Was there a sound in the corridor?
“Only sometimes?” he countered, easing himself off the chair gradually and standing, then shrugging his shoulders, inching backward.
“Fishing for compliments?”
“Hardly. Just fishing.” As he spoke, he reached the door, opened it quickly, and grabbed the fully dressed Ecolitan leaning toward it.
Crunch!
Clannk!
The green-clad man stared at the stunner on the tiles and shook his wrist.
“Sorry about that, friend,” said Jimjoy conversationally. “Now, Temmilan,” he began, as if to finish his talk with her.
Sccr—
“Ooooffff.” The Ecolitan collapsed in mid-leap from the force of the Major’s kick.
“This is getting all too predictable. Temmilan, why don’t you take this poor fellow back to whichever garbage heap he came from…and jump in with him.”
Jimjoy yanked the white-faced young Ecolitan from the rug and set him on his feet.
“Very clever, Major. Is dragging in poor bystanders and abusing them your idea of impressing me?”
Jimjoy sighed. Loudly.
“Spare me the posturing, and get the hades out of here.”
Temmilan slowly got up, again letting the robe gape open, nearly baring her breasts and swaying slightly as she did so.
Jimjoy ignored the brazen motion, stepping back and kicking the stunner into the corridor and shoving the still-gasping Ecolitan after the weapon.
“Keep your hands to yourself, killer.” Her voice was so low that only Jimjoy could have heard the words.
“I always intended to.”
Jimjoy waited in the doorway, watching, until the pair disappeared around the corridor corner ten meters away. He almost laughed when he saw Temmilan begin to console the younger man.
Then he closed the door, shaking his head.
The setup was brazen, so brazen, so unlike the underlying sophistication and simplicity he associated with the Accord and the Institute.
He shivered as he understood the full implications.
Then he chuckled, realizing that neither he nor Temmilan could say anything, for exactly the same reasons.
Shaking his head again, he propped the straight-backed chair under the door lever, not that he expected more visitors. But he decided he did need a bit of warning the way things were going.
He took off his robe once more, turned off the light, and climbed back into bed. Intrigue within intrigue or not, he needed some sleep.
XXIV
JIMJOY ANGLED ALONG the corridor, following the young man he had seen the night before—and who seemed vaguely familiar. From what he could tell, the man was an apprentice Ecolitan—one who had finished all his course work and was now assisting various instructors for roughly a year before being sent on a field assignment.
Not all apprentices remained at the Institute, but exactly where the others went, Jimjoy had yet to discover. As for field assignments, that could mean just about anything.
The program of studies only noted that “apprenticeships may occur at the Institute or at other Ecolitan facilities.” The library held no actual listing of such facilities under the apprenticeship notation, but did list separately two dozen small ecological field stations, two weather satellites, and a half-dozen satellite and on-system but off-planet research centers.
The apprentice strode out through the double doors and under the covered walkway that led to the physical training facilities.
The walkway was virtually without traffic. Jimjoy raised his eyebrows and stepped through the doors, following the brown-haired man.
About fifty meters away from the covered training arena, the Ecolitan apprentice glanced back over his shoulder.
Jimjoy smiled broadly, then watched the other stiffen as he looked away and continued toward the training complex. Jimjoy wiped the smile from his face and increased his steps to narrow the gap. He noted a number of students approaching on the intersecting walkway from the southern classroom complex.
Apparently, the apprentice was assigned to help with a physical training class.
The apprentice disappeared through the staff doorway.
Jimjoy grinned. His own locker lay through the very same doorway.
Before entering, he paused, listening, then flung the door open and marched through, watching two instructors look up in surprise from their conversation at the small table in the center of the room.
“Can we help you, Major?” asked the one on the right, a muscular blond woman with the triangle of senior staff on her short-sleeved and three-quarter-length, padded martial arts clothing.
The apprentice was quietly dressing in the far left corner of the room, sandwiched between two rows of lockers.
“Just like to observe, perhaps work out a little.”
The blonde smiled. “I’m Kerin Sommerlee. You’re certainly welcome. We’re probably not up to your caliber.”
Jimjoy and the instructor both ignored the snort from the apprentice.
“Have to see. Not in the shape I should be. You don’t mind?”
“Not at all.” She pointed toward a rack on her right. “You might want to change, though. Take whatever fits.”
“Appreciate it.” He nodded. “When do you start?”
“As soon as the students finish straggling in. Take any locker that doesn’t have a silver triangle.”
“Thanks. I have one at the end.” He moved toward the rack and studied the choice of available jackets and trousers, finally selecting one of each. As he carried them toward his own locker in the corner opposite the apprentice, Jimjoy noted a locker with both name and silver triangle—Andruz. He also noted, once again, that while the showers were individual, the locker areas were common, at least for the staff, without separate dressing areas by sex.
He shrugged as he pulled off tunic, trousers, and boots, and slipped on the padded short jacket and trousers. He went barefoot, although his feet were no longer as tough as he would have liked.
He did not miss the once-over by Kerin Sommerlee, or by the other instructor, a blocky man with the muscles of a powerlifter. At one hundred and ninety centimeters, Jimjoy was neither outstandingly tall nor replete with bulging muscles. But technique was another question, and why he worried about losing touch without continual practice. For him, timing was especially important.
“Warm-up mats?” he asked the blocky man, since Kerin had already left.
“I’m Geoff Aspan, Major,” answered the Ecolitan. “The warm-up area is through that door. That’s where the class is meeting.”
“Appreciate it.”
“Our honor.”
Jimjoy found the nameless apprentice and Kerin talking quietly as the two watched students arrive and begin their warm-ups. Again he felt he had seen the young man before, but could not remember where. He had seen so many faces wearing the forest-green tunics lately, and his thoughts had not been primarily on the student or apprentice Ecolitans.
He pushed away the questions of where he had seen the apprentice and what he might be discussing with the blond instructor and decided to warm up. Taking a vacant mat, he began his own routine, concentrating especially on stretching out his all-too-tight back and leg muscles. The backs of his thighs were always tight, too tight, and even in tip-top condition and limberness, he had trouble touching his toes easily.
Jimjoy repressed a grin as the nameless apprentice watched in disbelief while Jimjoy struggled to put his hands flat on the floor with straight knees and legs. The young man did not quite shake his head at the obviously poor shape of the Imperial Major.
Continuing through his routine, Jimjoy concentrated on stomach-centered exercise as the students completed filtering in. Finally he stood up and shrugged his shoulders, moving toward the wall as Kerin Sommerlee walked toward the center of the mat. The powerlifter stood behind her, and the apprentice next to him.
“Today is basically a review class. We’ll break you into groups and
evaluate your progress individually…”
Jimjoy looked over the students—obviously one of the youngest classes at the Institute. Several of the girls were repressing giggles at something, and the casualness of the boys was too artificial to be real.
He watched as Sommerlee split the class apart, carefully separating the gigglers into different groups. All the groups had varying sex mixes, but none was of a single sex.
“Now…responses…one at a time.”
Sommerlee stood before one group, the muscular man before another, and the apprentice before another, as each student reacted to an attack by the instructor.
The near mechanical student responses almost brought a smile to the Major’s lips as he recalled his own sessions years earlier. Perhaps five of the twenty students in the class showed some flair, either from a natural ability or from earlier training. One was a petite redheaded girl, who used the muscular instructor’s own weight and momentum to considerable advantage.
Thud.
Even Jimjoy winced, but the muscular Ecolitan smiled.
“Nice, Jerrite, nice. Don’t forget to keep your position. You won’t usually be facing just one single attacker.”
Nodding at that, Jimjoy looked over the progress of the other groups, easing along the back of the mats, studying the moves used and the instructions given.
He frowned. Something about the course nagged at him, but he couldn’t immediately say why. Looking at the open-worked beams overhead, their smooth workmanship, did not help his concentration. So he looked at Kerin Sommerlee, who was busy “attacking” one of the larger male students.
Then Jimjoy slowly nodded, understanding what about the course, about most courses, had bothered him.
He frowned, debating whether he should share the insight, or how he could convey the message.
Ambling toward Sommerlee, he waited for a break in the class pattern.
“Major…care to play attacker?”
“No…thank you.” He paused. “Not for a moment, anyway. But if you’d care for a match…no one defined as attacker or defender…”
“The class isn’t ready for free form yet.”
“Understand. But…like to claim the right to share something. And I can’t share it without a demonstration. Also, without a demonstration first, I doubt if my unsupported word would have much credibility. It might be better if…” Jimjoy gestured toward the heavily muscled instructor.
“No…you don’t get off that easily. Geoff has yet to take me, even with a handicap.”
“All right. Rules?”
“What do you suggest?”
“No gouging. No broken bones, and no action once someone’s on the mat.”
Sommerlee frowned in return. “Of course. We wouldn’t do that normally.”
“Thought so, but I haven’t worked out here.”
“All right.” She raised her voice. “Gather round, everyone.”
Jimjoy waited.
The students were silent as they ringed the mat.
“Major Wright has requested a free-form demonstration. Some of what you see will be beyond your current ability. Do not try it. Trying something without the fundamentals is a quick way to break your neck, if not worse.
“We are fortunate to have Major Wright here, and since he will not be able to stay until you are ready to try some of what he may show you, try to remember the basis of what you see for future reference.”
Sommerlee backed away and faced Jimjoy.
He took a deep breath, then moved, aiming at her right, then cutting left.
Keeping a balanced stance, which he had calculated, she countered—and Jimjoy struck.
Thud.
Sommerlee shook her head groggily.
“Whoa…”
“You all right?” he asked evenly.
“In a moment.”
Jimjoy ignored the whispers.
“…so fast…”
“…and she’s the best…”
“…used his weight…”
He offered her his hand, knowing she might attempt to throw him with it.
She did, and he went into a dive carrying her along. At the last instant, he twisted and released her hand.
Thud.
Jimjoy came out of the roll and looked back at Sommerlee. She did not move, but she was breathing evenly. After a moment, she sat up very slowly.
“I think you have made your point, Major, whatever it was.”
“I don’t, Ecolitan Sommerlee.”
Jimjoy did not bother to hold back his smile at the apprentice’s comments.
“Would you like a chance at the Major, apprentice Dorfman?”
“Yes, please, Ecolitan Sommerlee.”
“Try to take it easy on him, Major.” Kerin Sommerlee got up gingerly and walked to the side of the mat.
Jimjoy faced Dorfman, realizing where he had seen the apprentice before last night—on his arrival at the Institute. Maybe it had been better that he had taken the cab.
The younger man did not move for a moment, then tried to flank Jimjoy.
The Major moved, as if to avoid the pass, then lashed out with a foot.
Dorfman twisted, but could not undo his momentum, finally turning it into a twisting roll. Coming out of the roll, he launched himself back at the Major, in an imitation of the attack Jimjoy had used earlier.
Thud.
“Had enough, Dorfman?” he asked in a deliberately annoying tone.
Sommerlee frowned. So did the other instructor.
Dorfman shook his head, looked down at the mat, and slowly stood, as if unsteady.
This time, Jimjoy waited.
Crack.
Thud.
The openhanded slap had caught Dorfman on the cheek, lifted him, and dropped him into a heap.
“He’ll be all right in a moment.”
“Are you sure?”
Dorfman twitched, then pulled himself into a sitting position.
“Enough is enough, apprentice Dorfman.” Jimjoy’s voice was cold enough to penetrate. Dorfman slumped, almost as if in relief.
“Now…if no one minds, I’d like to share a few observations. About this class. About hand-to-hand combat. Based on my own training, not that different from yours, but mostly from my experience, which is a great deal different.”
“Be our guest, Major.”
Jimjoy tried to overlook the edge of bitterness in her tone. He could scarcely have expected charity.
“First…watched you train. Something bothered me. Took a minute to see.” He glanced out over the students, finally fixing his eyes on Sommerlee.
“Most courses like yours, like my original training, assume the strength of a defensive position, only conceding to overwhelming brute force. That’s not necessarily so. The stronger position is the stronger position.” He could see the puzzled looks.
“Let me show you. A volunteer?”
The petite redhead stepped forward.
“Take a defensive position, as if I were going to attack. I won’t,” he added as she looked up at him warily. “But I need to illustrate.” He moved to her side. “You’re balanced against an attack from roughly here to here. From here—” He touched her shoulder, and she wavered. “So what? Any good martial arts student constantly changes position to present what you could call a ‘defense for attack.’ That’s still a defense.
“You can sit down,” he added in a lower voice.
“What I did to both Ecolitan Sommerlee and apprentice Dorfman, in the simplest terms, was force them into a defense that was vulnerable to attack at the time I actually attacked.” He paused. “That sounds simple. And it is—if you think in those terms. But if you begin by assuming that defense is the best position, you won’t think that way.”
Jimjoy looked at Dorfman, whose expression was still blank.
“Look. Why do you learn combat? Not to toss someone aside. You learn it to kill or disable someone. Period. No other reason, except exercise, and there are a lot better ways to
exercise. If you have to really use your skills, they shouldn’t be defensive. The point is disability or death. Period. Not defense. If you don’t want someone disabled or dead, don’t learn the skills…because you’ll end up dead instead.” He lowered his voice. “Doesn’t apply to practice, but your practice should always keep that in mind.”
Jimjoy paused again, studying the students, whose faces, if not blank, mirrored subdued shock at his bluntness.
“Put it more bluntly. Most times you use hand-to-hand combat when you’ve screwed up once already. If you have to kill or disable someone, the worst possible way is to do it hand-to-hand.
“Second point. You will screw up. We all will. I’m human, and you’re human. We make mistakes. But the universe doesn’t give you three chances in a row, and damned few enemies will give you even two. So you can’t risk losing even once with hand-to-hand. Fighting has no honor. Except in learning or improving your skills, you fight to win.”
He scanned the faces, repressing a sigh at the ignorance, the naïveté.
“That doesn’t mean you attack all-out like Dorfman did. See where it got him? It does mean any defense should only be temporary…just until you can destroy your opponent. End of sermon.”
He half bowed to Sommerlee. “Your class, Ecolitan Sommerlee.”
“The Major has just delivered a rather convincing lecture. While we may not share all his political views, what he says about hand-to-hand combat has a great deal of…validity.”
Jimjoy walked toward the locker area, not certain whether he had hurt or helped himself, but hoping that some of them had listened. Behind him, the exercise area was silent, almost dead silent. The whispers would begin, he suspected, only after he had disappeared into the staff dressing area.
He took a few deep breaths as he stepped through the doorway.
“Another great success, killer?”
Sabatini stood next to the table, her black eyes glinting.
“Another great success, Sabatini. If that’s the way you look at it. If any of them listen, it might save their lives. Not into propaganda. Just survival.”
“How touching.”
Empire & Ecolitan Page 14
