Achilles choice

She remembered when she first earned her dan ranking, and the evenings she had rubbed her new, starchy belt against cement, dipped it in bleach, sliced it shallowly with razors, trying to prematurely age her symbol of rank. She found the memory embarrassing, not funny. Poor strategy. Strive to be underestimated! What had old Sun Tsu said? “At the beginning, be as coy and frightened as a maiden. Then when the enemy gives you an opening, rush in and crush him.”

Abner approached her with the same oddly disconnected movement he had displayed at the train station, like a puppet suspended from rubber bands instead of strings. Sometimes it was hard to believe he had been one of the top judo players in the world.

“Are we ready to work today?”

“Let’s get to it.”

He gave her a swift visual inspection, and nodded curtly. Abner led her out onto a mat sandwiched with pressure sensors. The air shimmered with an I/O field, recording all actions as well as projecting whatever illusions might be necessary to evoke maximum performance.

Her opponent might have been a human being, so carefully was its appearance crafted. One could barely see the third leg, a slender stalk that projected to the rear to maintain balance. Its face was robotically neutral.

Jillian touched it, felt the balance. She inspected the fingers and hands, noting the hydraulics, the servomotors, the magnetic locks that would cling to the layer of foil in her gi.

With the slightest of hissing sounds, it bowed to her.

She giggled.

“Worked on a Grappler Twelve before?” Abner asked.

“No, but we had a Nine available to us at P. Tech.”

“The Grappler Twelve has faster reflexes, and a better grip-you’re webbed up under your gi? Otherwise it won’t really be able to grasp you.”

“Yes. We can do a check.”

“We’re going to be evaluating you for strength, balance, and coordination. Speed and endurance will be checked later, against a live opponent.”

“Ready,” Jillian said.

Balanced on its skeletal third leg, the Grappler moved in. Jillian extended her hands, and they gripped each other’s sleeves, the Grappler’s magnetic fingertips locking to the foil layer of her gi. The webbing that cocooned her body and attached it to the inside of the gi worked perfectly: the Twelve’s grip was much more convincing than a Nine.

Jillian pivoted, slid her hip inside, and performed a perfect ogoshi hip throw. The Grappler flew over her back and crashed into the mat. Its legs contracted and extended, gyros whirred. It righted itself in less than two seconds, and was back.

This time Jillian used a deashiharai foot sweep. The Grappler did a clever little dance, and came very close to reversing the move.

She lowered her hips, dropping her center of mass. The Grappler suddenly went top-heavy, easy to upend and smash into the mat.

She was enjoying herself.

Abner watched, no hint of clownishness on his face, no laughter in his eyes as he watched the vectors play out in holographic display.

The test went on and on. Throwing, being thrown, coming to grips and taking the Grappler to the mat. There the robot was weak on technique, but compensated with awesome leverage.

Pushing herself now, she tied it up in a succession of mat holds and chokes, and forced it to beep submission three times.

At the end of an hour, Jillian was sopping wet, and blowing for air.

“Very good,” Abner said blandly. “Now I think it’s time for a human opponent.”

“What?”

He smiled evilly. “The Grappler is decent for a readout or a warm-up, but there’s nothing like a little honest human flesh.”

Jillian was still gasping as he led her to another mat. A very blond woman two inches shorter than Jilhan waited there. “I want you to meet Osa Grevstad. She’s going to work with you today.”

Although shorter, Osa was heavier through the shoulders. They probably weighed the same.

Her hair, cut short, did little to offset the butchiness of her overall appearance: hard, springy muscle, heavy bone structure, a level of energy so high she seemed to vibrate. Her eyes were slightly bloodshot, a frequent symptom of Boost.

Osa’s face tightened as she smiled. There was humor but no warmth there. “You are the American who does not need Boost. We will see.”

Jillian glared at Abner, not appreciating this at all.

The two women bowed and circled each other, moving into position. Their fingers sought grips on the gi sleeves as their hips twitched in feint, and they catstepped for position. Osa’s hands changed positions as lightly as butterflies.

Abner’s right, she had to admit. There’s nothing like human flesh.

Osa spun tightly and went into ogoshi hip-throw position. Halfway into position she dropped lower, extended her leg to scythe Jillian’s knees.