Fire in the Ashes

A reporter named Barney—known for his arrogance, his rudeness, and his obnoxiousness—leaned on the counter, his gaze on Tina's breasts. She looked older than her seventeen years. Barney smiled at her.

“Anything else free around here?” he asked, all his famous offensiveness coming through.

The words had just left his mouth when the door to an office whipped open and a uniformed Rebel stepped out. He was short, muscular, hard-looking, and tanned. He wore a .45 automatic, holstered, on his right side.

“Tina, who said that?"

She pointed to Barney. “That one."

“Oh, hell!” Judith Sparkman said.

“Quite,” her boss concurred.

The Rebel master-sergeant walked up to Barney, stopped a foot from him. Barney looked shaken, his color similar to old whipped cream. A minicam operator began rolling, recording the event.

“I'm Sergeant Roisseau,” the Rebel said. “It would behoove you, in the future, to keep off-color remarks to yourself. You have been warned; this is a one-mistake state, and you've made yours."

“I ... ah ... was only making a little joke,” Barney said. “I meant nothing by it.” The blood rushed to his face, betraying the truth.

“Your face says you're a liar,” Roisseau said calmly.

“And you're armed!” Barney said, blinking. He was indignant; the crowd he ran with did not behave in this manner over a little joke. No matter how poor the taste.

Smiling, Roisseau unbuckled his web belt and laid his pistol on the desk. “Now, fish or cut bait,” he challenged Barney.

That shook Barney. All the bets were down and the pot was right. He shook his head. “No ... I won't fight you."

“Not only do you have a greasy mouth,” Roisseau said. “You're a coward to boot."

Barney's eyes narrowed, but he wisely kept his mouth shut.

“All right,” Roisseau said. “When you apologize to the young lady, we'll forget it."

“I'll be damned!” Barney said, looking around him for help. None came forward.

“Probably,” Roisseau said. “But that is not the immediate issue.” He looked at Tina and winked, humor in his dark eyes. “So, newsman, if you're too timid to fight me, perhaps you'd rather fight the young lady?"

“The kid?” Barney questioned, then laughed aloud. “What is this, some kind of joke?"

Judith walked to Barney's side. She sensed there was very little humor in any of this, and if there was any humor, the joke was going to be on Barney. And it wasn't going to be funny. “Barney, ease off. Apologize to her. You were out of line."

“No. I was only making a joke."

“Nobody laughed,” she reminded him. She backed away, thinking: are the people of this state humorless? Or have they just returned to the values my generation tossed aside?

Barney shook his head. “No way. You people must be crazy."

The camera rolled, silently recording.

Roisseau smiled, then looked at Tina. “Miss Raines, the ... gentleman is all yours. No killing blows, girl. Just teach him a hard lesson in manners."

Tina put her left hand on the desk and, in one fluid motion, as graceful as a cat, vaulted the desk to land on her tennis-shoe-clad feet.

She stood quietly in front of the man who outweighed her by at least fifty pounds. She offered a slight bow. Had Barney any knowledge of the martial arts, he would have fainted, thus saving himself some bruises.

Tina held her hands in front of her, palms facing Barney, then drew her left hand back to her side, balling the fist. Her right foot was extended, unlike a boxer's stance. Her right hand open, palm out, knife edge to Barney. Her eyes were strangely void of expression. Barney could not know she was psyching herself for combat.

Barney did notice the light ridge of calluses that ran from the tips of her fingers to the juncture of wrist. He backed away.

Almost with the speed of a striking snake, Tina kicked high with her foot, catching Barney on the side of the face. He slammed backward against a wall, then recoiled forward, stunned at the suddenness of it all. With no change in her expression, Tina lashed out with the knife edge of her hand, slamming a blow just above his kidney, then slapped him on the face with a stinging pop. Barney dropped to his knees, his back hurting, his face aching, blood dripping from a corner of his mouth. He rose slowly to his feet, his face a vicious mask of hate and rage and frustration, mingled with disbelief.

“You bitch,” he snarled. “You rotten little cunt."

Roisseau laughed. “Now you are in trouble, hotshot."

Barney shuffled forward, in a boxer's stance, his chin tucked into his shoulder. He swung a wide looping fist at Tina. She smiled at his clumsiness and turned slightly, catching his right wrist. Using the forward motion of his swing against him, and her hips for leverage, she tossed the man over her side and bounced him off a wall. Quickly reaching down, her hands open, positioned on either side of his head, Tina brought them in sharply, hard, slamming the open palms over his ears at precisely the same moment. Barney screamed in pain and rolled in agony on the floor, a small dribble of blood oozing from one damaged ear.