blow on his thigh, though that was nowhere close to where the strike was supposed to land. She continued bending into a backwards walkover and stood as if expecting amazing scores from some judge.

  Oh, so that's the way it is.

  They rejoined, but as the moves progressed, it became less and less about the second ring, and more about landing blows. Her cool exterior melted in the exertion. Despite his skills and experience, he landed few strikes
now that the game was known. They alternated without comment. She tried to land a strike upon him. It didn't take long. He tried to land a strike on her, but each became progressively more difficult and far between.

  Improvising their footwork now, they moved into the equipment area as he back-stepped, trying to fend off another series of unusually well-placed strikes. He dodged one, then another, his body bobbing like a piece of exercise equipment. Something touched his feet. It was a utility stand. The warrior in Jordahk took over. He grabbed the stand and placed it between them, deflecting her third blow which would have struck him.

  Her head cocked strangely at the introduction of this new element. Something was awakening within her, but there was no time to determine whether he should be apprehensive. Her irises sanded, turning briefly to platinum. She looked across the bay, and one of the working drones tossed a meter-long repair instrument directly at her. She caught it with incredible reflexes, spun with the momentum of the object, and brought it around to strike him and the uitility stand simultaneously, knocking both to the ground. She had connected with her strike anyway by quickly adopting his unorthodoxy.

  He looked at her from the deck. She stood regally, holding the repair instrument like it was Poseidon's Trident. The opalescent yet luminescent stripes on her garment changed colors according to the angle. They glowed against the matte black of her suit. He sized her up anew.

  She was shorter than him but solid. He knew that from contact. Her skin was pale, but there was a subtle complexity to its composition, perhaps brought out by the flushing of exhilaration. It wasn't natural, but interesting. It accented the curves of her cheekbones and straight nose.

  "All right then," Jordahk said.

  He turned and sprang to his feet, landing next to his coat. From its inner pockets he pulled out a platinum rod, and with a resonance command and a metal ping, it exploded in size. He twirled the full-sized staff to demonstrate his familiarity with the traditional weapon. It was his favorite, an expensive purchase from Kraytcia he had yet to regret. He moved it around his body at great speed and saw in her eyes the first glimpse of admiration.

  He dashed forward to return the last, rather unceremonious, tag. He swung a wide arc, not intending to hurt, just connect. But she wasn't there. She let herself fall to the deck as fast as the grav weaves would allow. She rolled to his side and came up swinging her makeshift weapon. The move required forethought, or unbelievable reaction time. It was all Jordahk could do to turn his body and barely deflect the blow.

  They stood still, holding poses, and Jordahk shook his head, garnering a quizzical look from the girl.

  Another woman in my life who can kick my butt? My mother, then Glick, now this strange girl? If she's better than me with the staff, I'm going to have some serious questions for the universe.

  Jordahk twirled the staff, swinging low then high. Her nimbleness was astounding, and his strikes were not close, but she didn't know how to handle her makeshift weapon, and the high strike caught it, knocking it from her hand. Jordahk continued to press, just trying to land a blow on her to return the tag. It was like trying to hit one person who was occupying two places and switching between them almost instantly. It seemed as though she saw every swing coming the instant he started them, giving her plenty of time to dodge.

  Her persona changed from the driven, determined martial artist to something lighter. Stripped of her weapon, and the martial arts setting abandoned, her moves became that of a gymnast. He struck vertically and horizontally, but she flew through the air with moves he had only seen in sportsVADs. She tumbled midair, touching the ground only to launch herself again.

  She landed upon some equipment and propelled herself onto higher crates and then onto the shuttle. The gymnast in her was wide-eyed with playfulness, daring him to connect with her.

  "Max, I want half-gravity now."

  "I may need Wixom to help override—"

  He was already moving. "Just do it!"

  Grav weaves generated a gravity field which drowned out other gravitic and inertial forces. They were a Sojourner creation, and one of the areas in which there was no real scientum competition. The draw of a grav weave attenuated quickly after three meters. The upper parts of the bay were already lower G. He vaulted up a series of objects.

  "Got it," Max said.

  The gravity shifted abruptly.

  "Open the back hatch of the shuttle, quick."

  Jordahk leaped into the air the second he saw the hatch crack open. He got more than twice the normal airtime as his altitude over the deck plating increased. He landed on the large hatch, hinging upward, and used its motion to add to his momentum, sending him over the top of the shuttle like a missile.

  She watched his maneuver with fascination. At the last second, she leaped upward, spreading her legs in a outward split. He passed underneath her. But the low gravity wasn't something to which she was accustomed. Her leap took her up into the cargo arm scaffolding at the top of the bay. He continued forward, desperately looking for something to stop what would be a long trajectory back down to the deck.

  "Max! The cargo arm!"

  The multifunctional arm scooted above him and unfolded to double typical size with surprising speed. It just got in front of him before the arc became too steep. Jordahk grunted as he let his legs absorb the momentum, then launched himself into the scaffolding toward the girl.

  Her unfamiliarity with the new gravity parameters gave him a chance to catch her. She over-judged a number of maneuvers. Thanks to his parents, Jordahk was trained for zero G, and not inexperienced in low G. He bound directly for her in long arcs along a catwalk straightaway. She swung herself onto the railing bar as if it was a gymnast's apparatus, then leaped fearlessly for another catwalk some distance away.

  It was a mental exercise to know that a fall from such a height wasn't as dangerous as it looked, but overcoming that natural instinct took discipline. Apparently, she had it, or didn't need it. She was supremely confident despite the varying gravity affecting the accuracy of her moves. Amazingly, she reached the railing of the other catwalk, just grasping it. She pulled herself up and over in a maneuver that was all gymnast. Turning to challenge him with her eyes, she perched dauntlessly atop the railing.

  Jordahk was breathing heavily. Sweat formed on his sideburns. "Please don't use that name," he called over to her during the natural pause in the action. "I'm not sure what it means, and I don't think the universe is ready for it."

  "But you are Jorh-Dahk Quext."

  She said it with such confidence, knowing in her heart what it meant. He did not.

  "Maybe." The whole topic made Jordahk uneasy and brought frustrating questions to mind. "Things aren't the same as they once were. My grandfather's chosen to work anonymously, and you'll soon see the wisdom of that. I think it's the way things have to be done ... for now."

  He took a deep breath, and sprang down the catwalk toward the cargo arm.

  "Okay, Max, I'm going to need a launch."

  "Has it really come to that?"

  He knew Max's tone. "It's not cheating. It's improvising." Jordahk leaped over the railing toward the arm. "Hurry!"

  The cargo mover maneuvered in front of him, absorbing his momentum, redirecting it, and then launching him across the bay directly toward the girl. His approach cut off her immediate retreat. Prudently, he didn't try to strike her upon arrival, opting instead to perform a controlled landing. But he came up swinging knowing he had a couple of clean shots on her before another escape.

  She moved faster than her hair, which was what his staff passed through with his first swing. He came down with another, but she curled herself, like a spring compressing, against one side of the catwalk. All that bound energy was about to launch her. He had to take a wild, calculated-on-the-fly guess as to where she would be in another second, and thrust his staff there.

  She surged into that exact position. The staff penetrated the open back of her garment, passing out the sleeve. He was
pulled by the momentum of her leap, but braced himself against the rail to stay erect. He had her, and in the low gravity, could hold her on the end of his pole.

  Victory at last, but it was short-lived. Before her momentum even stabilized, she grasped their new position. She cocked her head toward him, a mischievous smirk crossing the strong features of her face. She reached up, grabbing his possession, and through muscle strength alone, undulated her body up and around it. He heard a muffled ping during the maneuver and was yanked off balance. He registered the sound of flapping black material and an escaping flash of pale.

  The weight and momentum he was holding against was suddenly gone. His own energy hurled him backwards over the railing.

  "Max!" With the lower gravity, and his hardened bones, there was little danger of serious injury from the fall. But instinct kicked in.

  The cargo arm moved below him, blunting his speed before it slid away, allowing Jordahk to hit the ground in a controlled roll. The fall finally dislodged the staff from his grasp, and it clanked across the decking, tangled in black.

  He looked up. Atop the shuttle was a female form, silhouetted by bay illumination and streaked with light caused by sweat in his eyes. The form launched off the shuttle with precision. In the extended airtime of half-gravity, she looked like a diver performing twists. He blinked to clear his vision as she landed perfectly atop a crate before him.

  Her pose was classic, arms up like some ancient statue of old, the crate acting as a pedestal. She was sans all clothing save for her treaders and a skintight, horizontal band of black across her hips. A sheen of perspiration made the complex ivory of her skin glisten over curves.

  Her thighs were muscular and her hips slim. Her small breasts, surrounded by lean muscle, didn't move upon landing. She was pretty in the toned form of a gymnast. The vision was a perfect example of the type, right out of the Mark One handbook.