Blow, throw, blow. Blow, throw, blow. Operating well below civilized, at the primal level of fight or flight, she chose fight.
Again and again she defended herself, viciously attacking, favoring left hooks when she discovered the effectiveness of the ring as a weapon. Powered by adrenaline, with moves governed by muscle memory, her actions inspired the villagers. In moments the attackers were engaged in full man-to-man combat with the villagers.
Hours later her body was one big dull pain; under that, a grim pride in having used her training well. She sat on a patch of high ground holding in her arms, a man dying from his bloody wounds. Her heart bled with him.
“Mommy,” he called plaintively. “Mommy.”
“It’s okay. I’m here. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.” She tried to shield him from the rain with her body and used the hem of her T-shirt to wipe his face clear of the blood, sweat, and dirt that mingled with her tears. She wanted desperately to take away his pain in his last dying moments, but could only cradle him, rock him, lie to him.
“Mommy, help me,” he cried again. “Help me.”
“I’m here. I’m here.” She held him tighter and uttered soothing sounds long after his last breath.
The rain had come in great waves, lashing the men and the earth equally, indiscriminate in its attack, dousing the fires of the torched huts, blinding attackers and defenders alike and driving the last few combatants to shelter and her to this hillock. She inhaled deeply through her nose, let the air out slowly through her mouth. Clean and fresh, the richness of the earth revived faith and hope.
But, the silence hung oppressive. The village lay empty. Barely visible in the twilight, shadowed lumps of bodies sank into the blood-soaked muck that had oozed between her toes and long since swallowed her wrestling shoes. Or maybe she had been barefoot all along. She couldn’t remember.
*
“It’s time,” Mentor said, but neither of us moved as we watched the meager light fade into night until all we could see was the pristine whiteness of Em’s gi pants and T-shirt shining obscenely bright and hopeful amidst the bloody aftermath of battle. She should have been filthy, but I couldn’t stand the thought of my Little Soldier soiled in any way. I kept her clean and somehow that was more obscene. Dirty and muddy, she would have blended into the landscape and been more … more natural.
“It’s time.” Mentor nudged my elbow.
“I know.” My voice quavered and I struggled to hide my trembling. My appearance before the Grand Council would begin in moments. The fight I had just witnessed was irrevocable evidence of my failure, but I’d stand tall, face the council squarely, answer their questions and prepare for banishment. Dear Guardian, how?
And then, when I thought things couldn’t get any worse, they did.
*
That fight—it was appalling and thrilling, shameful and exhilarating. She had done it. She had proven herself in a most elemental way. Em tucked the sinful sense of pride close to her heart and reveled in the joy of triumph. If only sensei could have seen her.
She moved on to other small jobs, following the directives in the ring. She’d just finished cleaning up a village under siege, had done this job peacefully and was watching the mercenaries pack up to leave and the villagers creep out from hiding when a huge wave of guilt bowled her over. How on earth could she be proud in any way of fighting? Her? The one trying to stop conflict. The one given the power to do so. She had descended to the lowest form of conflict resolution. It was then that she saw him.
Soft flab of flesh sagging over a belt buckle, erection straining against the fabric of too tight jeans, stench of cigarettes and sweat; enough to make her gag. An ugly horrible excuse for a human.
She blinked and looked again. He was neat and fit and maybe even handsome. No, he couldn’t be. She didn’t want him to be handsome. He had to be gross. Any man with that crazed sexually deviant look in his eye, with that leer that told her she wasn’t a woman, simply an object, had to be gross. It was the stereotype after all. She blinked again but he was still good looking.
She’d been minding her own business, waiting for Powers to transport her when the creep waved the picture in front of her face. She stopped to look. A young beautiful face smiled out at her from the page; smiled in spite of the bullet hole above her right eye.
“Why are you showing me this?” She growled. The look on his face raised her hackles. Desire and contempt and smug superiority. She’d seen that many times before, but now, with this man, she was enraged beyond reason.
“Girl. Young. Beautiful. Big boo-sums. Man like.” He spoke English with a heavy accent. Faked. She searched his eyes for signs of a mental challenge that would let her forgive, but they were clear and bright and mocking. “I make sex to girl. Shoot. Make sex again.” Oh Lord, he couldn’t mean that. But he did. He was boasting, swaggered back and forth in front of her with a leering smirk waving the picture.
She snapped, slammed his chin up with a palm strike, knocking his head back. She hooked her ankle behind his, threw him down. O soto gari. Worked every time. She fell on him, pinned his arm with her knee and hit him again and again and again. He was long beyond fighting back before she stopped.
The picture? Where was the picture? She found it snagged under his foot, pressed it to her heart and then ripped it to a million little pieces. No one will ever violate you again.
She sank back, glanced at the inert body, the bloody face. Oh God, she’d done that. Her. Miracle Madame. The world’s savior. Had the jungle battle set loose the monster in her?
She vomited, looked for water to rinse her mouth of the foul taste and wash the sweat and tears from her face. The stream was only a few meters away. She crawled to it.
*
“What kind of a person is she?” Mentor asked. “To do a thing like that”
“I … I … She’s never….”
“Was violence always in her?”
“No. No. Not at all. Maybe her life as Madame made her do this.” I couldn’t fathom the passion of her assault on the man. Vile and disgusting, he was, yes, but for her to attack that way.
“So she’s not Little Miss Perfect after all.” Mentor sounded inordinately pleased.
*
Cool water dripped from her chin. Her reflection shimmered in the shallow stream. She looked perfectly normal, but she didn’t think she’d ever be normal again. God, Powers, did he know? She vomited again.
And yet, she wondered as she dried her face with the hem of her dress, did she truly regret what she had just done? And if she didn’t, what did that make her?
*
“Em,” Ron called. “Where are you?” He came up behind her. She whirled to face him.
“My hands. My hands.”
“Em, what is it?”
“Look.” Ron reached for her hands but she pulled back. “No, don’t touch me.”
“What?”
“The blood. Don’t you see it? My hands are covered in blood. The man I… It’s his blood. I…” She couldn’t say it. She couldn’t tell Ron she’d pummeled a man almost to death with her bare hands. Ron reached to hold her, but she wrenched away and ran from him.
*
She ran straight into me. Yes me. I broke the most sacrosanct rule of all and went down to Earth.
“It’s okay,” I told her. “You’ll be fine. Just give it time.
“NO! It’s not okay. What I did was so … so….”
“Human?”
“Yes! Human! The worst kind of human.”
“It’s okay.”
“Oh God.” She pounded my chest. Don’t you see? It’s not okay at all.”
“It will be. I promise.”
“How can you…? Who the hell are you?” she asked looking up at me for the first time. “And her?” Em looked beyond me, pointed. Her hand shook. I turned to see the outline of a woman in white fading away. Surely it wasn't…. Before Em could say more I was snatched away.
&n
bsp; “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Mentor’s face was red.
“I….”
“Don’t say anything. Don’t make any feeble excuses.”
“I….”
“Another word and your life is over. Now get out of my sight while I fix this.”
I knew how she’d fix it. She’d take the encounter with Em away from Ron. He would remember nothing of it. That was simple.
As for Em? Mentor hadn’t said I couldn’t help. I’d force her attack on that vile man to slide into a shadow of a memory, but Em wouldn’t have to live with the guilt much longer anyway. I’d already taken care of that and what I’d done would haunt me forever.
Chapter 42
Review of Power 73-694,” the recorder announced as I came to a halt in front of the Council Bench.
“Is Earth a better place?”
“Yes.”
“How do you know?”
“There is less war, less killing, more caring, and more sharing of the planet’s wealth and resources.”
“She has maintained attention?”
“Oh, yes. Em is much more than a passing fad,” I said. “Each and every act is seen to be as fresh and as exciting as the first. I made sure of that.”
I had no way of knowing if my answers pleased or angered the Grand Council or if Earth was so insignificant to them that they were indifferent. I dismissed that thought as quickly as it had come. If they truly believed Earth was immaterial they would never have assigned the planet to a Power, not even to a novice like me.
“War has stopped?”
“Almost completely.”
“Isn’t that upsetting the natural order of things for Earth?”
“She’s already thought of that.”
“She has!” The voice rose. “You chose wisely then.” I glanced at Mentor and saw the slightest frown. I would have thought she’d be a little pleased.
Now I understood. The review was not about what happened on Earth; it was designed to measure my judgment and decision-making abilities as a Power. I would pass in spite of her assault on that odious being who called himself a man.
“You lied to her.” The voice of the Council Adjunct was deceptively calm. I squirmed under the stares of the Council members. There was no escape.
I lowered my eyes and my shoulders slumped. “Yes. Once.”
“Why?” The Chair of the Grand Council never asked questions at a review. My dreams of a grand and distinguished future dissolved. I swayed.
I felt Mentor’s hand jabbing me in the center of my back. I straightened and took a deep breath. “I had to.”
“Why?”
“Her job was intense and complex. She obsessed about everything she did.”
My words fell into a stony silence.
“I could not let her hurt. She never deserved that.” Still there was no reaction. “She had such a consuming need for an end to her aloneness.” I stopped babbling and took a deep breath attempting to center myself. “She was so alone.”
“So, you gave her a lover,” the Chair said.
“Yes,” I whispered.
Of course it was Mentor who had given her Ron. I hadn’t wanted any part of that.
“And let her believe their love was not manipulated.” The voice was low and soft but no less accusatory.
“It had to be.” A trace of defensiveness crept into my answer. I hadn’t wanted any part of Ron in Em’s life, but I knew that Mentor had done the right thing giving Ron to Em. I would thank Mentor when all this was done—before the ... end.
The Grand Council Chair cleared her throat. I realized the silence had stretched far too long. I started to say more, thought better of it, and hung my head.
“You cared about her that much?” And therein lay the problem, you see. I shouldn’t have felt anything for Em, much less, fallen in love with her.
“Yes.”
“Hum.” The Chair did not take her eyes off me. Mentor gave my shoulder a squeeze. I glanced at her in surprise. She smirked.
“Our first instinct was to banish you.” The Chair enunciated each word. “But….” Oh Guardian, execution then. I was to be executed. Visions of a guillotine, a noose swaying from a tree, a sword held high, a firing squad—all the horrific ways humans had of eliminating the unwanted swam before my eyes. What? What would they do to me? My mother’s face appeared as if through a pool of swampy water. No. Not water. Tears. Her tears. My tears. I moaned softly. Em, dear, dear, Em, my heart cried.
“But,” the Chair said, “Mentor has interceded on your behalf.” Mentor? Mentor … my behalf … What…!?
“Your lack of neutrality is a risk, we know, but Mentor reports that you have achieved the goals set for Earth. She recommends you be given a second chance. We have determined that her assessment is just and fair.”
Mentor? Spoke for me…? I looked at her. She smiled ever so slightly, tilted her head and winked.
“You will have your second chance. With conditions,” the Chair warned sternly.
A Power on probation. I knew the Council would be discreet, but word would leak out—the pitying looks from the other novice Powers, all of whom had passed of course—oh , Guardian, this was so hard to bear. If only I had Em at my side. Em to hug me, console me, be with me. Em. Em. Em.
I felt a sharp poke in the center of my back. “Stand tall,” Mentor said. Mentor gripped my elbow as we made our way outside.
“Here's the scoop,” Mentor said. She told me what she had promised Em, making her wish come true, using my voice, she said. Told me she always imitated me when she talked to Em. My voice made the promise to Em that broke my heart. Mentor said I had to know—part of the conditions for my next assignment, she said. Make another life for Em, Mentor said. Let her love him again, Mentor said.
*
During the interview, Ron had forced himself to suppress his anguish about Em’s control over him. Now, pushing his way roughly through the autograph seekers, he seethed with anger over the questions that had surfaced. The studio car was waiting for him. He asked the driver to lose the crowd and then let him out to walk. He needed to do something physical to dispel the insane urge to lash out. He was shocked at the intensity of his rage. He could not remember a time when he had felt such a violent need for physical aggression, such a need to strike out at another person. He didn’t think he could live with the possibility that Em had manipulated it all, that their love was a farce. His mind spun with a confusion of doubt and resentment.
Over an hour later Ron arrived at his hotel suite. The walk had not calmed him. In fact he was angrier at Em than he had ever believed possible. It was Em he wanted to hit, to hurt; it was Em who had played him for a fool. Nor was he oblivious to self-loathing for allowing it.
He opened the door and was bombarded by a whirlwind. Em threw herself at him kissing him everywhere and anywhere she could reach. He fought to stay angry but her mere presence overpowered all his questions, all his doubts. As always, when he was with her, she was his whole world; everything else melted away until there was only shining light and love. Anger, resentment; forgotten. He was left with the raging river of desire.
He put her down and cupped her face in his hands. She was so beautiful and he marveled, as he always did, that she was his. He bent to kiss her thoroughly, then hugged her close.
She pushed away and in turn held his face in her hands. “My love,” she whispered.
Ron was enchanted. She didn’t use endearments. This was the first time. Again the world melted away and there was only Em. She closed her eyes and ever so gently began an exploration of his face, her fingers moving slowly over his forehead, eyes, cheekbones, nose, mouth, and chin. She seemed to be taking a sensory image of him, storing him in a tactile memory bank.
Without opening her eyes, she undid his tie, pulled it off and let it drop to the floor, unbuttoned his jacket, vest, and shirt, and slid them off his shoulders in one motion to join the tie. She continued her expl
oration running her hands over his chest and around to his back. Ron stood perfectly still, absorbing her love through every pore as her mouth followed her hands and began an equal exploration.
She reached his waist and undid and lowered his pants. Ron watched as she continued her loving. Unable to keep his hands off her, Ron slipped off his shoes and stepped out of his pants. He knelt before her, pulled her sweater over her head and undid her bra. She removed her hands from him, only for the time it took to wiggle out of the clothing. He kissed first one eye, then the other. She pulled his head close and cradled it between her breasts. He looked up to see her eyes still closed, her expression sensual and expectant. He carried her to the bed where they made love, and even though it was slow and gentle, his climax was as sudden and urgent as that of youth. After all his times with her the power of it still stunned him.
They lay, arms and legs entwined, sleepy but not sleeping. As the afterglow of their lovemaking began to fade, the questions of Em’s control came flooding back. She had bombarded him when he walked in the door, effectively banishing those doubts, and he had fallen into the usual pattern of adoration and loving. How the hell did she do it? The suspicions returned. He felt sick at the thought that their love could be a complete mockery, that he was nothing more than a puppet on a string for her amusement. God, did he have no balls at all?
He pulled away from her and rose, found his pants on the floor and put them on.
“Ron,” Em called softly. When he didn’t respond she followed him. He was standing at the window staring out at the skyline. “Ron?” He turned to look at her, but he didn’t say anything. She picked up his shirt and put it on, wrapped it tightly around her body, hugged herself. He turned away, stared out the window.
“What is it?” She reached out with one hand on his arm. He stood rigid. “Ron, please, you’re scaring me.”
He spun to face her glaring so fiercely that she stepped back. “Em, did the Powers you talk of, did they control this? Did they make me love you?” He spit the words with more force than he intended but he wasn’t sorry. He choked off a sob as he turned away from her. He cursed. He didn’t want it to be this way. He wanted the blissful peace of belief.