"Sean McMullen - Pacing the Nightmare" - читать интересную книгу автора (McMullen Sean)

Dan black I was given white. The class laughed instead of clapping, and I awoke soaked in sweat. Was
it Melissa? Was some psychic alarm within her summoning me back to her-- or was it less specific than
that? The telephone beckoned. Melissa was calling for a sensei, calling with an intensity that could reach
several miles. How much further could she reach: to the stars, perhaps? Might there be a response?
Were humans meant develop a level of technology that would allow them to switch on the warrior
genes? Probably not. How would our old masters react to a soldier on one of their reserve planets being
activated and crying to the universe for an instructor? Badly, I suspected. I reached for the phone and
punched in Melissa's number. She has had me back as her private sensei since then, and that was a year
ago.
***


Training is over. Instructing the white belts has been a welcome rest for me. The class performs a
formal re and there are a few announcements before people start to leave. Some stay: two other black
belts, Artim and Jim, besides Melissa and me. At first we do basic movements, then the serious sparring
begins.
The other black belts spar with Melissa first. Her movements are not impossibly fast, but I know that
she is able to observe her opponent in slow motion. That is an advantage. She lands punches pretty well
wherever she likes on Artim, but Jim is more experienced and aggressive. She does several dodges
before flashing past his guard to land a kick that would kill if delivered with full force. Still, her technique
needs tightening in subtle ways. My turn.
We re, watching each other's eyes.
"Hajime!"
Melissa attacks. Blocking her punches and kicks is like hitting iron pipes with my forearms. I feint a
trailing punch while feigning a feint with my lead fist, but as I withdraw my lead I snap my hips like the
handle of a whip. A backhand riken-uchi thuds heavily but harmlessly just above her right kidney. It is the
first blow to get past her guard in weeks. She is surprised. Not devastated, not angry, just surprised. She
has more to learn, I am still a little ahead.
"Yame!"
I almost fall asleep under the shower through sheer relief. There are red welts on my arms where I
blocked Melissa's punches and kicks. How long can this go on? Another week, another year? What is
the terror that I am trying to postpone? Would it really matter if they came, whoever they are? The
thought is almost exciting. Not yet, though, not yet. I can still push a little harder, I can stay ahead for a
little longer. I slowly dry my thin, hard, bruised arms while weighing myself: ninety kilograms, yet my ribs
stand out, and my arms and legs are so thin. Anorexia karateka. I... my concentration wavers, I lose my
train of thought.
Melissa is waiting for me in the foyer, waiting to go to dinner and talk about karate. She trains
fanatically hard as a rebellion against her background. I train desperately hard to stay ahead of her.
Melissa was conceived in vitro, but I was conceived normally, that means... another blank-out. Sheer
fatigue. I need more sleep, and I shall sleep well tonight. I am still Melissa's sensei, so there will be no
nightmares.
Published by Alexandria Digital Literature. ( http://www.alexlit.com/ )

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