by James Wake
Guilt and relief washed over her in equal measure. That was all right. Nadia was no stranger to hurting people, only a stranger to getting her hands dirty. The man would be all right.
Finally an image of the suspect. Nadia just about swooned. A daring rogue stared out at her from the screen, a mysterious thief with sharp, clever eyes. The suspect looked fierce, dangerous, nothing like what she saw when she looked in a mirror.
No leads at this time.
Tess hovered at her side. “I’d call that a successful pilot run.” She held out her hand. “Partner.”
It was her prosthetic hand. Nadia tamped down any distaste she might have shown and took it in her own, not shaking it but giving a tender squeeze. There was no give to the artificial limb, no feedback at all.
“I should say so,” she said. “Partner.”
* * *
It had been a complete waste of an evening. Nadia revved the throttle on her scooter, feeling the poor girl struggle with the extra weight; Tess was crammed onto the seat behind her, holding on tightly, her arms strangled around Nadia’s abdomen.
Tess’s fingers were still twitching.
“Really? You can’t just stop and enjoy the view?” Nadia yelled over her shoulder, although they weren’t passing anything worth looking at. Skyscrapers surrounded them, as always, lined with clean sidewalks. Drifting by on their left was a line of purists, unshaven people with long, scraggly hair. They stood silently, holding handwritten signs reading “Submit” and “Regress.” Pedestrians frowned as they squeezed by, trying not to make eye contact.
Nadia frowned as well. Perhaps Tess had the right idea after all.
“I’m reading reviews,” Tess said. “‘I take my nephew here every Saturday. He loves it! Very fun, not condescending. Good self-esteem booster. He now has a great tournament record.’”
Nadia scowled. If she was going to pay just to be given belts of different colors, she could very well go out and buy them herself.
“‘Excellent strength training,’” Tess read on. “’Awesome atmosphere, extremely welcoming.’”
“What?”
“This one’s for that last place.”
“Oh.” Nadia scrunched up her nose—it still sounded completely wrong. She’d felt very welcome, in all the wrong ways. A dark, loud gym full of angry men pumped full of testosterone, and who knew what else, screaming and grunting and choking one another out. It had advertised what they’d gracelessly called a “rape defense class,” but she was the only woman there.
“‘So fun! Great music! Perfect workout. Not boring at all.’”
Nadia didn’t have to ask which one that was. It had been the biggest waste of the night so far. At least the other schools and gyms were pretending to teach you how to fight. Aerobics were for doing alone, in your apartment, following a video stream of an instructor.
She parked in front of one of the endless rows of office buildings, tall and clean and nothing but sterile glass with giant displays embedded inside. The scarlet Auktoris “A” scrolled onto the screen above her, the legs pouring down into a double helix.
"NEED A LOAN? PRODUCTIVITY SUFFERING? BOTHERED BY UNION ACTIVISTS? AUKTORIS IS HERE FOR YOU! CONTACT GENERAL HUMAN RESOURCES…"
It flickered out, replaced by the fanged cartoon cat again. HUMAN RESOURCE AGENTS ARE NOT YOUR FRIEND, it said this time.
Tess shook her head. “That guy. What a dork.”
“I saw our friend Cheshire earlier too,” Nadia said. “I thought you were a fan of his?”
“There is no him. I told you it’s a—”
“Collective, yes,” Nadia said, rolling her eyes.
“Any chump with a connection can hack a board and say ‘Look at me, I’m Cheshire,’ and all the news mouthpieces shit themselves and do scare pieces on big bad Cheshire,” Tess said. “It’s just preachy vandalism.”
“What? You could hack billboards like him?”
“Pfft, in my sleep.” Tess swept her human hand up, wiping Cheshire’s face off the screen in an instant. It was replaced with CHESHIRE IS A POOPY BUTT.
Nadia rolled her eyes once more, letting them fall lower on the building. A small sign on one of the side doors announced it as the home of a dance studio. She never would have noticed it if they hadn’t been looking for it.
“I wasn’t sure about this one,” Tess said, clambering and dumping herself off the scooter. “I’ve never even heard of La Garrud.”
“It can’t be any worse than the others,” Nadia said, dismounting with practiced grace.
“You’re going to pick this one because it sounds French, aren’t you?”
“Va te faire foutre,” Nadia said, her nose high in the air. “Come on. Let’s get this over with.”
They entered and opted for a narrow, empty staircase instead of the elevator. Barely any sound came through the door above them, no crowds of children kiai-ing away or dull slaps of fists on heavy bags. Nadia could almost swear she heard string music.
Something was very familiar about all this.
They entered into a small waiting area that opened into a large room. Ladies in leotards and slippers, some wearing leg warmers, were holding on to a wall bar and doing basic exercises.
Of course… Plié, plié pulse, arabesque…
Ballet was one of the many hobbies she’d been forced into as a child. Although it hadn’t stuck, she had resented it somewhat less than the others.
“Ugh, more dancing. Looks like a pass. Right?” Tess said, pawing at the back of her neck with her prosthetic hand. Her eyes darted around at nothing. “Let’s go. I’m starving.”
“Wait.” Nadia left her side, drawn toward rows of pictures in frames on the back wall of the waiting area. They were real photos, black-and-white and printed on paper. All of them showed dowdy women, in billowing skirts and huge floppy hats, squaring off in combat stances. Some of them held clubs that looked like bowling pins.
“Photoshop much?” Tess said.
Nadia didn’t think so. The last one showed a woman, still in ridiculous dress, still in ridiculous hat, pinning what could only be a police officer to the ground. She had him trapped in an arm bar, a small, sure smile showing on her face even through the age and blurriness of the picture.
“This place looks promising actually,” Nadia said.
“Ugh, we already tried pretend dance fighting earlier tonight. All this stuff is just for girls trying to lose weight, and that is not you.”
“Was that a compliment?” Nadia said.
“Shut up.”
“You’re such a tease, Tess. When are you going to stop leading me on?”
“Oh my God stop.”
An older woman in a black leotard stopped hovering at the edge of the dance floor and interrupted them. She was severe and lithe and tall, carved wood in the shape of a woman, with fading dirty-blond hair. “I’m Valery, owner of Odporność Dance Studio. Can I help you?”
Nadia couldn’t place her accent. Something Eastern European. “We’re interested in the La Garrud class.”
“Not we,” Tess said, waving from a standoffish distance.
Valery ignored her. “Good timing. You may observe tonight’s class if you will wait a moment.”
“Actually I was wondering if you could answer some questions,” Nadia said, phrasing every word delicately. “Is it an actual fighting art or—”
Valery cut her off. “Or just for show? You are thinking this is a game for children, yes? Or a social club for the bored young lady, that her bottom does not grow too large?”
Nadia clicked her mouth shut. “Yes, something like that, I suppose.”
Valery flashed her a look that would be disdain, but for the utter indifference in it. “La Garrud is not for such ladies.”
“Are you saying it’s not for me?”
“Do you wish to learn to defend yourself?”
Sort of.<
br />
“Yes,” Nadia said. “I don’t care about trophies or rules or getting in shape. I just need…I want to learn how to fight. A bit. Enough to defend myself if someone comes after me.”
Something changed in the woman’s eyes. “Watch, then,” she said, nodding toward the studio floor. Ballet practice was over. Some of the dancers scurried off to a changing room, replaced by a few women in plain gym clothes. Most of the dancers stayed. “La Garrud has roots in the suffrage of old England,” she explained. “Today it draws from many things: jiu jitsu, savate, krav maga.”
The women were warming up, stretching, all quiet and calm. It looked like they were about to break out into lethal yoga at any second.
“The only central tenet of La Garrud is to use what is most effective,” Valery said.
A man emerged from the changing room, large and imposing, covered from head to toe in bright-red foam armor.
“Wow, the only guy here,” Tess said, scurrying up next to Nadia. “Way to ruin the vibe, dude.”
“Shh,” Nadia said, not even blinking.
The women lined up. The man in armor stood before them. A younger instructor barked something in a language Nadia didn’t recognize. The woman at the front of the line—a middle-aged blonde wearing a leotard—stepped forward.
She looked so calm standing there, perfectly normal. No kung fu stance, no bunched fists. Just a regular woman.
The armored man was nearly twice the blonde’s size. When he moved, Nadia gasped—it was real, full force and speed. He darted forward and threw a punch that should have knocked the woman across the room.
It didn’t. She did something—she dodged the punch, and then she was on him, looping a leg around his arm, then sitting on his shoulder, then using her weight and her hips to throw him to the ground, her hand pinning his face firmly to the floor.
The whole thing took less than a second.
“Holy shit,” Tess said, slapping her hands over her mouth. “Oh…sorry.”
“What…just happened?” Nadia said.
“The woman is, in general, smaller than the man,” Valery said. “Frailer.”
“Uh, that’s not, you know, actually the case,” Tess chimed in. “I mean…ow, ow, ow!”
Nadia stopped stomping on Tess’s foot. “How did she do that?”
The next woman in line stepped up. This one flipped the man clear through the air then slammed him to the floor with a ferocity Nadia found herself deeply, deeply envious of.
“How did she do that?” Nadia asked, no longer trying to hide her excitement.
“A female must use her natural advantages,” Valery said. “Agility, flexibility, cunning. Use the man’s brute strength against him.”
A teenage girl stopped the man’s punch with a rough block and swooped his legs out from underneath him, toppling him with a brutal strike to the throat.
“Mmm.” Valery frowned. She nodded at a younger female instructor, who took the student aside. Something about the block had displeased them, it would seem.
A minute later, another student stepped up. An intricate takedown, a high swooping kick leading into a chokehold. It was lightning quick. It was graceful.
Above all, it was gorgeous to watch.
There was no question in Nadia’s mind, no hesitation.
“I would like private lessons,” she asked. “From you, if possible.”
That earned her a raised eyebrow. “This is…irregular.”
“Whenever you are available, as often as you are available.”
“Surely you are a bit overeager, yes?”
“Cost is no object,” Nadia said, scowling as Tess mouthed the words in perfect unison, shaking her head.
“Ah.” That seemed to put her at ease. “Very well then, Miss…?”
“Nadia.”
“Tomorrow morning then,” Valery said.
They shook hands, and Nadia knew she was making the right choice. Valery’s hands were like smooth steel, her handshake brusque and firm.
Nadia would have demanded nothing less.
Chapter Five: Cheshire Cat
Days later, Nadia stepped out of the Pass out From Exhaustion Suite cursing the late-afternoon sunlight. The suite had really been earning its name lately. She shuffled along, wiping her eyes, legs stiff and screaming with every motion.
“Look who’s up!” Tess said, far too cheerily. She was at one of her workbenches, wearing huge safety goggles as she did…something.
Nadia’s eyes were too weak just yet. She fumbled around at one of her desks, having already given up on coffee—it was never strong enough. Instead she popped open a can of something vile and green, one of those saccharine energy drinks Tess loved so much.
She chanced a sip, grimaced, then gulped more down. Bitter and nasty, hiding badly behind tawdry sweetness. But it was enough to fight off a yawn as she wandered toward Tess.
“What are we working on today?” she asked.
“Not ready yet,” Tess said, not looking up. “You sound like hell.”
“Mmm.” Nadia blinked a few times, wrapping her hands tightly around the cool metal of the can. They ached with every motion. Her usually pristine, delicate knuckles were marred with scabs; her fancy nails chipped and worn away, scraped back to their natural color.
She braved another gulp. A part of her found it a bit refreshing, which troubled her.
“Stop drinking all my sodas,” Tess said, not looking up at all.
“More countermeasures?” Nadia asked, leaning in close over Tess’s shoulder.
Tess was soldering a circuit board using her artificial hand, making movements so minute that Nadia could barely track them.
“How can you work with something so tiny?” Nadia said.
“This is why I got my arm replaced actually. Eyes too.”
Nadia chewed on that for a moment, squinting at nothing. “Really?”
“No, idiot,” Tess said. “It does help, though.”
Nadia frowned at that. She wasn’t awake enough yet to bite back.
“Actually, now that you’re up,” Tess said, seeming to put the finishing touch on her work, “come over here.”
Nadia followed her to a mannequin wearing a set of goggles that looked strangely familiar. She vaguely remembered people wearing VR headsets during her childhood. Tess popped them off the fake head and slipped them onto Nadia’s before she could protest, dragging a mess of tangled wires with it.
“They’re loose,” Nadia said. She pinched the strap, tightening it just enough. “Mark it here.”
Tess did so, then made a flurry of typing in thin air with her fingertips. Nadia’s vision had gone dark, as though she were wearing a blindfold. Now a blur of text scrolled past, followed by white light, followed by…their office.
“Impressive,” Nadia said, sounding anything but impressed.
“I’ll forgive you for that, seeing as you just got up,” Tess said. “Let’s start with a basic HUD overlay.”
Suddenly the bright light was less harsh. Small bits of text and symbols appeared in her vision: compass, clock, GPS coordinates, even her heart rate in the corner.
“Light amplification,” Tess said, still typing away.
Blurry nonsense.
“Not exactly useful right now, I know,” Tess said. “Thermal.”
This one Nadia liked. Their office had turned into a set of dull blue shapes. Tess’s body jumped out, an outline of yellow and red, save for her right arm. Nadia glanced down at her drink, a pool of deep blue in the glowing red of her hands.
“Also available in grayscale. But I worked really hard on the color add, so I encourage you to stick with it,” Tess said, switching the vision mode back to normal. “And last but not least…”
She gestured toward her desk. Her screens showed a chaotic display, a jumble of scrolling logs and open pages. In the foreground was a live feed o
f what Nadia was seeing.
The background moved. With a start, Nadia realized she was seeing exactly what Tess was seeing, a copy of the display flickering in her retinal implants.
As Tess turned to look at her, the recursion on the screen made Nadia dizzy.
“Now I can more efficiently tell you what to do,” Tess said.
“We’ll have to do something about the look of these,” Nadia said, appraising the goggles through Tess’s eyes. They were very plain—flat and black, with no visible lenses on the face. No expression at all.
“Really?” Tess said. “I bring you this technological marvel, and you’re worried about how it looks?”
“Presentation is everything, dear,” Nadia said, stepping closer to Tess’s desk.
“If you had retinal implants like any normal person with your kind of money, this wouldn’t even be a thing you’d have to wear.”
“Not going to happen,” she said, hovering closer to the desk. Shifting sets of pictures had appeared in the lower corners of Tess’s vision, scrolling slowly but endlessly.
“You can zoom. That button on the cable there,” Tess said. “And why not anyway?”
“No, you’re right,” Nadia said. “I’ll go ahead and schedule that incredibly invasive surgery. I’ll be back to normal—no, better than normal—in…what? Four months?”
“Mine were totally fine by month three,” Tess said, shrinking a little. “I was seeing again in a few weeks.”
“My body is perfect the way it is,” Nadia said. Ignoring Tess’s sarcastic snort, she located the button and zoomed in on one picture in particular.
It was the two of them. A much younger version of the two of them, anyway, posing together.
“Was that…senior year?” Nadia asked.
“What? Oh. Uh…” Tess fidgeted, pulling her vision down from the displays. “Yeah, I think so.”
The picture was gone, but Nadia knew exactly what it looked like. Herself, loose blond curls and slightly too much makeup, pouting up at the camera. Her arm around Tess, nervous and awkward, face covered with acne and far-too-large glasses, forcing a cringe worthy smile. Her right arm was carefully hidden behind Nadia.