Marine’s fist fired. Tap.
Another position. “Again.”
Tap.
“He’s very fast, don’t you think?” Jeffrey asked Delaney, who nodded her agreement, her expression somewhat bored.
“Human nerves carry impulses about 30 to 100 meters per second. This means, in the short distance from eyes to brain and then to muscles, targeting a punch only takes a fraction of a second, but as people train at skills, the pathways they use for those skills become more efficient. As we use pathways in the brain, myelin wraps those pathways, increasing efficiency as much as one hundred times. There’s a big difference between one hundred meters per second and 10,000 meters per second. But that applies to the brain. The rest of the nerve structure stays fairly slow even as we train. The increase in speed is developed in the brain. One of the key modifications beyond vascular strengthening to the Hammerheads is corporeal nerve enhancement. Nanites lace graphene into the nerve structure. The inefficient nerve no longer carries the signal, the graphene does. Graphene is an excellent conductor, so electrical impulses move along it at close to the speed of light. The impulse is slightly slowed over synapses and so on.” Jeffrey touched his arm. “My nerve fibers translate messages not at the highest human capacity of 100 meters per second, but at nearly 300 million meters per second.” That means, while I am much older, I can see his strikes and process and deliver a reaction far faster. By the time his hand is one-quarter of the way to my face, I have processed the strike and am adjusting.”
He looked to the Marine again and said, “Hit me.”
The Marine stared at him.
“Hit me,” Jeffrey said, motioning with his hand for the Marine to come at him.
Delaney, her expression unimpressed as if Jeffrey were only trying to prove he was still strong in old age, asked, “Captain Holt, is this truly necessary?”
“Give me this moment. I guarantee no one is going to get hurt.”
“I can’t give that same guarantee, sir,” the Marine said. “I won’t hit you.”
Jeffrey smiled at the Marine and said, “That’s true. Now throw a punch, or I’ll have you down for insubordination.”
“Captain Holt,” Delaney said, anger tinting in her words, “we do not need to see this.”
“Yes,” Jeffrey said, “you do. The point I’m about to make will illustrate why the drones won’t work. He looked to the Marine, “Now hit me Marine.”
The Marine squared on him and shot out a slow jab at Jeffrey’s chest.
Jeffrey slapped the jab aside. “You call that a punch? How’d you make it into VIP protection?”
The Marine’s face reddened.
Jeffrey smiled. “Make it real.”
The Marine fired his fist harder, and Jeffrey slipped the punch past his right ear. He pushed the soldier backwards. “Come on kid, go for it. What’s the problem, don’t have the stomach for it?”
The Marine’s eyes narrowed.
That’s right, get mad. Let’s do this right.
The Marine threw a fast jab at Jeffrey’s face.
As Jeffrey slapped it aside with his right hand, he touched the side of the Marine’s face with his left.
The Marine, tightening his fists until the knuckles whitened, threw a hook at Jeffrey’s left ear. Jeffrey ducked under it and slapped the Marine’s belly. The Marine threw another hook, which Jeffrey caught with his forearm. The Marine’s teeth showed through his slightly parted lips as he chucked an uppercut, which Jeffery leaned away from, the fist brushing his nose.
The Marine now threw a frenzy of punches, jabbing, crossing, hooking. He growled as he put his weight behind the strikes. Jeffrey reacted to none of the Marine’s feints while slipping or checking every real strike. After a few moments, the Marine, appearing to understand he would land nothing, stepped back as a runnel of sweat ran from his hairline.
Jeffrey held up a hand, saying, “That’s more than enough for now. How old are you?”
Through
Another position. “Again.”
Tap.
“He’s very fast, don’t you think?” Jeffrey asked Delaney, who nodded her agreement, her expression somewhat bored.
“Human nerves carry impulses about 30 to 100 meters per second. This means, in the short distance from eyes to brain and then to muscles, targeting a punch only takes a fraction of a second, but as people train at skills, the pathways they use for those skills become more efficient. As we use pathways in the brain, myelin wraps those pathways, increasing efficiency as much as one hundred times. There’s a big difference between one hundred meters per second and 10,000 meters per second. But that applies to the brain. The rest of the nerve structure stays fairly slow even as we train. The increase in speed is developed in the brain. One of the key modifications beyond vascular strengthening to the Hammerheads is corporeal nerve enhancement. Nanites lace graphene into the nerve structure. The inefficient nerve no longer carries the signal, the graphene does. Graphene is an excellent conductor, so electrical impulses move along it at close to the speed of light. The impulse is slightly slowed over synapses and so on.” Jeffrey touched his arm. “My nerve fibers translate messages not at the highest human capacity of 100 meters per second, but at nearly 300 million meters per second.” That means, while I am much older, I can see his strikes and process and deliver a reaction far faster. By the time his hand is one-quarter of the way to my face, I have processed the strike and am adjusting.”
He looked to the Marine again and said, “Hit me.”
The Marine stared at him.
“Hit me,” Jeffrey said, motioning with his hand for the Marine to come at him.
Delaney, her expression unimpressed as if Jeffrey were only trying to prove he was still strong in old age, asked, “Captain Holt, is this truly necessary?”
“Give me this moment. I guarantee no one is going to get hurt.”
“I can’t give that same guarantee, sir,” the Marine said. “I won’t hit you.”
Jeffrey smiled at the Marine and said, “That’s true. Now throw a punch, or I’ll have you down for insubordination.”
“Captain Holt,” Delaney said, anger tinting in her words, “we do not need to see this.”
“Yes,” Jeffrey said, “you do. The point I’m about to make will illustrate why the drones won’t work. He looked to the Marine, “Now hit me Marine.”
The Marine squared on him and shot out a slow jab at Jeffrey’s chest.
Jeffrey slapped the jab aside. “You call that a punch? How’d you make it into VIP protection?”
The Marine’s face reddened.
Jeffrey smiled. “Make it real.”
The Marine fired his fist harder, and Jeffrey slipped the punch past his right ear. He pushed the soldier backwards. “Come on kid, go for it. What’s the problem, don’t have the stomach for it?”
The Marine’s eyes narrowed.
That’s right, get mad. Let’s do this right.
The Marine threw a fast jab at Jeffrey’s face.
As Jeffrey slapped it aside with his right hand, he touched the side of the Marine’s face with his left.
The Marine, tightening his fists until the knuckles whitened, threw a hook at Jeffrey’s left ear. Jeffrey ducked under it and slapped the Marine’s belly. The Marine threw another hook, which Jeffrey caught with his forearm. The Marine’s teeth showed through his slightly parted lips as he chucked an uppercut, which Jeffery leaned away from, the fist brushing his nose.
The Marine now threw a frenzy of punches, jabbing, crossing, hooking. He growled as he put his weight behind the strikes. Jeffrey reacted to none of the Marine’s feints while slipping or checking every real strike. After a few moments, the Marine, appearing to understand he would land nothing, stepped back as a runnel of sweat ran from his hairline.
Jeffrey held up a hand, saying, “That’s more than enough for now. How old are you?”
Through
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