The Blood Solution (Approaching Infinity Book 3) (26 page)

Kalkin nodded.

Jav, sitting next to Kalkin, thought for a moment about the paradox involved: the sun that gave birth to the Emperor was also deadly to him. How did nature account for that? On reflection, though, he realized that little about the Emperor was
natural
.

“These stars
are
rare,” Witchlan said. “As to why they pose any threat at all to what they spawn, we cannot say, but. . .”

Jav sat bolt upright immediately. It could have been a natural progression of Witchlan’s explanation, but Jav couldn’t help thinking that the Minister of Affairs had heard his thoughts as if he’d voiced them.

“. . .there seems to be a point at which the star’s radiation exceeds tolerable limits. Once the. . .
organism
is filled to capacity with the signature radiation, any further infusion becomes harmful, destructive, and ultimately fatal. Too much of a good thing, one might say. In this way it is really quite simple to understand, but why
other
radiation should, by such stark contrast, nurture and promote growth on such a grand scale is also unknown. And moot in the end.”

All of the Shades were crowded into the jump deck station. Instead of a technician, Mefis Abanaster stood at the controls, ready to supplement the warp field with his Focusing Lens, covering his face as always, if necessary. The alcove that housed the deck itself presently lit up and the terrible, straining sound of the deck in operation heralded the three members of Blue Squad. Stepping down first, was Bela Fan, a compact woman with a sleek black bob that shone. Her eyes, Jav could not help but notice, were pale blue, like ice. Behind her were Dolma Set, his head a tousled mass of blond hair, and Stafros Lowe whose own downy white hair stood out against his bronze, nearly red, skin. All wore heavy, armored black boots, cobalt-blue trousers and long, square-shouldered coats of the same color with bright silver buttons down the front.

Barson moved to greet them, offering his hand to Bela Fan who looked up and took it. She stood just a little taller than Mefis Abanaster at 148 centimeters, and looked like a small child compared to Barson. “You’ve looked better, Barson,” she said, her voice, strangely, both soft and hard at the same time.

Dolma Set approached Barson as well, combed the hair away from his eyes with his fingers, and regarded him. “You stayed still too long, Barson. I told you that would be the end of you.”

Defeated, Barson cast his eyes down and nodded, a reaction for which Dolma Set was clearly unprepared. He clapped Barson high on his shoulder. “Now maybe you’ll let me teach you Liquid Palm.”

A weak grin formed upon Barson’s lips. “A rematch first, then maybe.”

Dolma Set returned his grin and nodded. By chance he caught sight of Jav and approached him. “So you’re Laedra Hol’s prodigy.”

Jav swallowed. “Prodigy? I don’t know if I’d go so far as to say prodigy.” Jav knew nothing about Dolma Set or any other member of Blue Squad except that Stafros Lowe had trained Lara Bester’s teacher in the Lead Cloud Steps, this he’d heard from Kalkin.

Dolma Set eyed Jav appraisingly for a moment then gave his head a violent shake. “Damn. What is it about you that reminds me of my little brother?”

Jav looked around the room, hoping someone might have an answer for him.

“Whatever happened to your brother?” Barson said.

Set stared fixedly at Witchlan, who had entered the room, and replied without looking away from the Minister. “I don’t know. He was never as good as me, but he was good. Just disappeared.” He turned back to Jav. “Well, Jav Holson, we’ll have to have ourselves a contest as well. Barson first, though. We’ve got history, he and I.”

Jav nodded and shook Set’s proffered hand.

Jav watched them on the gravity block. Stafros Lowe, in his uniform, arms folded and leaning up against the far wall, watched as well. Dolma Set wore a white T-shirt and the blue pants and black boots of his uniform. Barson wore his signature neat black suit. Set was a fraction of Barson’s size, but he stood his ground effortlessly. In fact, he easily dodged Barson’s every attempt at contact, moving like liquid, and Barson’s punches always slipping by as if both were coated in slick oil. And in fact, one might argue that Set was. His Artifact, the Essential Oil, did surround him in some kind of field that made him slippery, almost, if not entirely, frictionless. At least according to Kalkin.

Jav couldn’t help but feel sorry for Barson. He didn’t know what had gone on between those two in the past, what rivalry there might have been, but now, there was no contest. Barson couldn’t touch Set and Set didn’t appear to be exerting himself. The more Barson tried, the more he had to stop to cough, until finally he coughed so violently that he dropped to his hands and knees, bringing up a splash of blood mixed with something more substantial.

“Barson, look—”

Set tried to help Barson up, but Barson waved him away without making eye contact.

Barson wiped his mouth as he stood and then left the training facility without a word.

Shocked, Jav watched him go, but tried not to stare.

Set shook his head and ran his fingers roughly through his hair. He glanced at Stafros Lowe. Lowe shrugged, showing no other emotion. Set then stared at Jav for what seemed a long while before speaking. “Come up here, Holson.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Don’t call me ‘sir.’ You’ll make poor Slowe over here sick to his stomach and Bela’ll think I’ve been claiming to be First Specialist.
Former
First Specialist. You know, Holson, you come with some pretty impressive credentials.”

Jav cocked his head as he stepped up onto the gravity block.

Set nodded. “Laedra Hol’s Eighteen Heavenly Claws are the real thing and she talks you up like you wouldn’t believe.”

This surprised Jav.

“There’s also the fact that you’re still alive and essentially unmarked after all that’s gone down in the last three years.”

“Luck, I guess,” Jav offered.

But Set shook his head. “Has little to do with it. Are you familiar with our styles?” Set said, gesturing towards Stafros Lowe with a nod. Lowe, or
Slowe
as Set called him, stood straight and approached the gravity block.

“Lara Bester,” Jav said, “one of the Competition finalists, used Lead Cloud Steps, but I have to confess that I know little to nothing about your Liquid Palm style.”

“As far as I know there are no other living practitioners. My brother practiced a related style, but it must have died with him.” He turned and abruptly addressed Slowe. “Do you see it, or am I crazy?”

“No,” Slowe said in a deep, measured voice, “I see it. I don’t know what it is, though. I mean they don’t look alike, really.”

“I guess it doesn’t matter,” Set said. “I’m sorry, Holson. It’s just that you remind me
so
much of my little brother. Now,” he said, grinning, “let’s see if you fight like him.”

Jav removed his gray leather jacket and flung it onto one of the low benches that surrounded the block.

“Let’s start raw, huh? No Artifacts,” Set said.

“Sure,” Jav replied as he moved further inside the influence of the block.”

“Ever spar with Barson?”

“Uh-uh. I don’t think he likes me. I used to kill his troops by the score. Not on purpose, of course.”

“Ah, so you’re the source of the Mikai Curse.”

Jav pursed his lips and nodded. “Shall we?”

“Whenever you’re ready.”

Jav’s face reflected his mental shift. He’d seen how Set had moved in his “match” with Barson and felt that this was an opponent who could easily keep up with, and perhaps even outdo, Laedra Hol. He’d never thought about it before, had unconsciously ascribed his healthy respect for her to her position of authority, to her treatment of Mai Pardine, and to the seemingly impossible act of pulling him out of his displacement technique and nearly squeezing his head off with one hand. But if Jav had to rate all those he’d gone up against, he would have to say that Laedra Hol was the most skilled and the most dangerous. He got that same feeling from Dolma Set now even before engaging him.

Jav knew that Set’s style made him, for lack of a better, all-encompassing word, slippery, so he would forego grabs and joint locks. He lashed out with a right reverse punch claw hand, but Set turned fractionally and the hand went by. Counting on this Jav, Jav stepped his right leg forward and instantly swung his right arm back to scissor Set between appendages. Set moved with Jav’s motion, slipping free of the trap and doing a back handspring to safety. Jav turned and advanced, thrusting claw hands that this time forced Set back, back, back.

Set grinned. “Not bad.” But he stopped retreating and parried every claw Jav threw with soft, infuriating, willowy movements of his arms and palms. He matched Jav and then surpassed him, driving a quick, slapping palm to Jav’s forehead that sent him stumbling backwards.

Jav had never felt a strike quite like that. It was like the blood in his head was boiling. He shook the sensation clear and focused. Set required more than just strength and speed. He deserved Jav’s mastery of Approaching Infinity and he would get it.

Again, Jav’s manner shifted. This time, Set became serious as Jav seemed to detach himself from the fight. He no longer watched Set’s eyes, but instead concentrated on his targets. Somehow, Jav managed to defend himself as well, and Set knew that he was now employing AI, both to strike and to reduce any imminent impact.

Set felt the pressure of Jav’s strikes, still only glancing, but filled with deadly potential. Jav’s approach to the fight was thorough and methodical, Just like Laedra Hol’s, and that could prove problematic for Set if he wanted to remain dominant. He was an excellent fighter, brilliant and intuitive, but as good as he was, he was no good at strategy, large scale or small. Jav was systematically rising to every challenge Set could offer and both were blinded by their desire to overcome the other. And so the fight escalated.

Slowe dropped his folded arms, knowing what the sparring match had become. He and Set often found themselves locked in fights like this, but they had known each other and sparred together for almost twelve hundred years. They knew each other’s limits and when to stop. Slowe wasn’t so sure that either of the two up on the block knew any such thing.

Set was like a top, spinning, stopping instantly to spin the opposite direction, his arms like whips, his palms slapping, connecting frequently, but usually robbed of power by Jav’s AI. Usually, but not always. Jav’s T-shirt had several handprints worn through it, though Set’s was just as tattered from Jav’s clawed fingers. Both appeared to be feverish as the fight continued.

Jav stepped up his efforts, employing the dragon techniques now. His claw hands flourished, finishing with the dragon’s head claw. The dragon’s head thrust forward, dipped, circled back, probed, and struck.

Slowe saw what neither of them could: that Jav was counting on a certain level of care from Set, and that Set was counting on other tactics to deliver him from harm. But Jav had caught Set’s right shoulder in what Slowe knew could easily turn into the Kaiser Claw—every F-Gene Figher knew by now what the Kaiser Claw was—and so he cried out.

“Stop!”

Jav responded immediately, turning towards Slowe, but Set could not stop his left palm, rising like the lash of a whip into Jav’s midsection. Blood sprayed in a fine, violent mist from the place on Jav’s back exactly opposite where Set had struck him. There was no visible wound, front or back, but Set had set Jav’s blood into fast and furious motion through his pores.

Jav dropped to his knees and coughed up more blood. He was dazed to some degree, fighting to master his breath and his beating heart.

Set looked confused and stared at Slowe. “What the hell?”

Slowe climbed onto the gravity block and steadied Jav.

“I’m sorry, Jav,” Slowe said. He looked up at Set. “If you had connected with that punch while he still had your shoulder—while he was still concentrating on your shoulder—you would have yanked off your own arm.”

Set knew better than to second guess Slowe. He knelt down next to Jav. “Are you all right, Holson? It may not mean much to you right now, but I’m impressed. I’ve never had a bout like that, except with Slowe here, and that’s because he knows all my tricks.” He frowned a little. “You’re a damned fast learner, though.”

Jav had caught his breath and was grinning. “Thank you,” he said.

“Look at that,” Set said. “Just like Talma. I beat him up and he says ‘thank you.’ But Holson, even though you’re on the ground, you could have had my arm, which I would sorely miss. You get the win credit.”

Jav shook his head. “Let’s call it a draw.”

Set nodded, then frowned again. “I thought you were rated at 25 gravities.”

“I am,” Jav said through breaths, “officially.”

“
Officially
?” Slowe snorted.

Jav shrugged. “Someone’s been making me work a little harder for the last seven and a half months.”

“Have you got a custom block?” Set said, his interest piqued.

Jav nodded and attempted to rise.

“If it wouldn’t be too much of an imposition, do you think I—we—might be able to use it while we’re here?”

“Sure,” Jav said, bending and resting his hands on his knees.

Jav walked the corridor, one hand clutching his jacket, one hand pressed firmly against the spot where Set had hit him. He shook his head, recalling a similar situation that seemed a lifetime away. His first real fight with Mei Pardine had ended similarly: he’d caught her shoulder in the dragon’s head claw, thought that it was sufficient, and had been put into the infirmary for half a month for his naiveté. Set was not at all like Mei Pardine, and the circumstances were different, but it occurred to Jav that his choice of targets was a bit too. . . What? Kind? In preparing for the Artifact Competition, he had been chided by Laedra Hol for not ending his fights more quickly. There was what was obtainable in a fight to consider, but with just a little more set-up, Jav thought he could have had Set’s head. Not off his shoulders per se, but in such a way that the fight would have had a different outcome.