Pira

by Piers Anthony

  “Freeze,” Orion whispered.

  Pira went quite still. That way he would be able to strike without looking, not concerned that she would be in the way. Orion quickly surveyed the situation. He needed to know exactly how many men there were, and how they were armed, so as not to be surprised by more when the action commenced. There were eight; that seemed to be the total. All of them carried knives rather than guns. That was good and bad; guns could strike at a distance, but knives could be more deadly in close quarters, if wielded by those who were trained in their use. Obviously they did not want gunshots attracting attention in the neighborhood; knives were silent.

  “To what do we owe the honor of this visit?” Orion inquired of the man who had spoken, as if this were an incidental encounter. If that surprised him, so much the better. “I regret I do not know your name.” As if the man would give his real one.

  “Call me Joe. It is the little fish we want,” the man said, and strode to grab hold of Pira. Pira did not resist; she was letting Orion handle this, knowing that he was the competent one when it came to combat. “She has long been a thorn.”

  So foreign intelligence was operating again. “The bomb—a decoy?” Orion asked.

  “Oh, the bomb is real,” Joe said. “We had to see it defused to be sure of the mark. But yes, this as a honeypot to attract the bee.”

  No more men had entered; eight was the total. Evidently they deemed it more than sufficient. Seven of them were standing in a loose circle around Orion, separating him from Pira. They knew what they were doing.

  “She is to be the hostage?” Orion asked.

  “No hostage; not exactly. We wish her to come to work for us. And you too, imitation judoka, because she will perform if you direct her to.”

  They did not think he actually knew judo. That was his advantage. “And why should I do that?”

  “Because you will be the hostage for her performance. We understand she loves you; she would not like to see you tortured. You will tell her to do our will, and the two of you will be well treated.”

  “And if I do not?”

  “We will dismember you before her eyes, slowly. We believe that rather than see you suffer and die, she will accede.”

  “No deal,” Orion said.

  Joe frowned. “That is too bad. Perhaps you would prefer the alternative.”

  “Which is?”

  “You will watch her dismembered. First we will cut off her feet, saving her hands in case she changes her mind. How far will it be necessary to go before one of you changes your mind?”

  “No deal,” Orion repeated. Pira remained absolutely still.

  “Perhaps you think we bluff. That is readily answered.” Joe glanced at one of the others, and the man drew his knife and strode toward them. “Such delicate little feet; it will be a shame for her to lose them.”

  Orion acted. He screamed “Kiai!” as he leaped at the man directly before him, just as that man drew his knife. The man hesitated just a second, surprised by the scream. Orion caught him with the kosoto gari, the small outside clip, his left foot catching the man's right ankle and sweeping it inward as he caught the man's right sleeve and pushed him off balance. In a moment the man was swept off his feet, literally, and landed on the floor, and Orion had the knife.

  He hurled that knife directly at the face of the man menacing Pira. Caught by surprise, that man barely managed to fend it off, taking the blade in his forearm as he fell back. It was nevertheless a punishing strike; Orion had thrown with power and accuracy, and the knife split the flesh to the bone. The man was in pain and out of action.

  But Orion was still in motion. He caught the jacket of the next man to the left, kicked him in the stomach so that the man grunted, dropped to the floor on his back with his foot still in that stomach, and heaved him forward and into the two on the right side. It was the tomoe nage, popularly called the stomach throw, normally done so as to allow the opponent to do a forward roll and recover his feet. But Orion put extra oomph into it, so that the man fairly sailed into the others, and all three went down in a tangle, inadvertently menacing each other with their knives.

  Four down, for the moment. Orion flipped back to his feet and reached for the next man to the left. That man swept viciously with his knife. That was his mistake, as the knife committed him to that particular strategy, easy to counter. Orion ducked the sweep and clubbed him in the throat with his fist. Some folk thought that judo was confined to throws and mat-work, but that was only the student grades; the seniors studied the vulnerabilities of the human body so that they could if necessary kill with a single blow. The man had expected an attempted throw; now he would be lucky if he survived his crushed larynx.

  The next man also thrust with his knife. Orion sidestepped, caught his knife arm, drew him forward, got behind him, and wrapped his arm about his throat. It was a blood strangle, and the man sank to the floor, unconscious in seconds.

  And of course Orion now possessed the knife. He looked at Joe, who was still holding Pira. “You're next,” he said. “Want to gamble I can't score on your eye from here before you get your own knife out?”

  Joe was unfazed. “Look behind you. While you're getting me, they'll get you.” Indeed, the three who had gone down in a tangle had recovered their footing, and were now advancing with knives extended. It was not over yet.

  They were, however, more cautious than they had been before, having seen Orion in action. They were spreading out so as to come at him from three sides.

  “Not if I take you hostage,” Orion said, charging Joe.

  Joe quickly released Pira. He had to, because he would otherwise have no defense. Now he drew his own knife, and the way he handled it made it clear that he was no amateur. Orion would not be able to put him down fast enough to keep the others clear, assuming he could put him down at all.

  Orion halted. “Blind them,” he snapped to Pira, who was now free to act.

  Her hands barely moved, but suddenly the three were clawing at their own faces as they staggered in place. Their eyes were burning, literally.

  “Now we can do this one of two ways,” Orion told Joe. “I can come at you and we'll find out who survives the encounter and in what condition. I specify in advance that I really don't like you, and neither does my companion.” That was a dire threat, because Pira had just demonstrated her power. If Joe killed Orion, Pira would kill him. “Or you can surrender, lie prone on the floor, and proffer no further resistance, and I will see that you are taken into protective custody and given a new identity in witness protection after you testify about who hired you to take out the little fish. Your information will buy you immunity.”

  Joe considered. Then he dropped his knife to the floor and got down himself, face down.

  Now it was over.

  Bole was chagrined. “That was one of the finest judo demonstrations ever performed,” he said. “And it was real. We have it all on video: their surveillance record. And we can't show it.”

  The Japanese authorities had of course honored the deal. Joe was now in witness protection. They were very interested in the details of the terrorist plot, but the incident would never be publicized.

  “Sorry about that,” Orion said. “I merely did what was necessary to save my ward.”

  “Concluding with the best technique of all: talking your enemy out of it. You have our admiration.” Bole shook his head. “And she is surely worth it. We saw her in action too.”

  “Thank you. She is.”

  In due course, back in the States, Orion got a call from his sensei. “We need to talk.” The man was not one to fool around; there was something urgent afoot.

  They went to the dojo. “You can't tell me what happened in Japan,” the sensei said, frustrated.

  “We can't,” Orion agreed.

  “But you did visit a local dojo there.”

  “We did.”

  “And demonstrated a personal technique.”

  Orion smiled. “It is expected of a rank
ing visitor. They were very polite, though we all knew this was pretense to mask the real reason for my presence, which related to Pira's mission.”

  “Uki-goshi.

  “Yes, my little variant, with Pira.”

  “They like your variant. They are using it in their classes now.”

  Orion laughed. “That's carrying politeness a bit far. There is no further need for pretense.”

  “And you did randori with one of their senseis.”

  “Yes. Bole.” Where was this leading? The sensei was serious to the point of grimness.

  “You do not know who that was?”

  “I do not. I did not inquire his full name. The point was the visit, not the names. But I can say he was a competent judoka and a knowledgeable person. I liked him.”

  The sensei shook his head. “Perhaps you are happier in your ignorance. But now you reap the consequence.”

  “Did I offend him? I certainly did not mean to.”

  “Bole says you truly embody the spirit of judo, an echo of the master, and they wish to recognize this. You have received an amazing double promotion, to sandan.”

  Orion looked at him, perplexed. “Third degree black belt? I did not test for anything. In any event, I was not of their dojo. It must be a confusion.”

  “No confusion. Their authority in this matter completely overrides mine, even if I wanted to object, which of course I don't. It is a valid promotion, and you must accept it.”

  Orion spread his hands. “I don't understand.”

  “Neither do I. The technique is merely a pretext. You did something that made them take note. That they are not speaking of.”

  “They are being extremely generous.”

  “Oh come on,” Pira said. “You know you earned it.” She kissed him on the ear. “And saved the maiden in dire peril.” As if she had not done her part.

  The Japanese had not been able to publicize the tape or to recognize Orion formally, but it seemed they had found a way to make their point.

  8

  Rogue

  The routine calls continued, only now they were global as well as American; the word had leaked out. The Little Fish was becoming a quiet celebrity. “I may have to retire,” Pira said, not entirely dispirited. “I'm getting too well known. That ruins much of my effectiveness.”

  “You're coming up on eighteen,” Orion said. “You are taller, your outlines are softer, and you have a hint of breasts. I'm in a position to know.” They still slept embraced, naked, savoring their thwarted passion.

  She glanced down at herself, pretending dismay. “Will you still love me when I don't look like a child?”

  “Of course I will! I fell in love with you at the dance, when your body swayed to music and your brightening glance met mine. I saw you as the leaf, the blossom, and the bole, all together. The whole of you, past present and future. Now at last I'll get the bloom.”

  “I'll be a handful.” She cupped her nascent breasts. “Two hands full.”

  “Will you still want to sleep against me naked when you have the mansion?”

  “Well, I don't know. Your member won't be as hard.”

  “Why not? You’ll have the architecture to make it firm as a rock.”

  “Because it'll be empty. All of its juice will be inside me, leaving nothing to press against my belly. Why should I want to have a limp wiener touching me all night?”

  He laughed. “Point made. We may have to do what old married couples do: get the sex out of the way early, then sleep in peace.”

  She considered. “Maybe I can tease you by not giving you sex, so it'll stay hard forever.”

  “Don't you dare!”

  They laughed together. Pira's flirting was constant, and Orion rather enjoyed it. She no longer used lowbrow vernacular, preferring to be more ladylike, but got her points across clearly.

  Pira also tried her hand at actual cooking and baking, when there was time. In this she was no genius, and some of her early efforts were grotesque.

  “Pira, you don't have to be a housewife,” he protested. “You're a professional.”

  “I'll retire. All I ever wanted was to be a housewife to you.”

  They also ran in the park together, keeping in shape, whenever they were in the vicinity of something suitable. “I want to be trim and nice for your enjoyment,” she said.

  He chuckled. “Being a mundane sex object? You are perhaps the most deadly female in the world, and this routine dullness is your dream?”

  She frowned. “'Perhaps'?” A pine cone on a branch above the running path exploded, punctuating the word. “'Female'?” Another exploded. She didn't like the qualifiers, and she was probably correct.

  “Such impertinence! I ought to spank you.”

  “After I get my bottom. At least that's one way maybe to get you to touch it.”

  “You do understand that I don't touch it because if I did, I'd go crazy with lust and ruin everything?”

  “Yes, and I'd let you,” she agreed dreamily.

  “You're incorrigible.”

  “And right before the wedding I'll go to the doctor and have him verify my virginity, so they'll know you haven't been corrupting a minor.”

  “They'll think I'm impotent.”

  “Maybe we could set up cameras and broadcast the event to the world. That might satisfy them.”

  “Oh Pira, all humor aside, I can hardly wait. No cameras necessary.”

  “Awww.”

  Then something serious came on the horizon. Somebody or something was taking out laserists. It was not publicized, of course, but the word was quietly spread: there was deadly danger.

  Gradually it clarified. There had been a candidate for Number One, before Pira, who hadn't made it. He called himself Hammerhead, like that shark with the widely spaced eyes and sensors, who triangulated effectively on dilute blood in the water and sped to its source. The authorities had concluded that he was close, but not sufficient, and ranked him as a Two.

  That evidently rankled. Hammerhead thought they had misjudged him, denied him his rightful status, and he was annoyed. Instead of fading with time, that ire had apparently increased. Finally he left Crossed Lasers, taking his harness with him. That was not legitimate, but they had little way to get it back without first catching him, and he was both evasive and dangerous. He was not a One, but he was better than any other Two, with a score to settle, and that was deadly mischief.

  Now laserists were perishing, their brains boiled. Hammerhead was taking his revenge against the organization that had denied him his supposed due. No one knew when or where he would strike next, but strike he would.

  “This is an excellent person to stay away from,” Orion said.

  “I can't.”

  “Pira, he's a dangerous nut!”

  “Two reasons,” she said. “First, he is the one who chooses his victims. He could choose me.”

  “That's why you have to hide until this is over.”

  “Second, I have to take him out, because I'm the only one who can. I'm a true One.”

  “What are you going to do—challenge him to an old west style shootout? He wouldn't meet you honestly; he'd ambush you. The guy's a rogue, following no law. You can't risk that.”

  She turned to him, tears forming in her eyes. “Orion, right now I need your support, not your argument. I have to do this.”

  There it was. He had to join her, or let her go it alone. “Then I support you,” he said. “No more argument.”

  She dissolved, as she did when a crisis was past. “Thank you.”

  He held her while she sobbed. This was not something she wanted to do, but that she had to. He feared for her, with a chill that permeated his body, yet there was also pride. She was standing up for herself, putting her very life on the line, to do what she felt was right. It was a value he had taught her, that he had to respect.

  Yet he couldn't help thinking: should they stop holding out, and have sex now, lest she die before she came of age? He angrily sup
pressed the notion.

  “Should we do it now?” she asked.

  Damn! She had the same thought he did.

  “No,” he decided. “We'll wait.”

  “Thank you,” she agreed tearfully.

  “If we're going to tackle this freak, we have to prepare,” he said in a businesslike manner. “We need to know as much as we can about him, especially what he looked like before he went on the lam. He can change superficial things, but he'll still be a large heavyset male. We'll need to zero in on his location, updating it as we go. If he had a beard before, he'll be clean shaven now, maybe with long hair.”

  “Yes,” she agreed, satisfied to let him take over.

  “We'll need to find out how he zeroes in on hostage crises that aren't in the news. He must have input from Crossed Lasers, maybe a tapped phone. Find that connection, find him.”

  “No one would help him that way,” she protested.

  “Maybe not knowingly. But there must be many phones at CL headquarters, and it's hard to track them all. Or the tap is on a line, reading it without interfering with it. When an assignment call goes out, he reads it, and heads for the crisis too.”

  “But it might be far away.”

  “He would choose ones within his range, wherever he is at the moment. That's what makes it erratic: he goes after maybe only one in ten CL calls. Then he may travel far, to be in a completely different area when the next one comes.”

  “Then how can we ever catch him?”

  “We'll have to think the way he does. Become a predator of opportunity. Only our prey is not another CL agent, but Hammerhead himself.”

  “How will we know when he's close enough to intercept?”

  Orion pondered. “There may be a way. We need to check global travel logs to see who is at different crisis locales. Chances are that very few folk will go from crisis to crisis, especially when most are hidden from public view. The airlines surely have records.”

  “Those aren't open to the public. It's illegal to get into them.”

  “Since when did legality ever stop a hacker?”