Since planetary day/night cycles were so unpredictable, Kalan made the decision right after he bought the Ankala Rising that he’d operate on the same cycle used on Cobalt 7. It went a long way toward keeping anyone on the ship sane as they moved back and forth through the wormholes. It also meant that Fresia was able to drop into a routine almost immediately. For once, Kalan was glad that they had weeks of transit time ahead of them. It meant fewer distractions for the girl. Kalan had taken to going to the bridge every morning and monitoring things while Fresia worked on the educational package that the ship had devised. To Kalan, it looked like she was playing games most of the time, but the AI assured him that the apparent games were incrementally forcing the girl to learn new skills and information. He didn’t press the issue.
In the afternoons, he began the arduous process of inducting Fresia into the world of personal combat. She had grown increasingly petulant as he forced her through a series of calisthenics. He waited until she looked ready to explode in frustration before he retrieved the practice swords. She eyed the hypothetically harmless weapons with glee. He handed her one and then faced her.
“Hold the blade like this,” he said, extending an arm and holding the blade perfectly horizontal.
She followed his lead and then looked at him expectantly. He said nothing and didn’t move, his eyes never wavering from hers. Her face took on that same petulant expression as the seconds wore into a minute, then two, and then three. Then, she took on a look of concentration. Kalan could see the slight tremble in her hand. As the seconds ticked back, the tremor became a shake that worked its way up her arm. The tip of Fresia’s practice sword started wavering and then bouncing up and down as her muscles cried out in protest. That went on for about a minute before her arm dropped. She took a couple of huge gasping breaths. Then her eyes went to his sword, which remained as motionless as if a statue gripped the hilt. He dropped down into a kneeling position, gently resting the practice blade on the deck in front of him. He gestured that she should follow suit. She did as instructed.
“Do you understand?” He asked.
He didn’t have a vested interest in her answer. Some people understood. Some people didn’t. Her answer would inform how he proceeded.
She opened her mouth a few times before she reluctantly admitted, “No.”
“Any weapon is dangerous, but few are as unforgiving as a sword. With a blaster or projectile weapon, you can build in ways to help prevent the unwary or untrained from hurting themselves. With a sword, you can’t. From the moment you unsheathe it, it’s nearly as much of a danger to you as it is to your enemies. When you use a blaster or projectile weapon, it takes steady nerves and a steady hand, but you only truly need that steadiness for a few brief moments right before you fire. A sword demands precise control every moment it’s in your hands. If your arm cannot support its weight, you lose control of the sword. If you lose your balance, you lose control of the sword. If you lose focus,” he said, clapping his hands a hair’s breadth away from the tip of her nose and bringing her attention back to him, “you lose control of the sword. If you lose control of the blade, Fresia, it almost always means that you also lose your life.”
Kalan paused as a flood of memories washed over him. How often had his father spoken those words or ones very much like them? For that matter, how often had his mother spoken such words to him? He could almost hear her voice echoing down to him through the years. He remembered standing on the edge of a cliff as she pushed him through drill after drill until he thought his arms would fall off and his legs would melt into jelly.
“Precise control, Kalan. There are no shortcuts to achieving it. There is no substitute for it. In a battle of any length, the clumsy blade dies first,” she had said.
He had believed her then, and he believed her now, although for very different reasons. He made himself ignore the memories and focus on Fresia.
“To wield the blade, truly wield it as a master, requires that you first master your body.”
He saw the glimmer of understanding in her eyes when she spoke. “And the only way to do that is with exercise.”
He gave her a half-smile. “It’s not the only way, but it is the fastest way that I know. It’s not punishment, just a necessity.”
After that, she still wasn’t enthusiastic. The petulance did disappear from her face, though, and that was sufficient for Kalan. He didn’t especially love exercise, either, but it was a far lesser cost than one’s life. That first week, he pushed her hard. She had the resilience of youth to fall back on, but she was looking worn out by the end of the first week. That was when he gave her a book to read at night. Strategy and Tactics by Eshamey Pernaven was considered essential, fundamental reading by people in certain professions. Kalan had read it a dozen times because it was bursting with sound information. It was also one of the more tedious reads on the subject. He assigned her three chapters a night.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
The next day, after she finished her educational games or module or whatever the ship had designated them, he took her to the galley. He made lunch and quizzed her mercilessly on the material. Then, it was back to the exercise regimen, which he extended by a half hour. He did Fresia the seeming kindness of changing up the routine almost daily. At least, he imagined that she thought it was a kindness. He’d learned long ago that using the same routine every day led quickly to plateaus in progress. He didn’t want her to fall into the same trap. Some days, it was running and traditional calisthenics. On other days, he had her climb a rope and do gymnastics. He even set up a punching bag and started teaching her how to punch in a way that wouldn’t leave her with broken fingers or crushed knuckles. He kept that up for another week before the ship decided to have her say.
Fresia had just left the cargo bay when the AI manifested a physical form. She gave Kalan a look that was equal parts displeasure and concern. “You’re pushing her too hard.”
Kalan gave the AI a neutral expression. “Oh?”
“Her reaction times are down almost 14 percent. Her retention is down even more. She can’t keep going this way. She’ll collapse.”
“I know,” answered Kalan. “That’s the point.”
“What kind of benefit could there possibly be in that?”
“Most people never learn their limits. That means that most people don’t really know what they’re capable of doing. I doubt anyone has ever pushed Fresia this hard in her entire life. I bet she never imagined she could endure anything this difficult for even a day. When you fight another person, the body is only part of the equation. It’s also a conflict of wills, minds, and emotional toughness. Someone’s spirit if you will. You can’t build that kind of strength by reading theory. You must go through a gauntlet. You have to get to a point where your body is done, and you push through on will alone.”
“What if you break their spirit instead?” Demanded the ship.
“It’s always a possibility. There are methods for dealing with that if it happens. I don’t think it will here, though.”
“How can you possibly know something like that?”
“You forget. I was trained for years by some of the most heartless taskmasters in existence. You learn to pick out the people who will break. There’s something in their eyes, in their manner, and she doesn’t have it. Incidentally, when did you become so concerned about Fresia? I got the impression that you weren’t especially pleased that she was here.”
“I became concerned when you started slowly torturing her. You made her a part of the crew. They’re my responsibility as much as yours.”
Kalan nodded an acknowledgment of that truth. “That’s true.”
The AI looked at him thoughtfully for a long time before she spoke again. “How much longer will this gauntlet of yours last?”
“How long until we reach Ariadne base?”
“Six days, give or take a few hours.”
“Five more days.”
“Your word on it, Kalan. Five more days, and then you ease up on the child.”
Kalan straightened and then gave the ship a formal bow that would have passed muster in any imperial throne room. “My word of honor on it, Ankala Rising.”
Kalan turned up the pressure even more over the next five days by instructing Fresia to go up to the bridge after dinner for an hour or two of instruction with Em. The robot would begin teaching her how the navigation interface worked and set up simulations so she could practice. He watched in silence as she started fraying under the workload. He also watched as she persevered, never complaining once. On the last day out from Ariadne Base, he told her to forget the education games in the morning. Instead, he spent the whole day running her ragged with all of the exercises he’d had her do over the last few weeks. He pushed her and pushed her until her legs literally did give out beneath her. He didn’t let it pass over his face, but he felt deep empathy with her in that moment. He’d been exactly where she was. Pushed beyond his physical limits and sprawled on the floor. He knew the physical and emotional agony she was in, knew it all too well, and he couldn’t help her. If he did, if he showed any sign of compassion, it would undo all the work she had done. What happened next was all up to her.
She looked up at him. He could see the anger and hurt in them. The total exhaustion was written in the deep bags beneath her eyes and the paleness of her skin. He could see her confusion. She didn’t understand why he had done this to her. Most of all, he could see her struggling with the choice between giving up and trying to get up. He waited, looking down at her impassively. There, he thought. It was just a glimmer in the deepest recesses of her eyes, but the resolve was growing inside her. She’d decided that she wouldn’t let this, or him, beat her. He watched as she reached for something inside herself, something so deep she hadn’t even known that it existed. Then, with an effort that verged into the superhuman, she got back to her feet. She fixed him with a look that defied him to do his worst. He didn’t smile, but he did put his hand on her shoulder and let the pride he felt at her accomplishment bleed into his expression.
“Well done, Fresia. So very well done. We’re finished for the day.”
At those words, she collapsed against him. He caught her and then scooped her up. She broke down then.
“I’m so tired,” she choked. “I’m just so tired.”
“It’s fine,” Kalan said gently. “You’ll rest tomorrow. All day if you need it.”
He took her back to her cabin and put her on her bunk. She’d fallen asleep almost as soon as he’d begun walking, apparently lulled by the motion. After he closed the hatch to her cabin, the ship spoke to him over the comms.
“She shouldn’t have been able to do that. I was monitoring her vitals, biochemistry, nervous system, and muscular system. She was done. There was nothing left. She shouldn’t have been able to get back up.”
“That moment was what these last three weeks were all about. She knew she was done. She knew she didn’t have anything left to give. Then, she did it anyway. She got up on raw strength of will, and no one can ever take that from her. That knowledge will change her.”
“For the better?” Asked the ship.
“That’s always the hope.”