The Battle of Betazed - Charlotte Douglas [25]
Not that she thought she had a chance against a combat veteran like Vaughn, but she didn’t want to embarrass herself completely either. He had more strength, more stamina, and decades more experience. She already knew how this exercise would end. The question was simply how long she lasted.
“I’m only an old man,” he taunted again. “Nothing in comparison to the Jem’Hadar on Betazed.” She circled lightly as Vaughn spoke. “Did you know that before battle the Jem’Hadar perform a ritual ceremony? ‘I am dead,’ they chant. ‘As of this moment we are all dead. We go into battle to reclaim our lives. This we do gladly because we are Jem’Hadar. Victory is life.’”
He stared at her with a penetrating gaze and repeated the chilling incantation. “‘Victory is life.’ Come get me, Deanna.”
“Is that an order, sir?” She kept her guard up, her eyes alert.
“Very good.” He nodded approval. “You can’t be taunted into attacking. But then I never doubted your common sense.” He shifted his stance slightly. Mentally, she sensed his mind quickening to a higher state of vigilance. If she hadn’t been focused, she would have missed the tiny sign. Still she was barely prepared for the force and swiftness of his attack.
Vaughn lunged with the speed and grace of a Bajoran hara cat. In comparison, she deliberately slowed her reaction and feigned clumsiness, dropping to her buttocks and back on the mat, planting the soles of her feet into his stomach, catapulting him over her head, using the momentum of his attack against him.
In anticipation of a head-first dive, Vaughn lifted his arms over his head. His palms hit the mat, and he rotated smoothly forward. She rolled backward with his momentum and somersaulted until she straddled his chest. Summoning a kiai, a shout from deep within, she simultaneously aimed a knife-hand blow to his neck. He blocked her strike with an ease that suggested he’d envisioned her attack before she’d even thought of it.
“A stiff-wristed palm to the base of the nose should have been your choice of a killing blow,” he said. “You have the strength to crunch the nose bones into the brain. Try again.”
She started to stand, assuming he meant for them to begin on their feet. Instead, he pulled her back down with firm gentleness. At his touch, she sensed a mental weariness that told her he’d taught this exercise more times than he would have liked. “Hit me. Use the base of your palm.”
“I won’t—”
“Do as I say,” he demanded.
Beneath his exterior sternness, she sensed his sympathy for her dislike of fighting. “I can’t just—”
“You can. Hit me.” He tapped his nose. “Here.”
She knew she possessed enough power to drive the tiny bones into his brain. And she knew he would stop her before she succeeded. Still she hesitated.
Intellectually comprehending that her strike wouldn’t succeed was one thing. Using all her force and skill to attempt to kill a Starfleet officer during a training exercise was another matter entirely.
Deanna tensed. “I can’t.”
“Show me the move in slow motion,” he ordered.
She did as he asked, stiffening her hand and cocking her wrist at the required angle.
“That’s fine. At least you know the drill.”
She rolled off and sat on the deck, breathing heavily more from stress than from exercise. “Taking a life has never been easy for me.”
Vaughn sat up next to her. “When the time comes, you’ll react with the necessary amount of force,” he assured her.
“How can you know that?” She hated the taking of life, and she wondered if she could perform adequately and efficiently to protect herself and her crewmates in dangerous situations. “I might hesitate at a critical moment.”
“You won’t.”
“How can you say that with such assurance?” She not only heard the meaning in his words, but felt his complete faith in her.
In the space of a few short minutes, Vaughn had proved that even though he was a hardened soldier, he was also someone who didn’t use more force than required to do a job. Neither did he exhibit any joy in