Razor Games

A Tale of the Matadors

This began as a fun story for myself after a war of attrition online that cost me some of my writing time, a kind of therapeutic writing exercise in a universe that I loved: Steve Perry's Matadors. Like the works of Chris Bunch, they are easy reads, heavy on action without the plague of "over-science", something that the really big names often get bogged down in: Focusing on the cellular structure of alien plant life instead of the fact that it's about to eat you and reconstruct your appearance to consume the rest of your landing party.

Steve gave me some good advice on the short story form, pacing, starting points, etc. I have to admit, it took my writing in a different direction than the one I started in. I let it sit for a couple of weeks, and then returned to it yesterday.

Anyway, after bouncing a couple of passes off the old man's head (maybe should have taken them out of the toaster first) he gave his permission for me to finish it, and post it here, providing I did a good job. He contributed a LOT to this, all I really had to do was follow his advice. I did all the final draft editing though, and any screw ups you find are probably my own.

I leave it to all of you to be the judge of my success or failure.

Addendum: Thanks, Steve. But I still think Spetsdods should have wide aperture settings.


Razor Games

It’s the imagination that spurs us to reach further than we can, and the near-miss of our goals that teach us what we need to learn to reach them the next try. You cannot achieve it any other way, and even if it were possible I still would reject such a shortcut out of hand. Only stress can free a chick from an egg, only pressure can create a diamond. 

Only the bull can temper a Matador.

-Emile Khadaji

Oh Shit-!

Her skinsuit was so tight it might as well have been paint. The sun glistened upon an equally-tight body. Her hair, slightly peppered, but stylish, was cut into a close swath across her forehead.

Save for the spetsdods on her wrists, she might have been a high-rent trull gearing up for a hot night, but it would take a special kind of stupid to voice such a thing in front of her.

 
The legendary Geneva Echt, come for Tal.

She was, so it was said, the most well-rounded of the Matadors, and supposed to have bested Khadaji Himself in quick kill training.

Ohshitohshitohshit --

“You just gonna stare all day, deuce, or are we gonna dance?” 

His brain froze. Where is my witty comeback? 

Better, Tal, where are your spetsdods, hmmm?

Tal felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, and did the only sensible thing he could think of: He leaped into the alley and ran like hell...

Sibling Compound, Manus Island
 

“You will not step on the pattern for the next six weeks.” Sister Jade made it sound like a punishment, but Tal knew he wouldn’t be able to walk the pattern anyway until his leg healed. He sighed.

He resigned himself to the lecture he knew was coming: That it had been a stupid thing to try, you’re not ready for that level of technique, hands must flow, balance, kack, kack, kack. He tried to relax and turn his mind off for the majority of the lecture, probably his thousandth so far these past few months. Thing was, the dull throbbing of his dislocated ankle stopped it from wandering too far…

“And where were you that time?” Her voice cut into his thoughts like a sharp knife.

“My leg is friggin’ killing me! I had to hobble back here alone from the platform. I thought there were some painkillers coming?”

“Eventually...”

“Eventually? I’m in pain now!”

”Deservedly so. One doesn’t lurch into the Braided Laser when one has no balance. That pain is your reward for taking the gamble.”

“Savor your winnings, Tal.”

Port Manus

Tal threw the lagspanner and it twanged off the ignition sequencer, the powerbloc coughed once, and slowly sputtered to life. He had bought a little time. Now, Geneva couldn’t hear him. Of course, he couldn’t hear her either, but he would take whatever he could get. He knew she was somewhere on the beam beneath him, so he kicked over a nearby bucket of lagbolts -- that’d give her something to think about.

####################
Geneva pirouetted across the beam, narrowly avoiding the shower of lagbolts Tal had lovingly sent her way, and crouched, letting her other sense take over for her eyes momentarily. She had smiled when she heard the powerbloc ignite, Tal was fighting back with what little ammunition he could get his hands on. Good for him.

After fifteen seconds of absolute stillness she hadn’t located his position, in fact she wasn’t even sure which direction he had gone. Her smile grew a bit. This could be an interesting dance after all.

She slowly began to make her way towards the nearest edge keeping to the darkest shadows of the construct. If she was going to be deaf, then she would see if she could keep him blind.

Sibling Compound, Manus Island

Sister Jade touched the spetsdod molded onto the back of her left hand. “What is the first rule of this weapon?”

Tal knew this one as well as his own name. It was the Khadaji rule, named after the Man Who Never Missed: “Make every shot count.”

“And how do we do that?”

“Aim for the center of the target.”

“And are you aiming for the target? Are you making every shot count?”

“Yes, Sister. Even you said I was making progress since my, ah — incident.” It sounded lame, like an apology mixed with an excuse. In his stomach he felt what was coming, but he couldn’t see a way to stop it.

“I’m sorry, Tal. I’m fond of you, but that can’t interfere with my final judgment. I’m afraid you’re just not cut out to be a Matador.”

“You are dismissed from the compound.”

Port Manus

Tal grabbed at the only defense he had: The 97-Steps. He might not be able to take her, but she wasn’t going to have him cheap. He leapt at her with Helicopter, the long-armed whip that arced and looped towards the opponent in ways designed to confuse his true intentions.

Geneva zoned in obliquely, countered with the same technique, as if mocking him, her arms whipping about as she crouched low and coiled, focusing her attack on Tal’s groin. He mirrored her, absorbed the attack with his upper torso, angled to deflect what he could. He edged closer, trapping, countering, moving in, until he was at extreme close range.

Elbow range. The range of the Braided Laser.

Tal reversed it, hoping to disguise the technique from her until it was too late for her to recover. For a few heartbeats, he had it - she walked right into his web, she just - !

Too late, he saw the trap; Geneva wasn’t out of balance. She grinned. Oh, fuck me.

He tried to move fast, to disengage, but she kept pace and distance with him, not allowing him any space to recover.

Tal realized he might not make it out of this alive after all. She was better at this dance than he was, far, far better. He threw everything he had, his elbows whipped through the air as if he were having spasms, fast-fast-fast!

She passed and countered his movements with an almost telekinetic ability. Nothing was getting past her guard.

Well, shit! He was going to have do something! Panic began to set in as he began Spiral, a move which required more distance than he had, and Geneva smiled. She began the counter --

He changed it into a variation of Snake and Spider, reaching behind Geneva’s neck and pulling her head downward while lifting her arm up - if she resisted, he’d have her --

She didn’t fight it. She rode out the technique, went with it, and reversed it midway through, bringing them both back around face-to-face.

Move, dammit -- !

Geneva hammered his face with a horizontal elbow strike, flattening and breaking his nose. As pain and blinding white light flared through his head, he let his defenses go on autopilot as he tried to shake off the supernova pounding in his skull. She grabbed his hair and yanked his head backwards, pulling him off balance. He reached both hand behind him to counter her grasp --

-- which was exactly what she wanted.

Geneva raised her free spetsdod and popped a single round into his left eye.

Sibling Compound, Manus Island

The insects buzzed around his unprotected head, landing on his neck and ears, drinking their fill and flying away again, but Tal didn’t care. Fuck them. Fuck them all!

##########

Sister Jade watched Tal go. She could tell he wasn’t thinking clearly, and he had been hurt. He was vulnerable. As he pondered and stewed over his disgrace he would nurture pity for himself, and not be aware of his surroundings.

His defenses would be down.

Sister Jade pulled a com from within her overshroud, clicked the transmitter twice, and got a reply: Three clicks. The listener was there.

She said, “Our discouraged Palliate is making his way to the port.”

“Is he on foot?” came the reply.

“Do you suppose I had a flitter service installed since you were last here?”

A chuckle came from the other end.

A different voice: “So, is the potential there?”

Ah. Geneva. Of course, the perfect choice.

“There is potential in everyone, how it manifests depends on the level of challenge we rise to in our lives,” Jade said.

A laugh. “Right out of my lecture, back in my face. Thank you, Sister. We’ll take it from here”

“Confirmed, your show. Best of luck on opening night.”

She shut the com off, and shook her head. On you now, Tal.

Port Manus

Tal screamed and dropped to the ground, both hands covering his injured eye as his body convulsed in pain. Blood oozed out from between his fingers. All thoughts of combat had left his mind now, this fucking hurt -- !

She fired another round, hit him on the forehead. Then the back of the neck, the kidney. Something wrong with this, he managed to think. The rounds were stingers. But he rolled away from Geneva as she continued stinging him, and his body finally came to rest against the structure

Out of darts, Geneva didn’t bother to reload, instead she nonchalantly slammed a kick into his back. She gave him another to his ribs -- he felt them give -- she and pulled her foot back in preparation to administer a third ...

Tal mind suddenly found a door. The pain was still there - oh, seven Gods in a damn jar! - but he could suddenly see himself lying on the street, Geneva just above him. He saw the entire scene right there, as if it was all frozen in time. He saw the detail of Geneva’s hair, the distance of her foot to his body, the angle of her trajectory. His mind had painted a picture without being able to see anything at all. He knew what was about to happen as sure as he knew his own name. In the space of an instant, he was ready.

When Geneva’s next kick came in, Tal flipped onto his side and let his body envelop her leg, trapping her to him and leaving her fighting for balance. He swung his body underneath her and kicked out hard, making contact with her supporting leg and bringing her to the ground with a loud “Ooongh” as the wind left her lungs.

Still hanging onto his captured foot, Tal twisted it with the weight of his own body and rolled his own body up the side of hers, flipping her onto her stomach as he pinned her leg and groped for her head. Finding purchase on her hair, Tal slammed Geneva’s face into the pavement once, twice, three, four times before losing his balance and releasing her from the leglock --

-- as he rolled and tried to come up to his feet, but only managed to make it to one knee before she grabbed his groin and savagely yanked him parallel to the ground before slamming him down --

He curled into a ball, trying to breathe. Nothing had ever hurt this much. He wanted to vomit, but his balls and his eye socket were competing for attention as well.

Neither one moved towards the other.
Eventually, Geneva stood. She wiped the blood from her nose and face with the back of her arm while he simply lay inert nearby. If she was going to kill him, then he was a dead man. He was done.

Eventually, she walked over and kneeled next to Tal.

“You’re fucking mess, kid, you really are,” She said.

Tal spasmed on the ground, one hand covering his eye and the other clutching his groin. “I think I’m dying.”

“Yeah, you’re gonna be a few days regrowing that eye in a Healy, that’s for sure. A few ribs too. Sorry about your balls, but I didn’t permanently damage anything there.”

Tal swallowed the copper taste of blood in his mouth, gagged, and rolled over to look a Geneva with his good eye.

“what is-why-what?”

“Jesu damn, but you’re dumber than Sleel,” she said. She stuck out a hand to help him up. He wanted to bat it away, but…He needed it. Geneva helped Tal to his feet, and held him up while he found his balance. “When you think about it, you got off lucky. I mean, it could be worse. You could have an abscessed tooth.”

Tal didn’t feel that lucky. He felt blind. Also nauseous. “What the fuck is going on here?”

“This was your final test, Tal. The actual exam has to be given by a senior Matador, you know that.”

Tal tried to clear the buzzing in his head. “I thought I was out.”

“Nope. That was just to put you off your guard, to let me have a better chance of catching you unawares. It almost worked, too. I’m really glad that you woke up, Tal. It speaks loads about your character. Slow, but in the end, you got it. We can work on the speed.”

He felt stupid. He couldn’t think of anything to say.

“Hey, deuce, you don’t become the best without sacrificing the most. There is no class for this, Tal. You have to experience to learn, and the experience has to be real. A holoproj setting wouldn’t have worked, you would know that eventually you would walk out of the holoset. It wasn’t personal. It’s simply the way it is.”

They walked for a time in silence, Tal slowly coming back around to being able to breathe normally. “You are a mean fem,” he said.

“Be glad it was just me. Sleel would have taken both eyes and carved his full name in your forehead with a sword. He can do it, too. Bork would likely have let you live, but you wouldn’t remember your own name for a long time, and you’d have injuries to make a Healy work overtime. They sent me because I wouldn’t kill you.”

Geneva flashed him a smile. She may as well have just said “They sent me because I’m selling cookies.”

“A Matador is always ready. Always. We intercept, adapt and alter the outcome of any life or death situation, because they frequently do end in death.” she paused "You found it, there at the last. You altered the outcome, and wrote a different ending. That's how we survive. That is the way of the Matador."

He shook his head. “You walked all over me.”

“You did okay, Tal. You were tested in ALL of your abilities, tested and pushed beyond them to the breaking point. That’s the entire purpose of the final exam, to see how well you will function when your resources and abilities are severely restricted. You kept your head, and at the end, managed to get in on my guard. I can count on one hand the number of people who could do that, and they all wear the Matador uniform.”

“You did good kid. You came back when you had to. I’m going to recommend you be promoted to full Matador when we get back. That is, if it’s what you want”

Geneva held out her hand, and Tal stared at it as if it were made of starlight itself. He was covered in blood, almost all of it his. His right eye was gone. His groin hurt so bad he was still walking with a slouch and a limp. And he felt none of it as he reached for Geneva’s outstretched hand to envelope it.

Before he could, Geneva slid her palm up to the inside of Tal’s forearm and gripped it. The warrior’s clasp.

Tal responded in kind, acknowledging the bond. They stood silently for several seconds, and then Geneva spoke:

“Welcome to the Matadors, Brother Tal.”