“You can pun, but you can’t hide!” Andy slashed, then stabbed, then slashed again. He attacked fiercely, forcing me back toward the wall. I parried every blow, riposting relentlessly, my own blade laughing as Andy’s emitted grunts and angry squeals.
“Elvis brings out the aggression in you, doesn’t he?” Andy grinned.
I fired a lightning-fast side kick into his chest, knocking him backward. “What makes you say that?”
“Ooo, nice one,” Andy said. “Hurt your foot?”
“My foot’s fine. How’s your pride?” I kicked again, this time at Andy’s head.
“Gadzooks, you’re a feisty lass,” he said as he ducked and nearly shish-kabobed me with his wailing cutlass. “Lucky for me your sword is only as sharp as your mind.”
The misery of my day faded into oblivion as my battle with Andy kicked into high gear. Pure joy energized me as I cut loose in a way I could never do in school. Punches and kicks flashed through the air. Smoky blades licked in and out like the tongues of holographic serpents, parrying and riposting, thrusting and slashing. The psychic weapons seemed to take on lives of their own, emitting wild screams or hysterical laughter each time they collided. The other students stopped practicing and gathered around to watch us battle, cheering each time an attack was made, laughing at the sounds emitted by the weapons, imitating the verbal sparring that danced between Andy and me, entirely caught up in the exhilarating world of the Psi Fighter.
Then a gong rang out. “Line up!” a voice shouted.
“Oh crud, just when I had you where I wanted you,” Andy said, taking his place at the front of the class.
“Standing victoriously over your uncoordinated body?” I whispered as I took my place beside him. Every student has his or her specialty. Some are recon. Others are intelligence. Andy and I are fight demonstrators. Took me ten years in the most accelerated program any Psi Fighter had ever been through to get there.
The students assembled into formation quickly, and the room went silent. Psi Fighter training is intense, sometimes brutal, always exciting. We are a small, very elite team that hovers around a dozen. Admission is by invitation only. There is only one requirement: you must be faithful and trustworthy. Surprisingly hard to find in today’s world.
The Four entered, dressed in the armor and mask of the Psi Fighter. Our leaders. The Four rarely show up in class at the same time. When they do, we never know what to expect. Sometimes they teach, sometimes they simply observe.
They stopped at the head of the class next to the stack of concrete slabs. The Four were the most secretive of all the Psi Fighters, their identities hidden even from the students. With their expressionless angelic masks, they all looked alike. But I knew from the way the last one moved, from the way he oozed raw power and incredible confidence, that he was the Kilodan. The Four bowed to the class. We returned the greeting.
“We will begin with a light warm-up,” the Kilodan said in a voice like Mufasa from Lion King. “Down for two hundred pushups.”
I groaned. This had to be observation night. The Four believed in a strong body and mind. I dropped to the floor, wishing they believed in chocolate chip cookies and hot cocoa.
Chapter Five
The Mental Arts
“Tonight,” the Kilodan said, after we had finished an unusually brutal warm-up, “we return to basics. Before you can strike effectively with your body, you must learn to unleash the power of your mind. Without your mental strength, a kick is just a kick, a punch merely a punch…ordinary martial arts. But we practice the discipline that is forerunner to all martial arts. Anyone with a black belt can do this.” He stood over the concrete slabs, raised his open hand to his masked cheek, and dropped it lazily, almost soundlessly, through the entire stack.
Anyone. Right. Most black belts have to put a bit more effort into it.
The Kilodan dusted off his glove and faced the class. “The ability to break inanimate objects is irrelevant. It requires nothing more than a bit of brawn. But, breaking an opponent who is physically superior to you requires quite another talent. Lynn and Andor, if you please…Andor, simple, brute strength.”
The Kilodan was the only person who called me “Lynn.” It made me feel sort of…I don’t know, professional. I faced Andy.
Normally, Andy was just a big goof. But during demonstrations and actual missions, he could be very intimidating. He moved like a lion when he walked, and when he stood, he looked like he wanted to kill something. He smiled cruelly at me and flexed his massive chest. His armor stretched and groaned.
“I’m going to crush you, little girl,” he whispered.
“Of course, you are,” I said.