Warp Speed
by Travis S. Taylor
Table of Contents
WARP SPEED
By Travis S. Taylor
This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2004 by Travis S. Taylor
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form.
A Baen Books Original
Baen Publishing Enterprises
P.O. Box 1403
Riverdale, NY 10471
www.baen.com
ISBN: 0-7434-8862-8
Cover art by David Mattingly
First printing, December 2004
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
TK
Distributed by Simon & Schuster
1230 Avenue of the Americas
New York, NY 10020
Production by Windhaven Press, Auburn, NH (www.windhaven.com)
Printed in the United States of America
To my wife Karen who told me,
"You've read so many of these science fictions books,
you ought to try writing one."
Good idea, here it is.
BAEN BOOKS by TRAVIS S. TAYLOR
Warp Speed
The Quantum Connection (forthcoming)
CHAPTER 1
I was trying hard to breathe, but it wasn't coming easy. I tugged at my red team uniform top anxiously. Smacking my fists against my headgear was the only thing that seemed to focus me.
"All right! Bow to me!" the referee began. "Bow to each other. Touch gloves. Fight!"
Seeing that my opponent was dropping his back hand, I slipped to the right. I lunged like a sprinter out of a starting block and jumped. As I prepared to backfist the guy on the side of his headgear, I realized that I had let my elbows rise and I was not covering my ribs. I knew this because I presently spit my mouthpiece in my opponent's face while at the same time a searing pain ran through my ribs on the right side of my body. You see, I fight right side forward since my right leg is more flexible than my left. Not that it mattered this time, since I failed to lead with a kick.
I heard the shouts and cheers for the other guy increase in volume and enthusiasm while I fell to the floor clutching my ribs. That's just the way it is on the International Sport Karate Association (ISKA) tournament circuit. The referee was talking to my opponent,
"Turn and bow!" Then in my ear, "Do you want your sensei or will you make it?" He handed me a slightly dirty mouthpiece.
"Nah, I'll make it okay." I blew dirt off the mouthpiece and noticed my instructor shouting at me as I made to my feet.
"What's that rainbow jump crap! I never taught you that. Let's go Anson, one, two, three. White belt stuff! Stay tight!" He yelled and ticked off his fingers one, two, three at me.
I bounced back to the line with each breath burning like fire in my side. Two ribs were broken at the least. I was sure of it. But, if I had any intentions of staying in this fight, I knew that I had better not show a soft spot.
Mike and I have been friends for years and I'm sure he didn't mean to break my ribs. But he was here to win this tournament just like I was and we were tied in points for ISKA champion. This fight was going to be a tough one. The last fight of the season should be a tough one, I guess, especially if it's for the championship.
"Are you ready?" The ref asked.
I nodded and lined up left side forward this time, my right side being soft.
"Judges call, I got two points, blue uniform." With a look around the ring at the other two judges, it was obvious that I was behind two points.
"Okay touch gloves. Fight!"
Just like in class with the instructor yelling, I could hear in my mind, skip side kick, backfist, reverse punch! One. Two. Three! I got him!
"Break," yelled the center ref. "Judges call!" He held up two fingers in my direction and scanned the other two judges. "That is two red! Two blue! Touch gloves! Ready, fight!"
Skip side kick, backfist, reverse punch!
This time it didn't work as well. Mike sidestepped and down-blocked the skip kick. But that is why it goes one, two, three or skip side kick, backfist, reverse punch! The skip kick occupied his lead hand with a down-block leaving his head open for the backfist and his chest open for the reverse punch. Of course, I caught one to the body in there somewhere. But, I was first and that's what counts in sport karate.
"Break!"
"Judges call? Okay we have three red, two blue. Ready?"
"Time ref!" I called and motioned to my footgear as though it were loose.
"Time red."
I knelt and acted like I was fixing an equipment problem. My ribs ached and the second of extra breathing time helped.
"Let's go red!"
I bounced up like a rubber ball and nodded to the ref. I was thinking I couldn't take another second of this. A punch would mean one point. Not enough and I knew I wasn't going to make it much longer. I was starting to feel queasy but I lined up right side forward! Just a chance I would have to take.
"Ready? Fight!"
This time I was too slow. Mike rushed me with a barrage of hand movements. He is a Kenpo student after all, mostly hands. I slipped to the right and pulled my knee up and proceeded with a side kick. To my surprise, Mike did the same thing. Fortunately, or not so fortunately—I'm not sure—I'm more flexible. My foot got higher than his and as a result his foot slid down the inside of my leg and caught my cup with full force. I did the only thing I could do to defend against such an attack. I fell to the floor holding my crotch!
"Break! Blue, turn and bow!"
"Where did he get you?" The ref tapped my headgear to get my attention. I heaved twice and rolled over to my hands and knees. I heaved again. Lucky for me I hadn't eaten yet so nothing came up. I realized then, the heaving seemed to hurt my right side. My ribs. Funny how getting kicked in the Jimmy will make one forget how bad other things hurt.
I'm not sure how, but I made it to my feet. I wiped the sweat from my forehead, which was pouring profusely out from under my headgear and down my face as I lined up, left side forward this time. I smiled at Mike and I put my mouthpiece back in. I had him right where he wanted me.
"Sorry man! You okay?" He seemed legitimately concerned.
The center ref called attention and then, "That is a warning blue for low kicks. Ready?"
We both nodded and touched gloves.
"We still have three red, two blue. Fight!" The ref dropped his hand and stepped back out of our way.
I was right, I did have Mike right where he wanted me. Like a freight train, all two hundred and thirty pounds of him came barreling right for me. I knew just what to do; I ran for my life. Without thinking, I turned my back and began to run, somehow I jumped while facing him and threw a right leg, spinning back kick. This was a survival technique only. I don't recommend it as a standard technique. My right foot caught him off gaurd right in the gut. Luck counts in horseshoes and hand grenades, in nuclear war, and sometimes at the ISKA championships.