Thieves of Light

CHAPTER NINE

"Let your training begin," the First Guardian had said. But it proved not to be as simple as that.

He was taken first to the staff adjutant, who conducted a brief station orientation, assigned Bhodi a sleeping room, and then gave him a credit chip and identification band. The credit chip was a six-sided phenolic coin with which Bhodi could tap his training stipend for expenses above and beyond room and board. The ID band was an oval bracelet of copper-colored metal, which filled the vacancy if not the void left by the twelve-function watch resting uselessly in a locker on Earth.

The adjutant explained that the band was the "key" which opened doors on Intellistar. Unlike on board Fraanic, access to many parts of Intellistar were controlled by status and security clearances. Bhodi discovered he was even required to touch a scanner when moving from one color-coded section of the station to another.

When his business there was finished, the staff adjutant sent Bhodi on to the medical section for his physical evaluation. Bhodi spent more than twenty hours over the next three days being subjected to a battery of tests by a graceful, slender-limbed alien doctor named Irini'g't. According to the alien, Bhodi's entire training regiment would be customized according to what the examination revealed.

At Irini'g't's direction, Bhodi ran, jumped, swam, strained with weights until his muscles turned to rubber. He lay on tables while exotic machines passed over his body, probing and scanning. He sat in a pitch-black room and listened for whispering voices lost in a roar like ocean surf.

"The object is not to make you perfect," Irini'g't explained. "No individual can embody all of its species' capabilities, and no species is without its inbred deficiencies. Our goal is to identify the unrealized potential in your body and decide how best to push you in the direction of your own limits."

"Has everyone gone through this?"

"Each according to his needs. There was little we could do for Nar-lex-ko-li-hon that his experience in the Qeth's War of Bloody Tears hadn't already seen to. While Lord Baethan is always undergoing modifications-though such matters are handled by his peers on Celtar, and not here on Intellistar."

"What is Lord Baethan, exactly?"

"Difficult," Irini'g't said shortly. "I am rather proud of the work we did with Ferthewillihan Pike. There were many who thought that it would be impossible to make a Guardian out of a Fop. Though there are those who will say they wish I hadn't succeeded," he added. "Keep your eye on your money when Pike's around."

"Are you saying he's a thief?"

"I prefer not to be so legalistic. Let it be understood that Pike has fast hands."

"And sticky fingers?"

"Not usually. He has other ways of separating you from your possessions. And he seems to consider it a point of honor to take every trainee at least once before they wash out," said Irini'g't.

"Thanks for the warning."

"I warn everyone. It rarely does any good. Enough gossip, Bhodi Li. Turn on your back, please-"

When the medical section was finally finished with him, the next stop on Bhodi Li's itinerary was the outfitter. There he selected three sets of what the outfitter called "customaries"-everyday clothes whose designs were borrowed from homeworld fashions but realized the local materials. Bhodi ended up with jeans of a tough flexible fabric that he was sure would neither fade nor fringe satisfactorily; his pullover shirts looked like cotton but shed water like a London Fog raincoat.

But the clothing that mattered most was that which he would wear in combat. To get it he had to pay a visit to the Alliance armorer, a Fop whose downy, pale-yellow facial covering ruffled when he shook his head.

"Human, eh?" he said, studying Bhodi with one arm crossed over his chest and the other propping up his chin. "Well, it's head-to-toe protection for you. Never have seen a species with thinner skin or more pain receptors. It's like packaging an egg to get you ready for battle."

The bodysuit the armorer produced five minutes later was form-fitting without being the least restrictive. It moved freely in any direction Bhodi could, thanks to several panels of accordionlike pleats in critical areas.

Over his feet went comfortable square-toed boots that rose halfway up his calf. The gloves had long thick cuffs and reinforced panels on the back of the hand, but the fingers were thin enough that he swore he could feel a hair lying on a tabletop, and maybe even pick it up. A teardrop-bubble helmet with a gray smoke tint completed the suit.

"On an Oh-two world you can use a pot helmet instead of the bubble," the armorer said, stepping back like a fussy tailor to study his handiwork. "The evaluation report says we're going to bulk you up a little bit, so when any of this starts to get uncomfortable you come back."

"It all feels a little uncomfortable right now."

"It's a new suit. Break-in period's about ten days. Where do you want armor?"

"I don't know," Bhodi said, surprised to be asked. "What do you usually do?"

"Humans have too many vulnerable points to armor them all. If I did, you couldn't move to fight. And I've been ordered not to slow you down." The armorer drummed his fingers on the back of his head as he glanced from Bhodi to his data screen and back again. "We'll want cuisses, anyway."

"Huh?"

"Thigh shields. Holster on the right?"

"Uh-yes."

Each piece was custom-molded in accord with Bhodi's measurements as he watched. The thigh shields protected the front, side, and back of each thigh, and were strapped in place with elastic bands that Bhodi hoped would keep the shields from ending up around his ankles when he ran.

The chest and back armor was made of dozens of small plates, like a turtle's shell, connected with more of the flexible material used for the straps. When it was in place, he tried drawing a deep breath. There was only the slightest pressure on his chest.

Small shoulder shields called cops came next, and then finally two boxy pieces of armor for his left arm, like smaller versions of the thigh shields. One strapped to his bicep, the other to his forearm, with an extension that protected the back of the hand and curled ninety degrees at the end to cup around his fingers.

"What's this for?" Bhodi asked, flexing the arm experimentally.

"You have to see to shoot, don't you?"

"Usually helps."

"But if you stick your head up, people shoot at you. And even with a helmet, the head is vulnerable." Gripping an imaginary pistol in his right hand, the armorer crossed his left arm over the right at the wrist and sighted toward the far wall. "See? The left arm partly shields your head. You give them only half as much target. Your weapons instructor will show you more."

"If it's such a good idea, why doesn't anyone else wear them?"

"I told you before, Bhodi Li. Each to his best skills."

"What are mine?"

The Fop smiled. "When you know, you'll be ready to graduate. That's all, Bhodi Li. Report to the training supervisor at Yellow 14."

Bhodi tapped the pistol recess on the right thigh shield. "Don't I get something to fill this?"

The armor shook his head. "First you learn to fight without it."

The training supervisor was a Qeth named Haj-til-ko-van. His leathery skin was a lighter green than Li-hon's; later, Parcival told him that that meant he was several decades younger, as the skin darkened throughout a Qeth's life.

"The training division has no permanent instructors," Haj-til-ko-van explained. "Since you are challenging for a place with the Ninth Platoon under the command of Sergeant Nar-lex-ko-li-hon, whenever possible your instructor will be the sergeant himself or another member of that platoon."

Bhodi groaned at the prospect of suffering under the tutelage of Tivia or Lord Baethan. They'll be hazing me for sure, since they didn't want me here at all. "Why is that?" Bhodi asked. "I'd think that their time would be too valuable for teaching. Or are things quiet now?"

"Hardly. The Arrian Alliance is pushing us harder now than at any time since the war began. No, the reason we do this is to let you become familiar with the men and women you hope to fight alongside, and for them to become familiar with you. The members of an effective combat team don't need to be friends, but they do need to know each other's abilities."

"So we work together effectively. Yeah, that makes sense."

"Plus there's no lag in bringing the lessons and experiences of the field to the training of new Guardians. And unlike an instructor who never has to fight, your platoon has a vested interest in seeing that you're trained properly."

"I can see that. I guess I didn't realize that I was already spoken for, though."

"Nothing will be given to you, Bhodi Li," Haj-til-ko-van warned. "You will earn a place on merit or be allowed to go home."

"I understand."

Haj-til-kov-van looked down at his scheduler. "I am your physical conditioning coach. We will begin your designed program immediately and continue it each afternoon. Tomorrow morning you will begin studying close-order fighting with Tivia as your instructor."

Bhodi's spirits fell. Why'd it have to be her first thing? "Do I meet her here?"

"You do." Haj-til-ko-van pointed behind Bhodi at a doorplate. "You will find training clothes in the dressing room. I expect you in the arena in three minutes or less."

Bhodi's eyes widened. "Yes, sir," he said reflexively, backpedaling in the direction Haj-til-ko-van had pointed. As he reached for the doorplate, he called across the room, "How many vacancies are there in the platoon, anyway?"

"One at present," Haj-til-ko-van said. "Li-hon lost his combat partner in a firelight on Frea 6 earlier this year."

"Combat partner?"

"Many missions do not require full platoon strength. The platoons are organized as three combat pairs."

And Li-hon wants me to fight alongside him — what do you know about that! "One last question. How long will my training take?"

Haj-til-ko-van teased his front teeth with the tip of his tongue before answering. "Only you can determine that, Bhodi Li-and you seemed determined to prolong it. Now dress! We have much work to do."

That night, Bhodi lay in his bunk exhausted but unable to sleep. His body was registering, a thousand complaints about the treatment it had received at Haj-til-ko-van's hands. He was not hurt, but he was hurting. He sneezed once, and the resultant pain nearly made him cry out.

There were three major goals to the physical conditioning program-more strength, more speed, and more agility. Haj-til-ko-van seemed to expect to get all three at once. Bhodi's workout plan contained fifty-seven different items from every exercise discipline-aerobic, yogic, isometric and more. Between them not a muscle in his body seemed to have escaped being stretched, stressed or strained.

On top of that, there was the humiliation of discovering that the stylish broken-seven symbol of the back of the training clothes was the equivalent of the practice-field redshirt-a proclamation that the wearer was too green to be subject to full contact. Bhodi hated the thought of facing Tivia in the morning wearing the brand. The moment he could graduate to clothes without it could not come too soon.

There had been a dozen other trainees of assorted biological heritage in the training arena (Bhodi would have called it a gym). Later Bhodi had seen several of the same faces in the dining hall, though he had been too tired to be convivial. All told, there seemed to be no more than twenty-five or thirty trainees on station, all quartered together in Yellow section within a three-minute walk of the training arena.

Could that possibly be all there are? Bhodi wondered. It was impossible to guess. What was the dropout rate? What level of casualties did the Force suffer? Probably both facts were classified. But it seemed likely that if this were the only training center, the entire Photon Force might number no more than five hundred warriors.

Five hundred warriors to fight a war that spanned thousands of light-years Staring up at the ceiling in the darkness, Bhodi realized that he missed Parcival. The youth had walked him through what could have been some very tough adjustments, helping him come to grips with the fantastic thing that had happened and the incredible place he found himself. Bhodi wished he could walk down the corridor right at that moment and invite himself in for some late-night conversation.

But this wasn't the Fraanic, and Parcival wasn't down the hall. In fact, Parcival and Pike were off-station already, having flown off on another mission within hours of the ceremony in the Sanctum. Bhodi was on his own. On his own, and alone with the thought that was keeping him awake:

I don't want to fail -

Bhodi was early, determined not to be found wanting on any count. Tivia was late, as though to say the whole business was an unwelcome responsibility. She walked past him without offering any greeting, a small drawstring bag dangling from one hand. He followed, and she led him to a private training room. The room was long and narrow. The end where they entered had padded walls and floor. The far wall was covered by concentric red squares, like a target.

"Ja-Nin is a discipline of the mind," she said, kneeling and beginning to empty the contents of the bag onto the padding before her. "Because you are a male, you can never leam the essence of Ja-Nin. I will try to teach you its weapons."

"What is this problem you have about men?"

She looked up at him coldly. "There are eight weapons in the Ja-Nin," she continued, ignoring his question. "The mind, the senses, the hands, the feet-these are with you always, and are known as the Greater Instruments. The arm knife, the throwing disk, the double club, the nonchuks-"

"What?"

She held up something that looked like a masochist's jump rope-a sturdy chain about three feet long with a hexagonal metal grip on either end.

"Oh-you are answering questions," Bhodi said. "How about answering my first one? Why can't a man master the Ja-Nin?"

"Because he is a male," she said dismissively. "These are the Lesser Instruments," she continued, taking in the weapons with a sweep of her hand. "Circumstance or a skilled opponent can deny you the Lesser Instruments, but nothing except your own weakness can deprive you of the Greater Instruments-"

The realization that Tivia had written him off in advance simply because of his gender infuriated Bhodi. "Wait," he said sharply. "We've got something to settle first."

"What is that?"

"The First Guardian said that you were annoyed that you didn't score on me during the audition. Was she right?"

"To miss such an easy target betrays a loss of Ja-Nin harmony."

Bhodi half smiled. "Sent you back to the practice range, eh?"

"The failure was not the fault of the arm, but the mind. I spent three hours in meditative exercise regaining form."

"I'll give you a chance to test the repair job," Bhodi said. "Let's you and I break the draw right now-Greater Instruments only." Come on, Your Smugness, he urged silently. I've got two years of aikido that you've never seen, because I can't use it playing Photon. Give me a chance to surprise you.

"The offer is not without its attractions," she said, her gaze piercing. "But if I hurt you, Haj-til-ko-van will curse my days for the next three cycles. We will begin your study of the Ja-Nin with-"

"It's this, isn't it?" he snapped, clawing at the pullover shirt with the offending ideogram. Whipping it over his head, he flung the shirt to the base of the nearest wall. "Now you don't have to hold back. Now I'm nobody special. Let's go."

She faced him with arms akimbo and slowly shook her head. "Put your shirt back on."

"Come on, what's it take?" Bhodi demanded, taking a step forward. "Or maybe you're worried I'll hurt you."

"You can't," she said bluntly.

His hands closed into fists. "Prove it."

Tivia sighed. "You asked why males fail to achieve Ja-Nin harmony. One reason is they don't know when not to fight," she said, dropping into a semi-crouch with her hands raised and open in front of her. "Come, then, and learn."