Manon walked back to her apartment, her mind heavy with thoughts of the Spartoi, when she bumped into Tellson again. This time, his workout attire was gone and he was dressed in the dark blues of the fleet. When he looked at her face, he had motioned to a nearby nook to speak privately. As they talked, occasionally people would walk by and shoot the pair, nestled as they were in a dark corner of the station, a strange look.
“What’s going on, Manny?” he said, his eyes focused in concern.
Manon let out a sigh of emotion before answering.
“Nothing, Tellson. Just got a lot on my mind at the moment.” She turned to leave before he grabbed her elbow and turned her back to him.
“If the years serving alongside you have taught me anything, then it's nothing that you can’t handle if you figure out your plan. Unload.”
She thought of the Spartoi, thought of her impressions of the people assigned for the mission and focused on her target. “I’m consulting on a mission, and one of the lieutenants might be a problem. He has a little bit attitude issue.”
“Lieutenant Offer, I gather?”
“You’re familiar.”
“Of course.”
“What do you recommend then?”
“You could try a bit more of a physical adjustment. He probably would be more receptive to that type of correction.”
Manon was unsure. It was unbecoming of an officer to do something like that, a physical adjustment. A part of her did agree with him, however. Offer walked around as though he was a gift to anyone he served with. He had a type of cockiness to him that aggravated Manon immensely. Someone needed to wipe that confidence away from him and show him the reality of the world. It didn’t matter how confident you were in your own abilities. Someone would come around and wipe it all away if you weren’t careful.
“Yeah, okay. What do you recommend?”
Tellson narrowed his eyes in thought.
“You could try taking him to the training grounds. I hear he’s proud of his rankings in saber combat.”
Manon quirked an eyebrow. She had seen his rankings when she was reviewing the briefing. Of the four approved saber styles, Offer had achieved advanced or higher in three of them. He was Master Class in the Solar Sentinel style, the most popular form in the days of the Defense Fleet. It was a style that focused on securing an area of the ship with minimal effort, largely focusing on utilizing the layout of the ship to help with your defense. This included things like turning off lights and gravity in time with your attacks. He had also attained further rankings of Expert in the Voidguard and Shipwright styles, both further increasing his defensive capabilities.
Manon understood why he had no proficiency in the final approved style. Few did. Most didn’t see the point in it. While the other three styles were designed for various ways of defending a ship in the case that you were boarded, the final style was an offensive style meant for gaining territory. It was an aggressive and violent thing that focused almost exclusively on offense. In the Defense Fleet, most ignored it for this reason. The ideals of the style went against the very nature of what the Defense Fleet was meant to be. Manon wondered if there would be more people that were studying it now that the mandate of the fleet had changed.
The four saber styles were a personal selection, to a degree. Depending on the role that you were training for, you would be encouraged to at least gain a base level in a particular proficiency. If you were to be an engineer, you would be encouraged to learn the Shipwright style, so that you would be better trained in improvising weapons and strategies based on the ever evolving situation on the ship. If you were in command, there would be an expectation for Solar Sentinel, so that you could aid in securing the bridge. The offensive style, Bitter Heart, had only been introduced in the past sixty years and was completely optional.
The Bitter Heart style had been designed for boarding and taking over ships. It was aggression, pure and simple. In a fleet that was designed entirely around defense and protection, it had been horribly out of place but when the upper brass had seen how effective it could be in combat, they had voted to add it to the official rosters. To Manon’s recollection, there were currently only three people ranked Master or above. She made a mental note to check to see if anyone was pursuing a higher rank in it.
Manon narrowed her eyes at Tellson.
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When Manon had proposed the idea of a quick spar, Offer had at first dismissed the idea. He wasn't into the idea of sparring with someone that had been delegated as his superior, but after Manon had insisted, he fell into step behind her as they walked through the metallic halls of the station until they came to one of the practice rooms meant for sparring. All along the far wall were dummy sabers for each of the styles, though She noted that there were only two of the signature shapes of the Bitter Heart style. She would have to speak with someone about that. If there was ever a time for it, humanity was approaching it.
She glanced to the corner of the room, eying the doorway that led to the shooting range. Gunnery wasn't something that the Fleet pursued as stringently as saber combat. It was a dangerous thing for a sealed vessel. There were only a few situations where you would ever consider using a firearm in a spaceship, a last resort. The risk was simply too high for the bullet to breach the vessel or ricochet and damage some kind of vital component. As a result of the trip into the stars, humanity had to relearn some of the weapons of the old and forgotten ages. There were core chokepoints of Terran vessels that got reinforced so that firearms could be used freely, mind you, but in a situation where a vessel was boarded, it was imperative to try and limit the damage to your own ship so that you didn't risk everyone aboard. This was one of the unspoken rules of space combat, you did not sacrifice your ship and your enemies tried to minimize damage as they took it over. Using anything other than sabers or other bladed weapons could result in a fracture of a key part of the ship, killing everyone aboard. Firearms were a terrestrial weapon or were used for targeting entire ships, not for combat within the tight confines of star vessels. If you were boarding a vessel, it was because you intended to take it. Firearms would get in the way of that with the potential violent decompressions they could cause. Even so, in the Terran Fleet, everyone was trained on them. Scorched Earth was an accepted doctrine of the Fleet, but until the Xen'wa had pressed them, the rest of the galaxy hadn't been shown that.
Around the room, Manon could see that some people had already started pairing up and were practicing the various styles, the minimal motions of the Solar Sential, the unorthodox weaponry of the Shipwrights, even the large stabbing motions of the Voidguards as they thrusted around their rapiers. She didn't see anyone actively practicing the style that she herself was so familiar with.
“So, where did you want to do this?” Offer said placidly to himself. Manon noted his lack of honorifics. She didn't call him on it. Her actions would do that in a moment. Manon gestured over to the empty corner of the room that was by the set of Bitter Heart sabers. When she grabbed one of them, Offer chuckled at her. “You know, there are better options.”
It was true, there were better weapons. Weapons that were more balanced, sturdier, had longer reach. The other sabers that were available had better overall layouts, crossguards to help with binding blades, more weight to increase the force behind them, greater reach to help with securing the narrow confines of the ships. The Bitter Heart saber hadn’t been designed around that. It was a brutal thing. The back edge of it had a serration to it, large points that swept back to the hand, only interrupted in one spot so that the wielder could place their hand on the spine of the weapon to provide more force. The blade itself was thin when viewed from the edge, but was wide along the flat of the blade, designed to be able to take a full blow on edge without shattering. The tip of the blade had a large disc-like shape to it, the blade thinning as it came down to the hand, before widening right before it gave over to the handle. There was no guard for the hand. Where the pommel would sit was a tiny hooked blade. This practice version was entirely made out of flexible materials, designed for training and practice, not injury.
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“I agree, but this one will have to do.” Manon had one of the actual production models, a wicked thing made of blacks and reds. It was currently hanging on the wall, well out of reach of Sara’s inquisitive hands, alongside Fletcher’s own saber. His was far more traditional, of the Solar Sentinel style. Manon liked how he mounted them, the two blades crossing over each other in the middle, her secondary dagger resting between the two blades above.
Manon looked around at the wall, a frown on her face. Offer had already started a warm-up cycle, making quick circular motions with his selected saber, one of the Sentinel blades, loosely based on the sabers that would be carried in the age of sail. While Offer continued to warm-up, she walked down to the far edge where the close quarters daggers were hanging. They would have to do.
Manon walked over to their mat in the corner and began her own warm-up cycle. She didn’t have to bother with her left arm, the cybernetic arm was always ready to go and to do its thing. As she was working her right shoulder, she caught Offer looking at her, watching and taking in her muscles as they flexed in her shoulder. It wasn’t a lustful gaze, but the appreciation of a warrior, taking in the capabilities that the tense fibers beneath her skin promised.
“Ready?” He finally asked her when she had started to wind down her routine. SHe answered it by lifting up the tip of her saber towards him, the blade held across her chest in her dominant hand while the cybernetic arm held the dagger at her side. He took in her stance then shifted to a defensive pose from the Sentinel school, blade held straight out from his body with his elbows tucked tight to his side. They stood like for a moment, each waiting for the other to move, neither willing to provide the first vulnerability. Manon shifted her grip on her main blade, forcing him to finally lunge forward.
Her saber came up in a spiraling arc, catching his blade in the serrations along the backside of the blade, before she shifted the direction of her wrist, wrenching the blade from this grasp. Before he could react, the dagger was pressed against his throat. It took him a second to realize just how quickly she had dismantled him. When she saw comprehension start to flicker into his eyes, she shimmied her right wrist, allowing his blade to drop out of the serrations and clatter to the ground.
“Good. Pick it up, let’s go again,” She said, stepping back so that her opponent had time to grab the blade. When he readied himself, he took a much more measured stance, mirroring the way that Manon had crossed her body.. Manon didn’t return the stance this time. Instead, she took a very open posture, her body turned and loose to him, her left arm turned towards him with the short dagger in hand. Her right arm had the saber pressed down against her leg. She knew that the stance would provoke him, and he took the bait. This time, however, he didn’t commit as fully. When Manon took a step back, her sword swinging around to catch his blade, he was able to react and turn his blade so that it wouldn’t be captured. The blades clashed with a loud thaaawapp as the two rubber weapons collided with each other. Offer recovered quickly, but when he lunged forward, a blindingly fast attack, Manon had already spiraled away. As Offer tried to turn to follow, his foot caught on Manon’s extended leg, causing his legs to bind. Before he could recover, he felt another thwack as Manon brought her sword down across his back, another ‘killing blow.’
While Offer regained himself once more, Manon looked around and saw that some of the people around had started to pay attention to their exchanges. It wasn’t often that people could watch the Bitter Heart style in action. It wasn’t designed to be so, but it was a very attractive style to watch, replete with counters, evasions, and sharp decisive movements. She had seen a couple of heads turn as she had carried the saber down to grab the knife.
Manon looked to Offer and took in the flicker of agitation that had taken over his form. She watched as he finally took on one of the more advanced stances. Manon obliged and did the same. This time, Manon was the first to lunge forward, her blades a blur as she pressed the attack. Offer met her blows, his saber lurching with each strike as the rubber practice blades smacked into each other again and again. Manon was impressed by Offer, his defense nearly strong enough to ward off her attacks. Nearly.
Manon quickly shifted her target, smacking the flat of her blade against his elbow, causing the arm to clench and the saber to droop. Manon completed her motion, the blade smacking against Offer’s cheek as he tried to evade out of the way. The sudden force caused his body to twist as he unceremoniously dropped to the ground. While he stood up once more, Manon looked around. They had started to gather a crowd of onlookers. As her eyes scanned across theirs, she caught a few Xen’wa watching as well. They practiced their own forms and this would likely be their first opportunity to see this style on display.
She felt Offer’s next attack, decades of training causing her body to scream with the impending threat. She ducked into a roll, moving under Offer’s slice while she still faced away. When she rose, he sword did as well, directly between Offer’s extended legs. She at least turned the rubber practice sword so that she wouldn’t spear him, instead causing a loud thwack to reverberate through the air. Offer only let out a strained grunt while he fell to the knees, one hand clutching where Manon had struck just moments earlier. When Manon looked around she saw Tellson out in the crowd. He gave her a single nod. Manon returned it, then took a step back from Offer’s crumpled form.
“Is this really what passes as Master class in the Academy nowadays?” Manon said, her voice full of mocking derision.
She heard Offer grunt behind her, struggling as he slowly took to his feet. Eventually, he gave her a growl and Manon turned and met his charge with her blade. She parried the first strike, but the second cut through her defense. As the impact smacked through her shoulder, just above where the cybernetic arm’s socket had been installed, a sharp pain lanced down her side from the nerve. Immediately, her vision flickered. She was no longer on the practice mat. Instead, the lights were a dull amber, the air thin and whistling. Manon could see her enemy looming before her, the lifeless form of Chubb lying in a pool of his own blood. She glanced back to the invader that had taken over the bridge and lashed out. He wasn’t able to get his guard up and her sword caught the side of his face. Manon saw a spurt of blood and other viscous materials as the edge of the blade struck into his eye.
As the invader staggered back, she saw a part of legs leading to another body that she recognized. Takamura, but her torso was twisted around and around, wrinkled like she was made out of some fabric, her face frozen motionless in an expression of horror. Manon didn’t wait, pressing the opening. She delivered a withering blow to the joint of his neck and shoulder. She couldn’t understand how he kept his head. He staggered back again, his weapon dropping to the floor as he raised one hand towards his face. Manon pressed on once again, her blade finding his hand, bending several of the fingers at a sharp angle before colliding forcefully with the side of his face once more. Instantly, he dropped to the ground. She swung her blade around once more to deal the killing blow when her blade was intercepted by another invader. Manon quickly stepped back, this time another body coming into view. She recognized that black hair. She had stood beside it for decades. She lunged forward at the invader before her.
She wasn’t like the other opponent. He was good. Very good. He parried the first blow, then immediately transitioned into an attack. Manon had to duck the elbow that he threw. She recognized the style. There was something familiar about it. She evaded the next follow up. She didn’t even need to see it to know that it was coming. Her body and muscles screamed its presence to her. Even so, she was barely able to step to the side before the blade whistled the barest of gaps from her face.
Having gained the briefest amount of distance, she launched a few probing attacks. She had to get to him. The invader was standing between her and him. She had to get through him to check on him, to make sure he was okay. Her opponent did something unexpected. On her third thrust, he threw his blade aside and grabbed hers by the edge. She tried to pull it through his grasp. The edge should cut through his hand, but instead it remained tight in his grip. He turned his wrist and the blade flexed. Manon stared at the bending metal, her mind struggling to understand how the blade flexed so much when it spiraled from her grasp. She looked up, expecting her death when the invader lunged forward, arms enveloping her. She tried to get out of his grasp. She struck at his back with her arm, once, twice, before switching to the cybernetic. When it slammed into his back, his grunt caused the scene to flicker once more. Manon was back on the practice mats, the red and black blade that she had once had in her hand was back to the dull green rubber of a practice sword. She looked up at the man holding her tightly in his arms and her legs sagged, her forehead resting against his chest as he supported her weight.