bad loss had been to a man not much bigger than a child. She'd underestimated his skill and strength, and he'd beaten her bloody and senseless for her lapse.
She knew better, now.
The woman was centered well, despite the gravity and the dust. Dirisha had practiced moving in the lower gee for a week before she'd gone looking for the locals' champion. Anything less would have been stupid.
The woman was close enough for Dirisha to see her face. Oddly, she seemed familiar, though Dirisha couldn't place her. She knew a lot of the major players, but this woman wasn't from those memories.
Dirisha saw the woman recognize her for what she was, and she smiled, teeth bright against her dark skin.
The small woman was dressed in a dustwrap suit, sealed at the neck, ankles and wrists, and she stopped three meters away.
"What say, Sister?" Dirisha felt tight, wired, ready to spring.
The woman sighed. "I thought somebody like you might come. I was hoping to avoid having to hurt anybody here, but if you're determined, I'm ready to show you the way." A deliberate pause. "Sister."
The voice did it. The face might not have given it to her, but the voice brought it back: Dirisha remembered the woman, knew where she had seen her before. Her surprise must have overcome her control, for the woman smiled.
"What's the matter, Sister? See a ghost?"
Dirisha smiled, she couldn't help it. "Lizard!"
"I didn't copy that, Sister. Say again."
Dirisha shook her head. "You wouldn't understand the term, it's personal.
But I know you—you were on Dirisha, about ten standards ago. In Flat Town."
"So?" The woman edged forward a hair, setting her feet more firmly on the chalk-like ground under the orange dust. She turned slightly to one side, to present a smaller target.
"You took out a freight handler in Kivu's, a guy hard-timing a young woman." A child, Dirisha thought.
"I lost count of the pub-scrubs I've shaken up, Sister. A long time ago." She slid a few centimeters closer.
Automatically, Dirisha moved her own stance backward a hair. Then she stopped, and forced herself to relax. "I saw it. I was the girl. You saved my ass."
"I can't even remember it, night-face. It was nothing."
Dirisha shook her head again. "It was something. It re-focused my life."
The small woman laughed. "You became a player? Walking the fucking Flex? Shit. What were you before?"
"A trull. A good-timer."
"Not much improvement. Some, but not much." She moved in a little closer, her hands starting to come up.
"Don't," Dirisha said. "I can't fight you. You gave me a way out. I worked for years to be like you, as good as you."
"Well, now's your chance to find out if you made it, little sister. Or, maybe 'daughter' might be better, hey?"
"Look, I don't want to do this. Forget I was ever here."
"How can 1? You brought all that fucking history with you. I was one of the best when you were still a kid. I still am."
Dirisha nodded. "I'm not arguing."
"But do you believe, night-face? That I was better than you then, and I'm better than you now?"
Pride rose in Dirisha, ego-fed and fat. "You were better, then. Not now. I know how good you were, I studied your moves in memory a thousand times. But—"
"But I'm old and slow and you're young and fast, right?"
Anger flared. She was trying to give the woman a way out—why wouldn't she take it?
"Is that right, good-timer-who-thinks-she-can-play-with-the-best?"
Dirisha dropped her center, and took a deep breath. "Yes. That's right!"
The woman lunged—
Fifteen seconds later, the woman who had once saved Dirisha's life was unconscious. Not dead, not even badly injured, that's how much better Dirisha was than she.
Dirisha hadn't been able to understand the fight, then.
Dirisha Zuri—it meant "window to beauty" in her native language—stood staring at Matador Villa. The memory of the fight against her one-time benefactor still pained her whenever she recalled it. She'd understood why the woman had to try her, but only
She knew better, now.
The woman was centered well, despite the gravity and the dust. Dirisha had practiced moving in the lower gee for a week before she'd gone looking for the locals' champion. Anything less would have been stupid.
The woman was close enough for Dirisha to see her face. Oddly, she seemed familiar, though Dirisha couldn't place her. She knew a lot of the major players, but this woman wasn't from those memories.
Dirisha saw the woman recognize her for what she was, and she smiled, teeth bright against her dark skin.
The small woman was dressed in a dustwrap suit, sealed at the neck, ankles and wrists, and she stopped three meters away.
"What say, Sister?" Dirisha felt tight, wired, ready to spring.
The woman sighed. "I thought somebody like you might come. I was hoping to avoid having to hurt anybody here, but if you're determined, I'm ready to show you the way." A deliberate pause. "Sister."
The voice did it. The face might not have given it to her, but the voice brought it back: Dirisha remembered the woman, knew where she had seen her before. Her surprise must have overcome her control, for the woman smiled.
"What's the matter, Sister? See a ghost?"
Dirisha smiled, she couldn't help it. "Lizard!"
"I didn't copy that, Sister. Say again."
Dirisha shook her head. "You wouldn't understand the term, it's personal.
But I know you—you were on Dirisha, about ten standards ago. In Flat Town."
"So?" The woman edged forward a hair, setting her feet more firmly on the chalk-like ground under the orange dust. She turned slightly to one side, to present a smaller target.
"You took out a freight handler in Kivu's, a guy hard-timing a young woman." A child, Dirisha thought.
"I lost count of the pub-scrubs I've shaken up, Sister. A long time ago." She slid a few centimeters closer.
Automatically, Dirisha moved her own stance backward a hair. Then she stopped, and forced herself to relax. "I saw it. I was the girl. You saved my ass."
"I can't even remember it, night-face. It was nothing."
Dirisha shook her head again. "It was something. It re-focused my life."
The small woman laughed. "You became a player? Walking the fucking Flex? Shit. What were you before?"
"A trull. A good-timer."
"Not much improvement. Some, but not much." She moved in a little closer, her hands starting to come up.
"Don't," Dirisha said. "I can't fight you. You gave me a way out. I worked for years to be like you, as good as you."
"Well, now's your chance to find out if you made it, little sister. Or, maybe 'daughter' might be better, hey?"
"Look, I don't want to do this. Forget I was ever here."
"How can 1? You brought all that fucking history with you. I was one of the best when you were still a kid. I still am."
Dirisha nodded. "I'm not arguing."
"But do you believe, night-face? That I was better than you then, and I'm better than you now?"
Pride rose in Dirisha, ego-fed and fat. "You were better, then. Not now. I know how good you were, I studied your moves in memory a thousand times. But—"
"But I'm old and slow and you're young and fast, right?"
Anger flared. She was trying to give the woman a way out—why wouldn't she take it?
"Is that right, good-timer-who-thinks-she-can-play-with-the-best?"
Dirisha dropped her center, and took a deep breath. "Yes. That's right!"
The woman lunged—
Fifteen seconds later, the woman who had once saved Dirisha's life was unconscious. Not dead, not even badly injured, that's how much better Dirisha was than she.
Dirisha hadn't been able to understand the fight, then.
Dirisha Zuri—it meant "window to beauty" in her native language—stood staring at Matador Villa. The memory of the fight against her one-time benefactor still pained her whenever she recalled it. She'd understood why the woman had to try her, but only
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