Several hours later, they stop at a stream fed filtered fountain to fill their water.

  "So, what are we up against?" Rachel asks, partly because she wanted to rest, and her companion's shown no signs of getting tired.

  "About a hundred and fifty man AriCorp mercenary company, split into five thirty man platoons." He replies, "Two infantry, one supply and logistics, one support, and one command. They are going to dig in and start looking for people to arrest. My guess is that they already sent scouts out by vehicle to meet with the local governments and seek out collaborators. So we should avoid going into town at all, if we can.

  They've already passed by the towns closest to the city. So they're probably going to set up in the center of our little cluster of backwater towns. Either here, or the more populated town to the east. We need to find somewhere off the main roads to camp out, so I can finish my report."

  They walk for several more hours, only stopping once more to have lunch, taking a set of back-roads that skirted far away from any towns, navigating by an offline map application on Touch's tablet. Rachel let herself get lost in the birdsong and cicadas. Several times, she notes Touch pick up snails and set them down on the other side of the trails.

  One time he was doing this, a large cicada swoops over her head. It startled her, and when she looks up, she sees the large insect with its wings fully outstretched, gliding against the clear blue sky for a second, frozen in time, before flapping its wings and diving back into the woods, clicking loudly.

  She imagines the clicking as the cicada's version of an evil, conniving laugh. As she walks a way, her mind's eye plays out a scene of the cicada going up to his pals, rubbing its hands together, clicking mischievously, telling them all how he scared off the giant with his glorious wings.

   A few hours after noon, they went completely off any road or path, and came across a ruined house in the middle of the woods, in an overgrown clearing.

  "Here we are." Touchstone says.

  "What is this place?"

  "A shelter for runaways. It's got free wifi."

  The place was surprisingly clean and warm. The ceiling is patched up with boards in several places. There is a wifi router, internet cable running into the wall, and some kind of camping charger that was hooked up to a car battery. All the windows were boarded up. There was a broom and a mop in a closest in the kitchen area. No other power and appliances worked, but there was a large plastic cooler full of homemade beef jerky and water.

  "This is amazing. Who did all this?"

  "Don't know. There has to be a cable leeching internet from town. Probably installed prewar when they built the house. Someone realized that, fixed the place up, put a router in, and made a shelter for travelers. A lot of these places popped up when all the cars were confiscated or scrapped for parts. Makes traveling by foot a lot easier."

  "I'm surprised the router hasn't been stolen."

  "Just the opposite. These places are often maintained by passers-by and volunteers from the towns. Most people try to leave the place better than they found it, in some way. How long have you been a fugitive?"

  The question caught her off guard. "A-about six months, but I mostly stayed put when I got to town. I moved into an empty house way on the edge, and volunteered at the sanctuary for groceries."

  "That's what James meant when he called you a shut in? What did you do all that time?" His demeanor said casual conversation, but his tone whispered interrogation.

  "Animation." She changed the subject before he could press, "What about you? How did you find all this?"

  "Can't exactly stay in one place for too long. I rotate between apprenticing with Ortega, doing odd jobs, reading, networking, deliveries, and, of course, writing."

  "Where'd you learn to use those?" She asks, indicating to his sabers.

  "I met some guys in one of the towns who study historical sword fighting, and sparred in their spare time. So I sparred with them."

  "Why use two of them?"

  "I dunno. When I was a kid, and made toy swords, I would usually prefer two smaller ones. When I started sparring, it just felt natural, even though it was harder. Going up against bigger weapons, wielded by more experienced people, forced me to learn quick. I'd prefer lighter swords, but these cavalry sabers were what they had."

  He suddenly beams at her.

  "Lets fight."

  "Uh, I don't think that's a good idea."

  "Let's go slow, and not poke each other's eyes out. I wanna see your blade again."

  "My sword can literally cut through anything. That's not a good idea."

  "We'll be careful, I promise." He begs.

  She pulls out her stylus and powers it up. Touchstone watches, mesmerized.

  "Amazing. Hit me."

  "Aren't you going to defend yourself?"

  "I want to see if it can pierce my skin."

  She taps his arm, dark purple metal ringing off stone. Not a scratch.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  "Harder."

  She delivers a light strike to the same spot, leaving a light gray streak.

  "That doesn't make any sense. You should be bleeding, even with stone skin."

  "Little harder."

  She whacks him. The blade bites into his arm, drawing way less blood than it should. There was only a shining red mark on his arm, not even enough to run off.

  "Ow."

  "I warned you."

  "I know."

  He pulls out his twin sabers. She notes the folded tips and the round edge. Training weapons.

  They both fall into the ready position.

  "I thought you said you knew how to fight?"

  "I do." She glares at him.

  "Where did you learn to fight like that?"

  "Out in the field."

  "Fighting what, exactly? Not humans. You wouldn't be here if that was the case."

  He sighs "Look."

  He gets in the ready stance.

  "See how my chest is facing the side, while yours is facing me head on?"

  He takes a quick jab at her. Jabbing her in the chest with the folded tip.

  "Ow, the fuck?" She says, jumping back.

  "You're giving me a big target. Come at me."

  She takes a stab at him. He pushes the blade aside, sidestepping, and takes another small jab at her chest with the same blade, in the same motion. He was going slow, but she was too busy studying his movements.

  "Ow." She jerks back.

  "You're still giving me a big target. It's just like shooting, or boxing. Imagine you have a magic fishing line going from the top of your head, down your neck, and through your heart and stomach." He says, running a pointed finger down his body as he talks.

  "Your goal is to stop me from cutting that magic line with my sword. That's how you protect your vital organs."

  She visualizes the string, then turns, leading with her right leg and shoulder. Her chest and stomach now perpendicular to her opponent. She brings her sword out in front of her. Putting more distance and reach between her 'string' and her opponent.

  He jabs. She leans out of the way and puts her sword between her and the saber.

  "Very good. But we still have a lot of work. You did a lot of hacking and slashing against large mutes, robots, and maybe a few people, didn't you?"

  "How can you tell?"

  "All your weight is on your front foot. The only advantage to that is leaning in and holding your ground. It's bad for staying mobile. So you did a lot of standing your ground against larger opponents. You used the sword strictly for self-defense, and didn't have any formal training outside of self-taught drills."

  She stood there, flustered, speechless. He was spot on. She looked away.

  "Yeah, well, this wasn't standard issue. And there was no one to teach me. I had to learn on the fly."

  "That's fine. You did the best you could, then. But this will keep you safe now. Even I needed a teacher... or three."

  He set aside one saber and got into the ready position. Hand hovering by his waist, blade crossing over his body at an angle. Wrist turned so the 'sharp' edge was facing the ceiling. He was leaning on his back foot, his front leg stuck out, looking vulnerable.

  "See how the blade is at an angle? And how my blade is turned with the broadside facing you?"

  He moves his hand and the blade side to side, turning his wrist, so the edge always faces away from his center line.

  "See how the blade can cover my entire body, with little movement. No matter where your blade comes in at, I'm covered."

  She strikes at his front leg. He immediately lifts it and bumps her head with the edge of the sword. She lets out a breath and rubs her head.

  "Going for the leg is a death sentence unless you get lucky. It requires that you lean forward, exposing your head. With my weight on my back foot, I moved out of the way effortlessly."

  "I noticed." Rather than getting frustrated this time, she felt like she was getting it.

  "Try again."

  She corrected her stance to mimic his. Now he kept his weight evenly distributed on the balls of both feet. They were circling each other. This new stance was uncomfortable to hold. She had to put conscious effort to not falling back into old habits.

  She swings. He swats the blade a way, a splinter of steel glittering off.

  "Look at my center. You are looking where you are about to swing. It gives you away. And you are cocking the sword back before you swing. Swords are weapons of skill. You don't need the power of a lumberjack.

   Till sundown, Touchstone walked her through all the fundamentals of sword play, how the power of a swing comes from the hips and legs, guided by the arms. How to redirect the energy of an opponent's blow, knocking it aside with little effort. How to take an opponent's swing, and let it power your own counterattack. He taught her about the anatomy of a sword, handing her his spare saber, so he could demonstrate without ruining his weapons on her katana.

  "The base of the blade, near the hand-guard, is called the strong of the blade. Swords are like levers, and the bind is like the fulcrum. If we both press the middle of our blades together, it comes down to pure strength. But if you push your blade up, until the middle of my blade is by your handguard, then, no matter how weak you are, you are in complete control. You can push the blades around wherever you want." He demonstrates as he talks.

   "The top is called the weak of the blade. No matter how strong I am, I cannot stop the blade from moving if you push my blade from the top. Try it, just like that. So the goal, when you bind with an opponent, is not to overpower them, but to catch their weak in your strong. Then you have complete control."

  The sun fell back behind the trees. It was growing dark.

  "We can practice an hour in the morning, before we start traveling, and one in the evening before we go to sleep. Every day, until you are as good as I am. Sound good?"

  "Sure."

  They ate some food from their packs. Touch offers her some jerky from the cooler.

  "No thanks."

  He shrugs and stuffs it into his pack. He didn't eat meat either, but it was valuable to trade. They left some beans and nuts in the cooler, in case the next people to show up also didn't eat meat. They decide to sleep in shifts, with Touchstone taking the first watch while he finishes his report.