Odd Girl Out

We'd made it two more steps when the four teens between us and the tavern detached themselves from their abandoned house and casually re-formed themselves into a line across the walkway in front of us.

At my side, I felt Bayta tense up. 'Just keep walking,' I murmured to her, eyeing the youths and shuffling quickly through my options.

I didn't have many, and none of those were particularly attractive. I'd seen enough gangs in my time to know that any sign of weakness, such as turning around or crossing the street, would probably be like throwing raw meat into the shark tank.

On the other hand, showing too much strength, such as drawing my Glock, might easily escalate matters way beyond the point where I wanted them right now.

Which left only one real option: to continue on and hope my diplomatic skills had improved since my days in Westali.

I waited until we were within a few steps of the line and then nodded genially toward them. 'Afternoon,' I said, smiling pleasantly. 'Nice day, isn't it?'

'Depends,' one of the two boys in the middle said. His voice had the gruff toughness to it that I'd heard many a time in classic dit rec dramas. 'You a cop?'

'Why, you think a cop would be interested in what you and your friends are doing?' I asked, still smiling. 'No, we're just tourists.'

'Tourists don't come to Zumurrud,' he retorted darkly. 'Who are you working for?'

The mixed group by the bar, I noticed, had stopped talking and were watching our little drama. 'I'm not working for anyone,' I said, taking Bayta's arm and bringing us to a halt three meters back from the line. 'Like I said, we're just tourists.'

The kid said a couple of rude words, again straight out of a dit rec drama. Apparently, when he wasn't hanging around street corners he was loitering in front of his entertainment center. 'Yeah, right,' he said.

'Fine; you caught me,' I said, giving Bayta's arm a gentle but steady push to the side. She took the hint and eased a long step away from me. 'I'm a special investigator for the Terran Confederation Opinion Bureau. Tell me, what do you and your friends like most about living on New Tigris?'

I'd expected that to do it, and it did. Glaring at me, he stepped out of line and threw a punch straight at my stomach.

At least he hadn't learned his fighting technique from the dit rec actioners, with their fondness for fist-to-the- jaw punches that in real life usually wrecked the attacker's knuckles. But he hadn't learned his technique from an actual combat instructor either. Pivoting on my left foot, I swiveled out of his way, catching his fist in my left hand and helping it along a little. As he continued to lunge forward off-balance I bent his arm back at the elbow, pushing his fist over his shoulder and dropping him flat on his back on the walkway.

'I'm guessing it's the opportunity for fresh air and good healthy exercise,' I continued, taking a step away from him. 'That's probably enough of both for one day, don't you think?'

Apparently, he didn't. Scrambling to his feet, he squared his shoulders and came at me again.

Not in a mad-bull rush this time, but with the slower, warier approach I recognized from the better class of martial-arts dit rec actioners. I held my ground, ignoring the insistent tingling of the kwi in my pocket as Bayta kept activating it. Obviously, considering the four-to-one odds I was facing, she thought I should haul out the artillery and put the whole lot of them down for the count.

Under other circumstances, I would probably have agreed with her. But my old Westali combat senses were buzzing with the nagging feeling that something was wrong here. With the casual humiliation of their leader, the other three teens should have waded into the fray, hoping to overwhelm me with sheer numbers.

But they were still standing there in their line, watching the show but making no move to join in the fun. I flicked a glance at the bar, wondering if the crowd there was still watching.

And in that moment of apparent distraction, my attacker struck. Rotating on his right foot, he threw a side kick toward my stomach with his left.

Unfortunately for him, my distraction was indeed only apparent. Even more unfortunately, his kick had enthusiasm going for it but not much more. Again I slid out of the way with relative ease, capturing his leg and locking my arm around it at waist height.

And with that, we suddenly went from a dit rec actioner to a dit rec comedy. There he stood on one leg, making small hops with his remaining foot as he fought desperately to maintain his balance. He swung a couple of times at me, but I was well out of punching range. 'Are we finished yet?' I asked mildly, watching the rest of his group out of the corner of my eye.

Again, none of them was making the slightest attempt to back up their leader. There would likely be some unpleasant words passing between them later.

'Enough.'

I turned my head. While I'd been preoccupied elsewhere, the white-haired man had left the tavern doorway and come up behind the three teens. Like them, he was watching me, an intent look on his face. 'Yes?' I asked, keeping my grip on the teen's leg.

'You armed, friend?' he asked.

'I carry the sword of truth and the shield of virtue,' I told him.

His expression didn't even flicker. 'I was talking about the gun under your jacket,' he said.

'Oh—that,' I said. 'So why bother to ask?'

'Just wondering how honest you were,' he said. 'Why didn't you draw it?'

'What, against these?' I asked, waving at the line of teens. My gesture shifted the leg I was still holding, forcing its owner to hop a little more if he didn't want to fall over. 'Hardly necessary. Besides, guns are dangerous.'

'True,' he agreed. 'That was aikido, wasn't it?'

'There was some of that in the mix,' I confirmed, eyeing the old man with new interest. Average citizens, despite the glut of hand-to-hand fighting in dit rec actioners, were generally pretty tone-deaf when it came to distinguishing one martial-arts style from another. The fact that he'd picked my aikido move out of the crowd lifted him somewhere above the average. 'My instructors had a kind of grab-bag style.'

I dropped the teen's leg, allowing him back some of his dignity. 'As I see you've been doing with your bird dogs here. They still need work, though.'

'Give them time,' he said, a faint smile finally creasing his face. 'They've only been at it a couple of months. My name's Usamah Karim. Former sergeant major, Afghan Army.'

I inclined my head to him. 'Frank Donaldson. Former nothing in particular.'

A muscle twitched in Karim's cheek. 'Frank Donaldson?' he asked, lowering his voice. 'Or Frank Compton?'

Sometimes, I thought I might just as well wear a leather jacket with my name emblazoned across the back in metal studs. 'Whichever,' I told him.

Glancing casually around, Karim stepped though the line of teens and walked up to me. 'Prove it,' he challenged, gazing unblinkingly into my face.

For a long moment, I gazed back at him, searching for any trace of the Modhri behind his eyes. But if there was a polyp colony in there, he was being very quiet. 'You want to see my ID?' I asked.

'No,' Karim said flatly.

'I didn't think so.' Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out Lorelei's ring and necklace. 'How about these?'

Karim's hand reached up to mine, closed around the pieces of jewelry. 'That'll do,' he said quietly. 'Let's get inside,' he added, nodding back toward the bar. 'We need to talk.'

At Karim's instruction, the four teens returned to their positions by the abandoned house. The one who'd attacked me nodded gravely at me as I passed, with no hint of animosity that I could detect. He'd done his job of smoking me out; more importantly, he'd done it without taking any of it personally.

The signs of a good soldier. And of a good instructor.

The tavern was largely deserted, with three of the small tables occupied by lone patrons. Karim led Bayta and me past the nicked and stained wooden bar at the back of the establishment, nodding once to the scraggly-looking bartender as we passed, and through a door into a small office.

'Have a seat,' he said, gesturing to a couple of folding chairs propped against the wall as he circled the paper- strewn desk and sat down behind it. 'Afraid I don't have anything more comfortable to offer you.'