She took the bokken, the oakwood practice katana that some of the advanced students were using rather than shield and short sword. In shape and weight it was exactly the same as the real weapon, although the aerodynamics were different, since the wood was thicker.

"Slow-time, Middleton. Here's what you did, 'dapa." She stood with the hilt at waist level and the point slanted up toward her opponent's eyes. "Chudan no kame, for starters."

The young man advanced, thrusting the spear with both hands. Alston brought the wooden sword up under the cloth-bound point, hands braced widely on the long hilt.

"So far, so good." The wooden shaft rose as it slid across the sword until the breastplates met with a cling sound. "Here's where you went wrong. Come on, Middleton, push."

"You were tryin' to stop his impetus like a wall. Bad idea. If you fight, you'll be fighting men, and they'll likely be bigger and stronger, and weigh more. Don't try to oppose strength with strength."

"I was trying to get into a place… a position to cut strong," Swindapa said, a frown of concentration on her face.

"It isn't cutting strongly or weakly that's the point, 'dapa. 'One is totally involved with getting the opponent to die,' " she quoted. "Watch. Middleton, we'll go through this again. Slow-time, please."

They set themselves. The spear came forward, and the sword rose to meet it. This time it circled from left to right, pushing the spear slightly aside and down. "Don't stop the thrust, redirect it." Her right foot skimmed forward. "Now turn yo' hips at a forty-five-degree angle. Turn the edge of the sword to face your opponent-it's just a motion of the wrists. You're inside his guard and he can't stop moving toward you, or not quickly enough. From here you can strike at the upper arms, at the throat, or at the face, snapping your hips into the movement for added force, then follow through."

Her bokken tapped the areas indicated. "Again."

"If you can't step aside, redirect the spear, not the man." She faced the thrust directly, snapping the bokken up from right to left.

"That puts you in position for a diagonal cut. His spear is over your left shoulder, and so is your blade. Let it fall back until the point is almost touching your back. Now quickly, elbows out, hands light on the hilt, you bring it down. At the same time, your legs go down, your arms come around as your hips pivot, elbows moving together, wrists clench, breathe out, and the blade strikes so." It tapped at the young man's right shoulder and slid down across his torso. "Drawing the cut."

And opening him like a can of sardines, Cofflin thought with a shudder. He'd seen men blown open by flying shards of steel, and a lot of accidents with heavy machinery. It didn't take much imagination to fit those memories to what he'd just watched.

Swindapa nodded. "But what if he has armor?" she asked. "Or a shield?"

"Good point. Then you redirect here-" she turned the blade back to its starting position and swung it higher, across throat level-"or down at the thighs, or you use his thrust to turn yourself three-quarters 'round." The circling motion of the sword pushed the spear aside, and Alston's feet landed in a cramped-looking position that moved her eighty degrees with a fluid speed he could see even in the slow-motion mime. "And that puts you in position to strike here, here, here." The sword tapped at the armpit, the back of the knee, stabbed toward the inner thigh and groin. "Again, use speed and precision against his weight."

Swindapa frowned. "What if he's just as fast and skilled, and still stronger and heavier?" she said.

Alston met her eyes. "Then you probably die," she said quietly. To the young man: "Full-speed, please."

The spear came punching forward. Crack. The bokken snapped up and met it with a sound like a gunshot. There was a whirling and a clang as Alston pivoted on her bent front leg, the knee half-collapsing as she went, her left leg coming around like a scythe. It struck the man behind his knees, and he flipped backward to land on his back. That left him looking up at Alston as she came down in a wide-footed straddle stance. The point of the bokken came down and stopped precisely over the hollow of his throat.

"Well, that's your lesson, Middleton," Alston said, smiling slightly. "Don't focus on the weapon. There are no dangerous weapons, only dangerous people. Fight the whole enemy." She gave him a hand up. "See you later, 'dapa." She tossed the wooden sword back to her.

"Does that work as well as it looks?" Cofflin asked as they walked away. "It looks as impressive as hell, but then so does Olympic fencing, and that's got damn-all to do with real fighting, I understand."

"Well, that's the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question," Alston said. "I think so. The unarmed parts do work; I've used them in real-life situations a few times, back before the Event and here too."

She reached over her shoulder and touched the hilt of the katana. "The Japanese were in their equivalent of the Middle Ages until one long lifetime ago, and men fought to the death with these almost within livin' memory. My sensei learned in a school that's been-would have been- in operation continuously in the same place since the year 1447, at a shrine to the Shinto sword god. It teaches bu-jutsu, the war arts, not the sport or spiritual-learning versions. So, chances are it'll work in practice."

She held up crossed fingers. "Best we can do. I'd rather win by intimidation than fighting any day, but you have to calculate on the worst possible case."

She turned her head slightly. "I wonder why Middleton looked like I was going to cut out his liver for a moment there, though?" she added.

Cofflin coughed and looked away. Martha touched Alston's elbow and said gently: "Ah, Captain, there have been, well, certain rumors about you and Ms. Swindapa."

"Oh." She paused for a moment. "He thought I was going to annihilate him for beating up on my girlfriend? Oh. Hell, and here I thought I'd kept everyone in the dark by avoiding the softball team and not leavin' old copies of Deneuve around."

Her mouth quirked at his expression. "Sorry, in-joke." She shook her head. "What really annoys me is the idea that anyone would suppose I'd be unfair like that."

"Umm-" Cofflin began. He could see Alston's face take on a set calmness, like a mask carved from obsidian. By now he knew her well enough to realize what that meant: total determination. When she went on, it might have been a machine speaking.

"If you're asking, the rumors are wrong in particular- she's, ah, not suitable-but true in general. Yes, I'm gay. You might even use the dreaded 1-word." The eyes met his, dark within dark, seemingly all pupil in the smoky whites. "Do you have a problem with that, Chief Cofflin?"

"Myself? Absolutely not," Cofflin said.

I think, he added to himself. You met the occasional queer in the Navy, of course, and while he had no objection in principle he didn't like the reality. On the other hand, those were men. Women just didn't bother him like that, which was illogical and probably unenlightened, but what the hell… And Alston was simply too valuable to alienate, besides being damn likable in her chilly way. The thought of trying to handle this mess without her was enough to give him the cold willies.

"But some other people might, eh?" she said, relentless.

"If they do, that's their problem," Cofflin said. "I'm behind you. You're doing your goddam job, lady, and as long as you do I don't give a flying… curse whether you sleep with men, women, or sheep."

"Mostly by myself, actually, worse luck," Alston said, with a slow grin. She offered her hand. "Here's to the league of people who do their jobs, then." He took it in his, and Martha laid hers on top.