Mirror Friend, Mirror Foe

Mirror Friend, Mirror Foe

Robert Asprin & George Takei

He would have to fight the boy. All the argument thus far had proved was that the youth had no logical objections, but was making them up as he went along to support his own stubborn streak. The only way to end the discussion would be to teach the kid a lesson… physically.

Having reached this conclusion, Hosato began to reassess the situation, specifically viewing the room as a battlefield, as he continued the discussion.

“Be reasonable, James. I’ve been hired to do a job, like anyone else in this complex. That job is to teach you how to fence. It wasn’t my idea, it was your father’s, so instead of arguing, let’s get on with the job at hand.”

“But I don’t want to learn to fence!” the boy insisted, his gray eyes glowering from beneath a sandy tousle of hair. “Why not?”

The boy was tall, in his mid-teens, and broad for his age. He’d have the advantage of reach, since Hosato barely came up to his shoulders in height, but whatever edge his youth gave him in speed should be offset by his awkwardness.

“It’s silly,” the boy grumbled. “Why should I waste my time learning something I’ll never use. Swords are obsolete… so are guns, for that matter, but at least a gun would train me for using a blaster.”

“Are you carrying a gun or a blaster at the moment?” Hosato inquired politely.

“No,” James admitted. “You aren’t allowed to carry an energy weapon inside the complex unless you’re a security guard.”

“But you are wearing a sword.”

From what Hosato could see, the boy’s sword had a slender blade roughly one meter long. The overly ornate hilt indicated it was more a decoration than a functional weapon. Probably no cutting edges, which would restrict his opponent to attacking with the point.

“Of course I’m wearing a sword. Anyone of any station worth mentioning does.”

“But you can’t see any reason for learning to use it?”

The boy’s beige cotton-and-nylon jumpsuit would give him freedom of movement, though not as much as Hosato’s black fencing uniform. The soft-soled boots would give him traction, but the cloak was too long. With any luck, he’d trip over that cloak, or at least find it tangling his arm if he turned too suddenly.

“No, I don’t,” the youth retorted. “Nobody actually fights with swords. They’re a fashionable status symbol. Two years ago it was spangle gloves, today it’s swords. Big deal.”

Hosato abandoned his preparatory observations to make one last effort to convince the boy logically.

“Look, James. Your father is one of the most important men in this complex—a complex, I might add, that is constantly feuding with another complex on Grunbecker’s planet. That makes you a prime target for kidnapping or assassination. Realizing that, can’t you see the value of learning to use the one weapon the laws let you carry?”

“Let Security handle them.” The boy shrugged. “That’s what we pay them for.”

The tile floor of the rec room would give them decent footing, though not ideal. The far end of the room was still in darkness, but the X aisle here between the four pool tables would be well lighted enough to work in. Having completed his survey, Hosato moved to set up the confrontation.

“Security will handle them.” He sneered, mimicking the boy’s voice. “And what if they don’t. What will you do then. File a complaint. Or would you be forced to do your own fighting for a change?”

The main vulnerability of youth is not inexperience, it’s pride. The boy’s head came up with a snap as he reacted to the slight.

“I can take care of myself if I have to.”

“Is that a fact?” Hosato stung the boy with a patronizing smile. “Tell you what, James. If I can prove to you that you can’t handle yourself in a fight, will you agree to study what I have to teach you?”

“That wouldn’t be fair,” the youth protested. “I didn’t say I could cross swords with a fencing master and win. But there aren’t that many fencing masters around. I can hold my own against the kind of opponent I’d be likely to have to fight, though.”

Hosato smiled. “It seems there are a few misconceptions here we should clear up. First of all, I’m not a fencing master. I’m a professional duelist. I’m supposed to teach you to fight, not score points in a tournament. Second.”—he showed a few more teeth— “I didn’t say I’d cross swords with you. I’m betting you’re sloppy enough with that weapon I could defend myself without using a sword.”

The boy started to reply angrily, but caught himself.

“No deal,” he said suspiciously. “You’ll probably use karate or something.”

“As a matter of fact, I don’t know karate,” Hosato lied easily.

“Why not?” asked the boy. “I mean, you’re Oriental.”

“That’s right. I can’t use chopsticks, either.” Hosato caught himself before his a

“We’re getting off the subject. I’m proposing a little contest. You use a sword, and I don’t. If you can draw blood on me in five minutes, I’ll go to your father and tell him you don’t need lessons. Is it a deal?”

The boy hesitated. “What if I kill you?” he asked.

“Then I’ll be dead and you won’t have to take lessons.”

“I mean, what would I tell my father. With you dead, there’d be no one to say it was an exercise. I’d look like a murderer.”

Hosato smiled to himself. The boy was bright enough. Maybe he’d make a fencer after all.

“Don’t worry about it, James,” he said confidently. Hosato pulled a small flat box from where it was clipped inside his tunic. He thumbed a dial and lifted the unit to his lips.

“Suzi!” he said.

From the depths of the darkened end of the rec room came the whir of small high-speed motors, and a strange shape emerged into the light.

It was obviously a robot, but a very specialized robot. It stood six feet high, floating on a cushion of air, and was shaped like a rectangular metal box stood on end. One side was a rough manikin form, and had a jointed mechanical arm dangling from it.

“Meet Suzi,” Hosato said. “My combination equipment closet and fencing assistant.”

“So what?” said the youth, unimpressed.

Hosato spoke into the control box again. “Suzi. Display replay camera three two minutes back.”

In response, the machine pivoted about to reveal a view screen mounted on the end opposite the arm. A picture sprang into focus, of Hosato and James in conversation.

“draw blood on me in five minutes, I’ll go to your father—”

“Stop, Suzi!” Hosato turned to the boy. “There’s your witness.”

The youth was craning his neck to peer around the room.

“Have you got cameras in here?” he asked.

“Yes. I tape all my lessons,” Hosato replied. “They’re spaced around the room to make sure the action is captured from all angles.”

He pointed to a small black box no bigger than a matchbox, perched on the pool table by the boy’s el-bow.

“How many cameras are there, Hayama?” a new voice inquired, using Hosato’s alias. It came to them from the other end of the room as a new figure stepped into view.

Sasha. Hosato frowned to himself as he recognized the svelte figure of the security chief. He was going to have trouble with this lady. She was too efficient and moved a bit too quietly for his comfort.

“Half a dozen,” he answered, forcing a smile. “I didn’t see you come in.”

“You weren’t supposed to,” she replied without smiling. “Go ahead, Master James. I’ll be your witness that you attacked your teacher at his own request.” She draped herself casually over a folding chair next to the robot.

James looked uncomfortable for a moment, then grudgingly drew his sword. Hosato felt a quick wave of sympathy for the boy. He had run out of excuses and was now forced into doing combat with a fencing coach in front of an attractive woman. To say the least, it was an unenviable position.