dojos on several worlds.
The ceremonial bow on entering meant one was supposed to be ready for anything from that point on. Be ready, be armed, survive; simple enough.
"Students don't generally shoot at each other too much," Geneva said, "but they can. You get points if you win a shoot, lose points if you don't—how many depends upon the circumstances. They're only awarded by instructors.
Mostly, it's the instructors who will be blipping you when you least expect it.
Get used to the pop of a spetsdod's dart, you'll be feeling it fairly often.
Keeps you awake in otherwise boring after-lunch lectures on a hot afternoon, it does." "It sounds like children playing games." "Not according to Pen.
You're only supposed to shoot somebody who, in your opinion, isn't alert and ready for you. If you shoot back and hit an assassin within a second of his hit, it's mutual slaying and you both lose points— that helps keep hot-shots from blasting everybody they see just for the dork of it."
"Who keeps score?"
"Everybody does. Honor system."
Dirisha nodded.
Red moved toward her, stretching the now-dark plastic flesh into thin sheets. "Hands," he said.
Dirisha extended her right hand and watched Red apply the material to the dorsal side. "I thought spetsdods came equipped ready-to-wear with their own flesh."
Red looked at her, interested. "You know the weapon?" "I've never used one, but I've seen them." Red went back to smoothing the flesh. "Custom gives a better fit," he said. "We don't want somebody developing an allergy to the commercial mix, so we use a hypoallergenic that won't spark human or mue immune systems. Once it sets, you can pull it off and reapply it easily enough, but you always wear at least one piece, even in the fresher. You learn to eat with 'em, sleep with 'em, make love with 'em. You don't want to get careless, even loading blunt-tips. Especially while—ah—dallying with another in the altogether."
"I can see where that might be painful," Dirisha said. She kept a straight face as long as she could, then smiled.
Red seated the pair of aluminum devices on the still-warm artificial flesh.
Dirisha moved her hands experimentally, adjusting to the new weight. Red watched her carefully.
He showed her how to load the magazines into the body of the spetsdod, and explained the firing mechanism. "It's simple; the trigger is in the tip of the barrel, just here. Electronic circuit, completed by application of the fingernail. You point your index finger at your target and hyper-extend it, so—"
The spetsdod coughed and the dart it fired chunked into the wall across the room.
"You'll start the basic class in the morning," Red continued, "and I don't expect anybody will be nasty enough to sting you on the first night, until you have some idea of how to shoot back."
"Pen might," Geneva said.
"Yeah, likely. If you see him, stay awake. If he points his finger at you, duck and start shooting as fast as you can."
"No point ducking," Geneva said. "If he shoots, he's gonna hit you.
Probably on the hands, so you don't get a return shot off in time for mutual-kill. He's terrific, probably as good as Khadaji himself was."
Red laughed. "You might be exaggerating a little, Geneva."
"Maybe. He doesn't shoot at you much, does he?"
"Now and again."
"And how do those come out?"
Red shrugged, but said nothing.
After Red left, Geneva smiled and waved her own spets-dods at Dirisha.
"You're technically fair game now. I'll wait until you've had a chance to check out the range and get used to these new toys, but after that, I might sting you myself. Points are points."
"Fair enough."
After a moment, Geneva's face grew more serious. "You knew him, didn't you?"
Dirisha misunderstood. "Red?"
"No, not Red. Khadaji."
"I worked for him. On Greaves." Geneva's face took on a kind of awe. "So you knew him when he was the resistance?"
"All I knew was that he ran the Jade Flower, a rec-chem. pub. I didn't know about the other.
The ceremonial bow on entering meant one was supposed to be ready for anything from that point on. Be ready, be armed, survive; simple enough.
"Students don't generally shoot at each other too much," Geneva said, "but they can. You get points if you win a shoot, lose points if you don't—how many depends upon the circumstances. They're only awarded by instructors.
Mostly, it's the instructors who will be blipping you when you least expect it.
Get used to the pop of a spetsdod's dart, you'll be feeling it fairly often.
Keeps you awake in otherwise boring after-lunch lectures on a hot afternoon, it does." "It sounds like children playing games." "Not according to Pen.
You're only supposed to shoot somebody who, in your opinion, isn't alert and ready for you. If you shoot back and hit an assassin within a second of his hit, it's mutual slaying and you both lose points— that helps keep hot-shots from blasting everybody they see just for the dork of it."
"Who keeps score?"
"Everybody does. Honor system."
Dirisha nodded.
Red moved toward her, stretching the now-dark plastic flesh into thin sheets. "Hands," he said.
Dirisha extended her right hand and watched Red apply the material to the dorsal side. "I thought spetsdods came equipped ready-to-wear with their own flesh."
Red looked at her, interested. "You know the weapon?" "I've never used one, but I've seen them." Red went back to smoothing the flesh. "Custom gives a better fit," he said. "We don't want somebody developing an allergy to the commercial mix, so we use a hypoallergenic that won't spark human or mue immune systems. Once it sets, you can pull it off and reapply it easily enough, but you always wear at least one piece, even in the fresher. You learn to eat with 'em, sleep with 'em, make love with 'em. You don't want to get careless, even loading blunt-tips. Especially while—ah—dallying with another in the altogether."
"I can see where that might be painful," Dirisha said. She kept a straight face as long as she could, then smiled.
Red seated the pair of aluminum devices on the still-warm artificial flesh.
Dirisha moved her hands experimentally, adjusting to the new weight. Red watched her carefully.
He showed her how to load the magazines into the body of the spetsdod, and explained the firing mechanism. "It's simple; the trigger is in the tip of the barrel, just here. Electronic circuit, completed by application of the fingernail. You point your index finger at your target and hyper-extend it, so—"
The spetsdod coughed and the dart it fired chunked into the wall across the room.
"You'll start the basic class in the morning," Red continued, "and I don't expect anybody will be nasty enough to sting you on the first night, until you have some idea of how to shoot back."
"Pen might," Geneva said.
"Yeah, likely. If you see him, stay awake. If he points his finger at you, duck and start shooting as fast as you can."
"No point ducking," Geneva said. "If he shoots, he's gonna hit you.
Probably on the hands, so you don't get a return shot off in time for mutual-kill. He's terrific, probably as good as Khadaji himself was."
Red laughed. "You might be exaggerating a little, Geneva."
"Maybe. He doesn't shoot at you much, does he?"
"Now and again."
"And how do those come out?"
Red shrugged, but said nothing.
After Red left, Geneva smiled and waved her own spets-dods at Dirisha.
"You're technically fair game now. I'll wait until you've had a chance to check out the range and get used to these new toys, but after that, I might sting you myself. Points are points."
"Fair enough."
After a moment, Geneva's face grew more serious. "You knew him, didn't you?"
Dirisha misunderstood. "Red?"
"No, not Red. Khadaji."
"I worked for him. On Greaves." Geneva's face took on a kind of awe. "So you knew him when he was the resistance?"
"All I knew was that he ran the Jade Flower, a rec-chem. pub. I didn't know about the other.
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