Matadora

by Steve Perry

  "Not much," Red said, his face bland. 'Two thousand stads... a week."

  "What?" Dirisha was sure she'd heard him wrong.

  "Hundred thousand a year, give or take."

  "Sweet Buddha's left nut!"

  "You'll make more when you go to work on your own. Pen plans to charge a quarter million a year for a fully-trained matador. Refundable if the client is assassinated under our protection. The school will keep ten percent, the rest belongs to the matador. Or, in your case, the ."

  "He really thinks he can get that kind of money for a bodyguard?"

  Red laughed. "We've got a waiting list a parsec long, Dirisha. The first graduates won't be ready for maybe three more years, and there's been a semi-sub rosa ad campaign going for the last year—people with enough stads and power are pounding at our doors, figuratively speaking."

  One of the simulacrum mues suddenly leaped to his feet and lurched at Dirisha. The one with the throwing steel. He drew back and whipped the triple-pointed weapon at Dirisha. She dropped, one leg extending to the side, in a Dweller-at-Sea's-Floor pose. She fired both spetsdods at the mue; the spinning steel whirled over her head, missing by maybe five centimeters. The mue did a back handspring, without using his hands. The sound of the twirling steel was joined by that of the mue's neck snapping.

  Dirisha rose from her pose, and shook her head at Red. "You cheat. I got him fair the first time."

  "You know what kind of mue that was?"

  Dirisha looked at the downed figures.

  "Looks like one of the enhanced-darkers. Bruna System, maybe, from Farbis?"

  "Right system, wrong world. Muta Kato."

  "Okay, so I missed the planet. Why is it important?"

  "Think about what they export from Muta Kato."

  Dirisha thought about it. Somewhere in her real-time training during the last two weeks, she must have heard something about the mutant humans developed for Muta Kato; otherwise, Red wouldn't be making a big deal of it.

  What came from there? Wines, some kind of exotic art with living plants, drugs. Yes, now she recalled: there was some kind of potent shellfish virus, used in surgery...

  "Oh, damn!" She pointed her spetsdod at the other mue, the one with the hand wand, and fired three times. The Chunk! of the pellets hitting him seemed loud in the narrow room.

  Red's grin widened.

  "They're partially immune to Spasm," she said. "Something to do with being stung by the poison shellfish they harvest for drugs."

  "Good for you. You see a Muta Katoan coming at you, you always shoot him three times—otherwise, he'll get up and kill you, you're only using Spasm."

  "Damn, damn!"

  "And don't pay too much attention to me when I tell you I can't teach you anything," Red said. "Hubris won't serve you very well."

  "I stand taken down a few meters," Dirisha said. "And thanks."

  In the hall outside the shooting range, Geneva Echt ran past. She paused, and waved to Dirisha. "Come on," Geneva said. "Bork is going to try for the record today."

  Dirisha looked at Red.

  "Go," he said. "You don't want to miss this."

  Saval Bork had shed his orthoskins, and stood naked except for a scrotal support, lifting belt, and half-fingered gloves and spetsdods. Legs spread wide, Bork looked as if he could be the model for the Farnese Hercules, only bigger. Nearly two meters tall and weighing a hundred and twenty five kilos, Bork had muscles of a size and density unlike any Dirisha had ever seen. He was a heavy-gee child, and he had kept his tone using "organic" steel, instead of magnetic fields or electrostim.

  As Bork stood meditating among the racks of barbells, Dirisha again marvelled at his physique. She had seen him work out when they'd been bouncers in Khadaji's pub, and that had only been his normal maintainence routine; today, he was going to try for something more.

  Geneva edged over a few centimeters, to stand closer to Dirisha. "He looks as if he could pick himself up with one hand," the blonde said in a whisper.

  "I wouldn't bet against it, if he said he could do it."

  Dirisha's voice was also quiet. "Did he ever tell you how we got to be bouncers at the Jade Flower?"

  Dirisha could feel the other woman's interest perk.

  "No. He doesn't talk much about himself. What happened?"

  "Emile didn't want the troopers causing a fuss in the pub, so he nailed the furniture down—bolted the stools and tables to the floor. That way, nobody'd be bashing heads and getting the place shifted off-limits. To get the job, you had to move one of the bolted-down stools."

  Geneva stood as though in a trance. Stories of the hero, Dirisha thought, guaranteed to hold the faithful spellbound.

  "So, Emile had the applicants come in, one at a time. First guy never even got started, Khadaji waved him off when he saw the guy's form. Then Sleel arrived." Dirisha watched Bork take a deep breath, then cross his arms. The ripples under the man's skin made him look so muscularly alive that the hairs on her neck stirred. "By the way, where is Sleel? He's supposed to be here."

  "Off planet, doing something for Pen. He'll be back in a week or two. Finish the story, Bork is almost ready."

  Dirisha grinned. Hell of a narrative hook she had. "Yeah, well, Sleel struts in like he does, cock of the galaxy, and Emile gives him the rif: the stool is bolted, he wants the bolts tested, see if you can move it."

  Bork took another breath, let it out, and spread his arms wide.

  "And?"

  "And Sleel squatted and set himself and had at it. You must know how Sleel operates."

  "Yes, he's... ah... single-minded."

  Dirisha laughed quietly. "You sleep with him yet?"

  Geneva nodded, smiling. "I hadn't intended to, but, well ...ah..."

  "Yeah, I know, he's single-minded."

  "He's very energetic," Geneva said. "And... ah, rather... potent."

  "What I hear," Dirisha said, "Anyway, Sleel about busted a gut, but he wrenched the stool loose." "He told you about it?"

  "No, I was watching. Hidden. I like to know the territory I plan to walk, so I found a way in and a place to blend into."

  Bork took another deep breath and exhaled slowly. "Okay, so then what?"

  "Then, I took off. Found a place that sold tables and stools like the one in the Jade Flower. Did some examining of the construction. Some figuring. Then I went back and slipped into the pub. About that time, Bork was up."

  As though the whisper of his name was a signal, Saval Bork shook himself and walked to the massive padded bench two meters away. A polychrome bar with plates packed onto both ends lay across a pair of Y-supports. Bork sat on the bench, took a few breaths, then lay backward, under the bar. He nodded once, and somebody clicked the repel pres-sors on; the hum and low drone of the safety field was the only sound in the quiet exercise room. Bork closed his eyes, and reached up to lightly touch the bar with his fingertips.

  He stroked the polychrome flexsteel gently.

  Geneva's voice was so faint Dirisha could barely hear it. "So, what happened at the Jade Flower?"

  Dirisha held her grin, watching Bork. "Oh, Emile told Bork he had a stool he needed moved. Bork reached out and grabbed the thing with one hand and moved it for him." "With one hand?"

  "As if the thing weren't screwed to the floor; as if it took no more effort than straightening his tunic. Took him two seconds; it was like he didn't understand why it wouldn't move, at first, then he shrugged and just moved it."

  "Damn."

  "Yep. And Bork says, 'Where do you want it?', and Khadaji says,

  'Anywhere. Can you start work in a week?'"

  Geneva grinned. "I'm impressed. But—what about you? How did you manage to—?"

  "Shhh." Dirisha pointed at Bork. He had wrapped his hands around the bar, and was beginning the bench press. The safety field would allow him to lower the weight slowly, Dirisha knew, but were he to drop it, it would hang for a few seconds before it began to settle, allowing Bork to scoot out from beneath it safel
y.

  Bork straightened his arms, and the barbell rose from its supports, until the big mue's arms were locked; then, he began to slowly lower the bar toward his chest. Dirisha had been trying to figure out how much weight he was using. Each of the large steel plates was fifty kilos; there were four of them, two hundred kilos, plus a little more for the hair above one gee that Renault had. Then there were two more plates on each side, Dirisha thought they went twenty kilos each, that made it two-eighty—

  Bork grunted as the bar touched his thick pectorals. He kept his back flat on the bench, no arch, and he did not bounce the weight. His face turned a darker shade of red as the bar began to slowly rise.

  —Two-eighty, plus the bar itself, which weighed— what?—twenty?

  twenty-five kilos? Call it three hundred kilos, minimum, probably closer to three-twenty. Incredible, that a man or mue could move that amount of weight, using only the muscles of the upper body, the chest, shoulders, and arms...

  The weight reached its apex, and stopped. The ten students and instructors watching cheered. Bork had done it; he'd broken not only his own record but the planet-wide record, too.

  Then, as Dirisha and the others watched, astounded, Bork lowered the weight—not to the supports—but to his chest again.

  It was only after he'd pressed the thing three times that he allowed it to fall into its cradle. When he sat up, he was grinning. "So much for that," he said.

  "What say we work out now?"

  Dirisha felt Geneva's touch on her arm, a quick clamp of fingers which transferred all manner of information to her: admiration, awe, envy and... lust. Dirisha had no problem relating to any of those. She was, by choice, nearly celibate; Bork's effort made her feel desire, and she wondered at its primal nature, that it could touch her so deeply. More importantly, the feel of Geneva's hand on her arm seemed altogether too comfortable.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  HER DOOR CHIME sounded as Dirisha stepped from the warm air of her fresher's dryer. She checked to see that both spetsdods were seated properly as she padded naked across the floor to the entrance. Holding her right hand so her weapon pointed at groin level, she slid the door open.

  Geneva stood there, palms toward Dirisha, fingers pointed at the ceiling.

  Both women grinned.

  Dirisha stepped back and allowed the blonde to enter her cube. The dryer had not quite evaporated all the moisture of her shower, and the coolness felt good on her bare skin.

  Geneva glanced at Dirisha appraisingly. "You look good," she said. Her voice carried admiration, along with a faint undertone of something else Dirisha couldn't place.

  "Thanks. Nice to have something to show after all the years of work. What's up?"

  Geneva walked to the bed and flopped onto it. She took a deep breath and blew it out. "Sleel is back. Turns out Pen sent him for some kind of bandit economic package he wants us to study—it's in the computer, and we're supposed to have read it by 0700 tomorrow."

  Dirisha walked to her closet and pulled a set of orthoskins from the rack.

  She began to tug the clothing on, noticing as she did so Geneva's interested glance.

  "It's a dork, I looked at it," the woman on the bed said. "Forty thousand words of esoteric objectivistic capitalism, by somebody named Veelson, a Rand-Brandonist from one of the early wheel worlds, I think. A real sleeping potion. I dread reading it."

  "Sounds like fun. I wonder why Pen wants us to bother?"

  "Who knows? Pen's got a mind more twisted than a juniper bonsai. He's got some reason, you can be sure."

  Geneva sat up on the bed, leaned forward, and stretched. She rubbed at the back of her neck with one hand, then moved her head slightly back and forth in a roll.

  "Problem?"

  Geneva continued the roll, stretching. "Sparring with Pen this morning, I tried something tricky. It didn't work."

  Dirisha laughed. "Nothing ever works on Pen."

  "Tell me. Anyway, I wound up ground-thunking at an angle I could have done without. I'm a little sore."

  Dirisha finished dressing. "We'd better hurry. Class starts in five minutes."

  Geneva came up from the bed in a smooth motion, set in her Center, in perfect balance. "Yeah, this'll be interesting. Mayli is supposed to show us something special today, so I hear."

  "More physiology?"

  "Applied physiology, is the scut. Sexual how-to."

  "Could be interesting, all right."

  "I also hear she's using Bork to demonstrate it." Both women grinned again. Dirisha said, "That could be real interesting."

  When she had worked in the Jade Flower on Greaves, Mayli Wu had been known as Sister Clamp; she had been the most requested prostitute in the pub, if not the city, and stories of her skills and physical capabilities kept a line of customers waiting whenever she worked. Dirisha had never been with her, but she recalled the story of how Sleel had tried to outlast Sister.

  He'd wound up being treated for phlebitis of his penis—by Sister, who had been a full-fledged medic before she'd gone into another line of work.

  If half the stories were true, nobody was better qualified to teach advanced sexual techniques than Mayli Wu.

  Ten students sat in desks around the auditorium, looking down on the sunken demo platform where the woman stood next to Saval Bork.

  At first glance, Mayli seemed nothing special. She was a short, dark, vaguely oriental woman of standard or mildly altered stock; black hair, cut very short, capped her head; her eyes were violet or black, and she was thin—hardly the form one tended to associate with a voluptuary—almost boyish in her configuration. Not a person most would see as an object of passionate desire, Dirisha felt, judging by her experience in such matters.

  Then again, there was something about the way the woman stood, the angle of her stance, her gestures, which invited a second look. Even this far away, the pull was apparent, to anybody with sense enough to pay attention. Up close, Dirisha knew Mayli was compelling, but for no reason easily discernable. Body language, pheromones, something was there. Even though sex had been a very small part of Dirisha's life since she'd left her homeworld, she had been tempted to try Sister Clamp when they'd first met; there was something there....

  Mayli began to speak. A focused microcaster transmitted her voice clearly around the room.

  "We've talked about anatomy and physiology," she said. "You should now know about hormones, pheromones, excitation response, psychology of orgasm and pretty much what goes where."

  A few voices laughed. Saval Bork looked uncomfortable. He shifted his weight from one foot to another.

  "But all that is merely background. There are more important things about sex, about lovemaking. Anybody want to hazard a guess as to what I'm getting at?"

  "Technique," somebody said. The word exuded confidence.

  Dirisha turned, to see the source of the comment, but she had already recognized the voice: Sleel, her former co-bouncer at the Jade Flower: Sleel, who fancied himself the leading contender for the galaxy's greatest everything.

  Dirisha chuckled, but for a different reason than most of the class. Sleel saw her, and nodded, raising one finger in a mock salute. If there were gods, they must know Sleel had tried to get to Dirisha often enough. He had never managed it; he had never stopped trying.

  Mayli's smile was radiant. "What would I do without you, Sleel?"

  Sleel returned the smile, cat-full-of-canary.

  "You're wrong, of course. Technique is an aid to the art, but not the essence. What really makes it work?"

  Dirisha was looking at Geneva when the blonde spoke, as if she had known somehow Geneva would answer.

  "Love," Geneva said.

  Only Sleel laughed this time. Everyone else was waching Mayli, who beamed at Geneva as though she had just revealed the biggest secret in all the Universe.

  "Love," Mayli repeated. "Love. There you have it, all in a word. Love is what makes it work. You can be crippled, ugly, or stupid; if somebody loves y
ou, it doesn't matter. I tell you this from experience: there is no sensation to compare with being loved, or with loving. Inept sex, under the gleam of love, can be more wonderful than sex with the best technician, without love. It might not be as exciting or as nerve-tingling, but it is ultimately more satisfying.

  "Love carries with it trust, and trust allows relaxation, caring, all the things which love conjures within its magic web."

  "Define 'love' for me, then," Sleel said.

  Mayli reached out and touched Bork's thick arm. The big man seemed to grow even bigger. He blushed.

  "Here you see it," Mayli said. "Bork loves me; I love him. Oh, I can tell you the words—endearment, desire, attachment, lust, admiration, tenderness, altruism—and I can define each term, but it won't convey the true sense of it, what love is. I'm not sure that part can be taught. I do think learning how to love is possible; one can learn how to listen and really hear; one can learn how to look and really see; one can learn how to touch, and really feel.

  "I speak not of lust, sometimes mistaken for love, nor am I confusing love with romantic self-delusion. There is nothing wrong with lust or romance, save what they lack, compared to love."

  Sleel shook his head, but said nothing. A skeptic to the core, Dirisha had once felt, but she had changed her mind. At the end, in the Jade Flower, Sleel had shown his true colors: he was a frustrated romantic, a thing often mistaken for skepticism.

  Mayli turned to Bork, and took his hand in both of hers. "Bork, would you kiss me?"

  Bork looked at the ten students watching from the auditorium, then back at Mayli. He nodded. "If you want." "I want."

  Bork bent and carefully wrapped his arms around the small woman. He lifted her more gently than Dirisha would have thought possible, and touched his parted lips to hers.

  Dirisha imagined she could feel the heat of their passion even where she sat, ten meters away. The kiss was soft and slow, and Dirisha found she was holding her breath. Her own heart beat faster, and she felt somehow....

  privileged to be watching this tender act. It was, in its way, more stirring than any pornographic presentation could have been. She could not have said why.