Authors: L. J. Kendall
The girl collapsed as her weight came down on the leg she'd just kicked with as she'd tried to follow him. Again, Emma winced. She saw Leeth press her hand, briefly, to her eye and cheek, where Dojo had struck. It'd turn into a
lovely
shiner, if she'd read it correctly. She frowned, though. There was something wrong here. Something wrong with the whole atmosphere. This should have been a simple sparring session, but instead it seemed like a serious fight.
Paul stared down at the girl – from a surprisingly-generous distance. In fact…
why
was Paul, of all people, standing so far back? Did he think she could
leap
at him from two meters away, on the ground? And though it was often hard to tell what he was really thinking, she sensed he was as mad as she'd ever seen him.
And cautious. He hadn't spared even a fraction of his attention to acknowledge her presence, outside the doors. Emma felt a shiver run through her.
What had the girl done? And something else, too. Emma herself had been on the receiving end of Paul's punishing blows, when things got hard and fast. And they
hurt
. Yet the girl had scarcely made a sound.
Paul was speaking again.
'I said you must not lose your temper. Yet you have. Very well. Now you must lose your
anger
. I cannot teach you if you will not think. And we are here so I may teach you.'
The girl massaged feeling back into her left knee while he spoke. She didn't answer, though. Merely forced herself back to her feet. She looked tired, and hurt. But still angry, very angry.
Emma watched in disbelief as the girl moved in as the aggressor,
again
. Even Paul seemed surprised as he took the amateurish attack apart, this time with three perfectly-executed but intensely
painful
nerve strikes, Emma knew from experience. Apparently, Paul had decided to make a point.
Two lightning blows to the girl's radial nerves, briefly paralyzing both arms, and a powerful blow to her right leg's peroneal nerve, just above the knee. Emma saw the leg fail – but instead of collapsing, Leeth instantly shifted
,
somehow staying upright.
Still utterly silent, barely on her feet, and her head down. But not in submission,
that
much was obvious. Rather, so he couldn't see the look in her eyes.
In tones of disgust, he spoke again, words Emma had never heard him say.
'I cannot teach you. You refuse to learn.' He pointed to the doors. 'Go. You have failed.'
The girl looked up, suddenly dismayed. She shook her head. Wordlessly. And then at last, spoke. 'No!' Now, finally, at the point of tears.
Paul pointed to the doors, eyes never leaving the girl's face. Even now.
'No,' she grated out, her jaw clenching tight. Her head went down slightly. Then she rolled it, very deliberately, from one side, to the other. Emma's eyes widened at the sound of the rippling crackle of muscles popping. Unbelievably, the girl flung herself through the air, attacking again.
For Paul, it was like being attacked by a whirlwind. One knee, and a second, smashed at his sides with astonishing force, barely deflectable; a palm strike simultaneously with an upward elbow blow, all while she was in mid-air. And the palm strike flowed into a hammer-blow from the following elbow. Twisting and bending just enough to parry the onslaught, as her hands crashed back down sooner than was possible, his eyes met Leeth's.
And there he read something strange. A look on her face as if she had something
more
in her arsenal, in reserve. Something which she held back.
As her feet touched the ground, relying on their contact to keep her upright and balanced, he swayed back, denying her that support, sliding around her. With minimal energy, while positioning himself for his own attack.
They hammered at one another, then – Dojo, with minimal expenditure of energy; the girl, attacking with shocking speed and force. It continued far longer than Emma could believe, on and on; until finally the girl's head smashed back, Dojo's forearm a club, and Leeth flew from him, unconscious, to the mats.
Emma watched, holding her breath.
Paul Kawatsu swayed, then folded forward, arms resting on thighs and shoulders heaving as he sucked in breath after breath.
In a daze, Emma pushed through the swing doors. She stepped in and around Paul, who met her eyes. His blazed with anger – yet behind that, a strange delight. And the anger was not, she saw, at the
girl.
He continued resting, his breathing now under control, and Emma waited. Finally, gathering his reserves, he stood, then crouched down and with an effort, lifted the girl.
Paul looked at Emma across the inert burden cradled in his arms. 'You saw?'
'Yes, I saw.' She shook her head. 'I didn't understand, but I saw. How- what? What is she? Is she
augmented
?'
Paul shook his head. 'No. Father and Mother say she is not. And it is so. She does not move in that way.' He frowned. 'I do not understand… all she did.'
Emma opened the doors for him, and they moved off down the corridor, by unspoken agreement heading to the infirmary.
'What happens now?'
'I do not know. Her style is poor, but she is remarkably fast, and strong, and… ' he grasped for the right word – 'hard. She has great potential. But her spirit….' He grimaced.
'What do you mean? I thought she seemed
too
spirited, if anything. I couldn't believe
she
kept attacking
you
.'
He shook his head. 'We came very quickly to the barrier of her pride.' He looked sideways at Emma. 'Which is common. But there was more. It was as if she thought I attacked
her
. Her
self
, not her body. As if she thought I attacked her spirit.'
They walked on in silence for a while.
'And that made a barrier to my teaching I could not penetrate.'
'So what happens now?'
He shrugged slightly. 'Something changed, at the end. She heard me. But though she had lost the fight, and she knew it,
still
she attacked. And despite her speed and ferocity, tired and injured as she was, her attacks were easy to counter. In the field, or in battle, I fear for her. Were she wounded or outmatched, I think she would attack, ready to die foolishly rather than retreat, regroup and rethink.' He shook his head. 'She needs much instruction.'
He looked with some satisfaction down at Leeth then back to Emma, and nodded. '
Hai
, shame of failure will unlock this oyster.' The delight returned to his expression. 'This one, I will
teach
. I will speak to Father.'
They walked on. 'I do
not
wish to speak to her guardian.'
Emma looked at the cold anger on his face; then down to the young, bruised girl in his arms. Bruises which in a way he had been
forced
to inflict.
An unpleasant shiver ran up her spine.
Dojo left Emma in the infirmary preparing the medical scanner, signaling to Father that he wished to report face to face. The carved wood-paneled door whisked aside at his approach.
'Dojo. How did the first training session go?' The man behind the desk sat with military correctness, brushing the holo-display out of existence with a curt gesture. Although in his fifties, he adhered to a sensible exercise regime. Blue eyes in an austere face focused alertly on him. Then narrowed, noting Dojo's sweat, and disheveled look.
'Ah, a little bit strange. She will be… a challenge to teach.'
Father looked intrigued. 'Why? She was extremely keen to be given martial arts training. What happened?'
'You informed her of my abilities in this area?'
Father frowned. 'Yes. I stressed you were a true Master of the Art. Pre-eminent. She was, as I said,
very
keen for you to teach her. She literally bounced from the room, she was so eager.' His voice hardened. 'What
happened
, Dojo?'
'You warned me not to underestimate her.' Dojo paused. 'The warning was necessary. She is as dangerous as you say. And when I have finished teaching her….'
He bared his teeth, but in something darker than a smile, and for some reason Father felt the man was
warning
him. Dojo's gaze went distant, and hungry, as if a long-held promise lay now in reach. And his next words confirmed that.
'When I have finished teaching her, we may have the weapon we need against
him.
'
Father blinked.
'But there is something… wrong with the girl,' Dojo continued. 'She may not be completely sane. She has some basic skill, and you told her what to expect. Yet still,
she
launched the first attack on
me
.' Dojo shrugged. 'Much spirit, not so much sense. And she is as fast as you said. Faster.
'So. At first she listened to my words, and improved. But soon grew frustrated when she could not penetrate my defenses. Her attacks became more determined. She lost her temper. I explained to her she should not. I showed her, anger was senseless. She regained control. From then until the end, she sought only to kill me. But at that end… it was
glorious
.' Dojo's delight was palpable. 'And what she did…' He shook his head. 'She is wildly unpredictable. She controls her center of gravity. You understand?
Magic
. Finally, you bring me the student you promised.'
'And Leeth herself?'
'She is now unconscious in the infirmary.'
Father waited, but did not see the embarrassment he expected. 'Yet you are not,' he prodded.
Dojo, remembering the fleeting expression on the girl's face at the height of their battle, smiled. 'Of course. Yet, she held something back.'
Father looked surprised.
Dojo shrugged. 'I do not know what, yet. But after I have taught her….'
His smile turned wolfish. 'Today, it was as if I fought a wild animal. She did not reason, reacting purely on instinct. And I think maybe she is not a complete person – she cannot deal with failure, except by a direct attack on its source.' The smile vanished. 'As I said: maybe not so sane. She may be impossible to teach.'
'Impossible? Or just very difficult?' Father asked. At Dojo's angled head, he continued. 'An agent who can barely tolerate failure will be useful, you must agree. Stubbornness can be a desirable attribute.'
For a while, both men thought, before Father spoke again. 'Her training will not follow the same path you've used for your other students, will it?'
'Not so much.'
'Very well. You and I both know that to master the Art, you must master yourself. You say she is incomplete? Complete her.'
'Ah. So simple.'
Father frowned, unaccustomed to sarcasm from the warrior. Then saw that the man's anger had returned.
'You said the mage, "the Doctor," had raised her. Her incompleteness is his work, then. Did he know what he did?'
Father's expression went a little cold. 'He is a trained psychologist. Yes, I would say he knew what he was doing. I will review this incident with him, immediately.' Father's eyes returned to Dojo. 'Eagle says the Doctor has laid the groundwork for a most useful agent. He wants us to "round her out." She is to become an assassin. She herself
wants
that.'
Both men frowned at the implications. Dojo shook his head.
'You don't think she will make a good assassin?' Father asked.
'No,' he responded without hesitation. 'You will see when you review the session. Maybe she will be too good.'
Father saw the hunger return to Dojo's expression. 'But we can't let that long term goal ruin her
medium
term usefulness, Dojo. We need to be able to control her.'
Dojo inclined his head. 'Until we unleash her.'
Both men shared a look, hoping Eagle knew what he was doing.
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