Chapter 6

This morning I decided to work out in the main gym. If that hulk of a security guard was there I hoped to get some introductions. I liked sparring with others, and he did say I was welcome.

It was early morning, so it didn't surprise me to see the gym full of people. There were gym members, craning and gawking at my presence. I sensed a ripple of excitement around me when I worked through my wolf forms. My martial art was a mixture of the basic Fleet form, Solon clan style, and movements that I adapted to compliment my heavy world muscles. I wasn't a master practitioner but a year of bobbing and weaving through real combat made me confident. For some reason something changed in me on Haven. I moved more fluidly than my heavy world genes should allow. I had both strength and grace in my movements with an equilibrium that matched a skilled gymnast.

I felt, as much as saw, a few men moving to my mat. Ex-marines were evaluating my performance with seasoned eyes, along with regular spacers feeling nosy. Across from me, on another mat, a woman swayed side to side, trying desperately to maintain her grappling hold over a larger woman. The smaller woman lost her balance and was pinned quickly, concluding the match. The match went unnoticed by the others present; it was one of many similar practice bouts around me. It seemed a significant part of the crew took physical exercise very seriously. I wondered why the proportion of women to men was so highly skewed to women. My paranoid brain's first thought was raiders. The fear of the slave trade that seemed to be part of whispered conversations on the ship motivated the female crew to practice self-defense. "Surely that is sexist thinking," I concluded, dismissing my curious observation.

After twenty minutes of warm ups I went to the refresher to get rid of some water. When I was done in the stall, I walked out of the bathroom. Even with forty or fifty people in the large gym, there were a number of open mats. About a dozen women were running the outside track in pairs.

I turned my features into a confident mask and walked over to the most active mats. Several men nodded at me, giving a civil welcome. I watched a couple of good-natured wrestling matches, and then moved over to another mat to see what was going on there. A blonde haired woman bounced off me, not looking where she was going. The smell of her perspiration filled my nostril. I glanced at her face, but she wasn't fazed about running into me. The woman's smoldering expression was focused on a man who was laughing at her. Red flooded the distracted woman's face and she fled the room. The laughing man hadn't been in the gym a few minutes ago; I would have noticed him.

A few men near me shook their heads in disapproval at the offending man and walked off. This left me standing alone at one side of the mat circle and a half ring of men on the other side. A woman moved from behind the laughing man and whispered in his ear. His perfectly chiseled features and strong jaw line embodied the look of a male model. Yet, just by looking at him I knew his heart was full of darkness. He wasn't some carefree playboy. Having fought on battlefields I knew a killer when I saw one. He wasn't going to give me the kind of welcome I needed on the ship, so I turned on my heels.

"Solon, wait. I need some practice on the mat." Without turning I was sure it was the laughing man.

My inner voice told me to keep walking. I didn't know him and I didn't want to know him.

"Hey, I'm talking to you! Don't be a rude ass," he called out, in a fake laughing tone, loud enough to pull the noise in the gym down. People wanted to see what was going on.

I stopped and turned. Laughing man crossed over the circle with his girlfriend to hunt me down. The confident eyes of a bully looked at me from three feet away. His black eyes held no joy in them.

"Nora tells me you're the castaway," he said. The other men remained in place across the circle watching the spectacle.

I didn't answer, what difference would it make. He had an agenda, so I let his words hang. If that crying woman was any example, this discussion wasn't going to be pleasant. The woman nudged him.

"I need a partner to spar with on the mat," he said. "Clan boys know martial arts, right?"

"No thanks," I said, turning again, knowing his pride wouldn't like it.

"I insist," he responded back stiffly. "Think of me as your gym mentor."

He was my size, a touch taller and since he had no shirt on, I could see his muscles were well defined. His movements lacked grace, so it was strength and intimidation that he used as his weapons.

My paranoid brain told me this was a mistake. "Fine."

A few people had drifted to our mat during the conversation, including the hulk of a security guard that had escorted me on my first day on the ship. Our eyes connected and he just nodded, staying out of my mess. Friendly banter around the circle began.

"Don't break him, Boorman. He is a guest of the Captain and one of our meal tickets," someone said walking up behind me.

A few of the men laughed. The laughing man and his girlfriend were among those who thought it funny. I just kicked off my shoes and entered the circle, loosening up my muscles. The woman had a round face with thin lips and eyes that seemed set too close together. Also, her unusual features included light-brown hair that was very short, with the point of her nose turned up in a way that distracted one from her gray-green eyes. She seemed to be sizing me up and it didn't feel friendly.

The atmosphere felt tense around laughing man as he took his place opposite me. The men around the circle fidgeted nervously. My heart rate was already elevated. I was worried about what the stoic faces of the crowd were telling me. "He plays for keeps," I thought. "He doesn't lose face well."

My cheeks warmed when the girlfriend added, "He looks pretty young, Boorman, I don't think you'll get a normal workout from him. I doubt he has the fast reflexes of a pilot either."

I was perplexed how coming to the gym had gone bad so fast. My instincts measured up the laughing man but I'd not seen him in action. I had a gut feeling he went for overpowering moves to keep things short. He wanted to hurt me and then magnanimously let me off the hook.

The woman began humming some tune and that made Boorman smile. For some reason the tune offended the hulking guard. As the moment passed, someone said, "Bow to each other and then begin."

I bowed, ready for his opening move.

He closed on me quickly, snapping a series of low kicks at my legs. I easily deflected them and danced out of his way at an angle. He chased after me with roundhouse kicks. I didn't stay still; I let him use up his energy. The laughing man was using a lot of power in his kicks but not speed.

"We know you can run well," he said gruffly, frustrated.

He closed with me again and thrust a series of hand strikes to my body, which I blocked with my forearms. His strikes were fast and smooth. After progressing through the attacks and blocks, I challenged his stability with grabbing and trapping techniques. He broke contact, but I wasn't sure if it was owing to the strangeness of my moves or what. His technique was all standard Fleet sparing techniques, not too challenging for me.

We continued on exchanging strikes and punches for some time. Neither of us landed any solid hits on the other as we traded many kicks and blocks.

I saw in his eyes as he forced himself to admit our bout was not going to be so easy. He wasn't as focused as he should be, occasionally looking at people around the ring. "He is searching for approval or comfort," I thought. The cause of his distraction didn't matter. We all may have our little insecurities, but should deny them in a bout. I stayed focused on him, as Uncle Stephen had taught me.

He wasn't laughing anymore.

I attacked with sweeping leg combinations that pinned him to the back of the circle before I landed a frontal kick to the chest that propelled him out of the ring. The nature of the attack was faster than he could react.

Someone shouted, "Point Solon."

I returned to my starting place keeping my eyes on him the entire time. It was a good thing I did. He rushed me from off the mat, not a sanctioned move. It was rather unsporting and full of anger. The problem with his charge was the energy needed to stop if necessary. I dropped and then threw him over my shoulder off the other side of the mat. He landed badly and blood dripped from his nose.

"Point Solon," the crowd called out in unison.

He stomped back into the ring and waved me in, non-verbally demanding I attack. My shaking head turned his face red. He moved deliberately at me, looking like he intended to punch my head in, with fist raised and walking with a straight back. Not stopping, he swung at air as I dodged. He repeated the move, clearly not in control of himself. I countered with a left hand block and a right claw to his neck. A palm strike to his forehead stunned him, while I followed up with a front leg sweep that unbalanced him. A quick kick to his stationary leg took laughing man down.

"Match Solon," someone shouted.

"You tricked me into doing that!" he shouted, rolling off the mat and immediately running out of the gym.

His girlfriend walked after him, not looking back.

"Poor Boorman," someone said.

A single clap broke the silence, and then more followed. Within seconds, the crew around the circle gave me a small cheer. The hulk smiled and patted me on the back. Despite his protestations of trickery, the gathered men praised my artful defense of the pilot's attacks. My exercise shirt was soaked. My arms and legs were covered in a sheen of sweat. I made small talk with the minor dignitaries of the gym. It was obvious who the alpha dogs were.

The tension in my calf muscles started a slight spasm. "I've over-done my first workout," I thought, feeling pleased I had pushed the man's pride down a notch.

A new woman entered the gym and the hulk made straight for her. She was a tall, powerfully built woman with short blonde hair. Her arm was scarred, and I was sure each mark had a story behind it. I took off my shirt and wiped my perspiration off, trying to place where I'd seen her before.

The crowd dispersed, their excitement gone and their spirits lifted in good cheer. A few security types approached me, laying a hand on me one after another, in a sign of quiet acceptance. Each one smiled and then drifted off to another mat.

"Well done, Solon," the hulk said. The man's broad smile turned to the woman.

Without preamble, she said, "Taylor tells me you are full of surprises." The officer seemed surprised to see my scars from old wounds on my chest and shoulder. She surveyed my sweaty body like a drill instructor, seeing what she had to work with.

The hulking Taylor interjected, "This is Lt. Ulla Foth, chief of security for the ship."

I felt a sense of exhilaration pass through me, since the praise was from the same woman I'd embarrassed myself with, in front of the commander in the hanger deck upon my shuttle arrival.

"Taylor said you traded blow for blow with the Pilot Boorman, rather than the normal grappling and throwing moves of other heavy-world clansmen. I've never heard of that before." she said, more as a question than a statement.

The question hung for a moment. "The pilot isn't very fast," I responded.

She laughed. "I happen to know he has average speed but powerful blows that are best to be avoided."

"The lieutenant normally dances around the pilot in training," Taylor explained, "before she puts him down with a sudden grapple and throw that finishes the bout."

"Do you use clan style moves on everyone?" I asked.

"Oh no. I am really particular when I make my moves," she said with a double entendre.

Taylor snorted, adding, "The lieutenant uses mixed clan and fleet moves like you. There aren't many of us that mix it up. Most of the crew sticks to the standard fleet moves of chopping, striking, and kicking."

He'd clearly told her about my finishing moves from the bout.

"Do you have anything left for another bout?" the lieutenant asked. "I'd like a match."

For some reason I felt energized by her interest, her feminine undertone almost purred with allure. She shifted over to the circle in the mat, not waiting for a response. Her well-defined muscles and graceful moves sent a warrior's challenge; her eyes never left me. I felt like I was watching a feline flush out her quarry—me.