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“It’d go quicker with you working it.”
“An hour or so won’t make much difference.” He drew her into the elevator. “Holo-room.”
“Holo-room? What for?”
“A little program I’ve been playing with. I think you’ll like it. Especially considering our recent discussion of Master Lu and our mutual admiration for his skill.”
He stepped with her into the blank square of the holo-room. “Initiate martial arts program 5A,” he said with a smile whispering around his lips. “Eve Dallas as opponent.”
“I thought you said you didn’t want to—”
The room shimmered, swam, and became a dojo, with a wall of weapons and glossy wood floor. She looked down at herself, studied the traditional black gi.
“Icy” was all she could think of saying.
“How much of a workout do you want?”
She rolled to the balls of her feet, back on the heels. “Hard and sweaty.”
“I’ve got just the thing. Triple threat,” he ordered. “Full cycle. Have fun,” he added to Eve when three figures appeared.
Two male, Eve noted, one female. The woman was small, with her siren red hair pulled back in a sleek tail to leave her stunning face unframed. One male was black, well over six feet, solid muscle, good long reach. The second was Asian, black eyes like marbles, and the lithe sort of build that told her he’d be quick and agile as a lizard.
They waited for her to step forward, then with a snap of their gis, bowed. She mirrored the gesture, then shifted smoothly to fighting stance as they began to circle.
The woman came first, a graceful handspring followed by a scissoring kick that whizzed by Eve’s face. To counter, Eve dived, swept out her legs, and landed the first blow on the Asian. Gained her feet on a roll, blocked with a forearm.
And felt the smack of flesh to flesh vibrate.
Testing moves at first, backhand, jump kick, pivot, punch.
She parried, caught the movement out of the corner of her eye, and spun to meet the woman with a stomp on her instep, a hard elbow jab to the jaw.
“Nicely done,” Roarke called out, and leaned against the wall to watch.
She took a blow that knocked her down, used her hands and her quads to flip herself back before the next landed. And the Asian spun in, caught her with a flying kick to the kidneys that sent her skidding over the floor on her belly.
“Ouch.” Roarke winced. “That one stung a bit.”
“Woke me up is all.” Breathing through her teeth, she pushed up on her arms, kicked back, and took the black guy down with two hard heels to the groin.
“That stung more,” Roarke decided, and ordered himself a glass of cabernet from the AutoChef.
He sipped contemplatively while watching his woman battle. Outnumbered, and in two cases well outweighed. But holding her own. And she needed this, this hard, physical challenge. To help vent some of those hard, emotional fists pummeling inside her.
Still, he hissed in sympathy as she took a punishing blow to the face.
Well, he thought, she was more or less holding her own.
They came at her at once, and she blocked one by flipping him over her back, evaded another with an agile shoulder roll, but the third caught her with a sharp backward kick that sent her down again.
“Why don’t I tone it down a bit,” Roarke suggested.
She gained her feet, blood in her eye now. “You do, and I’ll kick your ass when I’m done with these.”
He shrugged, sipped. “Your call, darling.”
“Okay.” She shook her arms, circling as they did, noting the female was favoring her left leg now, and the black male was winded. “Let’s finish this up.”
