by SFnovelists
*** ***
“I’d like to talk to your parents,” Ruth said.
She’d replaced and eaten her taco, knotted the cut rope, and now they were standing near the south gate.
Kimble’s mouth went still. He could’ve told her one of the many fabrications he used on occasions like this but he was reluctant. My parents are working. They are out of town until next week. My father is on assignment with the Rangers. I’m only visiting today. We live near Grants.
Ruth seemed to sense this. “I’m not going to inform on you. Runaway?”
He held out his hand and rocked it side to side. “My mother died when I was little. My father had heart trouble, uneven heartbeats, last year. He had to have a pacemaker—so he can’t live in the territory.”
“He left you here?”
“They airlifted him out. I was supposed to take a caravan north and join him in Denver.”
“What happened?”
“I sold the travel voucher to someone who wanted to go.”
She sat still, regarding him without speaking.
Finally, Kimble gave in. “My dad...he’s not a nice man. Maybe when my mom was alive but not so much after. I hardly stayed at home when he was in the territory, not if I could help it. Not if he’d been working.”
“Working?”
“If he worked he could afford liquor. When he wasn’t drinking he was just grumpy. When he was—better not to be home.”
“Where do you live now? The same place?”
“No. We lived in Golondrinas, but the Rangers there knew me too well. I joined a sheep drive here—dishwasher and orphan lamb care. I’m a useful citizen here.”
“Yes,” she said. “A guide.”
“And messenger.”
“But where do you live?”
“It depends on the season.” He had a bedroll hidden in a roof garden near Eastgate. Everything else he owned was on his person. “In the winter there are shelters, but they preach at you something fierce.”
“I would still think the authorities are looking for you. I mean, your father must’ve noticed when you didn’t show up.”
“Well, they’re looking for Kim Creighton. I’m Kimble. The picture they have is three years old and I was so much pudgier then. I’ve been asked, you know, if I’ve seen myself around.”
Ruth smiled briefly “And had you?”
“Oh, yes. Traveling with a caravan headed into old Arizona. I was positive I’d seen the boy.”
She swung her arm, backhanded, toward his face. There was no warning and, he thought, no reason, but she didn’t connect. He moved his head back out of the way and took a back roll.
“Hey!” Kimble said, rising to his feet and eyeing her warily.
She smiled at him.
“Tell me about the dojo.”
“Ohhhhhhh,” he said, in a quiet voice. He squatted on his heels, still out of arms reach. “That was back in Golondrinas. The kids’ class was free if you did dojo chores. They taught karate and judo and aikido.”
“The same teacher?”
“Oh, no. It was a cooperative. There were four different styles of karate. There were two judo instructors, but just one old guy who taught aikido.”
“Old guy?” She stared at him. “Which classes did you take?”
“Aikido, of course.”
“Of course? Is that what all the kids took?”
Kimble shook his head. “Oh, no. If they were the wrestling type, they liked judo. Otherwise, they all wanted to take karate. Punch, kick, punch, kick and more kicking.”
“So...why aikido?”
“They were the kids who weren’t that interested in kicking and punching.” Kimble looked down at the dirt. “I got enough of that at home. Besides, once I got the hang of getting off the line, aikido worked pretty well against the kickers and punchers.”
Ruth was silent for a moment, then said. “I am building a dojo on the Rio Puerco.”
“Oh. Really? You teach aikido?”
“For over twenty years now.”
He tiled his head to the side. “So you already had a dojo. Why did you leave?”
She sighed. “Divorce. You know what that is?”
Kimble glared at her.
“Sorry, of course you do. My ex-husband and his new wife kept the dojo. I left. I left...everything. I’m starting over.”
Kimble tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. She looked back at him, very still, like a rock, like a predator, like a statue.
“You’ll need students,” Kimble finally said. “You can’t be a teacher without students. I mean, at least one.”
She nodded. “Get your things.”
“Yes, Ms. Monroe.”
“Sensei,” she said gently.
“Yes, Sensei.”
7th Sigma is now available at:
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About the Author
Steven Gould is the author of Jumper, Wildside, Helm, Blind Waves, Reflex, Jumper: Griffin’s Story, 7th Sigma, and the upcoming Impulse as well as several short stories published in Analog, Asimov’s, and Amazing, and other magazines and anthologies. He is the recipient of the Hal Clement Young Adult Award for Science Fiction and has been on the Hugo ballot twice and the Nebula ballot once for his short fiction, but his favorite distinction was being on the American Library Associations Top 100 Banned Books list 1990-1999. “Jumper was right there at #94 between Steven King’s Christine and a non-fiction book on sex education. Then that Rowling woman came along and bumped us off the bottom of the list.” Jumper was made into the 2008 feature film of the same name with Samuel L. Jackson, Jamie Bell, Rachel Bilson, and Hayden Christensen. Steve lives in New Mexico with his wife, writer Laura J. Mixon (M. J. Locke) and their two daughters.
Visit him online at:
Steve’s website
Steve's Books at Macmillan/Tor
Steve’s Books at Amazon
Steve’s Books at Barnes & Noble
Steve’s Books at iBooks