Chucklers: Laughter is Contagious

by Jeff Brackett

  Ross had anticipated this opening and easily warded off the strike, deflecting it to the side as he stepped inside, attempting to negate the advantage of his instructor’s longer blade. But Alex leapt back, whirling his blade in a narrow circle that temporarily entangled Ross’s dao and forced him to retreat. Ross spun away, whirling his own blade in a defensive pattern in case Alex pursued, but his instructor simply slid forward, as graceful as the water his movements represented.

  Their dance continued for several minutes, neither man saying a word. Something that Ross noticed for the first time was the almost musical sound of their blades as they brushed and slid against each other. Very seldom was there a harsh clang of edge on edge. The two of them were good enough that the parries and attacks were more subtle. They consisted mostly of thrusts, light parries, and understated redirections.

  But as good as Ross was with his dao, Alex was even better with his jian. He was playing with Ross, biding his time. Ross knew it was unlikely that he would actually win the match. But he was determined that he would not give the victory to his instructor through any mistake on his part. Alex would have to show some superior technique that would overcome Ross’s. It was a subtle distinction, but in Ross’s mind, it was important.

  So he lost himself in the dance. The sound of blade on blade, feet on the wooden floor of the gymnasium, and as always, his heartbeat sounding in the back of his mind… all of these faded into insignificant background noise. After a few more minutes, there was nothing but the rhythm of the bout, and he was comfortable enough with the movements that he was able to add the piano tone in his mind once more.

  Heart slowing, breath easing… he surrendered to the moment.

  Several minutes later, and he wasn’t sure how long that was, Ross noted something new. There was an ache in his shoulder and wrist. He realized he had been aware of it for a few minutes, but had ignored it as insignificant. Now, though, it refused to be ignored, and it intruded into his mind. Suddenly, his control was in jeopardy. His movements became strained, and his blade heavy.

  And just like that, the flat of Alex’s jian slapped him on his shoulder, then the tip poked at his chest. They both stepped back, the match over. Ross strained to maintain control of his heartbeat as Alex spoke.

  “What happened?”

  “You won.”

  “I know that. I even know why. The question is, do you?”

  Ross thought about it for a second. Was it a trick question? No, that wouldn’t be like Alex. So he needed to take the question seriously. “My shoulder and wrist gave out.”

  “I know that. I could see when it began.” He stepped forward and held out his hand for Ross’s dao. “My question is, why did your shoulder and wrist give out?”

  Ross raised an eyebrow as he handed the practice blade over. “Because my blade weighs almost twice as much as yours.”

  Alex smiled and nodded. “That’s a big part of it. But it’s not the whole answer.” He turned to place the practice blades back in their places on the wall. “The weight, and more importantly the weight distribution of the blade, forces you to work more of the larger muscle groups to keep it moving. The dao is designed as a slashing and hacking blade. As such, the balance is toward the end of the blade. This means you have to sling all that weight around. It gives the dao an advantage in cutting, but it wears you out quicker.” Alex smiled at him. “I’ll give you credit, though. You kept it up for a lot longer than I thought you'd be able to. You’re better than anyone I know at finding your zone and keeping inside it… better even than I am, by far.

  “But the jian is a longer, lighter blade, and when two opponents are closely matched in skill, the jian will usually win out. It requires more balance, but less gross motor control.”

  Ross nodded. “I don’t argue the point, Sifu. It’s just that the combat application of the blade is secondary for me. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy the hell out of that aspect of our studies, too. But my main goal is to conquer my condition, or at least control it as much as I can. My meditative techniques are my primary focus. The blade is just a means to that end.”

  “But couldn’t you do the same with the jian?”

  Ross shook his head. “All the reasons you listed are precisely why I don’t want to use the jian. It wouldn’t work me hard enough. It wouldn’t force me to pay attention to my body as much.”

  After considering that, Alex nodded. “All right. You do realize that you’ll likely never progress to full mastery of the style this way, don’t you?”

  Ross shrugged. “With all due respect, Sifu, mastery of the style isn’t my goal. Mastery of myself is more important.”

  Alex sighed. “All right. I can respect that. But I won’t stop hoping that you’ll change your mind. You’d be one hell of a competitor. Even better, you’d be a great teacher if you would work more on the other aspects of the art.”

  “Thanks. But I think we both know better. I can’t afford to get invested enough to ever be a good instructor. What would the students say when I have one of my episodes?”

  Alex nodded. “Sorry. You always seem to be in control. I guess I tend to forget that you’re walking that tightrope every day. Besides, I would truly love to see what you could do with the other weapons if you put your mind to them. I have to admit, there’s a certain selfishness to me pushing you toward the long blade.”

  “I appreciate the compliment, Sifu, and the confidence you have in my abilities. But truthfully, in this day and age, when is knowledge of swordplay ever going to be important other than as a mental discipline?”

  They finished with some slower unarmed forms to allow their muscles to cool down, and parted outside the gymnasium. They were the last ones out, as they usually were.

  “You have plans for Thanksgiving?” Alex asked.

  Ross felt his heart skip, and immediately clamped down on it. “Thought I did, but some friends told me today that Erica had to leave town. Something about a death in the family.”

  “Sorry to hear that. Nothing with your parents?”

  “No. They’re in Europe for the holidays.”

  Alex whistled. “Must be nice.”

  “Yeah. I figure I’ll just hang around the dorm, play some video games… work out.”

  “Why don’t you come over to my place? Jeanette and I can make room for one more.”

  Ross pretended to think about it for a second. “No thanks. I think I’ll just take the down time and relax.”

  “Well, you have my number if you change your mind.” He turned and headed toward the parking lot. He pulled his keys from his pocket and pressed. A horn beeped once and the lights flashed on one of the three cars left in the lot. “Give Erica my condolences,” he called over his shoulder.

  “Will do. Thanks.” But the parting comment brought the tightness of anxiety back to Ross’s chest. Why did I have to hear about it from friends? Why didn’t she tell me on her own? They had fought last time they were together. Was that all it took? He hadn’t had many relationships, and he knew he put a special strain on theirs. But he thought she would at least tell him if she was going to end things.

  He sighed as he walked toward his dorm, concentrating on the beating of his heart, struggling with it now more than when he’d been wielding the dao.

  Chapter 9

  Chris Tallant

  The Slick

  Chris was shadowing the first officer on the evening watch when Captain Eckles dropped in to make a quick round. He was wearing his dinner uniform, so it was obvious he wasn’t planning to stay long. But in the week Chris had been in his new position, he had learned that the captain liked to show up unannounced to make sure everyone was on their toes. The Bahama Queen was a new ship, less than two years out of dry dock, and Eckles had been chosen as the best to run her. He had a reputation for running the tightest ships in the company, a reputation that from what Chris had seen so far, appeared to be well deserved.

  “Good evening, gentlemen. How are things on the bridge?�
�

  “Everything is running good, Captain.” First Officer Berthold Seuss still pronounced it with a slight German accent — “goot.” His English was impeccable, but the pronunciation of certain words still gave away the fact that it wasn’t his primary language.

  “Excellent, Doc.” Chris winced inwardly at the captain’s use of the nickname. The first officer tolerated it from the captain, but Chris had been warned by other members of the bridge crew that the older man would make anyone else’s life a living hell if they dared use it. He could only imagine how much the man must have been teased, growing up with the name most associated with a famous children’s author.

  But Eckles continued without pause, either unaware or uncaring of his first officer’s dislike of the name. “I assume by your presence that you’re taking the night watch?”

  “I am, sir,” Seuss confirmed. “Mr. Tallant is my second. I thought I would check him on the new navigation systems.”

  The captain looked at Chris for the first time since walking into the bridge. “Are you familiar with them?”

  Chris stood up a little straighter. “The software itself is the same as what I used on the L-class liners. The interface is a little different, but I’ll get used to that.”

  Eckles smiled. “That’s what I like to hear.” He looked again at Seuss. “All right, Doc. I’ll leave the bridge in your capable hands, then. There’s a pretty young divorcee sitting at the captain’s table tonight, and I’m just aching to offer her my condolences.”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  Eckles was almost to the door when Jesse Perez, the Apprentice Deck Officer, called from the observation window. “Captain? Before you leave, sir, you might want to take a look at this.”

  With a wry grin, the captain shook his head. “You’re bound and determined to make me late for dinner tonight, aren’t you, Jesse? You saw the good-looking women on this cruise, and you’re just trying to keep me from getting lucky.” But he walked across the bridge to where Perez was staring at the ocean through a pair of binoculars. “What have you got, son? Iceberg? UFO, sea monst…” The captain’s voice trailed off. “Oh, now that is pretty awesome.”

  He turned to call the rest of the bridge crew. “You folks might want to come take a look at this. It’s not something you get to see very often.”

  Curious, Chris walked over with the dozen or so others on the bridge. The lower ranks parted for him, deferential to the stripes on his shoulder.

  “I’ll be damned,” Eckles said. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a patch so big. This thing stretches for miles!”

  Chris gaped. The captain was right. The Bahama Queen had just entered a huge patch of blue glowing water. Like anyone who had spent any time at sea, he had seen patches of bioluminescent algae before. But this one was by far the largest he had ever seen. It shimmered like a glowing slick of oil before the ship, churning brighter in some places, as if it was some sort of special lighting effect straight out of Hollywood.

  “Captain. Take a look ahead, about four hundred yards off the starboard bow.”

  Not having any binoculars handy, Chris squinted to see where Perez indicated. From where he stood, he could tell there was something churning frantically, thrashing about in the glowing water. Looking closer, it looked like it was several large fish. Tuna? Redfish? Sharks?

  “Was ist das?” Chris was surprised to hear Seuss momentarily slip back into his native German. It was the first time he had heard it in the week he had been on board. It somehow made the man seem more human.

  “Looks like a pod of dolphins.”

  “But what the hell are they doing?” Perez asked. Then he answered his own question. “It looks like they’re fighting.”

  “Each other?” Chris asked.

  Captain Eckles lowered his glasses. “It looks that way.” His brow crinkled as he thought. “Mr. Tallant?”

  The transition was so abrupt, Chris started. “Yes, sir?”

  “Please contact the public relations office and ask them if they have a photographer on duty. Video is preferable.”

  Chris was moving to his station before the captain had completed his sentence.

  “Give them the location and ask them to film as much of this as they can. There’s something strange going on, and I want as much documentation as we can get.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “I want footage of the dolphins for the company’s biology department. Also, ask them to get some footage of the water. The bioluminescence will make great filler for advertising.”

  Chris started to answer but was interrupted by a voice on the line. “This is Dalton.”

  “Dalton, this is Second Officer Tallant on the bridge. The captain would like someone from PR to get topside with some video equipment. There’s a pod of dolphins fighting off the starboard bow, and there’s a huge glowing…” He hesitated. How to describe it so the layman would understand? “Just call it a slick. We need to get footage of both.”

  “Yes, sir. I think I have a man doing film footage for families right now. I’ll call him and send him starboard.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Not a problem, sir.”

  Chris hung up the line after speaking with the public relations office. He waited patiently as Captain Eckles gave more orders. The man stared through his binoculars, never looking up as he spoke to no one in particular. "Reduce speed for a bit to let the video crew get some good footage. We can make up the time later."

  And as people scrambled to turn his words to reality, Chris cleared his throat to get the captain's attention.

  "Captain?"

  "Yes, Mr. Tallant?" The man still didn't put down his binoculars, but he seemed to know who he was speaking to, nonetheless.

  "I just spoke to Mr. Dalton in Public Relations. He's going to get a man up to start filming."

  But Eckles didn't look up, obviously preoccupied with the view. "Very good, Mr. Tallant. Would you please call down and cancel my dinner plans?" His jaw clenched tightly at some sight in the gulf, but he continued. "And please send my regrets specifically to Miss McSherry at the Captain's table. Tell her some unexpected business on the bridge has come up and I'll have to take a rain check on our dinner."

  "Aye, Captain."

  Chapter 10

  Charles Griffe

  Le Trône de la Mer

  It had taken four days, but Charlie had managed to book dinner reservations at the fanciest dining room on the ship. Le Trône de la Mer was a French-themed dining room on Deck Four, and was definitely one of the luxuries the station hadn't paid for. Charlie had thought long and hard about whether or not he should spring for it, but he'd wanted to show off a little for Felicia. Expose her to some of the fancier things in life. So he'd hesitantly made reservations for the gourmet dining experience. The dining room had been walled with huge aquariums, and Felicia squealed with delight every time a pretty fish swam past.

  Looking back, Charlie would be able to point to that meal as the point at which everything had gone sideways for him.

  He ordered Felicia the most exotic sounding item on the menu, but when he was about halfway through his plate, he noticed that she had barely touched her meal. “What’s the matter, baby? Something wrong with your food?”

  Eyes downcast, she looked as if she was afraid to say anything. She mumbled something so low he couldn’t hear her over the background sounds of the dining room.

  “What?”

  “I don’t like lobster.”

  “You what?” He couldn’t believe she was pulling this on him. Who didn’t like lobster? He and Felicia had been living together for almost a year now, and she’d never once mentioned that she didn’t like lobster. He was sure of it.

  “I’m sorry, Charlie.”

  “Then why didn’t you say anything when I ordered?”

  “I didn’t know what you were ordering. It was in French.”

  And he remembered looking at the menu and simply finding the most exotic sounding dish, orderi
ng Homard Thermidor, and being so proud he could afford to spend the dining room’s ninety dollar per person entry fee that he hadn’t paid attention to the description. Even now, that price was the thing that kept going through his head. “You do realize how much this dinner is costing me, don’t you?”

  “I’m so sorry, Charlie.” She looked up with tears in her eyes, and Charlie struggled to rein in his temper.

  He smiled past tight lips, choking back his frustration. In his peripheral vision, he saw other diners at the table watching the exchange surreptitiously. “It’s okay. Don’t worry about it. So what would you like to eat?” He even managed to keep his annoyance in check when she ordered a hamburger.

  Whenever he began to get angry, his father’s voice echoed in his ears. Seriously? Ninety dollars a head, and she orders a fucking hamburger?

  Yeah, Charlie had always been able to count on dear old Dad for support. Like the time he’d pegged Charlie with a fastball in the forehead to teach him to keep his glove up. Charlie had been nine at the time. Nine with a concussion.

  But Charlie pushed the voice back. The therapists had taught him long ago that listening to Dad’s voice invariably got him into trouble. So he forced a smile and bit back his initial response. After a while, he even managed to enjoy the dinner. Complimentary glasses of wine helped, and he and Felicia spent the time between courses chatting and joking with fellow passengers. Three courses later, dessert came, and Charlie knew he was almost through what had become an ordeal of dancing on eggshells. He had ordered the two of them Grand Marnier soufflés with Crème Anglaise.

  The fluffy cup of heaven smelled slightly of orange liqueur when it arrived, and when he scooped the first warm bite into his mouth, he tasted tiny flecks of orange peel on his tongue. The creamy vanilla sauce was the perfect counterpoint for the tang of the soufflé. He watched Felicia’s face as she took her first tentative bite. Her smile told him all he needed to know. She had loved his order this time. Charlie smiled. Yeah, baby. Charlie’s gonna get lucky tonight.