Jade Darcy and the Zen Pirates

Chapter 3: Get Thee To A Nunnery-1

Chapter 3: Get Thee To A Nunnery

Jade woke up angry. She hadn’t had the nightmare, but her dreams had been filled with images of embraces—some her mother’s, others of faceless men who filled her with longing, but when they pulled away turned out to be Megan Cafferty, and the passion changed to confusion and anger and affection she didn’t want to recognize. That’s what comes of letting that woman too far in, too close. Even my goddamn dreams couldn’t sort it out. I wish—

She stopped herself there, unable to wish that Megan Cafferty had never come to Cablans at all. The roil of emotions made her alien to herself, unsettled in ways she had fled from a decade ago. A strangeness had entered Jade’s life.

Disgusted with herself, she started to roll out of bed and was stopped by the restraints.

“Please read the numbers on the screen, Jade,” came Val’s quiet voice.

“Forty-seven, ninety-three, two R. Any mail this morning, Val?” Jade forced herself to be calm, not to show weakness by taking out her agitation on her computer. She stood up as the restraints were withdrawn from her wrists and ankles.

“A message from Megan Cafferty concerning the trip and the need to coordinate with you on packing and departure times. As per standing instructions, I confirmed that Cyclad Arik will be able to respond to any emergency here in your absence, and the physician for Pain-In-The-Ass will be on call during that time. Lorpet sent a message offering to bargain with you concerning information about a trip being planned by Megan Cafferty. There are four advertisements, the new Shooter’s Bible has arrived, and there is a report on Restaapa ready. Would you like the text of any of these?”

As Val spoke, Jade moved toward the practice room and took up her knives from the set-in cupboard next to the door. The weapons usually made her composed and able to handle anything—cut up anything—that troubled her. This morning they felt heavy. The churning distanced her further from her routines of thought, and she found herself thinking back on her life growing up. In anger that the memories should yet be with her, she headed for her practice in killing.

As she stepped into the holographic arena, she felt last night’s bruises complain. i***t, even a white belt knows better than to start without a warm-up, she chided herself. You’re letting your anger blur your sense. It’s your worst flaw. Behave like a rational being. Extra warm-ups for the bruises and some meditation should help. Self-hypnosis usually settles you down.

Jade put the knives back in the cupboard, ascended the steps, and walked onto the practice floor. There she knelt, placed her palms on the floor, and bowed deeply, her hands flat on the mat in front of her knees, her hair swept forward and brushing the cotton mat as she seemed to melt against it. She lifted her torso but remained kneeling, her hands now lying palm up on her knees. Her eyes half closed as she went through the breathing exercises that calmed and centered her. Inhale, hold for ten; exhale, hold for ten—the rhythm whose origins were lost centuries before anyone thought to look for them.

Off balance. Jade moved her shoulders slightly, and her spine straightened. Still. I’m not still. My spirit is moving again. Tripe. If I could get back—

Images of a rapist, then flight, flooded her mind, nearly breaking her rhythm. Jade pushed against them as she inhaled strongly, then held, then she exhaled, and as she held herself, empty, she let them go. As an old film played at double speed, they left. Let them come, but let them go. The idea is not to control thoughts, but not to have them. The litany softened the tense line of her shoulders. Years, nobody touched. Not a man. White, glowing hair, too close. Warmth though. Furgato games and green, laughing eyes. Frizzlic warm. Too much, too much to hold.

The rhythm of her breathing began to cut the thoughts as they occurred, and they unraveled like half-formed knitting attacked by a kitten. She remained aware of the floor, the air, the sounds of the ventilation system. She no longer named them or distinguished between them. She existed, and some part of her knew that, but that was all. When her grandfather had first taught her to sit, Ch’an, she fell asleep here. Now she remained here, preserving the state as she began her daily routine. Twenty minutes after she’d begun, she stood and began the slow, graceful motions of the t’ai chi her grandfather had taught her, her breathing slow and in ritual times.

She’d been ridiculed in Special Training for her insistence on retaining this as part of her routine; the other recruits used only the exercises and violent killing moves of the Corps. She’d had to take down everyone in her squad before they let up. None quite had the nerve to defy the group and join her, but they ignored her aberration after that. Each day she came to the floor early and did this first, then worked out with the rest of them afterward. It gave her greater stamina than most—but more important, it had been the one link left with home.

She progressed through the 108 movements as though there was no other thing in existence save her body moving in these ways at this moment. No thought entered her mind to stay and disturb it. No image was held long enough to be named. In the most profound state of meditation, Jade discarded even the concept of the movement and found the stillness that her grandfather had so wisely shown her could only be found by not searching.

Even her history was as no thing, and her four-year-old body first trying these movements with her maternal grandfather was indistinguishable from this body decades later, moving as her grandfather had dreamed she might—her renegade Japanese grandfather who had found his peace in the Chinese system of t’ai chi. Her mind stopped counting the movements, her body no longer anticipated the next move as it finished the previous one.

The movement continued, and, had anyone been there to see, it changed in a subtle way. At no time could you point to a moment and call it any one thing, yet if frozen, any position she assumed could be used for a training film. Her face was no longer neutral and frozen as was taught her. It was transformed. She did not smile, yet joy flooded her. Her eyes were half open, but focused on nothing. Tears flooded her eyes, not yet overflowing. Her lips were slightly parted, and fluttered when she exhaled. Jade moved through her exercises like a kami.

Nearly an hour later, awareness of thingness returned as Jade once again knelt on the floor. The trembling of her limbs was a delicate thing that expressed the emotions she felt about the time just spent. Her face was softened by a radiant ecstasy few on Cablans could understand. It was not the first such experience she had known. Yet it had been many years since the last one. She glanced at the cupboard with the knives, sparkling in front of her. Detecting the movement of her eyes, Val asked, “Mode?”

Jade sat silent. Finally she rose fluidly to her feet. Val repeated, “Mode?” Jade walked off the floor and headed out of the exercise room.

“Shower, Val. Then the text of Megan’s message as I dress. I’ll wear day cami—no, my gi and black boots. Have the Shooter’s Bible ready when I eat. Make it rice, steamed vegetables, and some pickled fish. And jasmine tea. Send a message to Lorpet, with the usual groveling, informing him that I will be traveling with Ms. Cafferty and need to discuss some arrangements with him. Set an appointment up for sometime tomorrow, or this evening.”

Jade stepped into the shower and moved the control down for a cooler temperature than usual. Every droplet of the stinging spray seemed distinct against her skin. She found her attention caught by the rainbow that the light from Val’s screen made in the spray as it misted the air. She marveled at the texture of the soap, the lather, the even cooler rinse she programmed. She chose to dry off in the warm air jets Val controlled, then walked as though on springs to her wardrobe and slipped into the gi, ignoring the unitard she usually wore as underwear.

The soft cotton felt delicious against her skin. The tabi socks and her soft, calf-high boots caressed instead of armored her. In the synesthesia that often followed satori, she seemed to hear the feel of the leather move over her feet as she went over to her breakfast.

She took up her lacquered chopsticks and sat in a half-lotus on the broad bench, eating her breakfast as she glanced at the weapons in the Shooter’s Bible. The frizzlic stuck its head through the door and trotted over to Jade’s feet. Much to the animal’s surprise, a small piece of fish fell in front of its nose. Pita backed away so quickly from this suspicious occurrence its hind legs slid out from under it and it did a belly flop on the slick floor. It snorted at the fish as though it had caused the problem, then quickly swallowed it.

Jade smiled at the little one’s greed as it licked the floor and snuffled around for more. She licked her chopsticks clean, and leaned down and placed her still nearly full bowl on the floor. Pita looked at her as though to ask, “Are you nuts?” but didn’t wait long for an answer, and soon was making sloppy sounds as it feasted on the unexpected treat.

Jade sat for a moment. In that instant she felt no pressure, no reason for any further movement. She wasn’t sitting still; she sat Ch’an. Eventually her bladder forced its awareness on her, and she rose to empty it. On her way back to the main room, she heard Val chime the signal for an incoming call.

“Who is it, Val?”

“Megan Cafferty. Are you in?”

“Yes. Hello, Megan.”

“Good, you’re up. Oh—did we have practice this morning?”

“No,” said Jade.

“You were in your gi, so I wondered. Anyway, we have so much planning to do for our trip. Do you want me to come by there, or will you come here?”

“I’ll come there. I have one stop to make, but I’ll be there in about an hour.”

Megan’s face was puzzled; the lines across her forehead stood out clearly, as they seldom did. “Jade, are you all right? You sound rather odd.” The concern made her voice deeper and more melodious even than usual.

“There is nothing wrong with me. Perhaps I’ll explain later, unless...”

“Unless what?” snapped Megan.

“Unless you like Furgato riddles,” said Jade, smiling mischievously.

“Later,” answered Megan, and canceled the call.

Jade laughed, then canceled her end. “Val, security watch routine. I have to stop by the produce market, then I’ll go to Megan’s. Maintenance configuration.”

“Maintenance configuration,” repeated Val.

Jade picked up the bowl the frizzlic had long since emptied but that it continued to lick in the false hope of finding one more grain of rice. Even with its thick furry coat, Jade could see its tummy bulging. She carried the bowl over to the sink, started the warm water running, and began to wash her bowl.

***

Megan Cafferty had taken over the top floor of the Palazzo, the best hotel on Cablans. One part was set up as offices and used by her ever-growing staff of local employees. The other wing was her home, isolated by a beautiful aluminum alloy gate, anodized to deep iridescent blues, greens, and purples.

Holding the box she was carrying in her left hand, Jade took out the old-fashioned key Megan had given her, opened the lock, and let herself into that branch of the hall. She passed the door of Megan’s office, walked up to the second door on the left, and let herself into the large parlor.

There were some papers lying on top of the table, hard copy of some report or other. Jade picked them up to move them—then, on impulse, checked quickly through to make sure her name wasn’t mentioned.

“Commancors reported extremely displeased with current contractor’s performance… excellent opportunity to pick up Blue Harvest contract… ” Just business. Megan wasn’t prying into her background. Jade tossed the report casually aside and went back to what she’d originally intended.