Thieves of Light

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

There was no mistaking the fact that the rules had changed. Bhodi's time was no longer his own. Li-hon owned it, and Bhodi learned quickly that Li-hon did not believe in leaving assets idle.

Promptly at seven on the station's thirty-hour clock, Bhodi appeared at the platoon room for the first of three daily sessions with Li-hon. Nine-half found him in the Ja-Nin room, warming up for a full-armor combat bout with an opponent of Li-hon's choosing. Then it was hurry back to Li-hon for the second session of the day.

At fifteen he got an hour's break, which always seemed half as long as it should be and was usually dedicated to a quick meal and a waking nap in the handiest comfortable spot. At sixteen he reported to K'ieasl of the Seventh Platoon for instruction in field maintenance. Then at eighteen-half he bounced down to Rejia for work with the Allison.

Twenty-one meant back to the platoon room one last time for what always seemed to be the most complex tactical problems of the day. Then, just when he was sure that his brain was going to explode from too much thinking, he was shipped off to Haj for a brisk bit of work on his general conditioning program. By twenty-five he was free, but by that point he had little interest in anything more demanding than a meal and falling into bed.

But when he tried complaining to the other challengers, he was answered with consternation instead of commiseration. Not only had they been on comparable schedules all along-by choice! — but also they envied him the chance to study individually with Li-hon and Haj both. After hearing the same refrain from three different would-be sympathizers, Bhodi decided to just shut up and endure.

But he was nevertheless convinced that he was being singled out for special treatment, and not in a good sense of the word. For example, his Ja-Nin bouts were full-armor free-contact matches, complete with referee. Though Guardians occasionally conducted demonstration matches in that format, no one else trained that way. And even if that had been routine, Bhodi simply wasn't up to it. Through the first week, he usually left limping and always left hurting.

Then there was the matter of the audience. From the first day, his matches played to a dozen or more spectators- station staff, other challengers, even an occasional Guardian. And though they were not overly verbal, they seemed to be there to root against him. Bhodi suspected that this was Haj's lesson for Bhodi, a public answer to the question "What good is this?"

And lesson it was. Bhodi did not mind being seen, per se. But he hated for anyone to see him being whipped quite so thoroughly. His first two opponents were Qeth, and he could do virtually nothing with them. Each weighed more than five hundred pounds, their skin was as unyielding as shoe leather, and even their glancing blows threatened to break bones. All Bhodi learned from those encounters was how to stay out of reach.

His next three opponents were all Ikthalarians. They had a deceptive kind of wiry strength, and their long armspan gave him fits. Even so, he handled himself reasonably well-though not well enough in any instance to walk away feeling like the winner. But his skills were unquestionably improving each day. The primary reason was his determination not to be victimized by the same maneuver twice. That and the audience, whose eyes he could never quite forget and whose amusement he could never quite make himself deaf to.

The handling of his Ja-Nin sessions was not the only sore point. Every trip down to Rejia for gunnery practice was a goad in his side, for he was always scheduled for the firing range, dueling range, or one of the three skirmish zones outside on the planet's surface. He was never penciled in for the maze room. It was not even mentioned.

True, he himself hadn't raised the subject with Li-hon. That was partly fear of repeating his mistake with Haj, and partly his certainty that Li-hon would arrange it at the appropriate time-which Bhodi was certain would be soon-without being reminded or cajoled. So day after day, Bhodi potted hexagonal targets or played tag among the rocks, all the while chafing at the bit for a chance to show what he could do in the training center's ultimate test.

He did not understand why Li-hon was waiting, and yet dared not ask for an explanation. For a brief time, the return of Ferthewillihan Pike to Intellistar gave him a reason to hope for a change. Pike, at least, was someone he could risk being honest with. But although Parcival took over from K'ieasl, Pike seemed content to leave things as they were, in Li-hon's hands. Pike confined himself to an occasional visit to the observer's booth, and even then seemed to avoid any contact more direct than a smile or a wave-almost as though he had been ordered to stay away from Bhodi.

But for all the pain from the Ja-Nin and the frustration surrounding his gunnery training, Bhodi's greatest trial was the time he spent with Sergeant Li-hon. Li-hon's version of strategy and tactics instruction embodied everything Bhodi hated about school-dusty history, pedantic theory, and endless talk-talk-talk. Except it was worse, because he could not hide among his classmates and thereby avoid joining in the game called pretend-to-be-interested.

Movement of forces. Economy and concentration of force. Geometrical strategy. Blockade. The strategy of interior lines. Reconnaissance. The strategy of exhaustion. Cohesion and dispersion. Flank assault. Double envelopment. Cordon defense. There seemed to be no end to Li-hon's catalog of military lore.

It was not just the onslaught of new words. Bhodi was constantly struggling to grasp points that his instructor seemed to think were self-evident. Li-hon would say something like, "The goal of the tactics of attack is to create a conviction of defeat in your enemy."

The first thing Bhodi said was always wrong. "I thought the goal was to kill as many of theirs as you can while losing as few of yours as you can," he had offered on that occasion.

Then came the contradiction. "Numbers are less important than the will to fight. Small armies have often routed larger ones."

Thinking he now understood, Bhodi would respond with what he thought was a comment of agreement. "Sure-by inflicting more casualties."

Almost inevitably, Li-hon would destroy the illusion of understanding with his next utterance. "Casualties are frequently the result of defeat, not its cause. You must understand, Bhodi Li, that the defeated force in virtually every battle in your history or mine still retained the capacity for useful resistance, in many cases even the capacity for victory. They were overwhelmed not by the enemy, but by a sense of hopelessness. So the goal of the tactician is to crush spirit, not bodies."

Then the obligatory sucker question: "So how do you do it?"

"By striking where the enemy thought it impossible for you to strike-and by making them feel their losses." Finally the inevitable metaphor, which Li-hon seemed to expect Bhodi to remember as a distillation of the discussion. "Suffering is measured not by the size of the wound but by the acuity of the pain."

It all meant something to Li-hon, but none of it meant much to Bhodi. He wanted to know how best to handle a Warri in open ground, how the Arrians used their Dogs, what a Destructor did when startled-practical knowledge that Bhodi could take into battle, the profit of the hard lessons learned by those whose pictures hung facing them.

But an eavesdropper listening in on a session would be hard pressed to decide which or even what kind of war was going on in the universe outside the room. It was all so maddeningly abstract, Bhodi complained in silence. Give me something real -

The only truly enjoyable part was the trickery Li-hon could do with the battle board. At least once during every session, its black-glass surface dissolved into invisibility, and the table became a hexagonal tank containing a flawlessly detailed miniature of a battle scene.

The simulation was three-dimensional like a model, its colors exaggerated like a computer graphic. Bhodi did not know whether it was a hologram, film projection, animation, or simple magic. Whatever the means, the battle board invited Bhodi to size up a specific strategic situation, make predictions or even tactical decisions, and then see his instincts tested as the battle was played out by the tiny figures and war machines. His instincts were frequently good, at least where the span of time involved was short.

But aside from that, there was little pleasure and less promise of pleasure. For three weeks, Bhodi bore it all stoically. He understood that he was in the pressure cooker, his grit and commitment being tested. When he felt his resistance rising, he checked the impulse to revolt with the reminder that Li-hon was the best, or remembered Pike's assurance that he could do anything that would be asked of him.

Then came the day when he rushed into the Ja-Nin arena a few minutes late and found the black-metal figure of a Celtan waiting for him in the match hexagon.

"Wait a minute," Bhodi started to complain to the referee as he crossed the line. "This isn't fair. He must be a Guardian. Celtans don't even go through training. They just have it all programmed in-"

Ignoring him, the referee waved his right hand in the signal that meant Engage. A moment later, the Celtan hit Bhodi from behind, taking him to the floor, and the bout was underway.

Bhodi bounced up from the blind-side attack furious. "Come on, then, you sideshow freak," he snapped, circling in a crouch. "Come on, I'm going to pull your goddamn plug."

The Celtan sprang forward and unleashed a roundhouse kick. Adrenaline flooding through his body, Bhodi was ready and dove under the kick to one side. His legs lashed out in a scissor chop that found the hard metal of the Celtan's boot plates and sent it sprawling awkwardly facedown on the floor.

Bhodi was on his feet in an instant, fists clenched, eyes full of fury, awaiting the Celtan's next charge in a crouch. But the cyborg stayed on the floor, rolling to its side and signaling to the referee.

"Yield," it said. "My right hip joint has been hyper-stressed. I am unable to continue."

For a moment, Bhodi was enraged that he was to be denied a chance to compound the Celtan's injury. But as the referee stepped in and Bhodi stepped back, he heard the applause-applause from the audience that had been invariably cool to his efforts up till then. He turned towards them and saw for the first time friendly faces among the gallery. In answer, he allowed himself a proud smile and a clenched fist of triumph.

A short time later, he overheard a whispered conversation as he waited for a lift:

"Is that him?"

"Yeah-that's the kid who beat Kil Vander at Ja-Nin."

"He? beat a Celtan? I don't believe it-"

"Broke Vander's leg and left him lying there. Did it like it was the easiest thing in the world."

"So what's he still doing here?"

"Shoot, I don't know. Ask the First. And ask her soon. I've got to fight him next week."

The lift came, and the duo fell silent as they crowded in with him. But Bhodi did not need to hear more. All of the suppressed thoughts of the last three weeks were coming to the fore. What am I still doing here? Bhodi repeated to himself. I want to hear Li-hon answer that one -

If Li-hon had been appraised of what had happened that morning in the Ja-Nin arena, he gave no sign of it. "There is a work, the Tactica, written by your Emperor Leo the Wise of Byzantine, which contains some interesting ideas," Li-hon began.

"Really?"

Ignoring or missing the sarcasm, Li-hon continued. "He recommends the use of fraud and bribery-" Then he stopped, realizing that Bhodi was making no move to join him at the battle board. "Is there a problem, Bhodi Li?"

"Yeah. I'd like to know how much longer this is going to go on."

"Until you're ready for your third refusal."

"And when will that be?"

Li-hon rested his thick forearms on the battle board. "Explain yourself. What urgency is there? What timetable are you failing to meet?"

"Bro'nech came here the week after I did-"

"Correct."

"He took his third refusal and joined the Eleventh two days ago."

"Also correct."

"But that's not right. I've been here longer."

"That means nothing."

"It means that you're promoting people ahead of me. People who're no better than I am. I beat Bro'nech three times in the dueling room, and almost beat him in Ja-Nin."

"He was ready. You are not-"

"Why not? What are we waiting for?"

The question failed to deflect Li-hon from the point he had begun to make. "Your protest is triply inappropriate. We have also dismissed challengers who have been here longer than you. There is no meaning in the order of ascension. Also, Bro'nech came to us with his potential more completely realized than you did. He needed only polishing. You need molding. And most important, you are not challenging for the Eleventh. You are challenging for the Ninth. The standards other sergeants may set for their platoons are meaningless here."

"So it's you that's holding me up. Well, what am I not doing right? What am I not doing that you think I ought to be?"

"The truth is, I'm reasonably content with your progress." He grinned his disturbing toothy grin. "So is Pike. He's already collected half a thousand units from those who bet against you."

"If I'm doing so well, why can't you tell me when this will be over?"

"It will be over when you've learned what you need to."

"What, more games of cavalry and castles?" Bhodi said, waving a hand toward the battle board. "What good is any of it? Do you know what I did today? I beat Kil Vander at Ja-Nin. I beat a Celtan. I beat a Guardian-class fighter."

"Perhaps. Some observers credited the floor and an awkward fall with the victory."

"They're wrong," Bhodi snapped. "I made it happen. Look, there's no one in the training section better than me with an Allison. Everybody knows it, and after today everybody's going to know they've got to respect me hand-to-hand, too."

"The respect of your peers is important," Li-hon said. "To you. But it makes no difference to the Arrians whether you're held in high regard or in contempt. Your skin burns the same either way."

"Why are you trying to make me think I'm not ready? I know I am. I know what I can do."

"I'm not trying to puncture your confidence, Bhodi Li. I'm trying to push you off your pendulum in the middle of a swing, so that you see yourself as neither invulnerable nor helpless. The truth is somewhere in between, and until you grasp it, you can't be trusted in combat."

Bhodi would not hear it. "What's my ranking?"

"What?"

"You know what I mean. On the instructors' chart. Where do I stand?"

Li-hon frowned and growled deep in his throat. "There is no such scoring."

Bhodi's face wrinkled in puzzlement. "But Pike said-"

"I can fully believe he did. But there is no such scoring. How could there be? Each challenger, each vacancy, each commander's need is different. How can they be compared?"

"He lied to me?"

"If he felt the reason sufficient, he might have."

Shaking his head, Bhodi said, "It doesn't matter. I don't need to hear it from anyone else to know I'm right."

"Then what do you need?"

"A chance!" Bhodi fairly shouted. "Jesus, I don't understand you people. You want me and you don't want me. You talk about the psychology of defeat and then do everything you can to bust me down. You get me primed for fighting and then won't let me fight."

"What, in your opinion, should I be doing?"

The anger left Bhodi's face and was replaced by a grim determination. "For starters, you can let me have a crack at the maze room."

"You do not even know what you are asking for."

"Then tell me."

Li-hon studied Bhodi closely before answering. "The Arrians do not wait until they have crystals in hand to begin their preparations to use them. They land their teams on disputed worlds and unclaimed worlds and build warrens, quite extensive when time permits, where the crystals can be taken to be reprogrammed. They need time and they need secure cover to be successful."

"Because you'd just destroy the crystals if you had the chance-better to lose a crystal than lose a world."

"Yes. So again and again we find it necessary to go underground and clean out the warrens to retrieve or destroy a captured Photon crystal. The catacombs of your Photon arenas are an echo of this need."

"And the maze room-"

"The maze room pits a single challenger against an unknown number of living opponents inside an Arrian warren. Your opponents know the maze. They know what your objective is. They know that you have to come to them."

"That's no different than going after the base goal in the game."

"You're wrong. It's very different."

"It doesn't matter. I want it. I want to try. Give me a chance to find out. The worst that can happen is that I'll discover you're right-that I'm not ready."

Li-hon took forever to respond, as though wrestling with a decision of tremendous weight. "Very well," he said at last. "I'll arrange it." But that isn't the worst that can happen, Li-hon thought. The worst that could happen would be that you win.