The Vastalimi Gambit (6 page)

He sat quietly for a moment, no doubt considering his options, deciding which would serve him best. He did not look comfortable.

Kay enjoyed watching him squirm. Revenge was as much a part of her makeup as any other Vastalimi’s. He deserved to suffer, and even a small amount was better than none.

“Very well. What do you want to know?”

“I need your uncle’s movements before his death.”

“I have already given that report.”

“And you and I both know it was less than complete. Unless Uncle Teb had a major change of philosophy since I left Vast, he was not a person to spend his time walking the path of Right Action. He was rich and he was crooked and he would not pour water to douse a newborn cub on fire unless he was paid for both water
and
his effort. That he had enemies is a given, and your sanitized report is fiction by omission.”

Jak said nothing.

“I will know what illegal and immoral activities he was involved in. You can tell me, or—”

“—Yes, yes, you will call the Shadows. How is your dear sister these days?”

“Probably salivating at the chance to prod you with her swand and listen to you scream. She never liked you to begin with and likes you less now. Tell it to me or sob it to her.”

She heard his teeth clash. It was quite satisfying.

“I will tell you,” he said.

She smiled.

In the dojo behind the mess hall, Gunny shook her head at Singh. “But what if you lose your knife? Or break it?”

“I find it hard to believe either might happen. My great-uncle made the
chhuri
well, and in the field, I wear it always.”

“But you remember your bare-handed match against Gramps?”

“I could hardly forget it. ‘Old and treacherous beats young and strong every time.’ I learned.”

“Absolutely. You take showers?”

He looked at her as if she had sprouted a second head.

Before he could speak, she said, “It was rhetorical. You carry your knife in there with you?”

He gave her a look. “No.”

“So if you are attacked in a shower, what do you do? Wave your willie at them?”

“That would probably terrify them.”

Gunny grinned. Give the kid credit, he kept trying.

“Or maybe they from Long Dong village, and they’d die laughin’.”

She hefted the zap. This was a training weapon that looked like a regular knife, save that the dull, but electrified blade delivered a shock if it touched you. Gunny had once had a combat teacher who used live steel and had the cuts statbonded as you went along—she still hated the burned-pecan smell of that nasty spray glue, and it had been messy; but, sometimes a sharp enough edge? You got ratcheted up and didn’t even feel it, you just looked down and noticed your blood welling. Not to mention when somebody got overenthusiastic and sliced a tendon or poked out an eye, and you had to spend some quality time in rehab.

In training, you wanted the student to know instantly he or she had been tagged, and the electric blade made the point, left no doubt. It called forth “Motherfucker!” in a hurry.

Gunny was more of a shooter than a cutter—Wink was their precision guy when it came to knife work—but her philosophy was simple: When the tool you had was a knife, then you’d cut or stick somebody enough so they’d bleed out, and the party would be over. Insert point or edge, repeat until hostility ceases, wipe off, go home.

If you were close, within six or seven meters, and if you started first, you could tag most humans with your blade before they could draw a sidearm to stop you. You needed to know that on both sides of the equation, and you needed to know how to use or defend against a knife.

She flipped the zap around so that the handle jutted from her hand toward Singh.

“Squeeze the handle three times, that lights it,” she said. “Come at me.”

“How should I attack? High, low, left, right?”

“Up to you. Since Ah won’t know what is comin’ in a real attack, knowin’ what is comin’ in advance isn’t a fair test.”

Not strictly true, she knew. He might not tell her what he had in mind, but his stance, the way he held himself and the weapon, his balance, all of those she could get if she were paying attention. She should know what he was going to do anyway.

Singh held the knife in a saber grip, point forward, edge down, in his right hand. He put his body behind the knife, right foot leading, and began to centimeter toward her.

He was going to fake high and stab low, she could tell. He was used to using a longer blade. She had his reach figured.

His nostrils dilated as he inhaled—

She jumped in, threw a hard left punch at his face, and when he instinctively raised the knife to block, continued the punch into a left parry and smashed him underhanded on the solar plexus with her right fist—

—Breath gone, stunned, Singh slashed at her highline as he fell back from the impact, and she turned her left arm so the back of it covered her. She felt the jolt from the electric charge across her forearm midway between the elbow and wrist. She pivoted left and swung her right hand across her face in a hammerblow that ended on Singh’s wrist. The follow-through turned him to his left, and the impact knocked the knife loose from his grip. She slid her left foot behind him, caught his shoulders with both hands, and dropped into a squat. The move jerked him off-balance backward to land on his butt, then his back. She scooped up the fallen knife and laid the edge onto his throat—

“Ow,
fuck
—!”

Game over.

She stood, extended a hand to Singh, helped him to his feet.

He shook his head. “That won’t work a second time,” he said.

“Ah should hope not. But it doesn’t have to; it only needs to work
once
. Real knife, Ah’d have a six-centimeter-long slice on my arm, no major bleeders, wiped clean and glued shut in a couple of minutes. You, on the other hand, would have a cut throat and would be pretty dead in another couple of minutes.”

He nodded. “I’d like to learn that move.”

“No, not really, you wouldn’t. What you need to learn are simple motions, general patterns that will happen automatically when you track what is incoming. A specific defense set up in advance almost never works. If you think, ‘Well, Ah’ll block this way, then counter like so,’ you’ll find yourself skewered more often than not. Bare-handed defense against a knife is a last-ditch and desperate action, Oh, shit! moves. Conscious thought is too slow. Good chance you’ll get cut or stabbed as part of it, and if you know that going in and are willing to take it to win, you can win. If you fall apart at the sight of your own blood, you will lose and maybe die.

“What Ah’ll show you are some patterns. Covers and responses. You drill them until they become part of you, and if you have them when the turd hits the turbine, maybe you’ll use one that works.”

“‘Maybe’?”

Gunny nodded. “Yep. Old sayin’ is ‘You’re not an ape, use a tool!’ Your bare hands are for when your knife breaks; your knife is for when your pistol runs out of ammo; your pistol is for when your carbine is dead. Carbine is for when you can’t be somewhere else.

“More tool than you need is better than less. Bare-handed stuff is a low-percentage game, for when you can’t run and can’t get a better weapon. But it only needs to work once to pay for itself. In our biz, sooner or later, you might find yourself up to your ass in enemies with nothing to wave at them but your own biological tools. We started into this back on Ananda, but it’s a never-ending game. Better to know what you can do and do it than to roll over and die.”

“Yes. I see.”

“Good. Here, take the knife and try again . . .”

_ _ _ _ _ _

It was late when Kay and Wink left the medical facility, headed for their quarters. Another long day without anything much useful to show for it.

It was only a couple klicks to the cube, and as long as she didn’t want to run, he didn’t mind the walk. Loosen some of the tension he’d built up.

They weren’t any closer to a solution. It was frustrating. You’d think with all that civilization had to offer in such situations, you could find answers.

It was a little warmer today, still not hot. Never really got tropical, Kay had told him, but it did get a lot colder. The season was summer; come winter, it would drop below freezing and stay there for weeks. Not surprising, given the double-coat thickness of Vastalimi fur—they did better in the cold than in the tropics.

As they crossed the road, the streetlights offered only a faint, yellowish gleam. They were dim because Vastalimi didn’t need as much illumination as humans did. Made Wink realize that a nightsight aug might not be a bad idea though the chances of getting one here were way below slim. Vastalimi
really
didn’t like such things. When Kay had found out that Formentara had sneaked a tracker into her, back on Ananda? She’d nearly blown an artery, according to what he’d heard. Vastalimi didn’t do augs.

Well. He wouldn’t be here that long. He could get used to it. Or carry a lamp. Not like he didn’t already stand out everywhere he went . . .

The street wasn’t crowded, only a few vehicles moving back and forth, and no other pedestrians near them . . .

Wait. On the other side, leaning against a building, there was one, a big male, and he was definitely focused on Kay.

Wink could almost taste blood in the wind. He slid his right hand back to his hip pocket and grabbed the butt of his pistol, eased it free, let it hang behind him. He edged his left hand around to the handle of his knife . . .

Kay noticed. “Don’t do anything inciting,” she said.

“You know this guy?”

“I do.”

“He looks like trouble.”

“He is. Let me handle it.”

Wink nodded. “If you say so.”

_ _ _ _ _ _

Kay resisted the urge to extrude her claws as they walked across the road.

When they were ten meters away from him,
Vial
masc said, “Well, if it isn’t the hairless
ruta
who ran. You won’t escape me this time.”

He spoke barely passable Basic, and she knew that was for Wink’s benefit.

Kay smiled at him. “Is
that
the best you can do? One would think that a fighter who used to have skill could rise above such a pedestrian insult.”

Vial shrugged. “It’s not the talking, Kluth, it’s the doing that matters. And you will find that my skill is unchanged from the time you observed it last.”

“Good.”

“Good?”

“One hates to kill a worthless opponent, there is no honor in that.”

“After I finish you, I’m am going to shred your tame human.”

“He is legally immune to Challenge.”

“Challenge? Hardly worthy of that, is he? I’m going to exterminate him, as I would any other pest.”

“You think?” Wink said.

Vial glanced up. Saw that Wink held his knife in his left hand.

The big Vastalimi whickered. “How amusing! What do you think you are going to do with that stubby toy, ape? Wave it and hope I die from fright?”

“No, actually, I planned to use it to cut your balls off and stuff them into your mouth after I shoot you with this.” Wink held up his pistol in the other hand.

Vial looked at Kay. “You were speaking of honor? None among humans, is there?”

“As I recall, you said you were going to slay him as you would a pest, no Challenge involved. It thus would be your own arrogance that caused your death. Not that it will get that far.”

He whickered again. “Really? I am larger, stronger, extremely more experienced, and far more adept. Do you really think you have any chance whatsoever?”

“Absolutely. Unlike you, my skills have improved since last we saw each other. I have spent some years on alien battlefields. They fight differently than we do. I know things you do not.”

“Really? I doubt it.”

“Offer
prigovor
and find out.” She radiated confidence.

“I hear that your sister the Shadow watches over you.”

“Not your concern. Challenge or don’t, my sister won’t trouble you as long as you do not cheat. Offer it.”

He stood silently for a moment, considering.

She was not going to scare him off even if he believed her. He was a professional killer, an assassin, and he had certainly been hired to take her out; he couldn’t walk away and expect anybody to employ him again. Plus, his own sense of honor could not allow it. But even a tiny crack in his confidence was to her advantage. A small doubt might make him pause when he should move or hurry a move he would better let ripen.

Sometimes, the smallest advantage could lead to victory. It was valid to take it if it was offered.

Kay was not at all sure she could beat him, but there was truth in her statement. He would hear it.

Vastalimi chased and caught their prey, usually attacking from the sides or from behind, now and then face on, by bounding and launching themselves with claws extended. That shaped how they moved, how they thought.

Most of their formal fighting techniques were based on the principle that one’s deadliest opponent would be another Vastalimi. And that was sound since no other intelligent species near their size could defeat them claw-to-claw. You trained for the opponent who could beat you, and that was another of your own kind.

Humans did much the same, but despite their inferior strength and speed and senses, if you balanced those, sometimes their close-combat systems would offer something a Vastalimi simply did not expect to see. If a fight went long, that likely wouldn’t matter, but against an augmented human who quickly did something completely unexpected? The fight might not go long. A single mistake could be fatal.

Jo Captain could, in mock fights sans claws, defeat Kay four times of ten. That was fairly amazing—few Vastalimi would believe her if she told them that.
A human? Even an augmented one? You pull our fur!

But it was possible, because a million years of evolution was hard to put aside. Jo had learned this and devised ways to counter ingrained Vastalimi techniques. And Kay had then learned ways to recounter Jo, so she did have skills few other Vastalimi would have had a chance to develop. It might not be enough; still, it was what she had.

Finally, he spoke:
“Career nama borba do pojedinac inacˇe oba nad nama umreti.”

Let us fight until one or both of us die.

“Neka bude tako,”
she said, giving the ritual response.

Let it be so.

“I don’t suppose you want to tell me who hired you?” she said.

“Hired me? You don’t believe I offer this on my own?”

She didn’t smile: “I don’t think you would put incense on your sire’s funeral altar unless somebody paid you to do so.”

“Who cares what a dead fem thinks?”

Kay didn’t take her gaze from Vial as she said, “Wink, if I lose, and Vial leaves without offering you any threat, you must allow him to live.”

“Fuck I will. You die, I’m going to shoot him and desecrate his corpse. In fact, I think I’ll do that right now to avoid the wait.”

“No. It’s not our way. If he attacks you, you may defend yourself. But even Vial is not so stupid, as long as you have a gun trained on him.”

Vial faked a yawn, showing his fangs. “The human does not really matter,” he said. “He lives, he dies, nobody cares enough to pay for it. I can forgo the small pleasure.”

“Wink, if you kill him, it will bring dishonor to my memory and to my family. You must not do so without direct provocation.”

“He kills my friend? That’s provocation enough.”