Birthright

by L. Fergus

  Kita related her harrowing tale.

  “Never could fault your brains or your toughness. I’m glad you have the big fellow to watch after you.”

  “Yeah, he’s pretty great.” Except when he isn’t.

  “I should get back to my men.”

  Kita nodded and let him go. Her stomach growled, so she, Sarge, and Zidin returned to the mess to find something to eat. The briefing took longer than she expected. “At ease,” said Kita, before anyone could say anything. She didn’t feel the need for the legionnaires to stop what they were doing for her sake.

  She grabbed a sandwich and checked out the beverages. Labels attached to metal containers read WATER, WINE, and BEER, as well as something labeled SOFT DRINK. What’s a hard drink?

  “Those are some of the damnedest concoctions,” said Cookie from behind her. “They’re an acquired taste. They’re fizzy and have a sharp bite when you start but are sweet after that. Bunch of flavors—cola is caramel, diet cola tastes the same, lemon-lime is clear, and this one, Atomic Blast, is a citrus and sweet. Be careful with them, they can give you a pretty good jolt. Some of the guys are addicted. When you get a chance, Commander, the kitchen is ready for inspection.”

  Kita forgot about the kitchen. After promising to be in after she’d eaten, she tried the soft drinks and found she liked Atomic Blast best.

  Cookie, in a spotless set of chef’s whites, looked tired, but proud. The kitchen sparkled like sunlight on a pond. Kita inspected, checking her reflection in each surface, even using one to fix her hair.

  Partway through the inspection, Kita became energetic and alert. She talked faster and couldn’t hold still.

  “I suddenly feel like I can take on a cavern full of elves,” said Kita.

  “Had some of that Atomic Blast, Commander?” said Cookie.

  Kita nodded, and Cookie laughed. “It’s the soft drink. It’ll wear off after a while.”

  The kitchen received a passing grade from Kita, who left bouncing with a big smile. I think I found my new favorite drink.

  After Kita wandered around the outpost bouncing off the walls, Zidin gave her a lecture on something called caffeine and suggested they go to the gym. Thinking that sounded like a great idea, Kita went to the armory.

  A sergeant named Abernathy stopped when Kita entered the workshop. “Commander, good to see you. Come to reclaim what’s yours?”

  Abernathy led her to a stand in the back of the workshop.

  Kita inspected her armor. They’d stitched the holes left by the elves so well she could barely make out the damage. Parts of the hardened leather had been replaced, but the color was a perfect match. They’d properly removed the piece of cloth she’d torn out and reshaped the area.

  Kita grinned at Abernathy. “It looks wonderful, better than the day I got it. I didn’t think some of these could be fixed. I like the reshaping and resizing in the front.”

  Abernathy basked in her praise, looking like a happy grandfather giving his grandchild a much-wanted toy.

  Kita’s picked up the choker. “Do you think you can put some spikes on this? It’s kind of boring.”

  “Shouldn’t take more than a minute.”

  He returned holding the choker with a new set of half-inch spikes. Perfect!

  “Where did you say you got this from again, Commander?”

  “It was a gift from my mother. Why do you ask?”

  “Just curious, Commander. Like I said, these suits are rare,” Abernathy said with a twinkle in his eye. “If you don’t need me anymore, Commander, I’ve got work to do.”

  Kita thanked him again. She took her armor and went back to her room.

  Kita wrinkled her nose when she entered the gym. It smelled like boy. The room was split between a large open space and practice equipment. The height of the ceiling would allow her to practice her tumbling.

  Zidin left to work on the open floor while Kita explored the training dummies. None gave her any meaningful practice. Placing targets at various heights on fifteen dummies, Kita tumbled, spun, and twisted through them, dodging their menacing swinging arms. She slashed the last target before the dummies stopped moving.

  Feeling she needed something challenging, Kita found Zidin going through his own training regimen of stances, swings, and strikes. When Zidin was done, Kita said, “Does your sword have a name like mine?”

  “All swords from Earnan are named. Mine is Great White.”

  “Does it do anything special or just look pretty?”

  Zidin smiled. “Great White is the master of water. It is an ability I’ve never used, and I hope I never have to.”

  “Why not?”

  “If I require the need for the ability, I have already lost the fight. There is no honor in using Great White’s power. There is honor only in the blade.”

  “You’re turning down power because of honor? I’ll take all the power I can get, and I won’t be afraid to use it.”

  Zidin sighed. “Yes, I know. I fear power will be your downfall.”

  “Not if I collect enough of it. Want to duel?”

  “That has never gone well for me. Let’s work on form and technique instead of power and speed.” Zidin chuckled.

  Dawn and Dusk rang off Great White as they exchanged attacks and parries. Kita spun, dipped, and dodged around Zidin until an unexpected sidestep and thrust sent her to the floor from a poor parry.

  “Since when did you learning finesse?” Kita stood up with a mischievous grin.

  “After you beat me,” Zidin said flatly. “Ich kann Deutsch sprechen. Time to rest. No one should have this much energy after so long.”

  “This caffeine is fun stuff. Anyone interested in challenging your commander?” Kita said to the gathered crowd.

  A legionnaire volunteered and introduced her to the dipping pots. They held a liquid that hardened on the blades to keep them from causing injury. It peeled off to make the blades usable again. Kita took it slow, but even then, the bout didn’t last long. She dueled two more, going easy on them.

  “Anyone else want a shot?” Kita said to the growing crowd.

  “I will.” A large, surly legionnaire shoved his way forward. Kita recognized him as the one who’d made the condescending remark in the mess. He hasn’t learned any respect.

  Kita smiled politely. “What rules do you want?”

  He gave her a contemptuous look. “No rules, Commander. We want to see your best.”

  Kita shrugged and went to the far side, grinning. She rarely got to teach a lesson to those who deserved it. The bout started, and the legionnaire charged forward. Kita waited for his arrival. He was attempting to rush her and knock her down. He swung his shield at Kita, she sidestepped and struck him across the back with both weapons.

  The legionnaire turned angrily. “Not fair striking in the back.”

  Kita shrugged. “You said no rules.”

  The legionnaire gave her a rude gesture. “You won’t do it again.”

  “You’re on.”

  When they met again, Kita stayed in front of him playfully attacking and parrying. The more she did, the madder he became. Her playful smile faded when he called her something that made the phrase in the mess seem like a compliment. Kita upped the tempo. She struck his shield repeatedly—aiming at the rivets—causing the reinforced wood to come apart. With a quick flourish, she flipped his broadsword from his hand. Kita dropped to a crouch, swept his feet out from under him, and placed both blades across his throat.

  “Yield?” Kita growled.

  The legionnaire refused. Kita pushed harder with Dusk.

  She whispered, “That’s the second time. If there is a third my blades will not be covered, understood?”

  He glared, and she glared back with hate blazing in her eyes. The Legionnaire blinked. “Yes, Commander,” he whispered, then gathered his sword and broken shield, and left the room ignoring the crowd.

  The crowd didn’t dissipate after the legionnaire left. Something’s up.

 
; Mickelson stepped forward. “Congratulations, Commander. That was an impressive display. I’m sure the men have learned a lot from watching such a unique form. Corporal Jefferson was the second-best duelist in the outpost.”

  “And who is the best?”

  “That would be me, Commander. Eight years running. I’ve only lost twice, and both times it was documented the winner cheated. Are you interested in a shot at the title?”

  “In a hurry to lose it, Lieutenant?”

  “It would tarnish my honor if I didn’t offer, Commander.”

  Kita stifled a laugh with a cough. “You’re on, Lieutenant. Let me know when you’re ready.”

  “Yes, Commander. Since you’re the challenger, you may pick the referee.”

  “Why do we need a referee?”

  “To make sure the duel is fair, the hits are scored correctly, and everyone’s honor is protected.”

  Kita shrugged. “As you wish.” Kita looked at Zidin. “You get to referee.”

  He sighed and shook his head.

  Mickelson turned up his nose. “The commander doesn’t trust one of her own men to referee? That besmirches everyone’s honor.”

  “Lieutenant, that girl doesn’t believe in honor,” said Zidin.

  Mickelson looked shocked and pointed his blade at him. “She is the commander of the Legion and a woman. She has more honor than all of us combined. Apologize to me, then to her.”

  Zidin’s eyes narrowed. “That would be an apology on deaf ears. She thinks it’s an absurd idea. Be grateful she chose me. If I say something’s illegal, she’ll only argue a little bit. Standard dueling rules, first slash wins the round, and best-of-five wins the match.”

  If you’re not cheating, you’re not trying.

  They lined up on opposite sides of the open area, and the crowd gathered at the edge. It appeared every legionnaire on duty or off had come to watch. In the front row, one of the communications sergeants held a panel with Bradley. This is a bigger deal than I thought. I’ll give them a show…

  Zidin called for the readies and dropped his hand. Kita moved forward leisurely, using the standard Yorqian form. She was interested in seeing what Mickelson could do. He impressed her by using a single sword form. With the right training, it offered excellent speed and agility but was weak on the defensive.

  They met in the middle and circled. Mickelson lunged first, demonstrating the superior reach of his form. Kita parried him with ease and offered a simple counterattack. Mickelson dodged and struck again.

  She kept the back and forth going hoping Mickelson would show her something new. He didn’t. Kita let him claim the first point.

  Kita changed form to a Champignon female form. With a simple parry and sidestep, she landed three quick slashing strikes.

  “I must object,” said Mickelson. “Changing form is dishonorable.”

  “What did I tell you?” said Zidin. “Changing form wasn’t in the rules. Her point stands.”

  In the next bout, Mickelson attacked with more speed and power, which left him open to counterattacks. Kita swung at his feet to keep him guessing. Growing bored, she sloppily handled a parry that glanced off her arm to let him collect the next point.

  Zidin announced the score. The crowd overwhelmingly supported Mickelson. Kita didn’t mind. She’d rather they loved him and hated her. They had to work with him every day.

  The fourth bout Kita let Mickelson push her around, making dramatic escapes and dodges when needed. She feigned tiring, and the crowd chanted the lieutenant’s name. Kita let them enjoy it.

  It was time to give them a taste of what she could do. In a quick flash, she spun behind Mickelson. He followed, but Kita stayed out of his vision. Mickelson kept turning. Kita stepped into his sightline and slashed him across the chest.

  The crowd went quiet.

  “Foul!” someone cried.

  “Legal strike. She struck the front,” said Zidin.

  “Time!” called Mickelson.

  Kita drifted toward the crowd. She kept her back to them, pretending to check her armor.

  “…No one can switch between fighting forms so smoothly…”

  “…She’s a cheater, spinning around like that. She needs to learn to stand and fight…”

  “…Does she expect to dance like that in the tubes...?”

  “…She’s so fast. Her offhand technique—I’ve never seen anything like it…”

  “…All tied up. I got two-to-one on the lieutenant…”

  The legionnaires didn’t have money. Instead, they gambled duties and off time.

  “…You’ve seen her, the lieutenant’s beat her twice, and he’ll take her down again.”

  “Yeah, and she’s beat him twice.”

  “The first time she caught him by surprise and the second was an illegal move. The referee’s her stooge. She’s not going to beat him, she’s nothing special.”

  “I talked to Corporal Jefferson before I came in. He showed me the bruises on his neck and arms. She broke his shield while it was on his arm. I don’t think she’s done yet. Corporal Jefferson said she’s a real bitch and a monster—”

  Kita’s vision went red. The hate, rage, and oil erupted like a geyser. Her vision and hearing sharpened, and her body became an over-compressed spring straining for release. Thoughts rushed through her empty mind as serenity took over her face. A long, uncontrollable giggle escaped her.

  Zidin swore and rushed to Mickelson. They exchanged words, Zidin pleading with him. Mickelson puffed up his chest and shook his head, then moved to his starting position.

  “Duelers, fight!” said Zidin.

  Kita blew the onlookers a kiss and giggled. She ran forward and threw herself into a series of backward handsprings.

  Mickelson stopped, gaping, as Kita somersaulted over his head, slashing at him. Mickelson spun and blocked clumsily. Kita landed and rolled into a one-handed handstand, slashing at his legs. Mickelson jumped back. “This is not some Asiatic Circus. Fight like you’re supposed to!”

  “What’s wrong, Lieutenant? Does it offend your sacred honor?” Kita giggled.

  “It’s not my honor I’m worried about. It’s yours.”

  “Instead of talking, you could attack. Or does your honor prevent you from attacking an upside-down opponent? Is there a rulebook for honor? Is this rule number 792.A.IV.b, ‘Thou shall not attack an opponent when they are upside down standing on one hand?’”

  “Honor is personal. Each of us decides what is wrong and what is right. Now, fight like a real warrior.”

  “Tsk-tsk, Lieutenant. Does honor allow you to be rude? As they say, be wary of what you wish for…”

  Kita launched over Mickelson’s head, striking as she went. Mickelson fell backward trying to block. Kita rolled as she landed. She turned and swung. He regained his composure enough to defend against her attacks.

  She leaped and twisted in the air attacking with big arcs of her blades. Each attack came faster and stronger than the last. Mickelson retreated with each strike until he hit the wall. Kita somersaulted, landing feet first above him. She grabbed him by the shoulders, pushed off the wall, rotated, and threw Mickelson over the top of her. She landed in a crouch.

  Her maniacal laugh rang as she approached Mickelson. “What’s wrong, Lieutenant? Not liking what you wished for?”

  “Fight with honor, damn you,” Mickelson snarled as he stood.

  “And what honor do I have, may I ask?”

  “Your personal honor, your honor as a woman, the honor of the rank of commander. You should be setting an example.”

  “I have honor just for being a woman? And why—exactly—is that?”

  “Your purity and chastity, your beauty and grace, your modesty and piety, your compassion and devotion. What it means to be a woman.”

  “You’re a fool. Honor is weakness. As for being an example to my legionnaires, the lesson hasn’t begun yet. I’m still trying to get you to fight.” Kita swung at him.

  “You will be the
example. You will show those without honor always fall.” Mickelson swung harder and faster, but Kita parried him with ease.

  “We’re getting somewhere.” Kita struck Mickelson’s sword repeatedly, the clashing of the swords changed from a dull thud to the musical clang.

  “Stop!” Mickelson yelled. “The protective coating’s worn off.”

  “Good. Now you’ll have something to lose.”

  “This is a practice ring, not a battlefield!”

  “I’m going to teach you two things, Lieutenant: Honor is dead, and there is no practice ring.”

  She struck Mickelson’s elbows and inner knees. Mickelson yelled in pain.

  “There are only battlefields, Lieutenant. The strong know this. And you can take your idea of women’s honor and shove it up your ass.”

  Kita sliced him across the knuckles on both hands and stabbed him in the pockets of his shoulders. “If you want to live, Lieutenant—if you want to survive—you must train the same way you fight!” She sliced through the sides of his boots.

  Mickelson screamed but didn’t fall. He tried to attack.

  Kita blocked and pushed him back. “On the battlefield, you don’t have opponents. You have enemies. And they will kill you by any means necessary.” Kita roundhouse kicked Mickelson in the jaw. “They won’t wait for you to be ready.”

  Mickelson floundered on the floor.

  Kita kicked him several more times. “They won’t hesitate to kick you when you’re down.”

  Mickelson struggled to his hands and knees, but a vicious kick flipped him onto his back.

  “Get up!” She yanked him to his feet. “They’ll gang up on you and attack from all sides.” In a blur, Kita attacked him on four sides. “They won’t hesitate to attack you if you’re unarmed.” Kita cut Mickelson’s sword into three pieces. “And they won’t hesitate to stab you in the back.” Kita flipped over Mickelson and drove Dawn and Dusk through his back.

  The crowd gasped.

  Kita kicked Mickelson off her swords. He crumbled into a heap. She knelt beside him, stroked his cheek, and kissed him. “Consider this the death of womanly honor.”