---Arts---

“It… is a lovely sword…” observes Emiko, of the sheathed deathworld blade, similar to Victor’s plasmafalchion, on a stand, in the shop we’re passing time in.

“If you think it’s lovely, why don’t you buy it?” asks Jennie, cheerily.

“I just… well it would only be an ornament and… really, I have enough ornaments… I’ll leave it.” she decides.

“Fair enough…” Jennie shrugs before turning to Phan and Soo “…it’s about damn time you two got together! It couldn’t have been more obvious you were into eachother! Who asked?”

Phan’s cheeks flush and the Suigu, receiving a [piggyback] from him (her legs melted into a ring around his waist), grins over his shoulder “I initiated things… Cucu was being a [scaredy-cat](!)”

“She squeezed under my door…” chuckles Phan, half under his breath.

“Do you two need to get moving? They have to be nearly there by now.” says Msia, the Shings’ heads over his shoulders.

I turn my eyes out of the circular window, at the front of the shop, to the enormous, forested spire, that looms over Xīn de Dēngfēng, and see Victor, Brunhilda, Tuun, Xon, Kas and Thran walking on a path with a sheer drop to their right and a sheer cliff face to their left “They’re still some distance from the top, I’d say we have around [30 minutes] until we need to head to the shuttle.”

Incredulously, Petrikov steps to my side, looks in the same direction and says “You can see them?!”

“I can see them.” I confirm.

“With your bionics, right?” asks Krish.

I frown, bring my left wing up to cover my artificial eyes and look again “No… I can see them with my natural eyes as well… Well, my main spectrum eye, at least. At this distance, the humidity in the air is swallowing their heat signatures.”

“That’s incredible!” observes Hatathli.

Emiko smirks “You know, all of you, you could stand to be a little less shocked when a gardenworlder demonstrates an ability that exceeds that of a Human(!) It can come across as arrogant… as if you believe that Humans ought to exceed nonHumans at all times, in all things(!)”

Everyone, except the shop attendant, Emiko and I, has a moment of looking embarrassed before Emiko looks out of the window and adds “That is very impressive though…” with an appreciative smile.

--- Shí Dǎo Yuán’s perspective---

It’s quiet, but I hear the shuttle approaching from the direction of the valley below, as I sit, playing my èrhú, on the steps surrounding a courtyard in the Temple I founded half a century ago.

I briefly catch a glimpse of the shuttle over the roof to my left, before it sets down.

I don’t interrupt my playing, letting the mournful notes continue to echo across the courtyard.

A few minutes pass before my best student, Shí Shī Wěi, comes to me and says “Shīfu, they… they’re here… The ones who wish to take you…”

Still playing, I answer “Thank you, Abbess, please show them in.”

I retired as Abbot around ten years ago but continue to reside and teach here, Wěi was definitely the right woman to cede control to.

When the ODR contacted this Temple, saying they wanted the galaxy’s finest martial artist (to be a fitness instructor of all things(!)) I very nearly responded that they should just visit a gym if they wanted someone to lead qìgōng and such with uninitiated individuals… the detail that two students in my lineage are aboard this ship, as well as several others proficient in Arts other than Shaolin… it changed my mind…

I’m still not certain I won’t send someone else… one of my students, not Wěi of course but someone from the 65th or 66th generation… it depends on how they perform…

A Japanese woman and a R’qali woman with prosthetics, enter the far side of the courtyard.

The Japanese woman has schooling in Kyūjutsu, Kenjutsu, Jujutsu and Iaijutsu, from childhood, and then served in the military, excelling in Standardised Military CQC, there. The R’qali has been schooled in R’qali military Aerial Combat and Ground Combat… she was good but hasn’t practiced in some time… I’d guess, since the War.

“That’s him?… He doesn’t look particularly impressive…?” the R’qali woman asks the Japanese, having, correctly, determined that I am not wearing a translator and, incorrectly, concluded that I am out of earshot.

“Don’t I?… Well, appearances can be deceptive.” I answer in fluent R’qali, just loud enough to allow my voice to carry, over my playing, across the courtyard.

The R’qali woman freezes and begins to stammer in embarrassment but I interrupt “It’s alright, Ma’am. If you were a prospective student it would be another matter but I take no offence at how laughably you’ve just underestimated me.”

The two women approach me, the R’qali still visibly embarrassed, the Japanese doing a much better job of concealing her embarrassment.

The Japanese woman kneels in a dogeza and the R’qali, following her lead, folds her natural and artificial legs beneath her, nestling into the ground.

Finishing my tune, I put down my instrument and its bow and take out a translator, adhering it to my temple… Even if I speak both of their first languages it would make things difficult if only one of them could understand me at a time.

“So… you have students for me?” I address the Japanese woman.

“Yes, Shīfu, they’re on their way up the mountain now, they should be here shortly.”

I smile “You don’t need to call me ‘Shīfu’, Ma’am. Not unless you wish to become my student yourself which, I take it, you don’t… given your method of arrival…”

She nods, politely.

“I assume you know how bad it will look if your prospects were on that shuttle and are now hanging back to make it seem as if they walked up the mountain… don’t think I won’t be able to tell(!)” I say with an amused smile.

“I believe you’ll be satisfied by the condition they arrive in, Dǎo Yuán.” nods the Japanese woman.

“I’m afraid the two of you have me at a disadvantage… might I ask your names?”

“Emiko Miyazaki.” responds the Japanese woman.

“Tcakqaal.” responds the R’qali.

“A pleasure to make your acquaintances. Shí Dǎo Yuán, you are already aware.” I smile.

Just then, into the courtyard enter two 67th generation Shaolin practitioners, an East African Boxer, a Tshwane Soldier, a woman whose species I don’t recognise but who’s clearly had schooling in Historical European Martial Arts from childhood and then practiced full time for some years in a Daoist Art… I think Bāguàzhǎng, and a Starborn woman who is an utter cacophony of competing Arts but who’s underlying basis, I would say, is… Bataireacht(?)

They have clearly walked up every one of the 25,158 steps between the town below and this Temple.

The enormous, copper haired Brit and the even more enormous (though, wide and deep, rather than tall) orange haired Neanderthal would be instantly recognisable as the students of my students’ students, even if I didn’t know them from both having served as unwitting walking advertisements for Shaolin for 14 and 5 years, respectively.

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

The uptick in interest we got after the Brit’s Shaolin status became public knowledge, was measurable. Likewise, when the Neanderthal divulged her status in an interview.

Most weren’t serious, of course, but who’s to say how many practitioners there are today, as a result of these two…

However, as I said, even if they weren’t already known to me, I can read my influence in the way they carry themselves… it’s always slightly uncanny to see so much of yourself in one you’ve never met.

The Brit, Neanderthal and Daoist practitioner (of undetermined species) perform a bàoquán… The Daoist actually performs two, placing the knuckles of her upper left hand against the palm of her upper right and reversing the arrangement for her lower arms. In all my years, this is my first time seeing a multiarmed species perform that respect(!)

The Boxer, Soldier and Starborn hesitate before copying the salute.

I beckon them forward and gesture for them to take a seat with the two women I was talking to.

“Shí Rǔ Míng, Shí Rǔ Fāng it’s a delight to finally meet you…” I address the redheads.

“The honour is ours, Shīfu.” responds the Brit, turning his eyes to the ground in respect… the Neanderthal nods agreement.

The blue skinned Daoist is looking at me, slightly confused, I know why.

“You have a question, Bāguàzhǎng?” I smile.

Her luminous eyes widen and her cheeks flush a purple colour “I’m sorry Shīfu, I meant no disrespect…”

“…but you’re wondering why I’m not bald?” I chuckle.

She looks away, abashed.

I bring my hand to my long hair, tied into a neat bun at the back of my head and laugh “When you’re the galaxy’s finest Martial Artist… you get a bit of leeway in how you keep your hair… none of my students have raised it as an issue(!)… No need to be embarrassed, girl. I’m not offended!”

She smiles… clearly still worried.

“Now…” I look at the assorted prospectives “…who’s first? Do you need time to recover? I don’t mind if you wish to eat, drink and rest before we start?”

“Forgive me for interjecting but… I thought this was a simple assessment… what exactly are you ‘starting’?” asks the R’qali woman.

“The Pái Méi test, Cap. When those already schooled to a high level, in Shaolin or other styles, want to study under an even higher master, there can be some arrogance carried in. The test is meant to make us humble. We’ve got to try to strike him and he’ll only dodge and parry, not strike back. If we touch him, he bows down and calls us master… we won’t though… I’ll go first… I carried water up the mountain with me and I know it won’t make a difference if I rest or eat!” answer’s the Brit, concealing the roughness of his accent… I understand he thinks he’s being respectful but… I shall have to have a talk with him about authenticity… if I’m impressed enough to accept him as a student, that is(!)

He speaks with some humility, though… I can tell it’s fresh! He must have had some illusions shattered recently.

“I don’t know why I was expecting tea and a chat(!)” chuckles the R’qali “Of course it has to be trial by combat, when deathworld warriors are involved(!)”

I smile at her “Tea can be provided, if you wish… We’ll have time to chat, later.”

“I’ll survive without tea, Sir(!)” she smiles back, wryly.

Turning my attention back to the Brit, I begin removing my weighted vambraces and place them down, allowing them to make just enough noise to hint at their mass, as I do so “I shall test you first then, Rǔ Míng…”

Then, addressing the others “…would all of you be so kind as to watch from the stoa? He and I shall need some space for this.”

The five prospectives and two others clear the courtyard and take position together, watching from the covered walkway, surrounding the open space.

He was right to put himself first… he’s definitely not the strongest (that distinction going to the Neanderthal) but he’s the one who looks least exhausted from the climb… the blonde Starborn, Tshwane soldier and the Boxer being a close second, third and fourth. The Neanderthal and blue skinned Daoist have clearly suffered due to their ancestral lack of stamina… I have to say… I’m impressed a gardenworlder was even able to make the climb, let alone keeping pace with this group(!)

Coming down the steps, onto the courtyard, I am struck by the Brit’s height… he has to be 18cm taller than average and 28cm taller than me!

He’s bulky, too… not that I’m worried he’ll actually manage to hit me but… if I stood still for either him or that Neanderthal woman… If I let them get a clean strike… there’s no doubt they’d seriously hurt me.

We bow and he takes an aggressive stance, I take a defensive… were he less well trained I would take no stance at all. However, that would be arrogance, here!

“Begin!” I announce.

He lunges forward with impressive speed.

He aims an open palmed strike directly at my face.

He’s almost as fast as me. However, where he has to cover all the distance between himself and me, I only have to move my head out of the way of his strike.

Reacting before he even would have landed his blow, he attempts to redirect to my new position.

My left backhand meets the inside of his wrist, batting his arm, harmlessly, away.

There’s no doubt he’s earned his black sash but… well, I would definitely say his skill has suffered from the best part of a decade of not having any appropriately skilled sparring partners.

He’s regressed, somewhat, to thinking of Shaolin as an external Martial Art… lashing out, ferociously, to try to cause damage… That’s true, at lower levels, but, at higher levels, it becomes internal… focused less on striking and more on avoiding and redirecting.

The opposite is true of the Daoist arts; Tàijíquán, Bāguàzhǎng etc. which start out internal and then, at higher levels, become external… though the highest level of both Buddhist and Daoist Arts is recognising that the distinction of external and internal is meaningless… the same way it is to the uninitiated.

My prospective student aims a sweeping kick at my legs… of course, with his stature, it makes sense that he would favour the Northern style. Not like the Neanderthal… she has 'Southern Boxer' written all over her(!)

Not wishing to remove myself from the ground, I opt to block it with the bottom of my foot, rather than jumping it.

I’d say he favours a dāo style sword… a little longer… custom made… straight backed…

“When was the last time you meditated, Míng?” I ask, causing his punch to falter allowing me to dodge it, easily.

“Uhm… been a while…” he says while aiming another blow at me, recovered from the falter.

“I can tell(!) That won’t stand if you’re to be my pupil, you realise?”

“Yes, Shīfu!” he says, more focused now.

---40 minutes later---

The Brit lies gasping, on the ground, soaked in sweat and utterly incapable of continuing.

He was much better than I thought he’d be… but still wasn’t close to passing the test…

“Done?” I ask, standing over him, a pleasant sheen of sweat on me but not out of breath.

He shakes his head, still gasping too much to speak, and makes to get up.

“I like your tenacity, boy, but you’re done!” I chuckle.

Sure enough, the strength in his limbs fails and he falls to the ground.

I hold out my hand and he, grudgingly, takes it and allows me to pull him to his feet, feeling that bulk of his.

I show him to his friends who have been dutifully watching, as we fought.

I place the knuckles of my right hand against the palm of my left and bow, a gesture he returns before collapsing.

I’m still undecided… I mean, he was good… but I definitely think there are 65th generations at the Temple who could instruct him… let’s see what the others have…

---one hour later---

The Soldier had some speed and a deceptive amount of stamina, given her slenderness. She lasted 14 minutes.

The Starborn was definitely the most chaotic and unpredictable given the rough, utilitarian way she’s ripped bits she’s deemed useful from a hundred different Arts (suggests a criminal background but she’s clearly reformed, if so)… she lasted 18 minutes.

The Boxer was good… with her upper half… her training however, views the legs as little more than a platform for moving the arms around… her attempts to kick were… a little pathetic… she lasted 12minutes.

The Neanderthal was the best by a hair… but it’s clear she’s not used to taking the offensive, compensating for her lack of ability to read intentions by simply reading mechanics and reacting… very clever… but useless in this context, unless she wanted to just stand there forever, waiting for an attack that wasn’t coming.

The raw power contained in her strikes was unnerving, even to me!

That stamina, though, really let her down… 7 minutes.

Fighting (or rather, being fought at) inside her climate control field was quite refreshing… I was beginning to get a little hot!

Now for the gardenworlder… she certainly has some skill, from the way she carries herself. I hope she doesn’t disappoint me…

As it stands… I certainly think I’ll be sending one of my senior students on this mission… much as I hate to pass up the opportunity to learn the Martial Arts of a new deathworld species, there simply isn’t enough skill, among this lot, to keep me engaged for that long. It was so close, too!

Ah, it’s probably for the best, I highly doubt they’d allow me to take Qīnglóng and there’s precisely zero way I’m leaving him behind!

As the four armed Daoist approaches me, I am about to offer her the handicap of only using one hand to parry her strikes…

Then her limbs whip into a bàoquán with speed and grace that were definitely not present when she arrived, exhausted, earlier!

I reconsider that handicap… this woman deserves more respect than that!

I return her salute and then announce “Begin!”

She’s on me!

This speed!

By the Buddha!!!

I’ve fought four armed species before! Where was this coordination then!

If I had given her that handicap I would already have lost!

Knives are her weapon of choice, it seems, from her strikes.

Each blow has a pathetic amount of power but they’re so fast! In such harmony!

Her glowing eyes are flying over me, searching out any weakness!

I’ve not felt this much on the backfoot for decades!

How is a gardenworlder doing this?!?!?!

I thought I’d seen everything(!)

Oh, she’s losing it… that didn’t last long.

2 minutes and 39 seconds… that’s how much she has in the tank.

She collapses, wheezing…

I stride away from the girl and to the Japanese and R’qali women, addressing both.

“If you’re happy to wait a day, for me to make necessary arrangements, I would be honoured to accept this post… dependant on the answer to one, very important, question…”

Taken aback the R’qali woman asks “What’s the question?”

I smile “What is your policy on pets?”