by K Bledsoe
Lenore suppressed a grin at Diarmin’s groan. She’d used him as a practice dummy many times in her workouts.
Allison whined. “Why do I have to learn how to fight? I’m not out there like Quinn.”
“Oh no? What about last week?”
“That was an unusual circumstance that will probably not have a recurrence.”
Allison’s pompous tone and big words told Lenore she was trying to sound more mature.
“You know I would much rather be safe on the ship.”
“First of all, something of that nature might occur again and second,” Lenore put her hands on her hips. “What if someone breaks into the ship?”
Allison’s mouth opened and closed. She looked pleadingly at her father, but he shrugged. “I agree with your mother. Besides, physical activity helps the brain work better, and you’ve been at that computer for days.”
“Fine,” said Allison as she threw her hands up. “I am stuck on this program anyway, so a little distraction might help.”
Quinn had stood there during the entire exchange, expressionless, unmoving, hands hanging loosely at his sides. This rather unnerved Lenore, but she tried to concentrate on the lessons. This would help him. It had to.
“First thing you are going to learn, is how to break a hold so that when someone grabs you, you can get free. Diarmin?” She beckoned him over, ignoring his grumbling. “Let’s start at the easiest one and work our way up, shall we?”
Two hours later, all were dripping with sweat and very sore. Allison was even panting and privately Lenore thought she needed to put her daughter on a training regimen as well.
“Well done. Now, what would you do in a situation where you can’t break the hold?”
“I know this answer so can I make lunch for all of us, Instructor Lenore?” Diarmin said with a wink.
Lenore flicked her wrist toward the galley and focused on the children.
“You just showed us how to break all holds,” said Allison. “Why would we be in a situation where we couldn’t?”
Lenore opened her mouth to answer, but, surprisingly, the answer came from Quinn, who had spoken very little during the session.
“What if your ankle or wrist is broken? You couldn’t get the leverage needed to get free. What if they stunned you and you haven’t fully recovered use of limbs yet? What if there are two of them waiting for you to try just that so they can have an excuse to hurt you? What if—”
Allison put her hands up as if to fend off the tirade. “Okay, okay I get it. So, Mom, what would we do?”
Lenore barely heard the question, having been distracted by Quinn’s tirade. Clearly these possibilities had occurred to him, and she was not sure how she felt about that. But she pressed on.
“Well, what you need to do is look as helpless as you can, even pretend to pass out or faint if possible. This works very well with one of the choke holds. Show me your best faint Quinn.” She opened her arms and he let her put him in a hold, arm across his throat. Lenore gently applied pressure, not enough to hurt, just enough for him to imagine the possibility. She felt her gut tighten as she did, but she was determined to teach them.
“Now, you need to time it just right. Pass out too soon, and they know you are faking. Wait too long and you pass out for real. Let’s pretend you have reached that phase where you need to faint. Show me your best acting skills.”
Quinn went limp in her arms.
“No, too quick. It felt forced. Here, Allison, you try.”
The three went through a variety of attempts with Diarmin shooting glances at them while cooking.
“NO! Still too fake, Quinn. Allison seems to grasp the idea, why can’t you?” She ignored both kids’ eyes widening at her loud voice. She grabbed Quinn in a hold.
“Again!” She could feel Quinn’s tension, and she fought the urge to let him go. He needed to learn this. “Focus on your breathing. Don’t make me teach you the way I learned.” The words just slipped out. Diarmin had stopped cooking and was watching intently. She wouldn’t look at him but began to speak directly into Quinn’s ear.
“You can’t breathe, you start gasping. Your legs go weak as your vision starts to blacken around the edges. Spots swim before your eyes and your heart is spasming wildly. Your muscles clench right before the end of all sight and sensation and suddenly they release.” Quinn obligingly followed her directions, tensing and going limp as she talked him through it. Though it wasn’t quite right, she knew it was time to quit.
“Much better, Quinn.”
“Wow, I almost thought Mom had really choked you,” said Diarmin with a chuckle. Lenore appreciated his attempt to alleviate the tension. It seemed to work as Allison laughed a little nervously, and even Quinn gave a wry grin as he stood up.
“So, lunch everyone?” she said, eager to put the awkward situation behind them.
“Wait, Mom.” Quinn swallowed, and Lenore felt guilty. But his next words showed that the swallow was from uncertainty, not from her pressing too hard. His face showed doubt and Allison’s head was swiveling back and forth between the two of them, intent on their interaction.
“How did you know all that about passing out?”
“Yeah,” Allison chimed in. “And what did you mean by ‘learn the way I did’?”
The tension was back, but Lenore was sure most of it was hers. She didn’t want to tell her kids, didn’t want to face that memory. But they had asked. Could they handle the truth? She glanced at Diarmin, and his slight nod decided her.
“I should have known my sharp kids wouldn’t miss anything,” she said and attempted a smile, but it didn’t stay. She closed her eyes for a moment before she spoke. She took a deep breath, her eyes locked on the wall.
“In the Xa’ti’al, the recruits take turns choking each other until they pass out. We weren’t allowed to fight it, and we had to both do it, and have it done to us. It was to teach us the feeling of losing consciousness as well as how to feel when someone is truly passing out or faking it. For a week, it was all we did, learning the limits of our endurance, figuring out that exact moment to pretend so that it was believable. If we didn’t learn, we had to repeat the entire week. It gave us more incentive to learn quickly.” Her eyes dropped to the floor, and she grimaced at the feelings the memory brought up.
Silence brought her gaze back up to her children, and her gut clenched as she noted the horror in their eyes. “I am sorry I said such a thing. I would never make you do that. Never.”
“How old were you?” asked Quinn. Again, Lenore was surprised by his insight then chided herself. He was extremely smart and intuitive; they both were.
“I was nine.”
Allison slowly closed the distance between them and gently took her hand.
“I’m sorry, Mom. That you went through that.” The solemn look on her face tore at Lenore’s heart. Quinn lightly put a hand on her elbow.
“I’m sorry, too.”
Lenore hugged them as her eyes met Diarmin’s. The look of love and understanding on his face along with the kids’ demonstration made the effort to tell the story worthwhile.
“I have the best family in the universe. Let’s eat and forget all about the horrible past, shall we?”
Chapter Forty-five
The second day of training involved ways of incapacitating attackers long enough to get away. Quinn wasn’t full grown, and Allison was even smaller, but Diarmin was well aware that Lenore knew many ways they could still escape.
“Anything, and yes I mean anything, in this room can be used as a weapon. Be prepared to think on your feet and open to possibilities that might not normally occur to you.”
“So that pillow on the couch can be used as a weapon?” asked Allison. The kids giggled, but Diarmin saw the glint in Lenore’s eye and grinned.
Lenore picked up the pillow, contemplating it as if she had to admit she was wrong. “Well,” she started then flung the pillow at Allison’s head. Allison blocked the pillow with a hand and duc
ked, nearly losing her balance.
“See? That pillow can cause a distraction long enough for you to get a good head start. It probably won’t hurt anyone, but a good throw can make them lose their balance, block their vision, even,” here she hesitated but set her jaw and went on, “even cause them to shoot the pillow if they are holding a weapon. A sudden discharge from a weapon distracts everyone, perhaps freezing them for a moment, allowing you to get away.”
“You’re teaching an awful lot about ‘getting away,’” said Quinn a bit contemptuously. “When do we actually learn to fight?”
Lenore gave him a long look. Probably searching for the correct thing to say, Diarmin thought. But she stared long enough to make Quinn break eye contact and look down. After several extremely awkward moments, she spoke very quietly.
“I guess you haven’t ever really seen me on many missions and are getting your ideas from holonovels and videos. The preference in any situation is to get out. The last option is to engage in a fight that keeps you from completing your task. Especially you two at this stage. The main goal is to escape and get back to us.”
“So the grown-ups can handle it?” Quinn sneered.
“Yes!” said Lenore.
Quinn’s eyes widened, and he looked up sharply at her vehemence.
“Like it or not, you are children, and you should never, even when you are full grown, maybe large and muscled, never look for a fight. Always avoid them.”
She sighed, and Diarmin knew she saw as well as he did the flash of defiance in Quinn’s eyes. “Look. I will teach you those skills that are needed when you can’t evade a direct confrontation. But they take years to learn and, right now, I am concerned with keeping you alive, intact, and free long enough to learn them.”
Quinn winced at the word “free,” and Diarmin was sure Lenore deliberately used that term to make her point. He opened his mouth to try and break the tension, but Allison beat him to it.
“Well, I, for one, am not looking for any kind of fight. I am all for running and saving my skin. Besides, a fight might damage my hands and then how could I input code for my programming?” She inspected those hands carefully as the rest of the family chuckled.
“Wise lady,” said Lenore. “Now, what, other than deadly pillows, can you use as a weapon?”
“How about that lamp?” offered Quinn. “I can try to trip you with it or just block an approach or—”
“Excellent, Quinn. Show us.”
He grinned as he picked up the long, slender lamp. “Okay, but don’t blame me if it gets broken.”
***
The lamp didn’t break, but a few other items did by the end of that session. Only two days and Lenore felt a little better about her kids if they found themselves in a bad situation. Of course, she would do everything in her power to avoid that, but at least they were more prepared. Even Diarmin said he learned a few things. During the next two days until they reached their destination, she would start them on the basics, focusing more on Quinn since he seemed the more likely one to be in a sticky situation in the future.
In between training sessions, each prepared for the mission. Lenore had studied the information until restlessness kicked in, and she did her usual walkabout on the ship. She found Diarmin tinkering at his workbench.
“Allison is at her terminal, staring at her hands and then typing madly.” Lenore slumped down in the huge stuffed chair. “Do you think she is truly contemplating what would happen if she damaged her hands?”
Diarmin didn’t even look up from his work to answer. “Not at all. Haven’t you noticed the look on her face? She’s very, hm, I would say ‘triumphant.’ I think we are going to find out very soon exactly what she has been working on so diligently.”
Lenore was a bit miffed that she, in fact, did not notice that, but she let the irritation pass. “What are you working on? It looks like a personal shield, and you have already made enough for all of us.”
Diarmin finally looked up with a grin. “Yes, it’s a shield but with some special alterations. Watch.” He attached the generator at his belt. It looked larger than the usual shield, about the size of a fist instead of a walnut. He pushed a tiny button and it sprang into existence around him like a second skin, allowing the freedom of movement.
“So? It’s exactly like any other shields I have seen, though a bit more cumbersome on your belt.” Even she didn’t like the slight whine of annoyance in her voice.
He didn’t answer but took several steps away from his bench to a clear space. Lenore’s curiosity spiked. He touched another button, and the shield fizzled out briefly to create a bubble.
Lenore abruptly sat up in the chair, gripping the arms. “A combined personal and area shield. Brilliant!” she said. “I wonder if we can patent it and sell it.”
Diarmin chuckled briefly, but it sounded sad.
“What?” she asked.
“I am looking for better ways to protect you; all you see is a way to make money.” His smile fell completely as the bubble fizzled out. “And that’s the problem. Since they are connected, the bubble shield is not as strong as normal. If I make the personal shield stronger to compensate, it becomes too unwieldy and I can’t move easily or even toggle the switch to the bubble.”
He snatched the device off his belt and returned to the workbench. Lenore approached and put her arms around him from behind.
“While I am trying to keep us from being broke, you are trying to keep us alive. Thank you, and…” she hugged him tighter and whispered. “I love you, Diarmin.” He kissed her hands on his chest, and she could hear the smile back in his voice.
“It’s why we fit together so well and why I love you, too.”
Loud footsteps from above and heading down the ladder interrupted the tender moment. Allison leaped off the ladder when only halfway down and Lenore tsked.
“You’d better not get used to that when our grav plates are back to a hundred percent instead of forty.”
“Actually, they are down around thirty-six percent now,” added Diarmin.
“I know, I know,” said Allison. “I need some gloves.”
Lenore blinked at the abruptness, but obviously Diarmin was used to her blunt changing-of-topics. “Top drawer,” he said, pointing to indicate.
Allison opened said drawer of the cabinet and rummaged around, occasionally lifting a glove or two. Finally, she held up a pair of white silk gloves that looked like they belonged at a royal reception rather than a workshop.
“Are these the thinnest you have?” she asked at the same time that Lenore asked, “What do you use those for?”
“First, Lenore, I use them while working on small electronics that have a toxic coating. The white makes a great background for better visual inspection. And Allison, I have a thinner pair that I use for the same thing, but they aren’t cloth, they are like thin plastic.”
“Better, where are they?”
“What do you need these for, Alli?” he asked as he headed to the other side of the workroom to fish around in his portable toolbox. He tossed her the gloves and waited for an answer.
“Better, but not quite what I need,” she murmured as she tried to put the too large gloves on.
Diarmin repeated his question.
“Huh?” Allison blinked at her father, still absorbed in thought.
“Why thin gloves?” asked Lenore.
“Oh, well, I need a baseline for my glove flaw program.”
It was Lenore’s turn to blink confusedly and say “Huh?”
“As usual, Alli,” said Diarmin, “you have leaped to the end without supplying us the story of how you got there. Please do so as it might help you find what you need.”
“Oh, okay, well, as you know Jonah and I were looking at pictures of the girl he wanted to find. He pointed out that there were no tattoos in the few pictures we had of bare hands. Well, I noticed something that sort of looked like a wrinkle and I thought maybe she was wearing thin gloves to hide the tattoo. But they
are not really gloves, more like a second skin. My program is designed to look for glove flaws in any video or still picture but in order to be sure, I need a baseline. But these gloves are obvious that they are gloves and wouldn’t help. I mean the program can still note them, but so can anyone with eyes. And then—”
“Wait!” Lenore held her hands up to stem the constant flow of Allison’s explanation. If this was the way her brain worked, no wonder she muttered to herself and was always so distracted. “What you need are gloves that look like skin.”
“Yes.”
“I can probably help you, in fact, so can your brother.”
Allison smacked her palm to her forehead. “Of course, stupid me. I should have thought of disguises. I didn’t know you had gloves, but I should have figured it out.”
“You’ve had other things on your mind, my genius daughter. Let’s go see what Quinn and I have for you.”
The rest of the day was taken up with Quinn and Lenore putting on their gloves and Allison photographing them, all the while mumbling things like, “Wow that really looks real,” and “Totally changes the color of your skin, should have thought of that.” She finished with a final comment of “Done.” and turned to her terminal again, completely ignoring the other two.
“I’d be offended, but I know Allison enough by now to know it’s not personal,” said Quinn. He picked up his gloves and handed Lenore hers. “We’d better go put them back where they belong in case we need them in a couple of days?”
His upward inflection and eyebrows indicated he was asking a question. But Lenore wasn’t sure if he was asking about details of the mission, or if he would be coming along. Maybe both. Lenore sighed inwardly. She absolutely did not want any of her family involved in any dangerous mission but was resigning herself to the fact that Quinn wanted more.
“Let’s go to the lounge and go over the mission plans,” she said. The smile on his face was answer enough. “After all, if I don’t, you’ll probably try it all by yourself anyway.”
Quinn’s first laugh in days was truly a joy to hear.