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Message-ID: <63358asstr$1430561401@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Albert Speer <meatbot777@gmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} Fighter Girls (teen, cons, implied lesbo)
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Date: Sat, 02 May 2015 06:10:01 -0400
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<1st attachment, "FighterGirl.txt" begin>



   Title : Fighter Girl

   Author : MeatBot

   Keywords : teen, cons, implied Lesbo

   Written : 20141122
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/MeatBot/

   A young girl is captured by pirates, and ends up on a world where
warriors fight to the death.

   Disclaimer :

   Copyright by the author.  Permission is granted to archive, repost, or
publish in no-cost or low-cost archives, periodicals, anthologies of this
type of material if unaltered and attributed to the author.  This is a work
of fiction.  The author does not condone any sexual activity among persons
under 16 in real life.

   This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to reality is accidental
and would be damn surprising.  Be warned that this story may involve
explicit descriptions of sexual activities, including some defined under
law as "Weird Shit".  Do not read this story if you believe that fictional
characters should not have fictional sex, or if you are less than the age
of consent in your social or legal group, or if you live under a
repressive, totalitarian regime in an out-of-the-way place such as the USA.
If you like it, I did it.  If you hate it, I didn't.  If it offends you, it
was a misprint.  If you want to sue me, I don't exist.  Sue the internet
instead.  Nobody's twisting your arm.  Leave if you don't like crap like
this.  These are just words, people.  Just words.

   Be warned, this is a goofy, infantile, poorly written, disgusting and
depraved story with bad punctuation, bad grammar, and lots of misspelled
words.  I am not an English major.  Deal with it.  This story is all made
up.  Yet again, it's sci-fi.  I don't know shit about fighting, so this is
probably pretty amateurish.  If you don't like it, read something else. 
Don't bitch at me.  You have been warned.

   This story is graded <TAME> compared to some of the shit I've read in
this newsgroup.

   This story is what happens when you have too much free time at work.



   --==+==-

   Jenthe de'14 was a drone.  A clone, in the old language.  She grew to
term in a vat, not some woman's belly.  She was raised in a group home,
most likely to be a sex slave to some rich old man.  She was perfect,
physically, and way above average, mentally.  Her mind was sharp, although
curiously blank.  It was up to her owners to fill that in.  This is just
the way it was done.  Her body was carefully engineered to be nothing but
appealing, on both a conscious and subconscious level.  She literally oozed
sex appeal, without even realizing it.  She was made for sex.  The Jenthe
line went back a few dozen generations by now, always popular, always
selling well.  Jenthe de'14 would have carried on that proud tradition,
except for one little indecent.

   Somebody in the shipping office was a mole.  A pirate, gone civilian for
a while, for a purpose.  The schedules of certain ships were copied, and
mailed off to a distant world.  A pirate ship knew where to be, and when,
and yet another shipment of people and things disappeared, lost among the
vast lanes of space.  Jenthe de'14 was on one of those ships.

   When the pirates burned through the hatch, they simply shot everyone
they saw moving about freely.  They had no interest in crew members, and
little in the passengers.  Jenthe was locked in a cabin, where she'd spent
most of the trip.  She was property being shipped, not a normal paying
passenger, and since she was just a kid the crew didn't have time to care
for her personally, so they just locked her in a cabin most of the time.

   The pirate captain finally noticed the locked cabin.  They'd pretty much
gutted the ship by then, and shot most everyone, except for a few pretty
girls they could either use or ransom.  Anyway, the captain shot through
the lock on the door, and after some wrestling finally got the door open.

   Jenthe sat on the bunk, and stared at him.  He stared back at her.  He
motioned to her, and she hopped off her bunk and followed him.  She was
used to doing what adults told her.  He was no different, in her mind.

   Back aboard the pirate cruiser, he placed her in his cabin while he
settled the books on his latest conquest.  He got off ransom notes on the
few passengers they'd taken, and got them ensconced in locked cabins here
and there throughout the cruiser.  He didn't worry much about the kid, he
figured she wasn't old enough yet to cause much trouble.

   The pirate cruiser was on a thirty-six hour day.  Nights were long, and
often boring between jobs.  The captain kept to himself, as captains are
wont to do.  It was an unexpected pleasure to him to have a companion, now.
The old captain would have jumped on her and ravished her immediately.  The
new captain...  he was a little different.

   The captain was well into middle age, now.  He'd had a few health
problems, and the ship had even put into a few civilized worlds on occasion
so he could be examined by competent doctors.  He was feeling his
mortality. He was even worrying about the condition of his soul, which
sounds a bit crazy for a pirate.  Not enough yet to change his ways, but he
was starting to think about things like that.  Once on a job he'd picked up
a Clearwater Bible, and the stuff that most people thought was nonsense
seemed to ring a bell deep within him.  He'd taken a personal vow of
chastity, even, and was doing his best to keep it up.

   Having a child around with a highly engineered sex appeal was hard on
him, but he didn't allow himself to waver from his vow.

   "Little darlin'," he said, as a pirate cleared away the dinner's dishes,
"do you know where you were going?"

   "I am going to Vincent san How," she said, "to Mr.  Deaconess de'Vlier."

   "You were, yes," the captain said.

   "I was?" she said, puzzled.

   "Yes, dear, we kidnapped you.  You no longer are going to Mr.  de'Vlier.
He will have to buy a new sex toy."

   "I'm not?" she said.  She wasn't sure if this was good or bad.

   "No, you're not.  You are a pirate now.  You belong to us, now." he
said. "Is that okay with you?"

   "I guess so," she said, just staring at him.  He wondered what was going
on behind those big dark eyes.

   "So..." she finally said.  "Am I to have...  sex with you?  Like I was
with Mr.  de'Vlier."

   "Oh, darlin'," the captain almost wished he hadn't taken that vow, now.
She was delectable.  Small...  he knew she was ten standard years...  just
about his old target age...  he'd had some pretty girls in the past, but
never one as pretty as this one.  She was sweetness, personified.  Smooth
brown skin, dark hair, waist length...  slim waist, nice plump thighs... 
and a butt that was out of this world...  just that ass alone would have
told him she was enhanced, if he hadn't already known.  Her face was
beautiful, a mixture of racial characteristics, almost old-style Asian
eyes, and cute little upturned nose, and fat puffy lips...  everything
about her screamed 'take me, now' even to folks who didn't have pedophilic
inclinations.  He started to wonder how long he could keep his vow.

   With difficulty he remembered her question.  "Darlin', you don't have to
have sex with anyone if you don't want to.  Especially me.  Sex being
defined as vaginal intercourse, per my vow of celibacy."

   "I see," she said.

   They passed the evening watching old vids, and spying on the crew with
various cameras he'd hidden throughout the ship.  All seemed normal and
well.

   Within a week he was desperately in love with the little girl, almost
crazy in love with her.  Dangerously in love with her.  The crew even
noticed, a few times he caught conversations between them on his spy eyes,
talking about how much time he spent in his cabin with her.  He finally
started forcing himself to spend time in the ship proper, and he even
brought her out with him, rather than let her sit alone.  The ship
fascinated her, and she had a million questions, and before long the whole
crew was captivated by her beauty and innocence.

   He knew he was going overboard with her.  He knew that discipline on his
ship was suffering.  He couldn't blame it on her...  he didn't really know
where to go from here.  It was either her, he felt, or give up being a
pirate.  He thought about retiring, but his 44041k wasn't really where he
felt it should be, quite yet.  Time and time again he pondered what to do.
He didn't want to give her up, but he felt like he had no choice.  He
talked to his first mate, who agreed.  The girl had to go.

   About that time, their path took them to Delcimur.  Delcimur, world of
swords.  That Delcimur.  He spent one last night of heaven with her,
holding her and hugging her and rocking her, and he didn't think he could
stand to give her up.  But he felt he must, for the sake of his career as a
pirate, and the eventual salvation of his soul.  He lay in his bed and wept
as his first mate led her away.



   --==+==-

   From an auction house deep in the city she watched the pirate ship lift,
puzzled, knowing that yet again, her life was going to change.  That night
she stood alone in front of a room full of buyers, and heard the bids go
higher and higher.  She didn't even understand it was for her that the men
were bidding.  She just felt all alone, and a few tears streaked down her
cheeks.  She missed the pirates, especially the Captain.

   And change her life did.  She was barely eleven standard years old by
now, still a child, and still curiously blank, in some regards.  Life with
the pirates had opened her up slightly, but she had still spent most of her
time in the captain's cabin.  She was eleven, physically, but probably a
bit younger, mentally.

   Anyway.  She had been bought by one of the premier fighting houses on
Delcimur.  Now she was destined to become a fighter.  To fight, possibly to
the death, for the entertainment of paying customers.  She was moved into a
dormitory with a dozen other children.  The very next day, her schooling
began.

   Oddly, Jenthe immediately felt an attraction to the martial arts.  And
she was good at it, she was a drone, and she had almost every enhancement
known to man.  Her reflexes were blindingly fast, her endurance incredible.
Her body had the ability to heal quickly.  She was made to be a fighter,
and her teachers knew it.  All of their students were drones.  Licensing
was difficult when trueborns fought to the death, but it was not nearly as
difficult for drones.  As an enhanced drone, she was made to do anything
well, this is just what had been chosen for her by fate.

   Her first fight was a month after her training began.  She stood in the
ring, before the master of the house, and a hundred other students.  She
carried a blunt wooden stick.  A boy, four years older than her,
approached, and bowed to her.  She bowed back.  He went en garde, and she
did, also.  Her heart was pounding like crazy.  She somehow knew that this
was a pivotal moment in her life.

   The boy started easy with her, sparring and occasionally tapping her on
the shoulder, the stomach, the leg, when she left herself open to him.  She
felt like he wasn't really trying.  For a split second she saw an opening
in his defenses, and she swung her stick as hard as she could and connected
with his kneecap.  He danced away, favoring that leg, surprise on his face.
She glanced quickly at the master, and saw him nod his head.  That was all
she needed.

   Even when she began to fight in earnest, the boy seemed to hold back. 
Maybe he didn't think she was a threat, who knows.  He did hit a little
harder, and her elbow exploded in pain.  Why that was called funny bone she
never knew.  It hurt like hell.  It made her mad, and she started to burn.
Just seconds later she saw her opening, and, once again, with all her
strength, she plunged her stick straight into his nutsack.  His eyes closed
and he fell over sideways, his hands clasping his poor tortured dick and
balls.  In a second she was on top of him, her stick raised like a sword,
ready for the killing blow.  She turned to the master and waited for his
reaction.

   As Risku sages are wont to be, he was emotionless.  Deep inside, she had
impressed the hell out of him.  Finally the master nodded his head at her.
She touched her stick to the back of the boy's neck, then walked to the
gate of the ring.  A student let her out.



   --==+==-

   That night, the master congratulated her.  He invited her to his room
for a cup of hot tea, and talked to her at length.  He gave her some
pointers about the fight, which she accepted graciously.  She knew she had
a lot to learn, a whole world of knowledge to learn.  But she was
interested, now.  She was eager.  She felt like this was something she
could be good at.

   The next day she met the boy she'd fought in one of her classes.  He
grinned at her and bowed low.  She was glad he didn't seem to hold it
against her.  She was glad she was a girl, though, and she didn't have
those pesky protrusive genitals to always protect.  Girls could be hurt
with groin hits, but not as easily as boys.  That damn lump just begged to
be smacked.



   --==+==-

   Two weeks later, she fought him again.  She came away from that fight
feeling like she'd learned something.  She also came away with a sprained
finger, two black eyes, and a tooth that had cut almost all the way through
her cheek.  He knew she meant business this time, and he didn't hold back
any.  She tried to be as gracious as he had when she saw him in class the
next day.

   Training got more and more intense, as time went by.  She had schooling
in the morning, and training in the afternoon and evenings.  By the end of
the year she was doing things that she hadn't even dreamed were possible.
And, she was good.

   Three years after she was recruited to fight, she had her first real
fight.  She was a solid year ahead of schedule, that's how good she was. 
Her teachers were proud of her.  They expected great things of her.  The
rule was simple.  Survive a hundred fights, and she was free.  That took
years, sometimes, when it happened.  And, it was rare.  One mistake, and
you were dead.  So far, luckily, Jenthe had made few mistakes.  She was a
natural.



   --==+==-

   A lot of people showed up for her first fight.  Word had gotten out. 
Master Whon, the owner of the school, had been priming his circle of
acquaintances with her name for many months now.  A lot of people were
curious to see this girl, this girl that had impressed the master so.

   The computers had matched her with a boy, for her first fight.  And, it
was something special.  This was his first fight, too.  He was equally
good. The computers rarely screwed up.  His capabilities were probably
within one percent of hers.  They were as evenly matched as it was possible
to get.

   The Master had spent days preparing Jenthe.  He had meditated with her,
and even trained with her.  He beat her easily, of course, he'd been doing
this for over two hundred years.  But it was good practice for her.  Oddly,
it helped to build her confidence.  And once, she did get in a good hit on
him.  He showed the red mark to the other masters later, with pride, but he
didn't let her get the big head about it.

   That night, they drove to the big arena.  Jenthe waited alone, in a
room, gathering her confidence and once again meditating.  She knew this
was do or die.  But, deep inside, she knew she could do it.  She felt a
slight sorrow for her opponent.  She knew it wasn't his fault.  He, like
her, was just a tool, a tool of this planet.  She knew two hundred thousand
people would watch in person, and millions more on vid.  Her image would go
throughout the galaxy, to a horde of blood-thirsty spectators.  Millions of
people will watch this poor boy die, she thought.

   They came for her.  She checked her suit one last time, picked up the
short spear she favored, and followed the guards.  She could hear the dull
roar of the crowd as they approached the arena.  Her heart was beating like
crazy and she was breathing in short gasps.  She tried to get control of
herself, and succeeded slightly.  She reminded herself again, do or die. 
Do or die.

   When they entered the arena, the crowd roared.  She didn't know if it
was for her or just because something on the floor was happening.  They
guards led her to the arena, and she climbed the short steps, went under
the ropes, and chose a corner.  She felt all alone.  She scanned the
Master's row, and finally spotted Master Whon.  She gave him a nod, and he
nodded back.  She did not want to let him down, most of all.

   A minute later the boy entered the arena, and the crowd roared again. 
He strode down the aisle confidently, and took the opposite corner from
Jenthe.  She stared at him, trying to take in all she could about him. 
Every little bit of information helped, she knew.  He carried himself like
he was schooled in Akeido, she thought.  That helped.  She immediately
began planning.  In a way, it was to her advantage that she was first in
the ring.  He didn't get to see her enter.  That would help her.

   The announcer seemed to talk forever.  He had to stop occasionally to
allow the crowd to roar.  Jenthe looked out over the seats.  Thousands upon
thousands of people, all here for one reason.  To watch kids kill each
other.  That seemed foolish to her, in a way.  A waste.  She could fight as
well without killing.  Truly, a waste.  But, people were like that.  People
were bloodthirsty.

   At last the announcer was silent.  She waited, her heart in her throat.
It was almost silent, for a moment.  Everyone was waiting.  She almost
jumped when the bell rang.

   The boy came at her immediately.  He was halfway to her before she moved
out of her corner.  The crowd began a dull roar, again.

   They met, and for a second she was unsure if she was going to survive at
all.  He hit hard, and fast.  Then, that quickly, he made a mistake, and
she put the tip of her spear into his upper right arm.  The crowd screamed
with blood lust as the floor was stained red.  She felt a satisfaction at
the look on his face.  You thought this would be easy because I'm a girl,
she thought to herself.  You thought I would just lay down and die.

   He danced back, and then came at her again.  The next minute was all
blows and sparring.  He got close a time or two, but she seemed easily able
to keep him at a distance.  She could tell he was getting frustrated.  She
wasn't playing by his rules.

   Another minute, and he made another mistake.  She got a solid slap in,
on his face.  She could have cut him badly, but she didn't, out of respect
for him.  She knew by now she could afford him some respect, without dying
for it.  She just slapped him on the cheek, cutting him slightly.  He
rubbed it, almost puzzled, and she knew he was wondering how she'd done it.
She began to have some slight doubt about the fairness of killing him.  She
carefully squashed it, and moved.  He was almost backed into a corner, now.
She felt overdrive kick in, and she touched him twice more with the blade,
just to get him ready.  To let him get ready.  Ready to die.

   The end was quick, and almost anti-climactic.  He was wide open.  She
slid her blade straight into his chest, beneath the breastbone, tilted up
slightly.  He had a surprised look on his face as her blade went into his
heart.  His body relaxed, and he dropped to the floor.  The crowd went
wild.

   The rest of the night was just a blur to her.  Two hours later the
awards ceremony, and then back to the home.  She lay in her bed that night,
seeing the look of surprise on his face, over and over.  Ninety-nine more
to go, she told herself.  Ninety-nine.



   --==+==-

   Over the next year she fought again, twenty times.  Her ratings in the
popularity polls were high, the highest for someone her age, ever.  She was
everything the fighting public wanted, young and beautiful, and seemingly
unbeatable.  Her schooling became more and more intense, and it soon became
difficult to find opponents.  She had fought half a dozen girls, and just
smashed every one of them.  The boys she fought began to be much older than
her, older and bigger and stronger.  But, it was always an even match.  Her
speed was almost supernatural, and she had the ability to know within
seconds of closing with an opponent how the fight was going to play out.

   Only once did she think she was in real trouble.  It was a boy from the
Easter Islands, as young and ambitious and hard as she was.  The fight went
on almost fifteen minutes, and she was almost too exhausted to move when
she finally clipped his spinal cord through the back of his neck.  She
needed several days off school to recover from that one, even.  Master Whon
gave it to her.  Thanks to her, and some crafty bets, he was now incredibly
rich.  Not that it mattered much to him, he was mostly just proud of her.
He poured money into her account, much more than required by law.  He was
generous with her.



   --==+==-

   They went off-world on tours, and Jenthe enjoyed that most of all.  She
loved to travel, and in the exhibition matches she was not required to
kill. She was not allowed to kill, killing was legal only on Delcimur.  Her
name was circulated throughout the galaxy, and she felt the pressure of
fame.  She realized now that she couldn't afford to fail, too many people
depended on her.  Not just Master Whon.

   By her fiftieth fight she was also fabulously wealthy.  She'd given the
money she'd won to the Master time and time again to bet on herself, she
could see no disadvantage to that.  If she won, hooray, she was more rich
than ever.  If she lost, so what, she was dead.  It didn't matter.  She
took a few hundred million credits, and bought into Master Whon's house,
becoming a partner with him.  The House of Whon grew in prestige and fame.

   She wondered, at times, if she could keep it up for fifty more fights.
She had doubts, sometimes in the deep of the night, and she cried into her
pillow more than once.  She still felt guilt, even, for killing people. 
Some stood out more than others.  Some of the kids seemed positively afraid
of her, and those she tried to end as quickly and cleanly as possible.  A
few she strung out, smart asses, but most of the time she tried not to make
people suffer.  She hoped, if she ever lost a fight, that they would do the
same for her.

   Her specialty became kawakami, weapons that do not leave the hand.  She
was brutally good with the sword, and deadly with the spear.  The knife was
her favorite, although it required her to get close and personal with her
victim.  She was beyond deadly with the knife, and some of her fights only
happened with the stipulation that she not choose the knife.  She already
had a reputation with it.

   Since she was now part owner in the house, and mainly because she was so
damn good, Master Whon began to allow Jenthe to teach some of the classes.
She met a girl in one of these classes, and her life changed again.

   Jenthe was fifteen, now.  Her body was lean and tough, lithe and hard.
She was beautiful, on top of that, classically beautiful, with long black
hair and smooth dark skin.  She had only had her heart broken once, when a
boy she killed had mouthed "I love you" to her as he died.

   Anyway.  This girl.  Her named was Labelle, and she was in an
intermediate class on edged weapons that Jenthe taught.  She felt an
immediate connection with the girl, and a growing love for her.  Master
Whon understood, and promised Jenthe to hold the girl back from killing
fights until further notice.  Jenthe loved her enough by then that she knew
she couldn't stand it if she were killed.

   Labelle moved into her room, and together they explored the secrets of
love.  Their bodies meshed smoothly and sensually.  Jenthe was enhanced, of
course, and her hymen repaired itself in less than a day.  Labelle took it
time and time again, with two fingers usually, and Jenthe reveled in the
stinging pain of it.  She loved the other girl sensually and spiritually, a
love strengthened by her discipline and her ability to concentrate.

   One night they lay entwined in each others arms, in Jenthe's bed deep in
the silent heart of the house.  They kissed and whispered love to each
other.

   "Jenthe...  dearest..." whispered Labelle, her breath tickling Jenthe's
ear.

   "What, darling?"

   "I know what you've done...  what Master Whon is doing..."

   "What do you mean?"

   "I know he won't let me fight.  I'm just learning, now, to no end,
because I won't be able to use it."

   "Darling...  don't say that...  the knowledge you are accumulating is
not wasted...  and you have to know...  that I couldn't stand it if
something happened to you..."

   "That almost makes me think you have no faith in my abilities..."

   "Darling...  don't let's argue about this...  I have complete faith in
you...  I just couldn't stand to lose you..."

   "Well, you are still fighting...  what if I lose you?"

   "Labelle...  don't make this difficult..."

   "I'm not, darling...  I'm trying to be reasonable..."

   "I will not fail.  I cannot.  Too many depend on me."

   "Yes, I know...  but accidents still happen...  Jenthe...  do you know
how many fighters ever make it to a hundred?"

   "Very few.  Probably just a few percent..."

   "Yeah.  Very few.  Jenthe...  you own part of the house...  and you are
the most favorite Master Whon has ever had...  retire, while you can... 
while you're still alive...  he won't hold it against you..."

   "Who is doubting who's abilities now?"

   "Jenthe...  do it for me...  my heart stops every time you step in the
ring...  I know you are the best, but my heart still stops..."

   Jenthe thought about it, seriously.  She was tired of fighting, at
times. Although...  the roar of the crowd was seriously addictive.  And she
knew what people would say if she bailed out early.  Some fighters did. 
Some fighters bought their freedom, and walked away.  She just didn't want
to be one of those.



   --==+==-

   To her dismay, she got a wake-up call her very next fight.  She fought a
giant of a man, a hero much like herself, a man who was rapidly rising
through the ranks.  His house was a traditional enemy of the House of Whon.
Master Whon had visited her the night before, to make sure she still wanted
to fight the man.  She was nervous, but eager.  She felt like she had
something to prove, especially to Labelle.  She knew this would be a tough
fight, but she had no doubt in her mind that she would win.  She knew she
was faster than him.  But she also knew she couldn't afford to let him
connect, even once.  This would probably be a bloodless fight, until the
last killing blow.  Her killing blow.

   Master Whon had left, reassured.  She didn't sleep but an hour or two
that night, she held Labelle deep into the night as the other girl cried.
Jenthe tried to reassure her, to make her believe everything was going to
turn out okay.  Jenthe had confidence, at least.

   The man's name was Deon.  He sneered at her when she entered the ring,
and she began to burn.  She knew it was probably just a psychcological
trick, but she burned nonetheless.  They closed, and almost immediately she
slid her knife along his arm and ribs.  He gaped at her, and then he got
angry.  Then the fight began, seriously.

   Jenthe knew he would have more stamina than her.  She feared he might
just try and drag the fight out, to tire her.  She was used to setting the
pace in her fights.  She tried to pace this one a little quicker, but he
seemed to have the ability to dart out of her path with ease.  He just
danced around her for a while, frustrating her.

   Almost fifteen minutes passed.  In the iron ring there were no breaks,
no rest periods.  Death was the only way to rest.  Jenthe felt herself
drawing from her reserve strength.  She began to confront the idea that she
might not walk away from this one.  That broke her heart, for Labelle's
sake.  She could not do that to the girl she loved.

   The window of opportunity, when it happened, was almost impossibly
small. But, she saw it and took it.  Her left-hand knife darted in and back
out, almost quicker than the eye could see.  Most of the people in the
stands missed it completely.  Deon stood solid, and stared at her, a
surprised look on his face.  Her heart pounded out the beats.  On four, his
eyes closed, and he fell forward, dead.

   That night Jenthe clutched Labelle to her chest, and they both sobbed
their eyes out.  Jenthe was beyond tired, and yearned for sleep.  But
Labelle had to talk.

   "Darlin'...  I know that was hard for you...  can you do that forty-nine
more times?"

   Jenthe drew a ragged breath.  That one...  she knew she could not.  That
was a closer fight than she'd ever had.  He was good, as good as and maybe
a slight bit better than her.  He'd just made one tiny mistake.

   "Jenthe.  Are you going to make me bury you?" Labelle asked, softly.

   "Labelle...  don't do this now, darling...  wait until I'm
clear-headed..."

   "I'm sorry, darling...  I'm sorry..." It was still an hour before Jenthe
could get to sleep.



   --==+==-

   Labelle was good.  Not as good as Jenthe, of course, but good.  She was
fast, and deadly with a blade.  Master Whon even sparred with her, at
times, and pronounced her also a master.  She hungered to prove herself.

   At long last, after many nights of arguments and pleading, Jenthe
relented, and the next day she told Master Whon to put Labelle in the
line-up.  A few days later the computers chose a match for her, and Labelle
had four days to ready herself for her first real fight.  Jenthe poured
every bit of knowledge into the girl she could, and was a heartless
teacher. She tolerated no mistakes.  A cold fear was growing inside her
that Labelle would become addicted, as she was, to the love of the crowd.
That this would be Labelle's first, but not her last, fight.

   That night Jenthe's heart would not stop pounding.  She sat with Master
Whon on the Master's row, and when Labelle stepped into the ring she almost
burst with both pride and fear.  She began to hold her breath, when the
bell was struck, and didn't breathe again until almost two minutes later
when Labelle's severed head hit the mat.  She needed to breathe, then, she
needed it for the scream of rage she roared as she launched herself towards
the girl that had killed her lover.

   The girl saw her come over the ropes, and went en garde with her sword.
Jenthe almost thought she could take her with her bare hands, and she
dropped into a crouch, her hands ready, when she heard Master Whon call to
her.  She stopped and thought for a moment, and finally reached down and
closed Labelle's shocked eyelids.  She left the ring, and Master Whon took
her home and put her to bed before going back and dealing with the disposal
of Labelle's body.

   Jenthe woke the next morning from a deep unnatural sleep.  Her mind was
almost as blank as it had been when she had been a young clone.  She had
pushed all her emotions far, far back, deep inside.  She no longer smiled,
but at least she didn't cry, either.  She went to the memorial service for
Labelle, and sat, emotionless, as thousands of fighters and teachers filed
past.  She knew they were there for her, not Labelle.  She wanted to stand
up and scream at them, but she did not.  She no longer said anything or did
anything without stopping to think about it at least once.  She wondered if
the tears would ever come.  She would welcome them, when they did.



   --==+==-

   Jenthe launched herself back into training with a vengeance.  She became
a brutal, merciless opponent, much moreso than before.  Fights became
difficult to schedule for her.  Warriors pulled out of fights, when they
were paired with her.  She had had a reputation before, but nothing like
she had now.

   She knew she was being unreasonable.  She knew, deep inside, that, by
the rules of Delcimur, the other girl had done nothing wrong.  Basically,
she'd just won the match.  But still Jenthe burned with a deep hatred
towards her.  Jenthe had killed over fifty times herself, by now.  She was
sure she'd killed people that somebody had loved, though she couldn't
believe anyone had loved as deeply as she'd loved Labelle.  She knew that
hatred was a consuming emotion that would rob her of reason and logic, but
she couldn't seem to help it.

   In her mind, a thousand times, she rehearsed Labelle's last move.  The
girl had made a crucial timing error that left her whole left side exposed.
The other girl's razor-sharp sword was already in motion, the whole
strength of her body behind it.  Complete beheadings were rare, and
difficult to do.  Jenthe knew deep inside that Labelle had been better than
that.  But even veterans made mistakes, much less rookies.  And all it took
was one mistake, as poor Labelle had proved.  Jenthe knew that this was a
bad time for her to be fighting, as turbulent as her emotions were.  She
knew she needed to be cool and calm, not writhing in agony.  But, she
couldn't help it.  And fighting was the only thing that let her forget, if
only for a moment.

   Jenthe began to take bare-handed weaponless matches, something she had
never felt she was good at.  She needed the practice, now, she thought, to
get good at it.  She wanted to be good at everything, especially her
traditional weaknesses.  There was a great calming satisfaction, almost,
the first time she held a boy's head in her hands and twisted, hearing and
feeling his spine snap.

   Jenthe's secret fear was that she'd never get matched with the girl that
had killed Labelle.  She needed that to happen as badly as she needed air
to breathe and food to eat.  Labelle would be unavenged, until that moment.
Jenthe knew that, if it ever happened, it would be the easiest fight she'd
ever have.  She knew once her passion, her love for Labelle took over, the
girl would die in seconds.  She hungered for that moment.  She lived for
that moment.  Right now, in fact, that was about all she lived for.

   Master Whon spent hours with her, talking to her, deep into the night.
He worried about her, he saw the desolation of her soul and the rage in her
movements when she fought.  He knew that as good as she was, she was in
danger of making mistakes, now that she no longer cared about herself.  He
didn't want to lose her, for he loved her deeply, he loved what she'd done
for him, and he loved her for herself, the simple child she'd started out
as, and the complicated woman she'd grown into.



   --==+==-

   Jenthe breezed past her seventy-fifth fight.  There were still fighters
out there with enough confidence to take her on.  She became a machine,
almost, a machine with one goal.  Some of her fights were over in seconds,
and her popularity began to suffer because of it.  People didn't want to
pay exorbitant amounts to see a fight of a few seconds.  She began to force
herself to pace it out, to make it last.  She felt sorry for her opponents,
and kept having to remind herself that this is the life they chose.  Well,
not all of them had had the luxury of choosing, true.  Many of them were
basically slaves, as she'd been.  But still, they didn't actually have to
fight her...  they could back out, and take the hit on their publicity
rating.  She felt pity, at times, but no guilt.  And she felt that every
fight she won brought her one step closer to facing Wren, the girl that had
killed Labelle.

   She followed Wren's career closely.  The girl was good, and beyond good
with a sword.  The curved blade was her specialty.  She was blindingly
fast, and always killed with the blade, never the tip.  Her fights now
ended the same way, every time, with her holding her sword high in both
hands, and screaming a challenge in the old tongue for anyone else to dare
and enter the ring.

   Jenthe had a fantasy where she met that challenge, and walked into the
ring.  That wouldn't exactly be fair, the girl would probably be exhausted
from the fight...  that would give Jenthe an advantage...  but she wanted
to wipe the smirk off the girl's face.  She wanted to teach her a lesson.
She wanted to shout Labelle's name, as she killed the girl.  She wanted
revenge.

   Master Whon cautioned her time and time again against vengeance as a
motivation.  He could see where she was headed, and he tried to head her
off.  He was the only person that she listened to, and she realized the
wisdom of his voice, but her heart was following another master.



   --==+==-

   Time passed.  On her eighty-eighth fight, Jenthe was surprised by a boy
who had agreed to knife fight her.  As the fight got underway he suddenly
reversed a blade and threw it at her, and she barely got out of the way in
time, the blade stabbing her in the upper arm.  She cursed herself for not
being ready, and killed him seconds later.  She felt like she was on a
knife edge, and she lay awake a long time that night, wondering if she
should go on.  Master Whon had awarded her her freedom long ago, but it was
her heart's desire to make her hundred.  She half-way planned on keeping on
fighting, after that, until she got matched up with Wren.  That will save
me the trouble of going out and looking her up, she thought.

   Jenthe began to be very careful, she she approached one hundred fights.
She knew the ironies of fate, and she felt like she was in more and more
danger, the closer she got.



   --==+==-

   Fight ninety-nine carried a shock of its own, a shock for which it was
disqualified.  After a long wearying fight, the man, and it was literally a
man, although she was barely sixteen, anyway, the man she was fighting had
stopped and placed his blades on the ground, and presented his neck to her.
It was the traditional beg for mercy, and she'd never had it done to her.
It was her choice, to kill or let live.  She flinched, and shied away from
the choice, looking to Master Whon for help.  He very carefully did not
move a muscle, and she realized it was her choice alone.  She threw her
blades to the ground in disgust, and departed the ring.

   The man she'd spared had tried to see her that night, and she had no
idea why, probably to thank her, she figured.  She didn't allow him to, she
was disgusted with him for giving up, and disgusted with herself for
letting him live.  Most fighters chose to kill, when confronted with that
scenario, she supposed just to prove they were bad-asses.  She felt weak,
because of it.  And, on top of it all, she'd have to do ninety-nine over
again.

   Ninety-nine came again, and she did fine.  She gave the crowd a show,
and finally slid her knife under the man's arm and into his lung.  She
drank a toast that night with Master Whon, to one hundred.  She hoped that
fate wasn't paying attention.

   Later, she realized that Master Whon had been trying to tell her
something that night.  Just some of the things he'd said.  She realized
he'd known, the next morning, when the fight roster was released.  She
stared at the list with bemusement, and wondered why she didn't feel
happier.  There, bigger than life, was her name.  Her name, and Wren's. 
One hundred, she thought.  Who would have thought.  My last fight.  The
only fight, out of all of these, out of the last six years, the only fight
that matters.  A fight with a dead girl.

   The fight was a week away, an eternity to Jenthe.  She spent the rest of
the day in the gym, until her muscles burned.  She sparred with anybody
who'd go a round with her.  The youngsters were eager to help her,
everybody in the house knew her story, and wanted her to win.  Wanted
vengeance for Labelle.

   The days passed slowly.  Jenthe felt she was at the peak of her career.
She had never felt so tight, so clean, so...  perfect.  No one in the house
could stand up to her, now.  She had to try her hardest not to hurt her
partners when sparring.  Her body was faster than she'd ever thought
possible.  She almost felt like she was wasting her time, they all seemed
so slow.

   She spent a lot of time planning the fight.  She didn't want it to be
over in seconds, although she felt like it could be.  She'd watched vids of
dozens of hours of Wren in the ring, and although she knew Wren was good,
she knew that she was better.  She wanted Wren to know that she was going
to die.  She wanted to give the girl time to be sorry, and maybe afraid. 
She wanted to give her time to remember killing Labelle.

   She had a long talk with Master Whon, before the fight.  She tried to
make him understand that she needed to do this, so she could get on with
her life.  So that she could lay the poor ghost of Labelle to rest.  That
was something she just had to do, to move forward.  Although...  she knew
that she would never love again.  She would never dare.  And how, she
wondered, will I face life, after this?  Without even the roar of the
crowd? With nothing?  Can I go back to being nothing?  Should I just fight
on until I'm finally killed?



   --==+==-

   The ride to the arena was tense and silent.  Master Whon bowed to her,
and then hugged her, something he'd never done before.  She bowed to him,
and he departed for the Master's row.  She followed a page into a waiting
room, and sat, cross-legged on the floor.  She examined her knives one last
time, and carefully chose one.  This is the one, she thought.  This is the
knife I will take her life with.  She kissed the blade, and slid it back
into its sheath.

   The door opened, slowly.  She looked up, surprised, into Wren's eyes. 
She tensed, wishing she had been standing, but the girl seemed to have no
ill wishes in mind.  She wasn't even armed, Jenthe noticed.  She wondered
how in the hell the other girl had ever gotten access to her.  It was
unprecedented, for fighters to meet before a match.

   Jenthe slowly rose, and the two of them faced each other for a moment in
silence.

   "Jenthe de'14," Wren spoke.  "Master Jenthe.  Before it is too late,
before one or the other of us is gone, I must speak to you.  I must tell
you I am sorry for your loss.  I, too, grieve for someone.  I share your
pain, and feel pain because I know that I am responsible for it.  I will
waste no more of your time.  I just wished you to know that.  That I am
sorry."

   Jenthe regarded the girl, her mind in turmoil.  She wondered if this was
just a trick to fuck with her mind.  The girl seemed sincere, though, and
she'd come in here weaponless, knowing how much Jenthe hated her.  Surely
she knew that, Jenthe thought...  I haven't ever actually told her, I've
never even met her before now, but word gets out...  she has to know.

   I could kill her now, she thought.  I could kill her now, and walk away.
She stood, motionless, her mind racing.  The moment passed.

   At last Wren bowed slightly, and turned to leave.

   "Wait," said Jenthe.  Wren paused, and turned back.

   Jenthe took a deep breath, and then spoke in a rush, before she changed
her mind.  "If you forfeit, I will not kill you," she said.

   Wren was silent for a few heartbeats.  She finally spoke.  "Thank you. I
offer the same to you."

   Jenthe almost sneered, thinking of the chances of that.  Pretty slim. 
She bowed, though, and Wren bowed again, and departed.  Jenthe sank back to
the floor, deep in thought.



   --==+==-

   The crowd was wild.  Word had gotten out, over the last few months. 
Everybody knew this was a grudge match.  The betting booths were snowed
under, and everyone was betting on Jenthe.  Wren was good, but she didn't
even have fifty fights under her belt.  People that understood statistics
were asking themselves how Wren had ever gotten matched up with Jenthe in
the first place.  Computers didn't make mistakes...  did they?

   Jenthe was ready when they came for her.  She was ready to get it over
with.  She had no real fear that Wren would forfeit.  It had only ever
happened once in her whole career.  The Wren she'd seen on vid had seemed
way too eager and almost too bloodthirsty to forfeit.  The Wren she'd seen
tonight was a little different, though, but still...  once she got out in
the ring...  Jenthe of all people knew what that did to you.  She knew that
Wren knew she would be kissing her career goodbye, if she forfeited.

   She was first in the ring.  It didn't matter, at this point, who was
first.  She already knew all she needed to know about Wren.  She knew the
name of her favorite blade, even.  She knew how wren tended to favor her
right side.  She knew the slight overcompensation Wren did, due to a leg
injury.  She felt like she knew Wren as well as she did herself.  She
almost felt like she was fighting herself, in fact.

   Wren made her way to the ring, and crawled through the ropes.  Her eyes
met Jenthe's.  They didn't take their eyes off one another, from then on.
Jenthe began a silent, mournful speech, in her mind, a long talk to Labelle
trying to explain what she was trying to do, what she was trying to prove.
She wondered if Labelle's spirit was anywhere nearby, and if it cared.

   The announcer finally shut up, and took his spot on the stairs right
outside the ring.  Jenthe hadn't heard a single word he'd said.  She
touched her knives, still in their sheaths.  She held her sword lightly, in
one hand.  She would have preferred a pure knife fight, but this was the
weapon dictated by the computers.  She knew Wren was good with a sword, but
she knew she was better.  She still toyed with the idea of, at the last
moment, killing the girl with a knife.  She'd have to see how the fight
played out.  She'd know, once she got started.  She waited for the bell.

   The dull roar of the crowd got softer and softer as her focus narrowed
to Wren's face.  The crowd actually did get quieter then, waiting for the
bell.  Everybody seemed to be holding their breath.  Jenthe forced herself
to breathe.

   She jumped when the bell sounded.  In an instant, Wren was on her.  What
is happening to me, Jenthe had time to think.  It seemed like she was
moving in slow motion.  It seemed like she was mired in mud or honey or
something.  Thankfully, Wren seemed to move about as slow.  Wren's sword
came at her, point on, and she parried it away easily.  Is it going to be
this easy?  She thought.

   It wasn't.  Jenthe was good, and Wren was just about as good.  Almost,
but not quite.  Time and time again Jenthe attacked, playing to the crowd,
not yet ready for the killing blow, and letting Wren beat her back.  She
was still slightly surprised, she'd thought it would be easier than this.
Wren never seemed to want to attack, after her first leap out of her
corner. Jenthe slowly realized that was her weakness.  She wondered just
how bad Wren did feel for killing Labelle.  She wondered if that was why
Wren never went on the offensive.  She wondered if, deep inside, Wren
expected to die.

   Labelle, Labelle, Jenthe thought.  My darling Labelle.  How painful life
can be, and how short.  How little time we are given, to realize the
important things.  And in this situation?  Kids, killing each other?  How
did we ever dare to love, living like this?  How foolish the human heart
is, sometimes.  Love, in the face of death.  How very foolish.  How
precious life is.  How precious, and short.  Even with the extensions in
use nowdays, how short.  She wondered if she'd have the luxury of old age.

   Wren surprised her, and finally launched a blistering attack, which she
beat back easily.  Jenthe realized she was fighting an order of magnitude
greater than she'd ever accomplished in the past.  She almost felt like,
now, that she was just playing with Wren, like she did with the kids in the
sparring arena at home.  She realized with a shock how easy it would be to
kill Wren.  Wren kept up a good defense, but time and time again Jenthe
spotted huge holes in it.  Holes that no one else would have seen,
probably. She realized the whole fight had been like that, but she just now
seemed to notice.  Was it because she was just so fast now?  In the
overdrive she was in...  the end would be whenever she chose it, she
realized.  Wren was still alive simply because Jenthe hadn't yet chosen to
kill her.

   She thought of Labelle one last time, and pleaded to her ghost to
understand, and for forgiveness.  She didn't know why, though.  Why
forgiveness?  What was fixing to happen?  What was she going to do, that
she needed forgiveness for?

   The end came then, and it surprised Jenthe most of all.  Suddenly, it
was enough for her.  It was enough that she could kill Wren if she wished.
She had proved that to herself.  How, the thought occurred to her, how will
one more death help things?  What will it matter?  It won't bring Labelle
back.  She stepped backwards, took a convulsive breath, and threw her sword
to the floor.  Her two knives followed.  She bowed, looking straight down
at the floor.  She waited, she begged and pleaded, with all her mental
might, for a blow to end her life, to end the pain, in spite of what Wren
and she had promised each other.

   There was silence in the arena.  You could have heard the proverbial pin
drop.  What you did hear, though, was another sword and two more knives hit
the mat.  Wren threw down her weapons, and bowed to Jenthe.  They both
stood there, bent at the waist, each forfeiting to the other.

   No one knew what to do, after that.  The crowd began grumbling, almost
sounding angry.  Master Whon's relieved laughter almost had a hysterical
edge to it, and the other Masters stared at him like he'd lost his mind. 
He just shook his head, grinning.

   The announcer fumbled at his lapel mike, and turned to the judges.  He
held his arms up in puzzlement, and after some mumbling amongst themselves,
one of the judges finally proclaimed that the fight was forfeited.  On both
sides.  The announcer spoke to the crowd, and the crowd roared in anger. 
They had wanted to see blood.

   Jenthe had enough of that shit real quick.  She straightened up, and
took a half a dozen steps to the announcer.  She grabbed him and held him
close while she yelled into his lapel microphone.

   "Go home, motherfuckers!" her amplified voice burst over two hundred
thousand heads.  "You came tonight to see some kids kill each other!  Fuck
you!  It ain't gonna happen!  Go home!"

   She slid through the ropes.  The crowd sounded ugly.  She held the ropes
open for Wren.  The two of them walked down the aisle, back to the waiting
room.  Master Whon scurried to catch up.

   Once safely in the room and the door closed, Wren held her arms open to
Jenthe.  Jenthe buried herself in the other girl's arms, and finally, at
long last, began to cry.

   Master Whon somehow got a skimmer through the crowd, and got them out of
there.  The arena was trashed in a riot that went on until morning.  It
would be months before another fight was held there.

   That night Jenthe lay in Wren's arms, and they whispered and cried to
each other until the sun came up.  Master Whon brought them breakfast, and
then busied himself trying to make them comfortable until they ran him out.


   "Shit," Jenthe finally said.  "I still got a fight to go, since I
forfeited that one."

   "You lucky," said Wren.  "I still got fifty two to go.  Shit."

   They both laughed.  Somehow, they both knew they were through fighting.
It just didn't matter any more.  There were better things to do, anyway.

   "Wren," said Jenthe.  She leaned down, and gave the other girl a long
slow kiss, right on the lips.  "I been thinking...  about going on a
cruise. Maybe to the core, or the border worlds...  you up for a cruise?"

   "You decide," said Wren.  "I'll go wherever you go." Their lips met
again.  And again, and again.




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