Three - Michael Jan Friedman [43]
Too late, Gerda thought.
“You’re not interrupting,” Idun told their look-alike. “We were just getting under way. In fact, you’re welcome to take part if you like.”
[126] Gerda felt a surge of resentment. No one had ever taken part in their sparring sessions except her and her sister.
As if in response, Idun glanced at her. “That is,” she added, “if Gerda doesn’t mind.”
Under the circumstances, how could the navigator say no? “Of course not,” she said, trying to keep the rancor out of her voice.
Gerda Idun smiled at Idun’s suggestion. “I’d love to, but I don’t know any Klingon martial arts. That’s what you were doing, wasn’t it?”
“We were,” said Idun. “But it’s all right. We’ll go easy on you.”
Gerda Idun turned to Joseph. “All right with you?”
“I don’t see why not,” the security officer told her.
Gerda Idun turned back to the helm officer. “All right,” she said. “You’re on.”
“Good,” said Idun. Again, she glanced at Gerda. “Would you like to go first?”
Gerda shook her head. “You go. I’ll watch.”
Turning back to their look-alike, Idun assumed a chok’tiyan position, which kept both her elbows close to her body to emphasize defense. “Go ahead,” she said. “I’m ready.”
Gerda Idun raised her fists and spread her feet apart, one ahead of the other. Then she approached her opponent with small, careful steps.
This won’t take long, Gerda thought.
Gerda Idun had no idea what she was up against. Idun would soon grow tired of playing with her and find an excuse to end the match gracefully.
Or so the navigator thought—until their guest [127] advanced behind a series of blinding-quick blows. They were so powerful, so accurate, Idun barely managed to ward them off.
Before the helm officer could gather herself, Gerda Idun pressed her attack, launching punches in devastating combinations. Finally, one of her assaults landed, catching Idun in the shoulder. Then a second one dealt Idun a glancing blow to the head.
Gerda was shocked. Their counterpart seemed so polite, so reserved, and she hadn’t had the benefit of growing up in a warrior culture. It was hard to imagine her pushing Idun to the limits of her skill.
And yet, that was exactly what Gerda Idun was doing.
Finally, Idun seemed to adapt to her look-alike’s style. She blocked blow after devastating blow as if she had figured out in advance where they were going to land. Then, little by little, she started to turn the tide.
But it wasn’t easy. Gerda Idun gave ground grudgingly, fighting her adversary every inch of the way. Her expression had changed a good deal since the match began; it was a mask of grim determination now, virtually indistinguishable from Idun’s.
Gerda felt her stomach muscles tighten into a knot. Finish her, she found herself crying out in the privacy of her mind. Finish her now.
Finally, Idun did the last thing Gerda Idun would have expected—she dropped to the mat, planted her hand there, and swept her counterpart’s feet out from under her. Then, as Gerda Idun unceremoniously hit the floor, Idun lashed out with her foot at her opponent’s face.
Idun could have broken her adversary’s neck if she [128] had followed through with the blow. As it was, she stopped perhaps an inch from Gerda Idun’s chin.
For a moment, the newcomer stared at Idun’s heel, her chest rising and falling with the intensity of her effort. Then she began to laugh—and it wasn’t the kind of halfhearted chuckle that came out of most humans. It was a lusty laugh, a laugh worthy of a warrior.
As Gerda looked on, her sister began to laugh too. Springing to her feet, she reached down and clasped Gerda Idun’s hand. Then she hauled her opponent off the mat.
“Well fought,” said Idun.
Gerda Idun nodded and brushed a stray lock of hair off her forehead. “Thanks. You too.”
Gerda cursed silently. It wasn’t enough that the stranger had won Idun’s sympathy. Now, it seemed, she had won Idun’s respect as well.
“So much for nature versus nurture,” Joseph remarked appreciatively. “It looks like those fighting