Okira by Chris Wraight

Author:Chris Wraight
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2016-07-12T10:11:59+00:00

That was not certain—she discovered quickly that many, perhaps even most, of the aspirants did not make it to the end of their training. The instructors were numerous—one for Gothic, one for Imperial history, one for military tactics, one for combat training, one for theology, one for physical conditioning... The list went on and on. They were all stern and unforgiving, with hard grey faces and a fondness for shock sticks.

She spoke to her fellow aspirants little, for fellowship was not encouraged. All of them were being conditioned for a solitary life, one of service to solitary inquisitors. They were goaded to compete against one another, to seek every advantage and exploit every weakness. Aspirants were both male and female, taken from every tribe on Shoba. Old enmities had followed them up to the station, and blood feuds found their way into the dormitories and refectoria. Some fights were conducted under the watchful gaze of the instructors; others took place when the lumens were extinguished.

Of all the combat masters, Niir responded most to an older man named Ajami. He was a native of Shoba, though of a tribe she had never heard of. He was as ruthless as the rest of them, never sparing the shock stick when it was required, but his skills were formidable and she prospered under his instruction. He began to give her additional tuition, something she thrived on.

The day came when they sparred with true weapons, not the sham pieces they had used up until that stage. Both blades were powered, something that took considerable time to become accustomed to.

Ajami used his personal weapon, a curved gladius named Hiita. Its energy field, even when dialled down low, flared an angry red. For her part, Niir took up her old sword, the one taken from Shoba. She barely recognised it since its return from the station's artificers. It had been a dormant sliver of metal before, poorly reflective and inert. Now, given the right stimulus, it crackled with an amber disruptor field, one that spat and curled like a nest of snakes. You had to use it carefully, to watch the recoil and the explosive impacts. Before, she had hurled the blade around artlessly; now, she propelled it with speed and finesse, though not with the full command she yearned to achieve.

'Ready?' Ajami asked, taking up his stance in the circular chamber. Harsh lumens glared overhead and the floor was strewn with blood-absorbing sawdust.

'Ready,' Niir replied, activating her disruptor.

They came together. The blades clashed, snarling, their energy fields feeding from one another, before they broke apart again. Ajami circled, going watchfully. Niir pressed, seeking a way in. The swords clanged again, hard strikes, fast and angled. Niir felt sweat break out across her brow. Even a few strokes at this level made demands on her. She pushed in close, testing her master's defence. He responded, grunting a little, working hard himself.

They circled and parried, struck and darted. Niir tried to imagine Ajami as one of those the instructors had told her about—heretics, the faithless, outcasts from the Emperor's light.

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