Princess of the Void 3.7. Self Defense

Ajax’s inexpressive anticomp plate swivels up to him. “Now, sire?”

“Why not?” Grant fans himself with the lip of his shirt. “I’m ward up.”

Ajax is still for a few seconds. “All right,” he concludes. He circles away from Grant and points at a spot on the practice room floor. “Take your mark right there. We’ll do lesson one.”

Grant stands at the indicated point on the edge of the spearfight circle. He widens his stance on the painted hardwood.

“Lesson one. I’m gonna co at you. First thing you want to do is keep out of your face.” Ajax strides into Grant’s airspace, shoving his shoulder as he cos. “I’m arguing with you. I’m getting real close. Back it up, keep distance. Gods of the fuckin’ Pike, your arms are long. Okay, keep back, keep back. Good. And if it looks like they’re about to engage, like if they do this—” Ajax makes a sudden jerking movent forward that makes Grant flinch—“you run.”

Grant’s shoulders droop. “I run?”

“Yes, sire.”

“Ajax, I’m trying to learn how to fight.”

“You didn’t say that. You said to teach you self-defense. The best way to defend yourself in a fight is not get in that fight. And you have got long-ass legs.”

“What if I need to protect Sykora?”

“You don’t. She’s a trained weapon.”

“What if she’s unconscious or sothing?”

“Pick her up before you run.”

Grant snorts. “You know, I can see why Brigadier Hyax likes you. You’re like baby Hyax.”

“You don’t need to learn this stuff, sire,” Ajax says. “Sykora is an expert warrior, and she sticks to you like glue. And you have a hundred trained soldiers whose profession is keeping you alive. If you’re ever in danger, we’ll protect you.”

“I want to hold my own.”

Ajax taps the holster at his waist. “Just keep a weapon on you, then. You’re big enough to conceal one, you’re high-status enough that justification will be simple, and you clearly know how to use one. Like how you did Thror. One clean headshot, I hear. That’s good shit for a civilian.”

“I don’t want to rely on guns.”

He hears the skepticism in Ajax’s helt-modulated voice. “Why not?”

“I don’t want to kill.”

“You’re talking about a situation where your wife will be out of commission and your soldiers are sohow out of reach. That’s justification for lethal force.”

“I an the ethics of it. And its effect on .”

Ajax taps his foot. “Is it the psychological aspect, then, sire? Because we can certainly address that. It might have to be adapted for your Maekyonite mind, but there’s plenty of resilience training we could do, if your wife allowed it.”

“Have you killed before, Ajax?”

“Yes, sire.”

“How did it feel?”

“Fine.”

“That’s it?” Grant raises a brow. “Just fine?”

“Everyone I’ve killed was under orders. Soone else made the call. I was the delivery chanism.”

Grant grimaces. “Maybe it would have to be adapted. I don’t think that would work for , the just following orders thing.”

Ajax chuckles. “You sound like a girl, sire.”

“I what?”

“This is how the chicks on shore leave talk about marines,” Ajax says. “The fantasy of whisking them away from the military and saving them from all those orders from all those scary officer won. Makes it hard to find a girl as a marine.”

Grant turns this notion over and tries again to plug it into his worldview. “What, like they think you’re slutty?”

“Yes, sire. They still drool over you. You get a lot of chicks chasing you for flings. But a soldier isn’t exactly who you’d take ho to mom and dad. A girl isn’t gonna want to go steady with a guy who’ll take orders so readily from other girls. They want a big burly man in uniform who obeys them, and only them.”

“What about, like, your boss? At a civilian job?”

“Well, yeah, sire. Them, too. Why do you think it’s harder for civilians to get jobs? Except for jobs like bodyguard or firefighter or soldier, of course, and that’s a job where you put your body on the line for won you aren’t even sleeping with. Like a piece of at.” Ajax imitates a fluttery lady voice. “Ooh, brave marine. Don’t you worry. I’ll take you out of that big dark voidship and you will never have to kill again.”

“You have a girlfriend, though, don’t you? ena, right?”

“Yes, sire. She’s crew, though. She gets it.”

“How’d you et her?”

“She was my stalker, sire.”

Grant decides that, joke or not, he’s going to let that one settle where it lies. “Sykora said that. That I’d never have to kill again.”

“Doesn’t exactly apply the sa way to you, sire. Since any killing you’d do on the job is for her specifically. Your wife is your boss. That’s living the dream.” Ajax’s fingers drum on his quilted-armor biceps. “If she says you won’t have to kill again, I don’t understand why you’re in a hurry to.”

“What if I want to take soone out? Like, nonlethally?”

The marine shakes his head. “Don’t think like that. Shoot them. Nine out of ten tis, you shoot soone once, they’ll live. And anyone who’s attacking the Princess or Prince Consort of the Black Pike has earned at least one bullet.”

“I shot Thror once.”

“Okay, smartass. And don’t shoot them in the brain.”

“Ajax, did you just call your Prince Consort a smartass?”

“No, sire.”

“You totally did.”

“A malfunction of your implant, perhaps, sire.” Ajax hesitates. “Look. Utility aside, I can teach you so martial arts, and it’ll be excellent exercise and give you confidence. I’m willing to do that.”

Grant drops into the stance he rembers from a Jiu Jitsu groupon he used once on a date. “All right. Teach .”

Ajax sighs heavily. “If your wife cos in while we’re doing this, it’s on you to keep her from executing , sire.” One of his feet pivots back. He loosens his stance. “Co at . Try to get to the floor.”

Grant takes a deep breath and lets it out. He pushes off and charges the marine, going for the waist in an amateur, age-yellowed attempt at a double-leg takedown.

Ajax tilts to one side as Grant charges. He leans in with his hips, his arm ratchets around Grant’s neck—

and both Maekyonite and marine grunt with surprise as Grant bears Ajax to the ground. The clatter of the marine’s armor echoes off the bleached walls.

Ajax’s legs imdiately shift up into guard. He tugs an over-committed Grant into a forceful headlock. A ceramic armor panel scrapes against Grant’s cheek. “Tap, sire.”

Grant taps and sits back, breathing hard.

“Son of a bitch.” Ajax gets to his feet. “I was planning on humbling you, and you fucking grounded .”

“Yeah, well.” Grant touches his tender face. “You just about ripped my head off.”

“I’m a marine, man. I an, sire.” The bewildernt is clear in Ajax’s voice. “And you’re a civilian.” He steps back. “Co at again.”

“Promise you won’t dislocate anything.”

“I promise, sire.”

Grant rushes.

Absent any useful technique, he goes for the double leg takedown again. This ti Ajax leaps and rolls over him as he ducks down. The marine’s tail lashes around his neck and armpit, and yanks. He tips backward—

And halts his fall by sweeping out his back foot. He grunts and twists, closing his fists around Ajax’s tail and pivoting to pull the marine off-balance. An alard hiss of air from his opponent. For a mont, Grant feels like the god of war.

Then Ajax’s calves scissor around his back leg and pluck it from the floor. He slams onto his back hard enough to drive the air out of him. Ajax pirouettes to his feet.

“Fuck .” He extends a hand. “You’re hard to drop, Maekyonite.”

Grant catches his breath as the marine helps him to his feet. “Doesn’t feel that way.”

“Maybe…” Ajax crosses his arms. “Okay. I’m willing to admit that maybe training you in CQC isn’t a waste of ti.”

“For real?”

“You’re untrained. You’re a civilian. My theory was that there’s no way to coach you to a point that fighting will beat running as a survival strategy when the horns are locking.” Ajax straightens the askew tuft on his tail. “I forgot you’re big as fuck.”

Grant rubs his arm where Ajax’s tail lashed around him. He takes a mont to feel his body. He flexes experintally. Is he imagining things or is he… stronger? It’s nothing he’s noticed visually, but just feeling his body, there’s more to it than he rembers.

The thing is,” Ajax continues, “you don’t have horns and a tail. The system I was taught is called Taiikarizia’i. That involves horns and tails, and doesn’t consider how you’re big as hell, which is going to be your primary advantage in any fight.”

“Not against Eqtorans.”

“If we have to fight any Eqtorans, we’re just gonna lt them from orbit,” Ajax laughs, and then rembers the “sire.”

Grant grins, but his stomach shifts a little as he absorbs that.

“What I’d do in your bigass shoes, if you’re really that determined, is hit the gym and get even bigger,” Ajax says. “Multiply that force. Get so glamor muscles for your girl. And maybe we could get you an Eqtoran coach once they’re in the Empire.”

“Maybe. As long as they don’t use their tails, too.”

“Or we could kidnap a Maekyonite soldier and have them teach you.”

“Please don’t.”

“What are you gals talking about?”

Sykora’s big red eyes are peeking into the practice room through a crack in the door.

Ajax snaps to attention like a lightning bolt struck him. He salutes. “Majesty.”

“Greetings, Sergeant. And hello, dove.” Sykora steps into the doorway. She's got her hair in a scrunchied up-do that does a good-enough job at concealing the subtly crowning horns atop her head. “I hope I’m not prematurely breaking up the dude ti.”

Ajax bows low. “We were just finishing up, Majesty.”

“How’s my husband’s throwing arm?”

“Steadily improving, Majesty.”

“Tactful of you, Ajax,” Grant says. “Hi, hon. How was the prep?”

“So-so.” With every stride into the room, Sykora decompresses. Her shoulders loosen, her posture widens, her pupils grow. It’s like she’s transforming, or blooming, the closer she gets to him. “I was wondering if there was any handso alien around who might want to pick up and carry around.”

He glances at Ajax, who’s back in stiff formality. “Thanks for your ti, Sergeant. You’re dismissed.”

“Sire.” Ajax salutes and makes as inconspicuous a departure as a fully armored space warrior can.

Grant turns his attention back to his wife. She’s shifting foot-to-foot, her hands behind her back as she looks hopefully up at him. He thinks about what he once heard from the departing marine when he was eavesdropping. Whenever she’s not with him, she gets jumpy… think she’s got a Maekyonite-shaped security blanket.

Well, so what? There are worse things to be than a beautiful Princess’s security blanket.

“I was actually thinking about hitting the gym,” he says. “Now that I’m all ward up.”

“Oh?” Her ears perk up. “Would you care to bring your wife along?”

“I’d never imagine doing otherwise, Majesty.”

Her tail wags. “I’m a bit formal for the rec room right now. If you’d be willing to swing by the cabin first, maybe your teeny tiny wife could change into the teeny-tiniest pair of gym shorts she can find.” She tugs on his pant leg and he lowers to a knee. Her voice goes low and husky in his ear: “And before we hit the gym, you could help stretch.”

She drapes her arms around his shoulders and lets out a delighted little squeak when he cradles her thighs and boosts her up into his arms.

And maybe this is what he’s for, he reflects, as Sykora kisses his jaw, then skitters monkey-like from his chest to his back. Maybe he doesn’t need to be the philosopher-angel on her shoulder. Maybe he doesn’t need to foil any would-be assassins. Maybe she’s right, and loving her is enough.

He’s still not sure. But it’ll do for now.