Scifi Vignettes

Warrior Training Never Ends

After the assassin’s attack, Corr slipped on his harness, snapped the smooth gray clasp bearing the warrior’s insignia, and ended the thread of an old argument that had lost significance. He had always questioned the value of mental combat exercises involving close-quarters surprise attacks. The instant any attack began, his automatic reflexes would accelerate the chemical and electrical impulses generated by nodes throughout his body. No normal assassin, and few Tsaeb warriors, could come close enough for a surprise attack. But Corr’s teacher had insisted that Corr practice such attacks at least once every day. After 13 years and thousands of practices, Corr’s complaint had faded. So he gave it up. All the warriors Corr knew added a close encounter attack to their other daily exercises. It must serve a purpose.
Warriors never stop practicing. This morning, Corr used climbing pins to follow a line of holes to the top of White Cliff. At the top, Corr stowed the pins, and sprinted off along a stepping-stone path winding through oak brush and scattered juniper trees. With precision and speed he’d gained from thousands of repetitions, he reached over his left shoulder with his right hand, rotated his round, thin drahsalleh shield to release it from its clamp, and slid it around his shoulder to let the straps close on his left forearm. He reached over his right shoulder, grasped his bow, pushed down and twisted to release it, and swung the weapon over into his left hand. Then he retrieved and knocked the arrow that popped up from the magazine on the back of his pack.
As he raced through the woodland, Corr practiced with his bow, and let his thoughts drift, sometimes about Rhya, and sometimes through story ideas. He stopped once to reset a tilted stepping-stone, careful not to harm the tiny creatures living underneath. A wave of concern flowed through him and he decided to visit an old squirrel he knew.
Seven miles later, he stopped on a rocky hillock and gazed across a rolling plain of dry grass dotted by patches of shrubs surrounding piñon pines. Hundreds of creatures were moving on the ground and in the shrubs and trees.
“Morning, Corr.”
Corr looked up at the leader of Wycliff’s rock squirrel caucus. “Hi Illia.”
Illia dropped to a lower boulder.
No chatting today, Corr thought.
“Corr, we need to do something about the Humans. Combustion wastes in the air damage the plants and trap heat. All kinds of crap winds up in the water. Every week the gleaner assembly says it’s approaching the limits of its ability to keep up. Pretty soon they’ll start grumbling all the time.”
“Illia, send someone to the next council meeting. Or come yourself. Korhonen and some of the other councilors agree with you. They all know what’s happening. Tell them you want some action.”
A gentle breeze passed by. Corr looked around. The vegetation would change as the land and climate changed, but the morning activity of its protectors would not. Sapient species cared for the land just as they had for millions of years. They needed his help, but Corr didn’t know what to do. He wished Illia wouldn’t ask.
Corr said, “Why don’t you come to the Tavern tonight and go to the council meeting tomorrow?”
Illia said, “May I stay at your place?”
Corr nodded. “Sure.”
Corr drew his swords and began practicing attacks and defenses as he ran into the opposing morning wind rising from the shadowy valley below White Cliff.