Super Spaced Out

The Matrix Has You

Someone followed Lily down the narrow alley. A second set of careful footsteps creaked on the wood planks like hers did. Two itchy patches where their gaze landed spread over her shoulder blades. Whoever crept behind her wasn't friendly. She'd been through this on Myskuul. A Verakian woman and her Titian crew tried to mug Lily and doctor Puu. So, Lily walked like nothing was up. Inside, she planned. She strategized. Whoever stalked her was much bigger than she was—as most people and aliens, sentients, were when you were only five feet tall—and they likely weighed more than she did though she was no twig. It wouldn't be surprising if they also happened to be stronger and faster.

All Lily could be was smarter.

All she had was unpredictability.

She did unpredictability very well.

The stalker sped up.

Smiling, Lily kept her pace, thinking how well this sentient's impatience played into her hands.

Lily faked a fall. She sprinted a few steps then skid-stopped and doubled over. Her speeding stalker rammed her backside and fell, toppling Lily as they went down.

Forehead cracked on the ground. A network of neon veins spread over Lily's blacked out vision. Boots kicked at her back. The lower half of her stalker pinned her lower half, their bodies forming a plus sign. Grunting, she backed out of the tangle of limbs, but didn't escape their bucking heels. A boot connected with her chin and snapped her jaws together. Her tongue caught between guillotine teeth, the sharpness and sting very cold and numb then very hot and painful. Blood filled her mouth with metal and salt. She spat red onto the sun baked planks and squirmed from her stalker's strike range as the alien fumbled to their feet.

A Verakian woman faced Lily. Her tumble loosed the tight knot at the back of her head. Pieces of black hair fell around her pale face scratched by splinters jutting from the ground. A clenched fist wiped a trickle of milky blood from her cheek. Red eyes narrowed as Lily dropped into low stance, the first position of Dobekin form, the best of the four basic forms for Lily's strengths and her build.

Since Vortrand and his crew left Aleph-Three, the base on which she'd recovered, Lily had practiced Verakian hand-to-hand forms to improve her Bakai, Verakian Command's advanced combat style. After twenty-one turns, she was no longer completely inept, but that was about it. To become proficient she still had a long way to go. And this Verakian was going to help her get there.

Low stance brought Lily into a deep squat. The Verakian woman didn't move. A peccard passed. Then two. Lily's thighs burned. Sweat slid down her neck and the corner of her eye twitched.

Why won't you move? Lily thought.

The woman adopted no stance of her own. All she did was stare.

Wobbling, Lily reoriented herself. This was a game of gotcha. She used to play it with her cousins on Earth. Someone held their hands palms up while another placed their hands above, palms down. Whoever's palms were up had to slap the top of their partner's hands to win. Any twitch or feint by the slapper was designed to fake out their opponent so they wouldn't know when to whisk their hands away for the true strike. Brows went up. A feint or two might work.