Time Scout

by Robert Asprin

  She turned that alley-cat glare on him-and Malcolm came in fast. But this time he didn't catch her off guard. Margo snapped out a beautifully executed snap kick, lifting her knee and extending her leg so fast it was difficult to follow the motion. Her foot brushed Malcolm's cheek. That kick would've scored wonderfully on the sporting circuit. If she'd kicked him in the nose or forehead, she might even have rendered him unconscious.

  Unfortunately for Margo, neither Malcolms nose nor his forehead were in the right spot. He kept coming. Margo's heel sailed straight over his shoulder. Before she could snap back from the unexpected move, she found herself on the floor, in exactly the same position as before with Malcolm between her knees.

  "It's not fair!" she wailed. "That would've knocked him out!"

  Kit nodded. "Yep, if you'd actually kicked hell out of him, it probably would've. But you didn't."

  "Look, I don't want to break your friend's face!"

  Malcolm chuckled. "I appreciate your concern, Miss Margo." He let her up, and she rubbed her wrists, then eased a strained muscle in her thigh.

  Kit said, "Take five."

  He went back to the equipment room and found sparring helmets, gloves, and padded shoes, then returned to find Mango glowering silently at Malcolm. "Okay, this should be pretty much like what you used in karate competitions."

  She eyed the equipment dubiously.

  Oh, great. "Let me guess? You never did any full contact competitions?"

  "Well, no," she admitted. "We always pulled the punches short and made sure the kicks didn't connect. Our high school didn't have money for this kind of stuff."

  Kit thought dark thoughts at any school administration that would allow kids to risk injury in a "sport" that was designed to cripple and kill, then showed her how the padded helmet worked. Similar to the leather helmets boxers wore, it was made of soft plastic, with a big pad across the forehead and down the sides of the face, straps under the jaw; and a pad that extended around the sides of the head a bit. Malcolm strapped on his own helmet, then slipped into shoes and gloves while Margo struggled with hers.

  When she was ready, she said uncertainly, "I still don't want to cripple him or anything."

  Kit nodded. "Just make him go oof and I'll be happy"

  "Okay."

  Once again, Malcolm charged in, giving her almost no time to react. Margo executed a side check kick and hit him right across the pelvis. He said "oof!" and stopped abruptly. As he folded over, Margo hit him just above his right ear with her left fist. Another sharp "oof!" accompanied the punch. Margo struck with her right fist across the back of the skull on his way down. A third ludicrous "oof!" tore loose. When his face hit the mat, a final, muffled oof ..."prompted grins all across the gym.

  Margo said sweetly, "You mean, like those four?"

  Kit just looked at her. "Aren't you going to finish him off?"

  From near Margo's feet, Malcolm muttered into the mat, "Oh, God, don't encourage her."

  Kit chuckled and nudged him with an unsympathetic toe. "C'mon, Malcolm, get up and do it again. This doesn't prove she's any good, it just proves you've gotten overconfident."

  Margo huffed and crossed her arms.

  Malcolm scraped himself off the mat and stood up, moving a little awkwardly. Kit grinned. "What's the matter, Malcolm? A little slow on the rebound?"

  "You," Malcolm muttered, "are a pain."

  "Every chance I get.

  Malcolm charged without warning. Margo threw up another check kick, but Malcolm stopped short, leaving the kick whistling through empty air. By the time she'd finished executing it, she was turned away from him. Malcolm rushed in gleefully. Kit winced and braced himself for Margo's wail of protest Her back was toward him as Malcolm rushed forward

  Then she astonished them both.

  Margo stepped toward Malcolm. When he hit her, Margo brought her elbow straight back with the forearm parallel to floor, fist clenched, palm up. She leaned into it and hit him in the solar plexus. He snapped forward with an ugly sound that caused Kit to grimace in sympathy. Margo dropped as he did, then grabbed him around the neck with both arms and jerked him forward. Poor Malcolm landed dead on his backside with Margo balanced lightly on her feet behind him. She grabbed his hair in her gloved fist and punched him in the base of the skull with her right hand, pulling the punch so that it just popped him.

  While Malcolms eyes and nose streamed wetness, Margo said even more sweetly, "You mean finish him off like that?"

  Kit crossed his arms to hide his amusement. He didn't want Margo getting cocky. Poor Malcolm was blinking and struggling manfully to dry his face with his gloves. "Well, that's one," Kit drawled, "but in a real situation, you always need to kill or cripple at least twice."

  "Twice?" Margo echoed. "Oh, so he doesn't surprise you when you think he's down."

  When she made to finish Malcolm off again, Kit waved her back.

  "No, Malcolm is clearly finished. This time."

  The freelance guide glared at Kit as though to say, "Malcolm does not want to play any more. Malcolm is in pain and will pay you back for this, good buddy"

  Kit shrugged as though to say, "Who knew?"

  Malcolm had struggled to his feet. "You..." he wheezed at Kit, "...should be damned glad Bull doesn't allow litigation lawyers in La-La Land."

  "So I should," Kit said mildly. "And so should you. Go one more time."

  "Cripes, Kit, what're you trying to do? Give Rachel Eisenstein more business?"

  Margo was literally preening.

  Kit's grin was entirely unsympathetic. "The day Margo puts you in the hospital is the day I'll eat your shoes. C'mon, buddy. Brace up."

  Margo gave him a making bow, carefully keeping her eyes on him. Malcolm groaned and settled himself. "All right," he muttered. "We'll just see."

  Malcolm, forced into the role of attacker by the requirements of the sparring session, came in again – but this time, he surprised her. Malcolm came at her like a trained Tai Kwan Do fighter, throwing a beautiful front snap kick of his own. It knocked her back with an unladylike sound Malcolm charged in flailing, punching with both fists, one-two, one-two. Margo staggered back, moving away, bringing her arms up as he tried to hit her. Then she threw up a hook kick, sweeping his arms down out of the way with her foot. Before he could recover, she punched him twice in the face, using the momentum of her forward motion. As he backed away from her, Margo threw her shoulder into his chest, knocking him backwards. Then she really surprised Kit – not to mention Malcolm. She grabbed the back of his leading knee and snatched it up past her own hip while continuing to push with her shoulder. Malcolm smacked the mat flat on his back and gave out an ugly "whoof!"

  Margo landed between his knees in a parody of his early pins. She said, "Your turn!" and raked his face with one gloved hand, then popped him in the Adam's apple with the other.

  "Gak!" Malcolm's eyes bulged and crossed, simultaneously.

  Margo jumped up, grinning impishly, then actually curtsied to Kit. Laughter erupted across the gym, along with sporadic applause. Margo curtsied again to the audience, drawing greater applause. Malcolm rolled over onto his hands and knees, coughed, and wheezed in Kit's general direction, "Stuff it, Kit. Mamma always taught me never fight with girls. Mamma was usually right."

  Kit managed to return Margo's triumphant grin with a bored expression. "Thought you were trained in Tai Kwan Do," he observed dryly. "What was that little flip at the end of Malcolms second fall?"

  Margo's grin widened. "Well, my freshman year in high school, I took judo until I found out they weren't going to let us roll around on the floor like that with ..."

  "Don't be nasty, little girl," he said mildly.

  Margo just laughed. "Next?" she challenged.

  He privately conceded her the right to be pleased with herself, but cocky was dangerous. Time for a reality check. He stepped out onto the mat.

  Malcolm wheezed, "Wait a sec. Lemme get out of the way"

  All across the
gym, spectators pressed a little closer. Someone gave Malcolm a cup of water, which he gulped down. He took the ribbing surprisingly well, grinning and unfastening the gloves, pulling off the helmet and rubbing at the base of his skull.

  Margo watched him with a glow of satisfaction warming her all the way through. She'd scored big time and she knew it. She saw grudging respect in Malcolm's eyes and open interest in several faces as they appraised her. Finally, she thought, finally, I do something right around here! Maybe now Kenneth "Kit" Carson would start showing her a little respect!

  Flying high, Margo playfully lunged straight toward him.

  Afterward; she wasn't sure what he'd done, except that he turned and raised one hand while the other came down. She was never sure if she touched him or he touched her, but she was abruptly sitting on her butt clear off the edge of the mat on a cold, hard floor. The ache jolted all the way up her spine.

  When Margo recovered from shock, all she could find to say was a wailing, "Ow!" Then she turned to glare at Kit. "You threw me off the mat!"

  "No," he disagreed with a tiny smile, "you threw you off the mat."

  HUH?

  "Okay," he said kindly, "ready to do a little serious sparring now?"

  That was more than Margo's bruised ego could bear: She charged in, launching another nice high front snap kick-only Kit's head wasn't there. It was down around her belt level and the left foot she was using for support was suddenly up a little higher than her left ankle used to be, and at least a foot forward, while her backside traveled rapidly straight toward the floor.

  This time, Margo was the one who blinked involuntary tears. Owww...Malcolm was in her line of sight, grinning insufferably.

  Kit Carson, damn him, said, "Well, don't just sit there, kid. Come on, I thought you wanted to fight."

  She scrambled up and launched herself forward with a flurry of fists, as fast and furious as the punches Malcolm had thrown at her. Margo saw his open palms come up between her blows, but her fists never hit quite where she expected Then, quite suddenly-due to a light pressure on her right wrist and elbow-she found it necessary to throw herself at top speed straight toward the floor. She landed hard, face-first. At least this time she'd landed on the mat. Margo saw red. She regained all fours while he just stood there, smiling down at her. She lunged straight for his crotch, determined to grab whatever she could.

  He grasped her wrist Lightly. With nothing but his thumb and center finger. Adding insult to injury, he even left his index finger lightly extended. Before she could recover, he backed up enough to straiten her arm, then turned slightly. Her elbow straightened painfully across the front of his knee. He continued his turn, in slow motion to emphasize the point. Margo gasped–then gasped again as that lazy turn forced her to attempt crawling around him in a circle, just to prevent her elbow firm being popped out of joint. Howls of amusement erupted throughout the. Oh, God, they're laughing at me ....

  she continued crawling around in a state of growing panic and embarrassment, Kit told her, "That's enough for today, I think. Get showered and we'll talk about this."

  He finally let her go. Margo stuffed a wail back inside before it could burst loose, but she couldn't stop the impulse to rub her wrist. All around men were chuckling and returning to their own workouts. She bit back a scathing comment, realizing even through a haze of humiliation that she had a lot to learn. He set me up, dammit, he set me up ....

  Well, she'd asked for it, hadn't she?

  That thought got Margo through a long, miserable shower. Hot water pounded against bruises and relaxed knots of muscle from her neck to her toes. When she emerged, wrapped in a towel, she found the locker room attendant and tried to reclaim her clothes. The woman smiled and handed her another set of clean workout clothes.

  Margo groaned. "Oh, God, not another torture session?"

  "No," the attendant smiled, "just something a little less, um, I think Kit said scandalous than your dress." She handed that over, too, along with the stilt heels, bedraggled hat, and corset. "Keep the gym shoes, too."

  "Thanks," Margo muttered, earning a sympathetic laugh.

  Margo considered putting her own clothes back on, Kit Carson be damned, but she was so muscle-sore, even the thought of cinching herself into that corset was unendurable. Besides, shed had enough humiliation for one day. She didn't want any reminders of her own poor judgment where Skeeter Jackson was concerned. She hoped that rat made himself scarce. She never wanted to see him again, let alone talk to him. Margo wadded the dress, corset, and shoes into a ball and balanced the hat on top.

  "Well," she sighed, chalk one up to experience; Margo. It's going to be a longer day than you thought."

  She lifted her chin, refusing to acknowledge utter defeat. She'd bested Malcolm Moore and convinced Kit to train her. That was worth a great deal. With those moderately cheering thoughts, Margo headed toward her next confrontation with the maddening man she'd chosen as teacher. Surely, she told herself by way of a pep talk, it'll get better soon. And if it didn't? Or if he decided she I didn't have what it took?

  Well, he could toss her out, but she wasn't by God going to quit!

  While Margo showered and changed, Kit sent Malcolm off with enough pocket change for a good, solid meal, then phoned to transfer funds into Malcolm's account to cover the sparring session and damages sustained He had further plans for the guide concerning his granddaughter's training, which meant he didn't want Malcolm quitting for good before Margo's lessons had even begun. Malcolm didn't know it yet, but he was about to become substantially richer-and probably a little bit greyer. Kit shook his head. Who'd have guessed the kid would work him over so thoroughly?

  He took advantage of Margo's tardiness in the shower to hunt up the next of Margo's instructors. The weapons ranges were nearly empty. Ann Vinh Mulhaney was seated cross-legged on the floor next to an empty shooting bench, cleaning several break-action revolvers.

  "Hi, Kit," she smiled. "I hear Margo gave Malcolm a working over."

  "News travels fast," he chuckled. `Poor Malcolm. He'll get over it, though. Especially when I offer him the chance to get even."

  Ann laughed "Poor Margo. Where is the Wunderkind, by the way?"

  Showering. I think she's in there sulking, actually. She, er, didn't do so well against Aikido."

  "So I heard. What's up? Rumors are flying that you plan to teach her to scout, but I didn't put much stock in them."

  Kit scratched the back of his head. "Well, actually ...I want you to teach her to shoot."

  "You want me to what?" Ann Vinh Mulhaney's eyes widened. TT-86's resident firearms instructor planted hands on slender hips, ignoring smears of carbon residue and solvent on her hands. "Don't tell me those rumors are true?"

  Kit cleared his throat.

  Ann stared at him in dawning horror. "oh, God, you are teaching her, aren't you? Any particular reason? I mean other than you've clearly lost what brains you ever had?"

  Kit flushed "Dammit, Ann, she'll do this on her own if I don't. You know how stubborn I am. She's just as bad, and just turned eighteen, and convinced the world's hers for the plucking, and she doesn't give a hoot about the risks, she just wants to follow in my goddamned footsteps ...."

  Ann's demeanor changed at once. "Oh, Kit. You poor thing." She rested a hand on his arm. He relaxed slowly, letting the anger and worry go muscle by muscle. When he could breathe without hurting his chest again, Ann said, "All right, Kit. I'll teach her. But if I pass judgment and it's bad..."

  He met her eyes. "Maybe she'll listen to another woman.

  "Maybe. I've got a lesson starting in a few minutes or I'd offer to take her on right now. Go talk to Sven and see what he has to say; then come back tomorrow morning and we can get started."

  "Thanks, Ann." He squeezed her arm in heartfelt gratitude.

  She smiled. "Don't thank me. This is going to cost, Kenneth Carson." But she winked to remove the sting.

  Kit just groaned. "What do you want?"

 
; "How about the honeymoon suite for a week?"

  "A week? Do you have any idea what I could get for..." He trailed off. "Okay. A week."

  "And my normal fees, plus fifty percent for private tutoring."

  Grandkids were expensive. "Anything else? My signature in blood?"

  Ann chuckled. "You think I'm expensive, wait until you tackle Sven."

  "Great. Thanks. What does he want?"

  "Out of the whole deal. I can hardly wait to see what you offer him that changes his mind."

  Kit decided to kiss an entire quarter's worth of profits goodbye and went looking for Sven. Kit found him in the armory sharpening a gladius.

  "Hi, Sven."

  "Hi, yourself. The answer's no."

  The scream of naked steel on the whetstone didn't encourage argument. Kit found a chair and plopped down. "Bull hockey"

  Sven glanced up. "No way. She gets killed, you come hunting me; I have to break your neck .... Nope. No thanks."

  "Would you rather have her go down time without lessons?"

  "Huh. You'd rope her down, first.

  "Yeah, but she'd have to go to the bathroom sometime and that's one determined kid. I mean it, Sven. I need you on this one. Ann can teach her anything she needs to know about projectile weapons, but she needs blades, too, and more martial arts than she's got. She needs lessons. Good lessons. Your lessons."

  Sven put a finer edge on the gladius, then turned it and started working the other side. "You won't interfere?"

  "Nope."

  "Or get pissed off if she gets hurt?"

  "Not a bit. The rougher it gets, the more likely she is to wake up and pick another career."

  Sven snorted. "You're all heart, Grandpa. Well, the answer's still no. She's cute. She'll come to her senses."

  Kit counted ten. Searched for some other argument "I've got a Musashi sword-guard."

  Sven halted mid-stroke, then swore and reshaped the ruined edge. "Bastard. Is it signed?"

  Gotcha. "Yep."

  Sven glared at him. "Where the hell did you get an original Musashi sword-guard"

  "Found it in the Neo Edo's safe. There's some amazing stuff in that safe."

  Sven laughed darkly. "I'll just bet there is." He set the gladius aside and leaned back. "If it was just the Kid, I'd tell you to get the hell out of here." He held Kit's gaze. "You really want to teach the kid that bad?"