Kana still lacked a double. He clung to Mic and Rey as they had advised, but he knew that sooner or later that threesome must be broken and he would be assigned a partner. He was shy of the veterans, and the three or four other S-Threes who were not yet paired for muster-line were not the type he desired to know better. Most of them were older men with experience who were incorrigible enough to remain permanently in the lowest ranks. Good in the field, they were troublemakers in barracks and had shifted from one Horde to another at the end of each enlistment with the relieved sighs of those who had just served wafting them on their separate ways. Kana continued to hope that he would not draw one of them as a double.
The Terrans' first sight of Fronn was disappointing. They planeted at dusk, and, since Fronn was moonless, marched through darkness to the squat, rough-hewn stone building which was to serve them as temporary barracks. There were no fittings at all in the long room and the three sat on their war bags, wondering whether to unroll sleeping bags or wait for further instructions.
Rey's long nose wrinkled in disgust as he moved his boots from a suspicious stain on the dirty floor. "I'd say we got this place second hand — "
"Second hand?" Mic asked. "Closer fifth. And most of the others before us were animals. This is a Fronnian cow barn if my nose doesn't deceive me."
The call Kana had been dreading came at last, doubles were to register at the table a Swordtan had set up at the far end of the room. Rey and Mic, after a word of encouragement, got in line.
Kana hesitated, not knowing just what to do, when the harsh rasp of a new voice startled him. Zapan Bogate and another of the same type had fallen into line near him. A third of their pattern stood beside Bogate grinning.
"Jus' a greenie — don't know what to do next. Poor little lost greenie. You, Sim, go and take him by the hand. He needs his nurse — "
Kana tensed. With Bogate's encouragement Sim shuffled forward, his brutal face twisted in a wry grimace he might have intended as a smile.
"Poor little greenie," Bogate repeated, his voice rising so that half the line were turning to see the sport. "Sim's gonna look after him, ain't you, Sim?"
"Sure am, Zap. Come along, greenie — " His hairy paw caught Kana's sleeve.
What followed was mostly sheer reflex action on the recruit's part. The disgust which that touch aroused in him triggered his move. His hand chopped down across the other's wrist, striking the hand from its hold. As Sim goggled, Bogate stepped out of line, his small eyes gleaming with sadistic joy.
"Seems like the greenie don't favor you, Sim. Whatta we do to greenies who don't know what's good for them?"
Kana thought he was alert but Sim surprised him. He had not expected the hulking bully to follow code custom. Sim's slap across his face had power enough to swing him half around, blinking back tears of pain. As he regained his balance Kana's mind was working feverishly. Barracks duel — just the sort of encounter these bullies wanted — legal enough so no watching Combatant would dare to interfere.
He had a single advantage. They would expect him to choose the usual weapons — swords with shielded points. Thanks to his study of the record-pak on Terra he had an answer which would give him a chance to escape a nasty mauling.
He and Sim were now surrounded by a circle of expectant spectators. Kana tasted the sweet flatness of blood from the lip the other's slap had scraped against his teeth.
"Meet?" Automatically he asked the proper question.
"Meet."
"Give me your sword, Sim. I'll cap it for you," Bogate ordered genially.
"Not so fast." Kana was glad that his voice sounded so even and unhurried. "I didn't say swords — "
Bogate's grin faded, his eyes narrowed. "Yeah? Guns is out — not on active service, greenie."
"I choose bat sticks," returned Kana.
A moment of utter and uncomprehending silence was his first answer.
3. Forward March
Those Archs who had been longer on Fronn began to understand, though Sim apparently did not. As he glanced to Bogate asking for direction, Hansu elbowed his way into the center of the circle. Behind him was another man, much younger, but bearing himself with the same unselfconscious authority.
"You heard him," Hansu said to Sim. "He's chosen bat sticks. And you'll meet here and now. We want this over before we march out."
Sim was still bemused and, seeing that, Kana began to hope. Blunted swords were one thing — a man could be maimed or even killed when he faced an expert in such warfare. But armed with one of those wands made of a highly poisonous wood which left seared welts on human skin — the whips used by Fronnian caravan men to subdue the recalcitrant guen — he had a chance, and maybe more than just an even one.
Kana unbuckled his helmet strap and found Mic's hand ready to receive the headgear as he discarded it. Rey edged up to help him unfasten his cross belts.
"Know what you're doing, fella?" he asked in a half whisper as Kana shed his tunic.
"Better than Sim does, I think," Kana returned, peeling off his shirt.
His first little spark of hope was growing into steady confidence. Sim was still confused and Bogate's grin had been wiped from his ugly face. The young man who had followed Hansu disappeared. But before Kana had time to shiver in the chill of the unheated building he was back, carrying in gloved hands two of the bright crimson bat sticks. Seeing what he held, those who knew Fronn gave him quick room.
Kana drew on a gauntlet and gripped the nearest stick. They were of equal weight and reach. And, as the circle of spectators moved out to give them room, the recruit believed that Sim's battered face now registered a certain uneasiness.
They came on guard at command, using the canes as they would the heavier and more familiar steel. But where a duelist must fear only the blunted point of the sword, here the slightest touch would bring pain. Their boots made faint whispering sounds as they circled, the sticks meeting with a thud as they thrust and parried.
Kana, after the third pass, knew that he was facing a master swordsman, but he also guessed that the relative lightness of this strange weapon was bothering Sim and that his opponent was not quite sure of himself or aware of the potentialities of the cane he wielded.
There was a single stroke which would put an end to the duel. Kana wondered if Sim realized that. A raking sweep across arm muscles — the resulting pain would make that limb useless for minutes. He concentrated on achieving that, his world narrowed to the cane he was using and the swaying, dodging body before him. Sim had abandoned the more obvious attacks and was settling down to a semi-defensive action, apparently content to leave experimentation to Kana, thereby displaying more shrewdness than Kana had credited to him. With none of his confidence shaken, but more warily, Kana circled — using the traditional thrusts and parries which were a beginner's. Sim must be drawn into the open in the belief that he faced a novice.
Something struck him in the short ribs and glanced along his flesh. It brought with it a blaze of agony almost as bad as a blaster burn. Kana set his teeth as, encouraged by that scoring, Sim's defense changed to an attack the recruit found hard to meet. He was forced back, giving ground willingly enough with a single aim in mind — to reach that point on the muscled arm before him.
Sim's cane got home again, up the angle of Kana's jaw. The younger man shook his head dazedly, but a leap back bought him a moment in which to pull himself together. That sharp retreat must have given Sim the idea that his opponent's nerve was breaking, for now he bored in with a wild whirlwind of blows. There came the moment Kana had waited for, his cane drew a torturing line across Sim's sword arm just below the shoulder. And, more unprepared than Kana had been, the older man cried out, clawing at the red welt, his cane rolling across the floor to strike against Kana's boot. The recruit brought his stick up in formal salute.