Guardian (War Angel Book 1) by David Hallquist (best contemporary novels .TXT) 📕

all business for us, too, because we can use it in our frames. The Marines think we’re soft because we hide behind the armor in our frames and lump us in with the other Navy button-pushers. So here’s a chance to prove them wrong.

We’re both trained in the same style—the Jovian-developed combat art of Gravcom. Developed as an offensive, variable-gravity environment combat art, it began as a mixture of Jujitsu and other military styles, and has since grown into its own thing. It’s hard to find a traditional martial art that can deal with zero to three gravity environments and for use with a boosted physiology. In a way, it’s like three martial arts in one. In zero gravity environments—where traditional takedowns are impossible, and most blows are ineffective—it involves pinning an opponent to a bulkhead or other object and using holds and momentum to do damage. In low gravity environments, there’s a lot of movement and strikes, where we can take advantage of our boosted strength to get around very quickly. In normal 3-G environments, it’s all about clinches and take-downs, and letting heavy gravity do the work. No matter the environment, it’s always about balance and center of gravity, yours and your opponent’s.

On the signal, we rush each other. Everything is about attack. This isn’t a standard martial arts match. It isn’t about self-defense or sportsmanship. We train for war. If you’re down to hand-to-hand, you have to take the initiative and strike first, and hard. So that’s what we both try to do.

We come together in a crash. Each of us bends low, trying to use our momentum against the other. If either of us had our balance even a little bit off, or left any opening, one of us would instantly be on the ground, in either a lock or with a deathblow a fraction of a second away.

I survive first contact, and we’re locked together. Each of us is trying to throw the other off his center of gravity, even just a little. Arm positions shift to gain an advantage in leverage, feet and legs try to get in under each other’s center of gravity. Then we counter each other’s moves, and counter again. I try to feint at his eyes, and then go for a nerve strike at the neck. He shifts, moves and…

I’m on the ground.

I hit a lot faster and harder than the room’s 3 Gs, propelled down as his counter turns into a throw. It knocks the wind out of my lungs and leaves me seeing spots. Still, training kicks in, and I try to crab walk out of the way.

He stomps where I was a second ago, and then a kick lands under my ribs, forcing out any remaining air I might have had, and causing a traffic jam of internal organs as the force of his blow goes though me.

It’s all about my ground game now. I need to keep moving, avoiding, and blocking kicks and stomps. Maybe I can buy a second to get back up. I lash out with a few kicks of my own to get some distance and time. No good. He absorbs the blows and advances, not giving me an instant to recover. I kick, and he traps my leg and pulls up. Can’t have that; in an instant I’ll be in a submission leg hold. I kick out again, and he absorbs it with a grunt, but it loosens his hold enough that I can get my leg free. He counters with a brutal stomp on my side, but it puts his leg within reach. I try to trap his leg between both of mine and take him off balance, but it’s like trying to bend a titanium bar.

He comes in closer and drops the elbow. I manage to twist just enough to avoid a strike on my solar plexus, but it still feels like an asteroid’s crashed onto my chest. We’re wrestling to get a control hold on each other. I’m on my back like a turtle, unable to move, while he’s basically kneeling on me, with all that advantages that confers.

There’s not going to be any oxygen coming for a long time. My lungs have just given up breathing. Seconds feel like hours. I’ll be disqualified if I use my emergency oxygen cell…but it’s tempting. My vision’s already blacking out. I can’t use my backup neural augments without losing, either.

I want to win.

Then he gets my neck in a hold. He’s bent me forward and has both his arms wrapped around all the most vulnerable parts of my neck. That’s it. A normal Terran could break my neck with this hold. Even a thin, scrawny Lunar would have enough strength to cut off the blood flow to my brain. A boosted Jovian could rip my head clean off.

I’m not going to win after all. I tap out, and he helps me up.

“Thanks,” I manage to get out.

* * *

After a stretch of painful muscles and a life-restoring shower, I’m meeting with my flight in the Officer’s Mess.

Some of the other worlds’ navies talk about our ships like they’re luxury liners compared to their ships. There’s a bit of truth to that. With our technology and resources, our ships have almost every possible convenience, compared to the buckets Terra and the Belt fly in, and they’re certainly a step up in comfort from the spartan Lunar ships. Still, for true decadence, you’d need to see a Venusian ship, where crystal and gold are on display, along with personal servants for the officers. Mainly, what we manage to do in our ships is to try, and even sometimes succeed, in replicating some of the comforts of home while away on duty.

For instance, a Jovian Navy breakfast is a true feast. It’s not just the quantity nor the quality; it’s the variety. Whatever it is you