Article 23 by William R. Forstchen Read Free Book Online Page B

he stepped into the circle. At least at home he had had a little experience with a bat, though usually when it came to a pickup game the other players tended to relegate him to right field and pray nothing would come his way.
    Justin clenched the bat and raised it as if facing a pitcher.
    Malady wearily shook his head.
    "No, no," he sighed. "I'm not a hard ball, Mr. Bell. Give me that."
    Malady bounded forward, moving with the ease of a ballet dancer in spite of his massive bulk. He took the bat and held it up, clenching the weapon a third of the way up from the handle.
    "A lot of fools try the way you did, son. They'll only get one good swing in. If your opponent can dodge it, they'll be on you before you can recover. In low gravity you'll just spin around like a top and then catch a knife in the kidneys. Use both ends of it, just like old Robin Hood and his merry men used the quarterstaff like this."
    Malady feigned a blow to Justin's head with the spiked end, recovered, and then drove in with the butt of the handle, stopping the blow at the last instant so it was just a light tap under the chin. Justin realized that if it had been for real he'd be ordering a new set of teeth.
    "OK, try it again."
    Malady tossed the bat back and returned to the middle of the circle. Nervously Justin gripped the bat the way Malady had shown him. He edged into the circle, trying to focus on Malady's eyes as the instructor had told them to, while watching the movement of his hands and feet with peripheral vision.
    He tried a blow to his opponent's shoulder with the spiked end, but Malady easily danced out of the way. For Justin the whole ritual was very disconcerting. He liked and admired Malady; during the summer the instructor had taken him aside to share a few stories about Justin's father. Malady's creased features had crinkled with delight when he had talked about "the skipper," and how Justin's dad had once saved his life in a barroom brawl on Mars. Yet now he was supposed to try and beat the life out of him. Of course he knew the attempt was futile, no plebe had ever bested Malady with any weapon let alone with bare hands. He wondered if Malady ever boasted about how he had most likely thrashed every officer in the service at some time during his or her career.
    Justin tried again, this time jabbing for Malady's face. Malady stepped past the blow and moved to close in. Justin danced backwards, moving clumsily in the heavy gravity. He reversed his hold on the bat with his left hand and now used it to jab straight at the instructor. He almost connected, but Malady dodged so that the handle of the bat just scraped across his arm.
    Malady grabbed the bat just below the spikes and jerked it back, dragging Justin along with it. His foot lashed out, tripping Justin so that he went down hard. Malady then jerked the bat up, trying to wrench it out of Justin's hands, but he refused to let go.
    Justin felt the light tap of a knee go into his solar plexus, just enough to let him know that if it had been for real his spleen would most likely be wrapped around his backbone.
    Justin let go and backed away, holding his stomach.
    "All right, son?"
    Justin nodded, not willing to admit that the blow hurt.
    "Good move there, cadet, coming in with the butt of the handle. Don't go for an arm though unless you hit it square it'll skid off the way it did with me. Go for the ribs, face or stomach."
    Justin nodded, wondering how he'd react if this situation were ever for real. These exercise periods with Malady always made him feel clumsy; he wondered if the legendary Marine looked at him and felt he would never match up to the legend of Captain Jason Bell.
    Malady casually tossed the bat to the side of the circle.
    "All right, kiddies, let's get down to some basics here. Now, the Old Man talks about the lofty vision of the Corps and all that, but when you cut out all the fancy talk and gold braid it comes down to guts. It might be nothing more than dealing with