Resistance

by Ell Leigh Clarke

  “For what?” Bentley asked. “And where’s the sword?”

  “Where it needs to be. Where you shall be. Let’s be off now. You take the lead.”

  “But I don’t know where we’re going!” she exclaimed as he hauled her to her feet and pushed her down the tunnel to the entrance.

  Dim daylight greeted them, but after the semi-dark of the cavern Bentley was still left squinting.

  “The sword is coded into your DNA,” Legba reminded her as her eyes adjusted. “Remember that. It is like a part of you now, even more so than your arms or your legs. Perhaps as much so as your mind. You should be able to find where I’ve hidden it, with no help from me.”

  “What, can’t we even play hot and cold?” she asked. “Seriously, can’t we just get on with the training.”

  Legba shook his head in disappointment. “You will only get as much out of training as you put into it, and your training is every day, every moment. It is now. It is this. So, tell me Bentley, where is the sword? Use what I’ve taught you.”

  She huffed gently, but then obediently closed her eyes concentrating as she focused on her breathing. A familiar sensation ebbed into her awareness inside her, building slowly in the pit of her stomach and extending out into her fingertips. It was a vibration, a gentler version of what she’d felt when using the sword to find Legba. As it moved into her hands, she felt her left extend naturally, and opened her eyes to move in that direction.

  She strode over down a slight stony incline, glancing over her shoulder in irritation every so often to see that Legba was still following. She could feel the sword’s presence, or at least what she assumed was the sword’s presence, growing stronger as they progressed.

  The sound of running water reached her ears and a short distance later they came to a wide river.

  “Seriously, Legba? Tell me you didn't.”

  He looked at her mysteriously as he arrived at her side. “Didn’t what?”

  “Did you throw the sword in the river?”

  “Why in the ‘verse would I do such a thing?”

  “I don’t know, why do you do any damn thing?”

  Legba smiled at her scowl. “If I were training you to be a fish, surely the sword would be in the river, but what am I training you for, Bentley?”

  “For…” She paused, realizing she wasn’t completely certain. He was training her to battle the LaPlace certainly, but was that the true purpose? She considered a moment, wrapping her arms around herself in the chilly, dead air. At the heart of it, Legba was teaching to defend herself, and others. Teaching her to be careful and caring. She moved to the river’s edge and got down on her belly where the vibrations felt strongest.

  Her arms dangled just far enough to reach the hidden area beneath the overhanging riverbank. Just like in the cavern, her hands found the sword’s hilt with ease and certainty. She stood up and brushed the grit off herself, carrying the weapon one-handed back to Legba. She tried to hide the triumphant smile on her face, but it peeked through like the sun through the asteroid field.

  “Well done,” he congratulated her. She noticed Legba was now holding a long walking staff. Where had that come from? Bentley swayed slightly, suddenly afraid she was still dreaming.

  No.

  She grounded herself in the moment, in her senses. The remnants of the greasy autocook eggs on her gums tasted real. The fatigue in her muscles and bones felt real. The weight of the sword in her hand, and the accompanying vibration, felt all too real.

  “Nice stick,” she commented.

  “Why, thank you,” he chuckled, strolling forwards and spinning it between his hands. “Now that you’ve learned to detect the sword reliably, we must work on your interaction with it. You must know it and respect it, like a separate living being… and yet you must feel it and own it as a natural extension of your arm. Do you know any swordplay?”

  Bentley narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re not serious.”

  Legba nodded. “As serious as a heart attack,” he told her.

  She shook her head and sighed. “I’ve had a few lessons.”

  “Good, then hold that sword like you mean it. Like there are fifty LaPlacian soldiers storming down on us. Like you need to fight for your life.”

  His words thrust Bentley back to the memory of half-carrying him through the LaPlacian ship’s corridors, pursued by angry voices and running feet. Her adrenaline spiked as she bent her knees and lifted the sword, finding her breath and falling into a low stance.

  “Yes!” Legba raised his stick, “en garde!”

  Bentley brought her sword up ready to defend.

  Legba’s eyes shone. “Now… defend!” He leaped forward and struck.

  Bentley retreated a step and managed to turn the blow aside with the flat of her blade. She didn’t want to break Legba’s stick. “How is this supposed to help prepare me for battling an army of spaceships?” she growled, getting back in her ready position.

  “It matters not the nature of the blacksmith who shapes the blade, only that they wield their hammer well.” He came at her again, this time thrusting the tip of his staff at her stomach. Bentley spun and swatted the stick aside, aiming a retaliatory kick at his bottom that only missed by a little.

  “So, you’re saying we could be doing anything as training?” she panted as they circled. “You ever play hopscotch?”

  “So long as the sword is in your hands,” Legba laughed. “We could practice dancing if you prefer!” He jigged a few steps sideways and then whirled and lashed out at her.

  Bentley dodged away and came back with a vengeance. She still found the exercise rather silly, but suddenly she was determined to fight Legba, and win.

  +++

  QX849-LF, Dead Rock, Deep Space

  “This… is… crazy!” Bentley panted.

  They raced over rocks, between stunted trees, and around bends in the river. She was chasing Legba, trying to catch him, to finish the fight. They had sparred for perhaps a half hour before he announced the beginning of her endurance training and took off like a rocket from the launchpad.

  “You must learn to move with the sword!” Legba called over his shoulder. “Until it learns to move with you.”

  “That… makes… no… sense!” Bentley stopped to rest next to a hillock of dirt and placed her hands on her knees, the sword pointing limply at the ground. “And how are you so fast?”

  “Mastery of mind is mastery of body,” he called over cryptically. Legba looked down from the ledge he’d paused on and spread his arms. “You must learn to attune yourself to the sword’s presence even when you cannot solely focus on it: when you are distracted, or afraid, or angry, or fatigued.”

  He reached down and rapped her on the forearm with his staff.

  “Ouch! What was that for?”

  “This is not time for rest. Defend yourself. En garde!” He poised himself as if prepared to pounce, waited until Bentley assumed her guard, and then turned and ran away laughing.

  Bentley groaned and raced after him, careful to keep the blade and point of the sword in a safe position. Sweat flecked her cheeks and soaked her hair and clothing, but she didn’t mind. She was getting somewhat used to the sensation.

  “I think I’d rather do the dancing,” she gasped as she put on a turn of speed and caught up to Legba.

  “Running is more important,” Legba explained. “You may be chased by enemies, or need to dodge away from blasters or escape an explosion. Being light of foot is key in battle and keeping your weapon with you at all times is a must.”

  She powered around a rocky outcropping. “Wouldn’t I just turn and use the sword to defend myself?”

  Legba clicked his tongue. “You are brave to have the instinct to fight, but no, that is not what this sword was designed to do.” He jogged along a sandy portion of the riverbank, staff whirling like an oar.

  Bentley growled and sprinted up beside him and then slammed her shoulder into his. They spilled into the water together, sending up
a shower of droplets. Bentley floundered to her feet, finding that Legba was already standing in the shallows. Based on the water on his clothing, he barely seemed to have fallen at all.

  “Well what was it designed to do?” she asked, swinging the thing so it shed an arc of droplets.

  Legba frowned. “If I have to tell you that, then you are not ready to know. But you may be ready for this. Come here.” He led her out of the river and produced a length of fabric from his pocket. “Turn around,” he instructed and dropped the fabric over her eyes when she did so, securing it in a knot behind her head.

  Blindfolded, Bentley stood absolutely still. She felt a gentle tug as Legba removed the sword from her hand and replaced it with his staff. She heard him take a few steps away, and then pause.

  “Do you know where I am?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I can hear you.”

  “What if I was completely silent?” his voice said from behind her.

  Bentley jumped and whirled around, nearly losing her balance but using the staff to keep herself upright.

  “I… can still tell where you are,” she replied. She realized he was moving to her left this time.

  “How?”

  “The sword. I can detect its movement, and you’re still carrying it. I didn’t notice at first because I wasn’t focusing on it-”

  “You must learn to notice without focusing on it.”

  “Alright! Cut me some slack here, I can’t freaking see!”

  “That is the point. Focus on the sword. Think of nothing but its placement, its movement, its speed…” He was coming toward her, swinging the sword in a figure of eight. “Defend yourself!”

  Bentley couldn’t see a damned thing, but she could hear him, and she could sense the sword’s pattern. As he approached, she lashed out twice, knocking the sword aside and then striking Legba in the knee with the butt of the staff. She tore the blindfold off and threw it on the ground angrily.

  “Are you crazy? You could have killed me!” She threw the staff at him, which he caught effortlessly, and picked up the sword from where he’d dropped it.

  “I would never hurt you, Bentley,” he sighed leaning on the staff. “I meant only to test your prowess, and you did not disappoint. But perhaps we have trained enough for today.” Suddenly he looked incredibly weary, as if the weight of the entire dead rock were crashing down on his shoulders.

  “No,” Bentley said defiantly. She stalked back to where she’d thrown the blindfold and seized it, shaking the dirt from it before fastening it around her head. “Let’s try this again.”

  They traded weapons, and Legba circled her silently like a hungry shark. She followed the sword’s presence with her mind, trying not to become distracted by the conversation.

  “Are you listening with your ears, or your mind?” Legba asked.

  “Umm… both?” Bentley chuckled, her frustration slowly being replaced by focus. “And maybe with my heart too-” She cut off and shifted as Legba struck, knocking his thrust away with the staff.

  “Good,” Legba approved, circling to her right. “Your sense of the sword is becoming stronger. Your confidence in its position is becoming second nature. Soon you will instinctively know where it is at all times, like knowing whether your hand is open or closed. Remember, it is a part of you, and yet it is separate. Let it be both. Let it be a contradiction.”

  He fell silent and stayed still for a moment, and Bentley advanced on the sword’s position, deciding to turn the tables on him. She swung the staff at his position but struck only air.

  “And let it never be your sole focus. There are more important things in this world than the sword, or any item. You know that, of course, but let this be a reminder.”

  Bentley tore the blindfold off and spun around. The sword was stuck point-first in the soft ground where she’d thought Legba would be, and he was standing with his hands on his hips, smiling at her.

  “I know what is important,” she said as she pulled the weapon from the earth. She gave the handle a sharp twist, flicking the blade to rid it of dirt.

  “Then it seems I chose well when I coded your DNA into the sword.” His eyes twinkled mystically as he watched her wield the weapon of his creation.

  She tossed him his staff, still breathing a little hard, and laid the sword blade along one shoulder comfortably as they began the long walk back to the cavern together.

  +++

  QX849-LF, Dead Rock, Deep Space

  “This is Svend hailing Jelly Bean, come in Jelly Bean, do you copy?”

  Only silence greeted Svend’s sixth call of the day. He sighed and sat back in the seat of the pod’s cockpit. It had been a while since he had heard from Jelly Bean, and worry had burrowed its sharp beak into the back of his mind. He stood and paced restlessly into the pod’s main room, moving to the wall where Bentley used to work out and unfolded the elliptical machine from its hidden alcove.

  With a thought he activated the scrolling forest sequence on the wall in front of the machine, and then climbed on and began moving his arms and legs in a gentle rhythm. At first the exercise felt entirely alien - it was like walking, but not quite. After a few minutes his legs adapted, however, and he found himself enjoying the steady flow of low impact cardiovascular activity.

  As he moved his mind drifted first to wondering why his people had such a device on one of their pods, and then to the peaceful forest scene in front of him. Within a few minutes his thoughts moved on again, this time to concerns about the bits and pieces, he’d overheard from Legba while delivering Bentley’s daily meals. The strange dark-haired man had mentioned a place called the Unseen World, and the veil where “true consciousness” comes from.

  A deep frown creased his face as he paced. Was it possible that all human consciousness originated from another place, another plane? The idea did not conflict with any of his prior knowledge, however it did seem rather farfetched. He had little else to occupy his mind with, though, and his curiosity ran rampant. Bentley had spoken of Legba as if he were some type of god. What if that were the case? What if Legba came from another world, the Unseen World, where human consciousness originated? It would explain a lot about him and the strange lost rock they currently occupied.

  But what about his own consciousness? That was what really bothered him. If human consciousness came from the Unseen World, and humans had created androids, then where did the android sense of self originate? It was a puzzle with too many complex pieces that didn’t quite fit together. Was he a product of the Unseen World, or human manufacturing, or some twisted hybrid? He could not say.

  Svend realized he was moving so fast the elliptical was on the verge of breaking. He slowed his pace until he could safely hop off. He took a deep breath, thinking of Bentley and everything he would do to take care of her. She was becoming more and more important to him, but he still wanted answers.

  He accessed the pod’s long-range hailer remotely and sent an open call out to Jelly Bean again.

  “This is Svend, hailing Jelly Bean. Jelly Bean, please come in.”

  +++

  QX849-LF, Dead Rock, Deep Space

  The little campfire crackled merrily between Bentley and Legba. The pair once again sat cross legged across from each other. The dancing flames fought back the cavern’s gloom, illuminating the cracked walls. Bentley felt as if she had come to know each and every one of those crevasses personally in the time she’d spent there. The firelight played along the blade of the sword, which rested on the ground next to them.

  A small pot hung by a tripod above the flames, filled with water and the leaves from a plant they had found inexplicably growing from the shale cliffs. It filled the cave with a strange but pleasing aroma, which seemed to encourage the mind to expand in all directions.

  Bentley splayed her palms. “I just don’t know how to explain it.”

  Legba was a picture of serene focus, gazing at her with a small smile. “Just d
escribe the feelings as best you can. Using words,” he added as an afterthought.

  Bentley stuck her tongue out at him, but then closed her eyes and concentrated on the feelings she got from the sword.

  “It’s like a vibration, that’s what I’ve thought of it as so far. I can’t tell if it comes from me, or the sword. I thought it was just caused by being in proximity, but now I’m starting to wonder if it is something else.”

  “What else could it be?” Legba asked, as if he were not the creator of the damned thing.

  “I don’t know. Maybe I’ve got another damned chip inside me somewhere, like the one you put in my neck. You didn’t put another chip in me, did you?”

  Legba shook his head.

  “Well, someone else could have. That kind of technology isn’t exactly commonplace this side of the ‘verse, but it’s not unheard of either.”

  “Hmm.” Legba tapped his lip with a finger. “Don’t you believe I would have found a chip implanted by another party? Or that it would have presented itself sooner, or in other ways?”

  “I guess so,” Bentley scowled.

  “How are you breathing?” Legba asked.

  The pot above the fire began to bubble.

  She didn’t answer, but the question provoked a conditioned response. She sat up straight, her spine and facial expression neutralized, and she began inhaling and exhaling from her diaphragm. As a calm descended on her like winter’s first snow, another possibility presented itself.

  “I think…” Bentley paused, her mouth pouting shyly as she exposed the truth, “I think I can feel its thoughts. I know that sound crazy, a sword having thoughts. But they’re there like some sort of an alien presence.” She shook her head and tossed a twig into the fire.

  Legba smiled approvingly and glanced at the sword. “It does not sound crazy at all, at least not to the sword’s creator. This is good, a strong step in the right direction.”

  “I’ll say,” she commented wryly. “I was really beginning to think I was losing my mind.” A ghost of a smile stole onto her face. “When inanimate objects start talking to you, there’s really only so many options to consider.”