The Man Who Never Missed Read Free Page A

knotted in the stretch ward—” “—kid’s nine T.S. but sharp, lemme tell you—” “—couldn’t pull it out of her if you wanted to—” “—the Old Man himself said it, so I hear—”
    The flow of conversation was full of the things which have always been important to soldiers: love, hate, sex, money, family, Uplevels’ stupidity, the campaign. Khadaji knew the talk. He’d only been nineteen when conscripted for his seven and he’d done six years with men and women like these. Most of them were young, but the military had a way of making you grow up quickly. He was thirty-nine T.S. now, he could have fathered most of the soldiers in the octagon. He felt a lot older than that sometimes, an old man among children.
    “—your ass! Get up, elbow-sucker!” Khadaji froze for an instant, then turned. Two troopers were standing next to a table six meters away, squared off in military oppugnate stances, each waiting for the other to make the first stupid move—which both had already done by standing to fight in the Jade Flower. Khadaji wondered who was on this shift—ah. As he watched, Dirisha moved smoothly through the crowded pub toward the two soldiers. Dirisha was a big woman, close to Khadaji’s own 183 cm and eighty-two kilos, but she didn’t look it because she was so well balanced. She had short, dark hair, a winning smile when she was happy—like now—and expert rankings in three class one martial arts. She was about twenty-eight T.S. and in a one-on-one, could probably take either Bork or Sleel, the other two bouncers.
    Dirisha reached the two men and slid between them, her back to the larger one. Khadaji strolled closer.
    “Fighting’s not too bright,” she said. “I mean, make a list: fucking, soak-toke, good wine or cold simshi and where does getting your face smashed fit in?”
    The soldier she was talking to was about eye-level with Dirisha and he was obviously angry. He wasn’t going to let go of his rage that easily. “Yeah? Well, I don’t think dick-nose over there can smash anything!”
    Dirisha’s voice got very quiet, and she smiled, her teeth bright against her dark chocolate skin. People strained to hear her. “I wasn’t talking about him hurting you, Deuce, I’m talking about me. You can sit and smoke your smoke or you can walk, but you can’t fight in here.” Her voice was even and there wasn’t a gram of bluff in it.
    The soldier seemed to wilt a little.
    Khadaji smiled. Dirisha could take the soldier without having to suck a deep breath and the man was perceptive enough to pick up on it, even if he’d never seen her in action. If he had, he would have sat as soon as she approached. He had to get one last shot in, though.
    “What about him?” He pointed at the man behind Dirisha.
    She didn’t bother to turn and look at the second soldier. “He’s got the same options you do, Deuce. So what say you just have a seat and work this out like preachlegals.” It was not a request.
    The tension seemed to drain away suddenly. The larger man behind Dirisha sat on his stool and reached for his mug of splash. The soldier facing Dirisha wiped at the back of his uniform collar with one hand and nodded. “Okay. We don’t want any trouble with the Flower, we can work it out later, maybe.”
    Dirisha’s smile broadened. “Good thinking, Deuce. Tell you what, the house buys the next round for this table, tell the server Dirisha okays it.”
    She turned and walked away quickly, in Khadaji’s direction. He smiled at her and she stopped. The pub noises picked back up around them.
    “Nice work.”
    She nodded. “For a second, it could have gone over and I would have had to thump him. You lose points when you have to thump them.”
    Khadaji nodded. He understood. He had spent much of the fourteen years after Maro studying various fighting disciplines and that had been a point in most of them: to have to use physical technique was a failure of sorts. An expert should be able to