Citadel (Book 1): Training in Necessity (15 page)

"Trainee, shut it down.  You're disrupting the fighters."  The newcomer had Chinese features.  His hair was cut short and he was wearing an operative's uniform, just like theirs but with a white shirt instead of black.  "Hector, stay.  The rest of you, go home or go watch one of the fights, quietly." he said, voice and eyes as hard as cast iron.

Duncan's demeanor changed, instantly.  "Yes, sir." he said, lowering his face, now wiped clean of the hostile sneer Hector was used to seeing on it.  Duncan left immediately, but Sam lingered, for a moment, before taking to the air.  She was out of sight in less than a second.

"Thanks, sir."

"No problem, Hector."  The operative stuck out his hand.  Hector fumbled with the canister he'd been holding, shifted it to his left hand, then extended his right to shake.  The stranger slapped his hand aside and plucked the item out of his left.  "I don't shake hands with recruits.  I just wanted to see what you were holding."

Hector stepped back, too surprised to respond with any kind of grace.  "What the-?"  The motion had been so smooth that Hector hadn't even been able to track it.

"Why the OC spray?  You've got a pistol and a bean bag gun.  Why not use one of them?"  The man's voice was cool, analytical, but there was a wry twist to his mouth.

Who was this guy?  "Sir, I'm not sure how tough Duncan is.  The pistol might've killed him." he answered, doing his best to keep his tone polite.  At least he had plenty of experience as a waiter and bar tender to help with that.

"And the bean bags?"

Hector stifled a frustrated sigh.  "Same issue.  I don't know how tough he is, might not have done anything.  Pepper spray should have at least some effect on him."

"Good thinking."  He broke into an outright grin, nodding.  "You haven't figured out how to access the fight archives yet, but I know you watched him fight the Juggernaut."  His face relaxed, a little more serious.  "Why don't you know how strong he is?"

"How-?  Who are you, sir?  How did you know our names?  What I've been-?"  Hector couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so flustered.

"Operative Bruce Richards, Deputy Director of Training and your next Conditioning Instructor." he replied, radiating self-satisfaction.

"Holy shit!  You're a Richards type?" Hector asked.

"All that, and my power type is what you picked to focus on?"  Bruce laughed.  "C'mon Hector, I thought better of you than that."

"Sorry, sorry sir..."  That name was familiar, so was the face.  "It's just, I've never met a Richards type, they're so rare, and I didn't think that I'd run into one here..."

"Yeah, most of us don't go in for the fight stuff."  His grin was as big as Jenny's.  "I'm a bit of an exception though."

"So, so you're here to watch us fight?  For your class on Monday?"

"Nope!"  He was still grinning, cheerfully amused by Hector's state.  "I came here because I wanted to talk to you, Hector."

"Me?"  Hector slowed his breathing, trying to calm down.  "Well, uh, what can I do for you, sir?"

"It's about your challenge."

"Yes, sir?"

"Before I go any further, tell me what you're carrying."

"Okay..."  Hector paused, going over the list in his head.  "Well, like you said, I've got my pistol.  I wasn't planning to use that though.  I just thought I should get in the habit of having it on me.  The bean bag gun," he hefted the item in question, "it can fire gas canisters too.  The bags shouldn't do too much damage to a normal person, long as I'm careful about face shots, and the gas is just a more concentrated version of the pepper spray."

"Okay, but the gas doesn't disperse much, won't cover the whole combat room."

"No sir, but enough of them will.  I can fire a lot."  Bruce nodded.  "The gas mask is pretty self-explanatory.  The vest won't do anything for me today," he said, touching his chest, "but it's the same thing as the pistol.  I'm going to have to wear it pretty much all the time, so I want to start getting used to it now."

"Go on."

"Um, I've got two grenades, a flash bang and fragmentation."

His future instructor interrupted, "Why no tanglefoot bags?  You're checked out on basic restraints."

"No point."  Bruce nodded, again.  "Also, a shock baton."

"Now that one, you're not certified in."

"No sir, I had my first class last night but the movements are the same as the telescoping baton.  Sones authorized it, as long as I keep it on the lowest setting."

Bruce Richards just stared at him, his eyes probing, before he answered.  "Shit.  You really did figure it out."  Hector watched as the man lost his confident posture, slumping in... Was that regret?  "I'm betting you didn't tell Sones who you were fighting?"

"No, sir."  Hector answered, confused.

"Go to Viewtube."  Bruce paused, until Hector nodded to show that one him had done it.  "Do a search for Intervention Prime, one three two three.  That's in numbers, not words."

"Yes, sir."  A moment later, "It's a private video, Instructor Bruce."

"Password is gloria non duret, all one word."

The other him entered it then hit play.  Exactly one minute and forty two seconds later, his jaw dropped.  All of his jaws dropped.  He looked up at Operative Richards.  Hector felt... he didn't know what he felt.

"I, I didn't know.  I..."

"National security.  We don't let combat footage of Intervention Prime out.  Most of the time, we don't even release their names.  You can probably guess why."

"I... what should I do?  Forfeit, or...?"  Hector couldn't fight him, not after he'd seen that.

"No, he wouldn't want that.  Just go on, like you would've if I hadn't talked to you."

"What else did he do?  Prime only comes out for Class Two and up, I know that much."  Hector had tears in his eyes.  He'd recognized the city.  It looked different today, but it was still there.  He'd grown up in a suburb of Carson City.  His mother was still alive, bad off as she was.  Neither of those would have happened if not for...

"He did enough, Hector."

Neither of them had anything else to say.

"I apologize for interrupting, Deputy Director, but I'm afraid Trainee Hector and I have a match that's scheduled to start."

It was him.

"It's no problem, Senior Operative Juggernaut.  We were done here.  Hector, I'd like to go over some of your training requests, but that can wait until Monday."

Hector couldn't answer.  There was something in his throat.  He just nodded, instead.

"I've asked you before, please, I prefer Coach.  Or just call me Achala."

"I will, as soon as you call me Bruce."

Hector understood how the Richards type felt.  He didn't know if he could go through with the plan he'd had.

"Come on Hector, Healer Andrew is waiting for us."

"Yes, sir."

"Please enter the dome." said the healer.  "You may begin as soon as you hear the tone."

"Thank you, Andrew.  Good luck Hector."  Coach Achala was already wearing the same pair of gloves he'd had on when he fought Duncan.  Hector watched him smile at them both, before putting on a white mask.  It looked like a ski mask that had been tailored for him, no mouth hole, tight fitting with a pair of lenses over the eyes.

Hector just nodded, unsure what to say and more than a little sick to his stomach.  He put on his gasmask.

They entered the dome through opposite sides.  Hector stared at his opponent, the last man in the world he wanted to hurt.  But… that operative, Bruce, had said that Achala would want him to fight.  So... fine.  He'd do his best.  Outside the dome, Hector began to circle it, leaving behind new hims.  When he'd completed the circuit, there were enough of him to give a full, panoramic view of the entire combat room.

Hector didn’t watch himself fight during combat practice, would’ve counted as using his powers which was still off limits.  They hadn’t let him watch anyone else fight during the initial rankings, presumably to keep anyone from getting an unfair advantage.  But from what he’d been told by the healer at the time, it should be allowed now.

He studied his opponent, noted that he wasn't standing still.  The movements were small, far too subtle to be noticed from his position across the dome.  Achala was swaying back and forth as well as making little circular motions with his arms.  The only things perfectly still were his feet.  That confirmed it.  Hector had been right about his power; he wasn't a Strong type at all.

Hector heard the tone.  The match had started.  He ran as quickly as he could, to the left and to the right, splitting off new bodies as he went.  Coach Achala dipped into a pouch and flung a handful of the ball bearing things he'd used against Duncan.  Hector watched, even as four of his six selves in the dome were cut down.  These were smaller.  Achala had been able to hold more of them and scatter them in a wide arc.  Only the two most widespread Hectors, the ones who were also closest to Achala, had escaped injury.

He split up again.  Some of him continuing on, along the dome walls, others doubling back to concentrate on making more of himself rather than closing the distance.  Coach Achala had abandoned the wide arcing throws in favor of more careful, targeted ones.  He seemed to be concentrating on the Hectors that were getting closest to him and he hadn't missed yet.  The little metal balls tore through Hectors' ballistic vests, and his chests, like they weren't even there.  Then, they bounced harmlessly off the dome walls and fell to the ground.

He judged that a few of him were close enough, so they raised their bean bag guns and began firing.  Most were still too far for real accuracy, he needed to be within about twenty feet, but three hit.  Achala, still throwing those little balls with devastating precision, didn't even flinch.  The bags either burst or bounced off when they hit.

"That's not supposed to happen." said several of the outside Hectors.  "Those things are rated to stay intact through a ridiculous level of impact."

Achala abandoned the throwing and ran forward.  He struck several of the Hectors, still firing the useless bags at him, between him and the center of the room.  Hector cried out.  Some of him had been struck a glancing blow by Achala's arms or hands as he passed, one had been directly in his path.  That one virtually burst apart as the coach moved through him, the others fell with shattered limbs or ribs.  Achala stopped running when he reached the center of the room but he didn't stop moving.

He gave a little flick of his wrists, then Achala was holding a pair of... jump ropes?  The Hectors outside were too far to see in detail and the ones inside had their vision obscured by their gas masks.  Each had a small handle with a thin cord attaching it to a weight about the size of a gumball. 

Achala spun them, one in each hand, in circles that never quite intersected but covered all of the area around him.  The cords stretched out about fifteen feet.  Every Hector within that area died in seconds, cut limb from limb as the cord or the weight passed through their bodies without resistance.

Hector backed up, putting space between his selves and the man.  Achala pursued, but couldn't move quickly enough to catch more than a few Hectors without breaking the rhythm of his spinning ropes.  Hector set a few of himself to making replacements for those that Achala caught, while the rest of him switched from the useless bean bag rounds to the tear gas canisters.

Achala dropped the ropes and ran to the nearest downed Hector.  Even as the first muffled thump of a canister firing became audible, he'd stripped the feebly resisting Hector of his gas mask and pressed it against his own face.  He ran from the spot, fumbling with the straps until the mask was able to stay in place on its own.

"Damn.  I really thought that would work." said the outside Hectors.

"Uh... Hector?" called one of the other trainees.  "Could you stop the creepy talking in unison thing?  It's really distracting."

"Sorry." he said, careful to keep it to just one outside Hector.  "First time I've had to concentrate this hard in a long time."

Achala had retrieved his ropes and resumed the deadly circles.  He was moving faster now, catching more Hectors, but still not fast enough.  The outside Hectors let him see the field of combat despite the haze of tear gas beginning to fill the dome.  Coach Achala was able to put down any of him that got too close, almost instantly, but he couldn't cover enough ground. 

Hector could make more of himself faster than he was being killed.  He'd even been careful to keep a few hims out of the fray, so he still had a full supply of equipment.  However, nothing he'd tried had been able to get through Coach Achala's defenses.

Despite his earlier reluctance, Hector found himself desperate to break the stalemate.  Well, he had two strategies left.  Four Hectors armed and threw flashbangs at Achala.  The rest closed their eyes, opened their mouths and covered their ears.  In the enclosed room, large as it was, the effect was awful.  Even the outside Hectors staggered back.  But the disorienting effects faded quickly, for him, and then a dozen Hectors were charging the coach from all sides, stun batons extended.

Hector had given up on any weapon that relied on impact or penetration before the fight began.  The Viewtube videos he'd found, what must have been Achala Juggernaut's early career, had made it obvious they wouldn't work.  The only reason he'd bothered with the bean bags was to check whether impacts from different directions would work and to keep Achala occupied while he spread out to fill the dome with enough of his selves that he'd be able to replace the ones lost to the man's irresistible blows.