Rogue(15)

She’s a decent actress. She clouded up and said, “You’re taking that hatchet-faced slut on a vacation and didn’t invite me. I guess I’m glad you’re dating, but you could have some class. Maybe getting over it will let you find someone worthwhile.”

“Good,” I agreed. It was good. The way she delivered it, I not only believed it, I felt contempt for this asshole father of hers.

“Now, let me tell you a few more things,” I said. She nodded. “First, hit me. Full contact punch.”

She studied me for a moment, then tossed a creditable sunfist.

I wasn’t there. “Again,” I said. She punched once more with a parallel kick. I slipped past the punch, and instead of deflecting her leg aside, I got my hand underneath and followed the motion through and up, taking her foot with it and up past two meters. She went down, slapped the ground to break her fall—good form, I was proud of her—and tried to sit up.

Her eyes were very wide when she saw the Merrill growing out of my fist. The muzzle was against her nose. That got her attention, and I panned it down, following her throat then to center of mass, just under her breastbone. “I’m not Boosted,” I told her. “You’ve never seen me all out. Until last week. Now, imagine me Boosted. Imagine me just this fast, from behind. You’re dead.” Helping her to her feet I said, “You did well. Have a seat.

“You’re young, flexible, smart, well-trained and a very good girl,” I told her. She smiled just slightly and I said, “And that means shit in a fight. Fights go to the mean ones who don’t stop. That’s me and my target. Fights go to those who expect to get hurt and don’t care. Who have years of experience killing people. Who are tired and cynical and lumber through like a stumblebeast, not like a leopard or ripper. You’re graceful and strong and any normal attacker is going to find you more than he wants to screw with. But he or I could kill you and barely notice.”

She was looking put upon. “So why’d you train me?” she asked.

“Same reason I keep weapons, fire extinguishers, insurance, first-aid kits and tools. You can’t fix everything. You can’t stop everything. But you’re better off with a chance. And your chance with this guy means shoot first, shoot second, reload and shoot some more. Distance is your friend, and remember he may dodge when closing. Kung Fu is great, batons are great, and none of it will matter if a vicious guy who can press your mass with one hand gets hold of you. The gun might not even matter. But it’s better than anything else, because it only takes the strength of one finger, and can be done from underneath in a clinch. So says the old guy with five unarmed kills and several hundred deadly shots.”

She was really looking scared now, as I’d never discussed my past with her in any detail. “You really mean it,” she said.

“I do,” I nodded. “And the alarms will be active, as will the traps. So let your boyfriend in through the front and don’t sneak him through the window.”

She flushed red at that. “How’d you know?” she asked. “I thought we were quiet?”

I tried not to smile. I really did. It was a weak, sickly smile, because this was my little girl and I’m psychopathically protective. Maybe too much Earth “morality” soaked in. I knew she took sex training in school. I knew every boy and girl she’d dated because I’m a paranoid asshole. She had a sex life, but I wanted to pretend it didn’t exist. Stupid, I know. “No one is that quiet in the throes of passion. And I’m not stupid, and footprints on the deck are easy to decipher. So bring him through the front.”

She nodded, swallowed, and said, “I thought you didn’t like him?”

“Not really,” I said. “He’s a punk. But you won’t stop seeing him if I tell you to, you’re old enough to make that mistake on your own and learn from it, and frankly, he’s irrelevant to the real problems I’m facing.

“You’ll sleep in my room,” I said, “because it’s harder to get into from outside. That won’t stop them, but it might slow them down. And I bought that fifteen-millimeter Armtech riot gun. Keep it by the bed, and take it with you when driving.” As her face reacted I said, “Yes, I’m leaving you the van. And Andre will be watching, so no stupid stuff. You can get spread in the back if you really want to, but it’s not as comfortable as a bed.”

“I know,” she said, smiling. She said it just to throw me off guard. Not an image I wanted. But hey, I’d taken the conversation there.