by John Ringo
Barb continued her roll. She had parried two strikes while rolling and thought she had avoided at least three more due to her movement. There was no way that this could continue, and she knew it. Yi was going to hit her-a lot. As she rolled backwards and somersaulted to her knees, she decided she had two options: get pummeled by a barrage of strikes that she could not hope to counter, or do something that would be so outside of a conventional response in this situation it would be almost stupid to try it. It would either work or leave her completely open. Stupid it was.
She brought her knees together and folded back on her heels until she was sitting in the Japanese seiza posture. By dropping to her heels, she narrowly avoided being struck twice by Master Yi. As soon as her butt touched her heels she breathed out and moved forward, her left arm blasting forward through the maelstrom of Yi’s hand movements to take his right arm and push it across his body. Her left leg came out and her body angled as she began to turn herself and Yi in the beginning motions of the aikido throw shio-nage. As Yi rotated his spine to begin a counter and his left hand snaked toward her head, Barb reversed her turning motion and brought her other hand up to assist as she executed the aikido wrist turn throw kote gaeshi.
Rather than being thrown and possibly joint-locked or choked, Yi followed the motion of the wrist twisting, and rotated his trapped wrist in three dimensions while leaping to his right. He hit on his shoulder and seemed to levitate to his feet. Barb spun on her knees and rose to face him.
“Aikido?” he asked. “Tch-tch-tch.”
Barb waited for the scornful lecture on the true nature of unarmed combat, or the scathing rebuke to remind her that she had asked Master Yi to work with her to polish her Wah Lum skills, not Korean arts. Instead, Yi merely slowly walked toward her. This was bad, very bad.
Yi was completely relaxed as he strolled toward her. Barb moved into a bow stance, a traditional Kung Fu ready posture. Yi stopped in front of Barb, just in range of a hand strike to the body, and stood looking at her. Barb shifted her weight and moved laterally, then rapidly diagonally and backwards. Yi mirrored her moves, seemingly floating across the mat. His hands were folded in front of him, held at waist level. Barb slid forward and threw two punches, one at Yi’s face and one at his groin. Yi did not parry or block, but merely stepped back out of range and immediately stepped back to his prior position as soon as Barb’s second punch began its retraction.
Barb shifted her hips to start a kick, and Yi was suddenly the center of a very disturbed universe of punching, kicking motion. His left foot slid into place beside and behind Barb’s left ankle as strikes whipped out toward Barb. The first strike was to Barb’s ribs, and she deflected it with a downward block as she used the back of her other wrist to ward off Yi’s strike to the femoral nerve complex on the inside of her right thigh.
Yi’s third strike was delivered as he twisted his body and used the spiral motion of his turn to twist his left leg into Barb’s, disrupting her balance. The palm strike was blocked by Barb’s forearm, but Yi snaked his arm around the forearm and drove a traditional Wah Lum relaxed fist into the brachial nerve in her armpit. Yi’s left leg slid forward and drove against Barb’s right knee while his right hand delivered a light fingertip strike directly between her eyes to her “third eye.” Her head snapped back as she started to fall, her balance completely gone.
Yi hit her with a downward elbow and three fingertip strikes before she could hit the ground. As she hit the ground, off balance and in such pain that she barely had the ability to fall properly, Yi slapped a palm against her shoulder while seizing her arm, flipping her to her stomach. Blinding pain constricted Barb’s heart as Yi’s fingertips forcefully struck the lingtai, spirit platform, cavity between the thoracic vertebrae. As her vision began to go gray at the edges and her heart went into arhythmia, Yi rolled her over on her back and looked down at her.
“I told you that your knees were too stiff,” said the Master as he pressed on her lower abdomen, and then his fingers did a dance along her nerve meridians to “unseal the heart” and stop the muscles around the organ from contracting and shutting down its vital function. “If your knees were supple, you would have flowed with my force. If you flowed with my energy, you would not have been off balance. If you had not been off balance, you would not have fallen. If you had not fallen, I could not have killed you, as I just did. As the ancient scrolls of Wah Lum teach, ‘The mighty landslide is begun by the action of one pebble.’ You neglected to see the pebble, Laoshi.”
The Master helped her to her feet and said, “Shall we try again?”
Before the word “again” was formed, Barb was airborne. Her left foot snapped out at Yi, and, as he countered with a forearm and began to slide back, she rotated her body in midair and whipped her right shin downward in a round kick that smacked Yi’s arm and opened his centerline. As she landed and squatted down on her heels, her right leg shot between Yi’s legs and slid against his front leg, while her elbow whipped up toward his
undefended groin as her spine contorted to provide power for the strike and her body began to rise. BARBARA EVERETTE!
It was not her name that she heard but her essence, the entire syntax of her soul fitted into a single gestalt. And it hurt. It was unvarnished and unquestionable. Every sin of her life was part of it, a dark fire that seared with coldness. Even those parts of her life which were clearly and unquestionably positive were a raging fire, the sun suddenly implanted in her body.
She had looked upon demons without fear and spoken to angels both in dream and awake. She now knew why it was said that you could not look upon the naked face of God and not be blinded. “Hearing” His voice, unfiltered and direct, was right on the edge of death.
No wonder He usually spoke through a burning bush or something. Direct contact would kill most people. GO TO THE PRIESTESS OF LOVE. SHE REQUIRES AID.
Yi deflected the elbow and launched a seemingly offline relaxed fist strike for the bridge of Barb’s nose. He stopped the strike as he noticed that she had gone rigid. Grabbing her shoulders, he lowered her gently to the mat, and his fingers flowed up the blood-bearing and nerve pathways of her body, seeking any residual damage to Barb that may have been caused by his techniques. Her chi was almost overwhelming, a raging power he had never before felt or even imagined. Satisfied that she was physically healthy-breathing, if shallowly-but that her spirit was occupied elsewhere, he dropped into a lotus posture, placed her head in his lap and meditated.
About five minutes later her body gave a strong twitch and she started breathing at a more normal pace. Then her eyes flickered open.
“I need to call Janea,” Barb said, blinking rapidly. “That hurt!”
“Pain is weakness leaving the body,” Master Yi said, holding out his hand.
“That’s not a Zen saying,” Barb replied, sitting up. She took a deep breath and stretched. “Ow.”
“I have a fondness for movies.”
Janea picked up her phone, looked at it askance, then hit the send button.
“Yo, Wonder-Barb,” Janea said.
Agent Diller looked over at her and then back at the road, grabbing the dashboard futilely as she swerved into the next lane, then back.
“Miss Grisham…” Diller said. “Janea! Pull over and talk or let me drive!”
“Oh, hang on,” Janea said, pulling over to the side of the interstate. “So to what do I owe the call from Soccer-Momasaurus?”
“Where are you?” Barb said.
“Why?” Janea asked. “You want to come along for the ride? Why this time, Barb? Huh? I’ve had three, count ’em, three FBI guys die on me since the last time we spoke. Three. One of them left a wife and four children. Where were you then, Mrs. God-Strike? Playing housewife?”
“I was in Chattanooga even if you weren’t,” Barb said. “When it’s time, it’s time. And this is time. I need to know where you are and I need to get there before you do anything… Just wait for me to get there.”
“W
hat? Foolish?” Janea snapped. “What’s so important this time? It’s a lousy little Shambler. I can dispel one in my sleep.”
“I don’t know,” Barb said. “But I do know that I have to be there. And I’d suggest you don’t do anything until I get there.”
“How do you know?” Janea asked sarcastically. “God tell you?”
“Yes,” Barb said.
“Wait,” Janea said. “I was joking. Are we talking about the White God? Or just, you know, a messenger?”
“God,” Barb said. “Not the Holy Spirit. Not an angel. Not Jesus. God. In person. And it’s not an experience I’d prefer to repeat.”
“And He told you…what?” Janea asked, fascinated. She’d felt the power of Freya many times, but once, through Barb, she’d gotten a touch of the power of the White God, and it was the difference between a firecracker and a nuclear weapon. She had never had a direct god call, but she’d heard that even with minor deities they could be unpleasant. She didn’t want to think about what a direct call from the Big Guy would be like.
“To go to the priestess of love,” Barb said, sarcastic in turn. “How many priestesses of love do I know?”
“Really?” Janea said, grinning. “The Big Guy said that? About me?”
“Actually, it’s not words, you know that,” Barb said. “It was more like…‘seek she who gives love greatly.’ Maybe ‘quest for.’ It’s… But, hell, He included a picture. It was you.”
“God knows me?” Janea squealed.
Agent Diller had been trying to ignore the conversation, but at that he turned his head and frowned.
“God knows everybody, Janea,” Barb said. “Now where are you?”
“On Interstate 75 near Knoxville,” Janea said. “We’re going to meet with a cave rescue team.”
“Why?”
“Because somebody needs rescuing from a cave?” Janea said.
“Don’t go into the cave until I get there,” Barb said. “Seriously. Don’t.”
“We won’t,” Janea replied. “When can you get here?”
“I’ve got to get the kids dropped off and make arrangements,” Barb said. “Then I’ll get on the road. I’ll be there by morning.”
“There’s a girl’s life at stake here, Barb,” Janea pointed out.
“God knows everyone, Janea,” Barb replied. “And He knows the fall of a sparrow. Don’t. Go.”
“Roger,” Janea said. “Barb, seriously, glad to have you back.”
“I’m not sure I am,” Barb said. “But I’m back for this.”
“So…what was that?” Diller asked as Janea pulled back into traffic.
“That was Soccer-Momasaurus,” Janea said.
“Who is?”
“Barbara Everette,” Janea said. “She strongly suggested, more like ordered, that we wait to penetrate the cave until she gets here.”
“That was the part about ‘There’s a girl’s life at stake.’”
“Yes,” Janea said. “And if Barb says wait, we wait.”
“There’s a girl’s life at stake,” Diller said.
“Remember my thing about ‘Don’t be a hero’?”
“Yeah,” Diller said, angrily.
“Well, that’s the way I am with Barb,” Janea said. “If Barb says wait, or run, or duck, or squat, I run or duck or squat.”
“Why?” Diller asked.
“Because…” Janea said, then paused. “Okay, think of me as a hand grenade. I can take out, well, a Shambler easily enough. I took on a pretty serious incubus, and despite the fact that his powers and mine…overlapped, I managed to avoid his temptations and destroy him.”
“Okay,” Diller said, frowning. “Sorry, but this stuff is still…”
“Yeah,” Janea said. “I know. That was the one where I lost the poor bastard with the wife and kids. Incubi and succubae are the same thing, they just…morph. I told him to run.”
“I remember the lecture.”
“Well, if I’m a hand grenade, Barb is a nuclear weapon,” Janea said. “A big one. A city buster.”
“Oh. What was that thing about ‘God knows me’?”
“That’s why she’s a city buster,” Janea said, pulling off at the exit. “Barb gets her power from what we Asatru call the White God. The only member of FLUF who does.”
“You mean the Christian God?” Diller asked, sarcastically. “Big beard, floating in the sky?”
“Right,” Janea said. “The Big Guy. Mr. Beard.”
“Well, I’ll believe that one when I see it,” Diller said. “God doesn’t drop down and help out. That I know.”
“Oh, He does,” Janea said, pulling in at the hotel where they were to meet the rescue squad. “He just chooses His time and His methods.”
“And what are His time and His methods?” Diller asked, still sarcastic.
Janea took off her sunglasses and turned to look him in the eye.
“Wherever Barbara Everette is.”
CHAPTER THREE
“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” Janea said, rubbing her eyes as she opened the door.
“I hope like hell you have two beds,” Barbara said, brushing past her, setting down the cat bag and letting Lazarus out. She looked around the room and shook her head. “ How long have you been here?”
“I got here this…yesterday morning,” Janea asked, looking around in confusion. “Why?”
Janea had a number of habits that Barb found mildly irritating. She couldn’t drive very well. And while Barb understood that sensuousness was part of Janea’s calling, there were times when she took it a bit too far.
But while Barb had recalled those on the very long drive, she had somehow managed to forget what sharing a room with Janea was like.
Although it had taken her less than twenty minutes to pack, Barb knew where every single item was in her suitcase. She had grown up as a military brat, and packing was very close to breathing as a skill. If she needed a pair of running shoes, she knew they were at the base of her larger bag, upright, held in place by two pairs of jeans. If she needed pumps, they were in the same bag, left side, middle. Barb had two clothes bags, the larger case and a folding hanging case for dressier wear.
Janea, on the other hand, had a special method of packing. When she was going on assignment she would grab a pile of whatever was closest and reasonably clean. She would then throw it in up to ten bags along with shoes, makeup at random, and whatever else struck her fancy, including various “toys.” When she needed something, she would then tear through most of the bags trying to find it, tossing everything in her way in random directions.
There were clothes hanging from wall sconces. Not neatly on hangers, but because that was where they landed. There were clothes on the table, both beds, every horizontal surface including the entire floor. And not just clothes. Adjusted as she was to Janea, and worldly as Barb was, some of the things that were scattered around the room made her blush.
“Never mind,” Barb said, dragging her cases into the room and finding a spot with not too much in it. She dumped the pile of clothes on the bed onto the floor and shook her head. “It was a long drive. Talk in the morning?”
“Suits,” Janea said, climbing into bed. “Given who your God is, I won’t ask if you’ve considered switch.”
“Don’t start, Janea,” Barb said, pulling out her toiletries and heading to the bathroom.
“I’m just saying,” Janea said, raising her voice. “Cleaving only unto should only be for guys! Girls are just, you know, comfort!”
“He knows where you live, Janea!”
“Hey, I’m on the side of light!” Janea shouted as the shower started. “This is like praying for me! It’s holy worship! I’m just talking snuggling, honest!”
When there was no response Janea snorted and turned off the light.
“Teach her to run out on me…”
Mike Argyll, the leader of the cave rescue team, was not the smallest person Barb had ever seen, but that was because she had once met a midg
et. He was under five feet in height, but burly and hirsute with shaggy black hair and beard to match.
“Now that our second outside consultant is here,” the team leader said, “can we actually do the brief?”
Although Barb and Janea were still based down by Knoxville, the FBI had more or less taken over a motel near the crime scene as a base station. Still forty-five minutes from the trailer, it was the closest hotel with facilities for meetings. The “Cave Examination Team” was gathered in one of the meeting rooms, going through a hasty brief before the penetration.
“Go,” Graham said, taking a sip of coffee.
“Okay, I’m told that this penetration has special issues,” Argyll said. “But caves are caves. Caves can and will kill you if you let them. The answer is to not let them. The biggest thing is simply safety. Caves have sudden drop-offs that, despite your lights, you’re going to tend to miss. That’s why I’ll be leading the penetration.”
“Nope,” Barb said, sucking at her own coffee. She needed it. “I’m going to have to take point.”
Lazarus was curled up on the table in front of her, watching the briefing with what certainly looked like lively interest. At the insertion by Barb he mewed as if in agreement.
“I’m sorry,” Mike said, wriggling a finger in his ear. “Did you just miss what I said?”
There were dozens of cavers in the local area, and once the word got around that it was possible the “perpetrator” had taken the girl into a cave, all of them wanted to help out. But the FBI, due to the “Special” nature of the investigation, had called in a group they worked with that was national quality. The team consisted not only of Mike but of two assistants, either one of whom could have broken him in half. They also clearly felt she had not been listening.
The problem being that although it was an FBI team, it was not cleared for Special Circumstances, and higher-ups wanted it to stay that way.
“As you said, this case has special issues,” Barb said carefully. “The perpetrator of these crimes has special combat abilities. Believe it or not, Janea and I are the people that the FBI considers most capable of handling those abilities. A cave might kill you. This perpetrator will kill you. Which is why I have to be point. If you doubt my abilities, I’ll be happy to throw you, or either Mongo One or Mongo Two, around the room.”