Blood Sabers

by Burbaugh, MF;

  Rodel’s trajectory analysis showed I was right, the one gunman had lined Brigit up for the kill.

  “You owe me,” I said.

  Brigit smiled. “I’m broke, going to have to take it out in trade.”

  Rodel was linking all the monitoring in to him and the ship. He said, “That Asian girl is coming, Sire.”

  “Thank you.” I saw her looking around at the headless, armless bodies being loaded. Our grounds crew was super. I suspected to them, a pile of shit was a pile of shit whether human or manure.

  I cleaned up and had tea waiting in one of the little rooms. Each was set up as its own mini apartment.

  She knocked and we all said come in. She hesitated a bit when she saw all of them covered head to toe with blood and body parts, all sipping tea.

  Aawasa said, “Sorry, bit messy, moving day and all. The plumbers are almost done with the showers.”

  “I am sorry, looks like I missed a show. I was at the airport, they had delays, some UFOs, a flying lion or tiger.”

  Matawasa laughed, “Both.”

  “Please come in here, it is clean,” I said.

  We went in the little room and sat at a table. I closed the door, and she handed me the package. “I hope these are approved.”

  I told Rodel to rerun the whole video for her. I pointed to the wall, which was a huge screen.

  From coming through the roof to the final cut, she watched.

  “They are truly remarkable swordswomen,” she said.

  “We just say Samurai.”

  “I know, I passed the message to my brother’s sensei as requested,” she said.

  “He says it is most distressing anyone, self-taught or not, would dare to claim a woman equal to a man with a sword, and pretend they are warriors.” Her head bowed.

  “Is his sensei a top ranked one?” I asked.

  “Yes, Sire, #3 or even #2 in the world--he says anyway. I must warn you, he is arrogant enough to take the open blade challenge.”

  She was American, but deeply rooted in her culture.

  “Tell your brother to find another sensei. May I see the blades?” I asked.

  She pulled her little two-wheeled cart over and opened the first package. Beautiful, stunning lacquered box, similar to the one Aawasa’s original set came in.

  A full set of golden blades, turns out it was the same maker as Aawasa’s original. Twenty folds of death.

  Gold and ivory scabbard, ivory eagles, wings folded down each side.

  The tsuba was an American Golden Eagle, wings spread.

  The handle was golden leather with a single eagle inlay, also wings spread. Over a quarter million dollars of deadly beauty.

  “Absolutely stunning!” I said, “Would you present it? I did Aawasa’s first set, I prefer someone more knowledgeable than I do it.”

  “But I am a humble sales clerk, I do not deserve an honor such as that,” she said.

  “Look at me,” she raised her head, “You are a woman, by chance a very pretty one, but a woman. My wives are warrior born and warrior bred, but I guarantee each is all woman. Be proud, there is nothing humble about it.”

  “For you I will of course, but I still think—”

  “Don’t,” I said.

  “Ladies, are we presentable yet?” I asked.

  Rodel said, “The plumbers are having minor problems while the wives shower, Sire, they will be done in a minute and I suspect the shower problems will also then cease.”

  I laughed. “Men the universe round will still be men.”

  “You do not take offense they ogle your wives?” she asked.

  “You see them fight?” I asked.

  She nodded.

  “They are fully capable of taking off a few plumbers heads without my help. I love it when other men admire my taste in women, and my women like men who admire them. No I find no offense.”

  “You are strange people, Sire,” she said.

  “We have been called barbaric, stupid, ignorant, mindless, sex starved pigs, a few other things last couple days, the only one I take offense to is uncultured. We are cultured in my culture.”

  “I find your honesty and openness refreshing anyway.”

  I wrapped the swords and gave them back to her. “From Earth, gift.”

  I called the wives; they came, drying their hair and such.

  “You remember this charming young lady from the dress store?”

  They all said hi.

  “She wishes to make a presentation to Brigit if it pleases you all.”

  “We would be most honored,” Linda said. “I find her beauty refreshingly different.”

  She stood, straightening her crawling dress. “I wish to present a little gift to you on behalf of all the Earth women, and we wish you would do us proud.”

  She opened the package and took out just the katana and handed it to Brigit, blade up, and had her head bowed deep.

  Brigit’s eyes grew wide as I sub’d to her what to do, she did fine.

  The sales girl said, “May I offer my humble head that your blade may have such an unworthy first blood?” She was all the way down and the head straight out.

  “Decline with dignity,” I sub’d.

  “I most truly appreciate the honor you offer, however I suspect our king might take offense, I must decline.” She bowed.

  The girl stood and looked around, all were grinning.

  Brigit said, “A truly stunning blade,” as she pulled it out and removed all the wraps. We all admired it. She nicked her finger and blooded it and put it back. She looked at, and checked the other two. Her tanto was the rarer twin edge type.”

  “Ladies, it is practice time.” I said. They all withdrew and closed the door tight.

  I gave my visitor some more tea.

  “What did she mean?” she asked

  “They did a most despicable thing to you yesterday, I swear truth, I did not know. Let me first tell you a story about our Linda.”

  An hour later she was a bit stunned. “So two of us, me and a Gloria, were done so without our knowledge but the other more than 40 all willingly agreed? In two days?” she asked.

  “Um, I am something of a legend on Camelot, but not here. However, they panicked, knowing we were going to fight today and we might die.”

  “So this baby in me is not?”

  “She is not the daughter of that despicable little twit you shack with because you think your father might approve of him, no.” I so loved Rodel’s spy abilities.

  “She would be Brigit’s and mine, brown hair, brown round eyes, tall, lithe of body with fair, almost white skin. Rodel, pictures of her baby if it were to live please?”

  The wall brought up pics at 6 months, 1 year, then 10, up to 50.

  “My God she is stunning! And that is what is in me right now?” she asked.

  “Afraid so. Linda can kill it if you wish, it was a despicable act, and it has been stopped.”

  “You can’t just murder a baby like that. No, I’ll keep it, but I think I might have enjoyed trying to make it the normal way,” she said.

  “Sorry, though permitted, it won’t happen.” I smiled weakly.

  “Most strange, curious, and different. I am totally mixed up now.”

  “I have been that way for, oh, 220 years.”

  We talked a while then she said, “We need to go, the match replies should be in. I’ll never see you again, will I.”

  “Sorry, I suspect we shall be around a while longer.

  “You also may go to Camelot if your family disapproves of the kind of baby you will have.”

  The news media had a field day with the assassination attempt, and it’s poor attempted cover up. Some top brass heads in key organizations retired and the President resigned, but hadn’t been seen anywhere.

  Brigit said all three of her tormentors were still there. Seems certain generals tried to use their positions for leverage to require favors needed for advancement, which was why Brigit had remained only a captain.
r />   To Conquer a Planet,

  Conquer Their Hearts

  We went over the list of those wanting to accept the challenge. Eighteen had tried to accept the challenge, five withdrew when they saw the news videos, and we eliminated three more from the lower ranks. Our top ten had six that were world ranked and four in the top twenty. We had three who wanted to the death, but one had requested to change it after the slaughter was seen--we granted it.

  The vendors were allowed to hawk their wares but at our more reasonable prices since they kept all the money. There was no entrance fee, but a voluntary $1 donation for a couple charities.

  The event would go eight hours per day and last until the winner was decided. A global SDHDTV group with holographic ties agreed to pay $10,000 per hour to the fund for video rights.

  Queastra had learned the mushasi move; Matawasa had practiced the counter, and if she was fast enough, it worked. We had set all to start in a week as we arranged hotels and transportation for the fighters and their entourage.

  ~~~

  8AM, Fight Day #1

  I checked with Rodel on our funding, we had a hair over 100 million he had made since we left Camelot plus a couple billion we brought with us in gems and precious metals. I ordered several items on a crash priority and we settled into what our plans were.

  The fighting ring was 10 yards by 10 yards giving plenty of maneuvering room.

  I had hired a pro announcer to call it with two referees to help, but I would do the lead-in.

  The place was standing room only and there was no standing room.

  I checked with Matawasa, “You sure you want to try this? I was probably a bit over-optimistic, these people developed our style of swordsmanship and nurtured it, two want to try and kill you.”

  “Let us play the hand destiny gives us,” she said.

  I took the 50-yard line stage. “We are gathered here on Earth to bring you a show we do every day, sword fights. Our planet is a bit different from here, we do not like clothes hiding our bodies, we are proud of them, we also have warriors, but most are women, not men. Our best are called Samurai in honor of an ancient earth class of swordmasters and all but one of them are women. We have no sensei or masters, we watch old Earth movies and read books, and those are our teachers. When we came here we learned you of Earth still have a few of these warriors as well, so we offer a reward that we may test ours against yours. I decided to bring forth my youngest wife, at fifteen and one half years, to offer battle. She is as yet untested among us.

  “We do not normally do the death fights, but every battle we do is to that end, and as warriors and barbarians, we see nothing wrong in putting your life were your mouth is, unlike some politicians we have encountered lately.” Huge roars of laughter and hoots.

  “I do not care if blood is shed in fair and mighty combat, life may be taken or given. My wife said not five minutes ago when I asked her if she wished to withdraw from the death matches, ‘Let us play the hand Destiny gives us’ was her reply. So let us begin.” More roars and hoots and catcalls.

  The caller ran the card, the rules, and the winning requirements. “One nick to any part of her is a win, three nicks by her is a win, a draw is possible. One hour fight round, ten-minute break, no required contact rules. The first two matches are the death matches, but death need not be the outcome.”

  “Those two flipped a coin and the sensei ranked number nine in the world will be #1 in the chute.” Number lots were drawn for the non-death matches as well.

  I had reserved a few benches for us, the sensei, and their students.

  Off to the side I had noticed a sensei come in, attentive eyes, and never the slightest change in his look. The General incarnate. He sat by himself.

  The #9 swordmaster and Matawasa went out together, she was stunning in her green panties, shear Amazon battle dress, topknot hair, barefoot and green katana.

  He was smallish, thin, but fast built, regular hair. His katana was too big, it had to be as long as Mushasi’s was, at almost thirty inches, but this one was heavy—he was not muscled correctly for it. He clearly had no business doing a death match.

  The announcer called them to the center. They bowed, she backed and went stance. I ordered her no Musashi. She was perfect in the art of using a two finger grip and allowing the blade to run, that and her uncanny ability to read an opponent’s body language gave her an edge, even above the other wives.

  He did some stupid warm up crap they did in the movies, lots of grunts and the muscle strains. Some guy in front of me, one of the students, said, “He puts her down in five minutes.”

  I said, “He will be in death compromise in as few as two moves after the opening gambit.”

  The one I shall just call The Sensei never moved a muscle, which was why I knew he heard.

  The smart ass said, “Ya right, you’re dreaming, bud.”

  “I am not bud, I am King Jake, and I think I know my wife.” I watched, he froze and slowly looked back at me for the first time.

  The fancy pants in the ring squared, my wife hadn’t even blinked an eye. He heya’d or something and she flicked his strike away and still was in the same pose, unmoving; he moved, shifted his feet and started to swing.

  I said, “Now,” and the fight was over.

  She flicked his sword aside and laid three neat cuts down his chest, evenly spaced. One down, one up and one back down.

  The guy looked and scowled as the announcer said, “Winner!” to her, and she turned to go back to the start position. He came up in a slash move. Her back was to him, almost, he probably did not notice the single-handed power slice as she came around. He probably did not feel it cut through his lower rib cage, his guts, lungs, liver, spleen, and backbone and out the other side like butter, he probably did not, but we can’t ask because he was dead.

  She looked at him and said, “You f’ing fool!” Spit and walked away.

  Ten minutes later, carnage cleared, the #3 ranked sword fighter in the world was on the field, the sensei that didn’t like women warriors.

  He chose to use two blades. His belief was the katana was designed for two hands but could be wielded by a master with one and his wakizashi would be his death blade.

  Much of Miyamoto’s teachings were in the use of duel weapons, though seldom mentioned; the wives trained hard with them. Matawasa retrieved her wakizashi and went to the center, Musashi had dedicated an entire book to it and Matawasa was a master of Musashi’s teachings.

  The smart-ass down front whispered to his friend, “She’s dead now, I seen this guy fight, he’s good!”

  “I suspect, my friend, if he does not make a mistake in the opening gambit, he will lose in the following few minutes. He is arrogant and over confident of his abilities. He grossly underestimates her. He is a male chauvinist like you, and it could kill him, as I may yet kill you.” The sensei heard that too. Humm, I sensed he would be her only real challenge.

  As I thought, his open was a whirlwind of power strokes, designed to sap the opponent’s strength and even injure or stun the hands. This caused his movements to be choppy, not fluid. She saw what he was trying to do; she deflected rather than blocked so as to prevent damage to the blades edge. She dodged, some missing by no more than tenths of an inch. She danced, but she goofed twice as she set to a Musashi stance, but changed instantly, The sensei’s eyes barely flickered, but they flickered.

  My beauty had no problems through the first minutes, as I thought, he was so confident he wasted energy trying to sap hers. She got a little nick on him and he refused to bow to acknowledge it.

  The announcer immediately broke it up, flagged the guy a warning and called a ten-minute break while he again explained the rules to our arrogant friend. The sensei came over, “Your wife is an exceptional fighter, Sir, my compliments to her sensei.”

  “My wife has no sensei, as stated, we have no sensei on the planet, we have a General of the Armies that is renowned for his sword skill, but even he is self-taught. My w
ife studied the books and liked the moves of a known Earth swordsman, a Miyamoto Musashi. She made the mistake of setting twice and I noticed you saw it both times. I do believe we shall see a grand battle indeed, and I truly wish you well.”

  He bowed and started to go back to where he was. “You may stay and watch, or chat, or both, if you wish,” I said.

  “I thank you, but I must observe my possible opponent from the best angles available,” he said.

  “Perfectly understood, Sir. Oh, do you train women?”

  “I train only those who wish to truly learn the sword and the ways of Bushido, gender does not matter.” He bowed and left. Good, I pegged my man.

  “Rodel, the guy to my right, traditional Japanese outfit. I judge by the crest he represents a family or is master of his own Dojo. Identify and give me a background check, I’ll get it later.”

  They were called for a restart, she was rested. He again came out like he had energy to burn.

  I noted to the smart ass, “He will fall soon.” I got harrumphed.

  They sparred for a few minutes and I think he realized he might have underestimated her.

  It looked like he tried to bring both swords across his front, left to right, one high, one low, like a two bladed wheat scythe, then at three quarters through he changed direction with his wakizashi without any fluidity, trying to catch her when she pivoted around his first move. She wasn’t near him, he saw his mistake as he tried to pull around and go into a scissor. She stepped inside his off-balanced hands, actually smiled, and flick, flick.

  Both his swords fell to the ground, hands still holding them, but no longer attached at the wrist. It was over; she stood, bowed to him, almost fair, almost.

  She bowed to the crowd who went wild and she helped pack his hands in ice as they shipped him to the trauma center where they sewed them back on. I knew he would never teach again.

  All of my wives had come down from the skybox and joined me for the next match of that day. None came without their swords as I told them of the male we had to our front. He glanced back, saw them, and left.