Cats in Space and Other Places by Bill Fawcett (best book recommendations txt) 📗

not been born into the same Pride and trained by the same men as Colonel Ki himself for nothing. But the Commander's presence brought with it something akin to panic. Mikal never understood why the Colonel's presence did that to him, bringing him to the edge of losing control. It was certainly nothing about Ki personally. But every time Colonel Ki looked in on Mikal, the same thought recurred. "Oh Mmumna! Don't let me mess up now!" He ran his eyes over the group, trying to assess them the way the Commander would. They were good, and they would become excellent. Except for one, there would be no difficulties. And he would be no difficulty either if his course could be changed from one of cocky display to one of quiet excellence.

Mikal turned as he heard the Commanders step behind him. "Awwmuum!" he called and was gratified that all activity came to an instant halt.

Though the men stood still at attention, there was a kind of ripple that passed through them as they recognized the Lionman who had joined the group.

Mikal asked politely as the Commander approached, "Would you like to see how this group is coming along, sir?"

Ki nodded once.

"Bakim!" Mikal barked, and the organized disorder of a swordsmanship practice resumed.

Ki walked among the men, slipping between the mock battles as if he were made of air. He knew he was being carefully and surreptitiously watched. He also knew his visual impression was a powerful one, his white face and hair floating over the black-fleck on black of his rank's mantle, demonic even, enhanced by the facial tattoos of his Pride, pale red slashes up across the eyes trailing down into an open swirl on each cheek. It was an unsettling appearance that Ki worked hard to maintain. He sneered a bit, squinting his eyes slightly, to enhance the fierceness of his appearance. A first impression of a ferocious Commander would be a deep and lasting one, one Ki chose to cultivate.

He stopped a little aside of the mock battle involving the braggert and watched for a time, aware always of the sounds and motions at his sides and back. It would not do to have the Commander sent sprawling by an errant blow from a raw recruit. He waited, making an effort to keep the dust from the hard-packed field from clogging his nostrils. When he was certain the attention of all the others was on their own forays, he turned to the new man.

"Your name?"

"Leenoww, sir!"

"You have been having some success with the sword, I see. Would you care to try me?"

Leenoww looked startled for a moment, but then a gleam of impious glee came into his eye. What a chance to show the Commander what he could do! With luck he might even best him!

Ki knew that look and understood perfectly what it meant. He also understood its foolishness. This recruit had to learn that there was always someone better near at hand.

"Strike at me, hard, whenever you feel you are ready," Ki ordered.

"But . . . But, sir . . .," Leenoww stammered, disconcerted. The Commander had no boken, or practice sword.

"Strike!"

With a ragged smile, Leenoww raised the wooden weapon to strike and held onto the thought that he was the best in his group. Beating Commander Ki Lawwnum was not out of the question.

Almost before Leenoww knew he'd made the decision to strike, Ki saw the muscles of the man's shoulders begin to bunch under the form-fitting fatigues. The Colonel waited until he knew where the blow was aimed, then flashed his hands outward to where the sword would be in a microsecond. Clapping his hands together over the blade, he made a twisting motion with both wrists. The boken came out of Leenoww's hands as if it had the ability of motion in its own right. The recruit would have looked down at his empty hands, but Ki moved again, and before the man's eyes could follow his brain's direction, Ki had the boken at the recruit's throat.

"It would seem you have a thing or two to learn yet, cub," Ki said softly as he slid the boken along Leenoww's throat in what would have been a fatal stroke had the blade been steel. He held the blade there momentarily, then dropped the point.

"You have the makings of an excellent swordsman," Ki said heartily, not allowing any room for resentment to grow. "Just the kind I need under me." He returned the boken and brushed the dust from his hands. Dust in his artificial hand was most annoying, grating and rubbing and slowing its reaction time.

A look of incipient hero-worship washed across Leenoww's very young, brown face. "I must learn that move!"

Ki laughed. "That move is a dangerous one, cub." He held up his left hand. "And not always successful." He turned away.

Mikal regretted he was not close enough to hear what that conversation had been. He had seen the gesture of the raised hand and was eminently curious. He had never had the nerve to ask the Commander how he'd lost the hand. The question had always seemed extremely impertinent. And he wanted to know how the situation had been handled. Somehow, the Colonel always knew exactly the right words, a trick Mikal had never mastered.

"Is there something on your mind, Lieutenant?" Ki asked in response to the dissatisfied frown on Mikal's face. "You seem most thoughtful. Come, walk with me a way and we'll speak of it." Ki took Mikal by the arm and spun him toward the palace. "Are you displeased because I interrupted?"

"No, sir!" Mikal responded, shocked.

"I felt it was time I meet this group. I suppose the story will make the rounds." Ki said it almost with a sigh, thinking of the next wave of unlicked cubs that would want to try the Commander.

"Yes, sir." Mikal hesitated, stopped, pulled himself to perfect attention. "Sir," Mikal began, choking on his own nerve, "did you tell that recruit how you came to lose your