Juliet knelt in the middle of Tanaka’s tatami dojo mat, her eyes closed and the monoblade resting across her thighs. She wore a red gi and a matching red belt—it meant nothing. Tanaka’s master hadn’t bothered with belts and colors, and neither did he. Over the last several months, Juliet had acquired a number of gis, white, black, red, yellow, and even a shockingly bright magenta one, simply to see if it would get a rise out of the older mercenary. It hadn’t.
Her monoblade, an incarnation of violent potential, was a comfortable, now-familiar weight. She’d memorized every centimeter of it, from its matte-black sheath to its upgraded and personalized hilt, designed to match her grip perfectly. She’d balked at first when Tanaka suggested she change the grip and hilt diameter. It was his sword, after all. That argument had lasted all of five seconds when he’d chopped his hand in the air and said, “No,” reminding her that she’d taken it from him in battle and that it would be shameful for him ever to wield it again. So, she’d taken him up on the offer and pushed it to the extreme.
She’d added a smart alloy frame into the hilt, which utilized nanotech to dynamically adjust its contours and balance in real-time, ensuring an optimal grip tailored to her hand’s movements and pressure. The new frame was wrapped in “FlexiGrip,” an adaptive polymer blend that could change its texture and firmness based on her body temperature and sweat secretions. It had a matte black default color but was woven with iridescent filaments that could softly glow in a broad spectrum of custom colors. At the moment, it pulsed with subdued reds that matched her gi.
“Are you all right?” Angel prompted, aware that Juliet’s mind had wandered, but likely not sure what she was thinking about.
“Fine,” Juliet subvocalized, not wanting to share their conversation with the little audience gathered to watch Tanaka’s “ceremony.” Juliet hadn’t wanted any observers; she just wanted to complete his test and be done with it, moving on to more training. Of course, he’d had good arguments to the contrary, mostly involving the team being comfortable with her running around with a monoblade. This demonstration was all about blade discipline, and he argued that they’d appreciate knowing what she could do.
She felt them behind her—Tanaka, Frida, Leo, and the rest of the team. They were silent, waiting, giving her a chance to compose herself. She supposed that having them all present made her take this more seriously. If it were just Tanaka, she’d be okay with a mess-up, knowing he’d just make her wait a while and try again. Now, though, with everyone’s eyes on her, she felt like she had to be perfect. So, with a final cleansing inhalation through her nose and a slow breath out through her mouth, she opened her eyes and looked at the test. It was the ring tree, the very first “blade discipline” test Tanaka had given her.
Juliet gracefully rose from her kneeling position and slid the monoblade into her obi, resting her left hand on the top of the scabbard as she approached the tree. There were twenty-one rings of varying sizes, all wired into the dojo’s diagnostic array. If she passed her blade through the center of the ring, it would register and shine with a green light. On her first day of sword practice, Tanaka had given her the challenge to pierce each ring perfectly, without touching the sides, in less than a minute. That first day, she’d done it in twenty minutes, but only after failing dozens of times.
Since then, they’d practiced blade discipline every day and done exercises just like this one in the VR booth, but she’d only worked with this physical ring tree a few times and only with a practice sword. Could she do it in less than a minute with a real monoblade? If she messed up even once, she’d destroy the ring, and that would be that; the test would be over, and she’d have to face everyone’s disappointment. She knew that expectation was her own, that Leo and the others wouldn’t really care, but she recognized how clever Tanaka was by inviting them. She’d apply the pressure; they didn’t have to.
The hardest thing about the test was that she had to stand at an ideal thrusting distance. Her arms would be extended, and the tip of her blade would have to pass through the rings, some of which were only a scant centimeter wider than her sword blade. If she swayed at all, the blade’s monofilament edge would slice the ring without any resistance. The trick, she’d learned, was to be confident and thrust quickly and retract quickly. Moving slowly only added to the natural swaying motion.
“Ready?” she subvocalized, knowing the question might as well have been rhetorical. Angel was always ready. Proving her point, Angel didn’t respond verbally, but Juliet “felt” her readiness, something they’d been playing around with more and more. Juliet could feel Angel’s state of mind almost as well as the PAI could feel hers.
She figured she could do the test without Angel’s help. It wasn’t that she was naturally gifted with the sword, but after five months of dedicated practice and Angel’s help all along the way, she was quite good, and that self-assessment wasn’t bravado. She’d proven it over and over again in the VR and dream-rig sims and in practice bouts with Tanaka, who was widely acknowledged to be a master.
With Angel helping to correct her movements and teaching her muscles to memorize the perfect forms, she probably learned ten times faster than someone without such an aid, and that was being conservative. Honey had left before Juliet had really started to learn with full intensity, but she knew she was better than her friend now, and Honey had been learning the sword for ten years or more.
She’d struggled with the notion that she was cheating, but only briefly. The closer she grew to Angel, the more she recognized that she and the sapient, sentient AI were intertwined, the more she had to acknowledge that whatever Angel did for her was natural—they were a unit, two halves of a whole, and if that was unfair for the rest of the human race, then so be it.
Juliet wouldn’t have been able to say that a year ago, but their shared experiences and continued reliance on each other changed her outlook. What good did it do to torture herself with manufactured notions of what was right or fair? Would other people refuse an advantage if presented with it? Maybe some would, but plenty wouldn’t, and Juliet didn’t have a problem taking the help, especially when her life and those of the people she cared about might depend on the skills she was picking up.
So, even knowing she might be able to pass this test without the PAI aiding her, she embraced the help. “Let’s make it perfect,” she subvocalized, clearing her mind and pushing away those thoughts, doubts, and weird justifications. She mentally mapped out her path through the rings. She chose the first target, then the next, and so on, until she could visualize imaginary dotted lines between them as though she were connecting the dots on a child’s puzzle. She inhaled deeply, then, as she exhaled, whispered, “Three, two, one . . .”
To the others watching, it looked like Juliet had been standing still one second, and the next, her sword was out of the sheath and extended in a flawless thrust and the first ring was blinking with green LEDs. Her sword’s blade sparkled with a projected, red, holographic edge, alerting anyone who knew anything about swords that it had a monofilament edge, that it could cut through steel like a reaper’s whisper to an old man’s soul.
Juliet retracted the thrust and drove the sword, faster than a normal eye could track, through the second ring with a second fierce cry of “Tsuki!” After that, it became rhythmic—retract, thrust, retract, thrust. If anyone were timing her moves—Tanaka was—they would have noted that each full thrust and retraction took less than a second.
When the twenty-first ring flashed with green LEDs, Juliet looked at her own timer and saw a flashing 17.745 seconds. A huge smile spread on her lips, and she sheathed her sword with a flourish, turning to bow deeply to Tanaka, who stood on the side of the mat. His face was impassive, but Juliet could see something in his eyes.
They were still chrome, still almost impossible to read, but she’d grown accustomed to his micro-expressions over their many long hours of one-on-one practice. He was pleased, but he was feeling something else; she couldn’t quite make it out, but perhaps it was wounded pride. Juliet was reasonably sure she’d just proven she was faster than he was.
“Holy shit!” Leo laughed, and that broke the spell. Everyone started hooting, clapping, and whistling.
“That’s not a practice blade?” Frida clarified.
“No,” Tanaka said, stepping onto the mat and reaching out a hand. Juliet, long over her earlier awkwardness with the man, still wasn’t sure what he wanted. Was it a handshake? She reached her right hand to his, and he grasped it warmly, smiling. She felt such a warm, fuzzy feeling in her chest that moisture sprang into her eyes. She blinked rapidly and looked down—Dr. Ming would remind her that she subconsciously sought praise, and Tanaka’s pride in her was an almost overwhelming source of it.
“I will give Lucky her kanji. You all may wait in the reception area.” Juliet knew what he meant; he’d already warned her. He wouldn’t set her loose on the world with a monoblade without marking her the way he had been; it was a tradition that honored his master despite the conflicting feelings Tanaka had about the ancient swordsman.
“Drinks and cake are waiting!” Frida called, and that got everyone moving. They filed out, leaving Juliet alone with the former, cold-blooded mercenary.
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“Sit,” he said, gesturing toward the mat. Juliet stepped back toward the center and lowered herself to her knees, folding her hands on her lap. Tanaka walked to the side of the room again and picked up a wooden tray bearing a soft white cloth, two clay pots, and several long needles wrapped in rice paper. He walked over and knelt before her, placing the tray between them. “Roll up your right sleeve.”
“Do we really have to do this, Rutger? I don’t plan to go around dueling people.”
“I explained this, Lucky. This will help you avoid duels. If someone sees you with that blade and challenges you, roll up your sleeve, making this kanji clear. If they don’t back down, your conscience can rest easy with what you must do.” He uncapped the first ink pot and began unwrapping one of the needles. “Rest your right arm here so I can work on it.”
“Do people really know about this stuff? Would a banger know . . .”
“A banger will not challenge you to a sword duel. If they want your sword, they’ll try to kill you in any way they can. This is for a certain group of specialists.” He pulled her arm a little farther forward, rubbing his thumb on the back of her forearm, perhaps choosing the best spot. With that, before Juliet could protest more, he dipped his needle and began pricking her flesh in quick, precise movements. “This first mark is for the sword. It means ken.”
“Does it hurt?” Angel asked, fascinated.
Juliet shook her head. “No. Just tiny stings, but they don’t last.”
Tanaka, of course, didn’t hear their side conversation and kept talking. “The second mark means master. People might be skeptical because of your age, or they might have known you before you started practicing. It’s very unusual for someone to reach your skill level so quickly—unheard of, I’d say.”
Juliet tried to ease the tension. “I had a good teacher.”
“Hai. We know there’s more to it, but I am pleased. You have been honest with me, at least as much as possible, by refusing to explain rather than lie.”
“You know I’m going to tell you more when we make our move . . .”
“Hai. The third mark will be mine. I might not be as famous as I once was, but the people who matter will know it. They’ll see that it was I who marked you, and they’ll think twice about their doubts.” Tanaka was utterly focused on his task, and Juliet could see his face was more relaxed than usual. He enjoyed working with his hands—carving wood, sharpening blades, and, apparently, tattooing.
“The first one is ken, what’s the second?”
“Shi.”
“Kenshi,” Juliet said softly.
“Hai, but this is a mark meant as a warning, not for bragging. You need never utter that word.”
“I wouldn’t!” The idea of bragging about her sword skills felt absurd to her; as Tanaka had indicated, she’d gotten too good, too fast. It was almost embarrassing.
While he worked, Tanaka continued to speak, more verbose in those moments than he had been in the many months they’d been working together. “As you know, that sword will cut through most things unless they were specifically engineered to be denser than natural materials. The sheath, for instance, has a strip of polymer where the blade rests that cannot be penetrated. Such materials are extremely costly, and you won’t often run into someone with armor like that. Still, be prepared for it. What should you do in such a situation?”
Juliet’s answer was immediate, “Cut around the armor.”
Tanaka snorted and nodded. “Hai. Or shoot them. Or break their neck. Always plan for any eventuality.”
“Wait. So, having this sword doesn’t mean I can forget about guns and spaceships and . . .”
Tanaka clicked his tongue and shook his head. “I’m too lenient with you. Such backtalk would have seen me thrashed . . .”
“And peeing blood for a week.” Juliet laughed as his lips curved into a small smile. They were both quiet for a while, and when Tanaka closed the clay pot and opened the other, revealing red ink, she said, “Tell me about your mark.”
“The Red Wolf. Before I left, they gave me this name, which is when I ceased to be Noraneko.”
“Because of Takamoto? Because of Frida’s . . .”
“Hai,” he grunted. Juliet had been about to say Frida’s mother, but she could see why he interrupted her. She spoke softly and doubted Frida was watching the vid feed. In fact, she knew she wasn’t because Angel had access to all of the systems in the dojo, but still, it was a sensitive topic.
“I’d rather you put Noraneko on there instead of . . .” Angel supplied the word for wolf, and Juliet repeated it, “Okami.”
“It would defeat the purpose. No one knows of Noraneko, the swordsman, only the Red Wolf.”
“I see.” Juliet breathed softly through her nose, watching the red mark take shape as he tapped away with his needle, dabbing with the cloth now and then. She knew her nanites would heal the new tattoos on her synth-skin within minutes and that infections were impossible, so the blood and traditional, perhaps dubious origins of the ink and needles didn’t bother her.
They were both quiet for a few more minutes while he worked, and then he asked, “And if you meet another with a monoblade?”
She was ready for this question. They’d spoken about it dozens of times, and lately, their practice had revolved around that kind of duel. “Don’t cross blades, and don’t let them touch me.”
“Hai. Unless you get a clean cut on the side or back of their sword,” he said, pressing the blood and ink-stained cloth to her forearm, giving it a firm squeeze. “Tell your nanites to get to work; you’re done.” He stood fluidly, one of his knees popping with the motion, and held out his hand to her. Juliet took it, pleased at the warmth she felt at the gesture, hardly able to recall the awkward distance between them when she’d first started studying the sword. He pulled her to her feet, and she regarded her arm, tracing the two black kanji and then the red one with her finger. She liked them; Tanaka did good work with his antiquated tools.
“Thank you, Sensei,” she said softly, looking into his reflective chrome eyes. “I wish you’d get new optics.”
“Yeah,” he grumbled, but Juliet saw his slight smile return. He gestured toward the door. “Come on, everyone’s waiting.” Juliet followed him into the reception area, where everyone sat or stood around, chatting, eating cake, and drinking beer. Soft synth-pop played on the office speakers as Juliet scanned the room, noticing how everyone had fallen into their usual little cliques.
Leo and Barns stood near the door, Frida sat with Dora Lee, and Hawkins, ever the silent loner-type, sat by himself with an absurdly large slice of cake. When Juliet walked in, everyone looked her way, so she held up her freshly inked arm, an almost painful smile stretching her lips. More cheers, whistles, and catcalls greeted the display, and Juliet’s cheeks flushed as she laughed, hurrying over to the counter where she could avoid everyone’s eyes by focusing on slicing herself a piece of the vanilla-frosted lemon cake.
Frida came over while she was scooping some frosting off the knife blade and chuckled when Juliet licked her finger clean. “It’s good, huh?”
“Yes! So creamy!”
Frida nodded. “I got it from that place a few blocks down. Mimi’s.” Frida’s pale green eyes drifted from Juliet’s face to her new tattoo. “Well, you’ve graduated. Does this mean we’re about to put all of the training to the test?”
“Yeah,” Leo said, suddenly leaning against the counter behind Juliet, much closer than he should have gotten without her noticing. She blamed the music and the rush of sugar from the frosting. “When are you gonna tell us more about this big job?”
Juliet turned so her back was to the counter, allowing her to look at them both as she answered, “Soon! I’m meeting with Tanaka about the next step tomorrow morning.”
“Why not now?”
“She has a date,” Frida laughed as she answered, enjoying how her words teased Juliet and Leo in different ways.
“Oh, brother,” Juliet sighed.
“Ah, right. I see how it is.” Leo wrinkled his nose and shrugged. “Well, if that’s the case, maybe you should join Annie and me. I’d love to meet this mysterious fellow of yours . . .”
Juliet shook her head. “Not happening.” About a month after Juliet had let him down easy, Leo had started dating a woman named Annie, whom he found a way to mention at least a few times a week. Frida wasn’t sure Annie existed, but Juliet could tell Leo wasn’t lying. Whether he really cared about her was another question.
Leo shrugged. “Well, let me know if you change your mind.” He gestured to her arm, said, “Congratulations,” and walked over to resume his chat with Barns.
“He hates that you’re seeing someone,” Frida whispered.
“Which is why I wish you’d stop bringing it up in front of him,” Juliet growled, turning her back to the two men and glaring down at the smaller woman.
“I’m sorry! I’m a little childish, I guess. You know he’s like a big brother to me; it’s fun to tease him.”
“Well, it’s not like it’s a big deal, anyway. This is only, like, the fifth date we’ve been on.”
Frida leaned closer and scooped her finger through Juliet’s frosting, grinning into Juliet’s scowl. “Yeah, but that’s not his fault. You went to Mars, and then he had to go back to Earth twice for his job. The fact that he keeps coming back says a lot.”
“Are you going to make me regret spilling my guts to you? He’s not coming back here just for me!”
“Sure.” Frida’s eyes said she knew better. “I mean, those shuttle flights aren’t cheap, so you must have a few pretty good tricks. Care to share?”
“Get . . .”
“Melted,” Frida laughed. Juliet smiled and continued eating her cake. She was looking forward to seeing Tristan—Jensen, as she still thought of him half the time—again, but it wasn’t as big a deal as Frida was making it sound. Yes, they had chemistry, and yes, on their third date, Juliet had gone back to his place, and it had been great, but . . . Her mind got stuck on that thought, as usual. What was the “but” with that situation? She couldn’t put her finger on it, but it was there. Was she doomed to be alone because she had some hidden standards that even she couldn’t pin down? Was she comparing Jensen to people and feelings she’d built up in her mind to the point where no one could measure up?
As she savored another bite of cake with far too much frosting, she couldn’t help how her mind drifted toward a recent memory. It was something she’d realized the night she’d stayed at Jensen’s place, and, recalling it, she almost called herself a liar out loud. She knew darn well what the issue was. That night, after he’d fallen sound asleep and she’d been staring at the dark ceiling, the weirdest thoughts had come into her mind.
She’d started thinking about the time Nick had been accosted by some men claiming he owed them money. The reason for the out-of-place memory became apparent as she thought about how she’d dived into that small-time gangster’s head and relived the horrible accident he’d had with Lexi, the girl who’d died. She remembered how he’d felt driving with her in the car, looking into her pale, rose-colored eyes, watching her hair flutter in the wind, and feeling such a deep, profoundly life-changing love for her. Then she’d felt his loss when she died, and the experience had nearly driven Juliet into a depression.
The truth was, she’d experienced real love through Tono’s simple mind, and she knew what she felt with Jensen didn’t measure up. Had that gangster ruined her chances of ever having a deep, romantic relationship? Would she ever feel the way Tono—and her by proxy—had felt for Lexi?
The idea that the chance encounter with one of Nick’s enemies, that brief run-in during which she’d dared to dive into the deepest, secret corner of a thug’s mind, had given her the only taste of real love she might ever have was enough to turn her mood sour. She set her plate down, her cake half-eaten, and folded her arms, annoyed that she’d let herself go down that road again.
“Something wrong?” Frida asked, eyeing her discarded plate.
“Too sweet. I mean, it was great, Frida, but Angel’s on my case about the sugar.”
“I am not!” Angel immediately protested.
“That PAI of yours is hardcore,” Frida laughed.
“Sorry, Angel,” Juliet subvocalized. “I shouldn’t use you as an excuse.”
“It’s okay. I can tell you’re thinking about love again.”
“Well,” Dora said, standing up, “Me and Hawkins have an opening at the range. Congrats, Lucky. That was some serious sword-poking-around stuff you did.”
“Hah,” Barns laughed, “She ain’t known for poetry, but she’s right. Nice job, Lucky!” He held up his beer, and the others all echoed the impromptu toast, tossing back whatever they were holding.
Juliet smiled and mock-bowed, rolling her arm for good measure. “Thank you, thank you! My next display will involve an apple on Leo’s head . . .”
Leo laughed and stepped closer, giving her a playful punch on the shoulder. “Not on your life.”
“I’ll have to reschedule that one, folks. My assistant’s butterflies have gotten the better of him. Maybe he’ll come around.” Juliet winked at him and then jerked her thumb toward the door. “I should get going, too. I’d thank you all for coming, but I know you’re only here for the cake and drinks.” Juliet turned and pulled Frida into a hug, kissing the top of her ginger curl-covered head, “So thanks, Frida!”
“Thanks, Frida!” everyone echoed, and those who hadn’t yet done so drained their drinks.