Date: 2016-08-17 04:00:00+00:00
Description: Pira, short for Piranha, is the most dangerous girl in the world. She is phenomenally coordinated and has been trained to use crossed lasers that can incinerate objects at up to 100 feet, or instantly maim or kill people. When there are dangerous hostage situations, she is on call to handle them, and she can do it, efficiently. She must travel with a guardian, Orion, on whom she has a persistent crush. He's a nice guy and no slouch, a skilled martial artist with a black belt in judo, but really the junior partner here. How can he handle a girl with a devastating weapon who is not at all shy ab
Publisher: Excessica
Rights: Copyright 2016 Piers Anthony. All rights reserved.

Pira

Piers Anthony

Contents

Copyright

1.
Hot Hands

2.
Commitment

3.
Crossed Lasers

4.
Demo

5.
Dance

6.
Acorn

7.
Judoka

8.
Rogue

Epilogue

Author’s Note

More From Excessica!

eXcessica publishing

Pira © August 2016 by Piers Anthony

All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental. All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older.

This book is for sale to ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It contains substantial sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which may be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.

Excessica LLC

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First Edition August 2016

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1

Hot Hands

Orion paused by the yard. A girl was kneeling, troweling out dandelions. She had a long black ponytail and a cute face. She looked to be perhaps four years old, really too young for this type of chore. The summer day was hot, her jeans were dirty, and she did not look happy. There was nevertheless something about her that intrigued him, so he paused.

“Hi.”

She looked up warily. “Hi.”

“You have nice hair.”

“It's black. I'd rather have brown.”

“Oh, no. Black is beautiful. There's even a song.”

“A song?”

He sang it. “'Black, black, black is the color of my true love's hair. Her lips are something wondrous fair.' I can't remember the rest, except that he loves the ground whereon she stands.”

“All because of her black hair?”

“Why else?”

“Gee. You sing well.”

“I took lessons. Then I mostly stopped. I don't want to be a singer.”

“Gee.”

“Want some help?”

She hesitated. “I'm not supposed to 'sociate with strangers.”

He nodded. “Good rule. But I'm not really a stranger. I live in the next block. I haven't seen you before, but we're neighbors.”

She smiled, relaxing, then handed him a duplicate trowel, her motion precise. That was it: he liked the way she moved. “Oh. Okay. We just moved in last week. We've got moving-in chores.” Her speech seemed to be beyond her age level.

“Such as cleaning the weeds out of the yard,” he agreed, and squatted beside her, efficiently catching the nearest dandelion and digging at its base. “I'm Orion. I'm fourteen.”

“I'm Pira. I'm eight.”

She was older than he had thought, evidently small for her age. That explained the relatively advanced speech. “Glad to meet you Pira.” He reached across to shake hands with her, to her evident surprise. Her grip was precise too; she had excellent control of her limbs. It was the kind of thing he noticed. “What's your name short for?”

“Piranha. It's a small nasty fish.”

He smiled. “You may be small, but you don't seem nasty.”

“Yes I am. It runs in the family. Mom's name is Manta. She says we're predators. Grandma's name is Stargazer. That's a fish that lies flat on the bottom and then stuns its prey with electricity. We're all small as children, but mom says we earn respect.”

She was becoming downright talkative, and she was indeed coming across like a smart eight year old. Orion was intrigued anew. “And you get teased for it.”

“How did you know?”

“Because I get teased about Orion's Belt. It's part of a constellation. They used to ask me if I wanted to get belted.”

She picked up on that. “Used to?”

“Until I learned to fight.”

She grimaced. “That doesn't work so well for a girl.”

“Yes, girls are supposed to be nice. So you can stick to your nickname and avoid trouble. It's generally better to stay out of trouble if you can.”

“I guess. But sometimes trouble comes looking for me.”

Orion frowned. He hardly knew this girl, but he liked her more as they talked. “Other children? Bullies? Maybe I could help you there.”

She hesitated again. “Not exactly. I can handle a bully, my way. But I'm not supposed to.”

This was increasingly interesting. How did such a small girl handle a bully who was bound to be significantly larger than she was? “Pira, I don't want to pry, but some children are merciless and they don't always fight fair.”

“Like this. Do you play hot hands?”

“As it happens, I am good at hot hands.” That was an understatement. He held out his two hands, palms down. “See if you can hit me.”

“I can hit you,” she said confidently.

“You haven't even tried yet!”

Her right hand moved so quickly he hardly saw it, turning over and slapping the backside of his left hand. That surprised him. “Now you try me.” She put her hands out palms down.

This time he focused on the game. He feinted, but she did not flinch. Then he went for her left hand, but she jerked it clear in time. He tried for her right hand, and missed again. Then he tried for both at once, and missed both. The girl was good. “That is remarkable.” He withdrew his hands.

“Are you mad at me?”

“Not at all, Pira! I'm impressed. I haven't lost a game in years. But you beat me just like that. You have remarkable reflexes.”

“I guess. It stops the bullies.” But she didn't seem thrilled.

The dialogue threatened to lapse, and he wanted it to continue. “Do you like riddles?”

“Yes.”

“Here's a tricky one I heard. It's about Mary and Ann.”

“I don't know them.”

“They're just names in the riddle. Mary is 24. Mary is twice as old as Ann was, when Mary was as old as Ann is now. Can you figure out how old Ann is?”

She gazed at him blankly.

“I'm sorry. I guess that's too complicated for you. I'm forgetting that you're not my age. I'll tell you the answer.”

“No! Don't tell me the answer. I want to get it for myself. But it's hard getting hold of it.”

“Yes it is. Some folk never solve it.” He changed the subject. “How did you learn to play hot hands like that?”

She shrugged. “I just play it. Kids don't like it when I beat them, but then they leave me alone.” She got down on her knees to resume pulling weeds.

He joined her. “Because they know you could as readily poke them in the eye with those fast hands?”

“Maybe. But then I have no friends.” Her lip quivered; her confession put her near tears.

“Oh, Pira,” he said, reaching out to bring her in close for a clumsy hug. “I'm sorry. I'll be your friend.”

She drew back her head and gazed at him. “Gee.”

A woman appeared at the door. “Pira! What did I tell you about socializing with strangers?”

And he had just hugged her. What an awkward moment.

Pira quickly stood, brushing the bits of turf off her knees. “He's not a stranger, mom. He's our neighbor, Orion. He's nice.”

The women came out and strode toward them. She was outstandingly beautiful, even in her anger, every part in perfect order. “You should have checked with me before associating with my daughter,” she said severely to Orion. “You were touching her.”

“I should have checked, ma'am,” he agreed contritely. “I'm sorry.”

“Mom! That was a friendship hug.”

An expression flickered across the woman's face, as though she feared corruption. “Go inside and clean up, Pira,” she said sternly.

The girl collected the trowels and departed without further argument. That spoke for the family discipline.

The woman turned to Orion. Her face was lovely too, and she had the same long black hair as her daughter. “A friendship hug?” she inquired coldly.

“I shouldn't have touched her,” Orion said. “I acted impulsively.”

“Why?” The very air around her seemed icy.

“She—she told me how she didn't have friends, because of the speed of her hands, and I just—wanted to be her friend. I overreached. I'm sorry.”

“Orion, how old are you?”

She had picked up on his name. “Fourteen.”

“Why would a boy your age want anything to do with an eight year old girl who looks four?”

This was mischief. She was thinking he was a child molester. But he tried to explain. “We played hot hands, and I was impressed. I—I'm good at it myself, but she—I never saw hands that fast. But if she alienates people by standing up for herself, well, I know how that is. Age doesn't matter.”

“How do you know how it is?”

“Judo, ma'am. It's a martial art.”

“I know of it. How does it relate?”

“When I win, I lose friends. But it's not in me to lose. So I don't compete. It's enough to know it for its own value, not for show. What I really care about is the reality rather than the appearance, anyway. I use it only for self defense, and I never need to do that more than once in any new situation.” Was he saying too much? Yet he suspected that Pira had a similar attitude.

“Then how do you progress?”

Orion spread his hands. “The sensei promotes me without testing or competitions. I don't ask him to, but I can't turn it down. That would insult his judgment.”

“It would,” she agreed. She seemed to be thawing. “Don't you have better things to do than help a child weed a lawn?”

He smile ruefully. “Not really.”

“Explain.”

“My folks have weird work shifts. Mom's on four to midnight, while dad's home asleep, not to be disturbed. So I have the afternoon and evening to myself. I fix my own supper, do my homework, watch TV, exercise. Frankly, I have time on my hands. Especially in summer when there's no school or after school activities.”

“You get lonely.”

“Yes, ma-am. So when I saw Pira, saw how she moved her hands, I stopped to say hello. She's fun to be with. I mean--” This was coming out wrong.

“You say you played hot hands?”

“It's a child's game.”

“So you didn't throw the game to make her feel good?”

“No, ma-am. I wouldn't do that. She beat me fairly.”

She put her hands out, palms down. “Play me.”

“Ma-am--”

She didn't move. After a moment he put his hands below hers. He tried to slap her right hand, but missed. Then she turned hers palms up, and he put his over them palms down. And she caught him repeatedly. She had the same blurringly fast hands her daughter did. She made him look like a duffer.

She shrugged and put her hands away. “My daughter beats me.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Call me Manta.”

“I—I don't think I understand, ma—Manta.”

“Thank you for helping my daughter with the weeds. For treating her like a person instead of a child or an object. She's smart enough, but she's small, and she's shy. Normal socializing will be good for her. If you still want to associate with Pira, you may. Just let me know when you do.” She turned and strode back to the house, as impressive in her departure as in her approach.

Bemused, Orion turned about and resumed his walk to his house. That was some woman. And Pira might be some child.

Mildly annoyed by his inability to remember all of the song, he looked up “Black is the Color” and got the remaining words straight.

Next day he come to the house. “Manta, I would like to help Pira finish the yard.”

She laughed musically. “Pira!” she called over her shoulder. Then: “You certainly made an impression on her yesterday. Now she likes her hair, and she's humming a song.”

“That would be 'Black is the Color.' I sang it for her.”

“Sing it for me.”

He already knew better than to demur. He sang it.

“You're good.”

He shrugged. “I'm good at most things I try. It doesn't matter.”

The girl came to the door. “Oh! Orion. I heard the song.”

“We have weeding to do.”

Pira ducked under her mother's arm and joined him outside. She handed him a trowel. “I hated weeding yesterday. I love it today.”

“Why? It's still a hot dirty chore.”

She blushed. That surprised him. Children her apparent age generally lacked sufficient social awareness to blush. “I've got a crush on you.”

That set him back. “Uh, these things happen. I had a crush on my pretty teacher once. But it passed.”

“I know you don't have any crush on me. But you asked, so I told you. I just want to be with you, so weeding is fine.”

“As long as you understand that it's just friendship, from this end.” The last thing he wanted was any seeming confirmation of unnatural interest in a child.

“Sure.” She took a breath. “Ann is eighteen.”

“You figured it out!”

“I knew it had to be between twelve and twenty four, so I tried every number. How did you solve it?”

“I used algebra.”

She giggled. “That sounds like a bra covered with seaweed.”

He laughed. “Close enough, maybe. But it can be useful. It's like a puzzle, solving for X.”

“Tell me.”

“Well, you make the letter X stand for your unknown. That is, the thing you want to figure out. In this case maybe the difference in their ages, because once you know that, you can readily figure out the rest. So you let X equal that difference. Are you still with me?”

“I'll always be with you.”

He wasn't sure what that meant, so ignored it. “Remember, Mary is 24. She's twice as old as Ann was, so Ann was 12. Then you make your equation: 24 minus X equals 12 plus X. Got that?”

Pira concentrated. “I think so.”

“Then it's simply a matter of solving for X. That means moving the figures around until they make sense. When you move a number across the equals mark, you reverse it. So move 12 across to 24, and subtract it: now it's 12. You move the X the other way, so instead of minus X it become a plus X, and you have 12 = 2X. I’ll bet you can solve it from there.” He was trying to encourage her, knowing she hadn't kept up with his explanation.

She focused. “If two X is twelve, then one X must be six.” Suddenly her face lighted. “So 24 minus 6 is 18. The answer!”

“The answer,” he agreed. “I think that life is like algebra: full of mysteries. You just have to solve them as you come across them. It isn't always easy.”

“I can solve them, if you help me.”

“When I can. There are problems I can't solve.”

They resumed weeding where they had left off, and made good progress. “Mom likes you,” Pira said.

“That might be an exaggeration. But I guess she decided that I wasn't a threat to you.”

“She looked you up on the Net. Now she knows all about you. She's thorough about things like that. But she already liked you before that. She says your life philosophy is compatible.”

Orion didn't argue. They continued working until they had the yard finished. No dandelions remained. Meanwhile she was humming a tune. He identified it belatedly. “'Black is the Color!'”

“'The prettiest face and the neatest hands; I love the ground whereon she stands.'”

“You learned it already!”

“Well, I love you. And mom likes you too.”

“How can you be sure of that?”

“I knew when she played hot hands with you.”

“You were watching us!”

“Yeah. I'm thorough too.”

“Like mother, like daughter.”

“I guess.”

“I think that's not the only way you resemble each other.”

She resumed humming the song, so he joined her, and they sang the whole of it together.

Then she had a new topic. “You know, six years—the difference between Mary and Ann—that's the same for us.”

“I suppose it is.”

“When I'm eighteen, like Ann, I'll bloom.”

She was saying she would achieve puberty at age eighteen? Maybe so. But he preferred to stay clear of that aspect. For one thing, it was ten years away. “It's done,” Orion said, returning his trowel to her. “It was nice working with you, Pira.”

She stood there a moment, fidgeting. Something was evidently on her mind. He waited, and then she spoke. “Yesterday you—you hugged me. Would you—do it again?”

“I'm not sure your mother would approve.”

“She'll leave it alone. She knows I like you.”

He considered, then gave her a chaste hug. She kissed him on the cheek, then fled into the house.

Thereafter he did associate with Pira, with parental permission. Evidently Manta had checked him out and verified that he was no pervert. Sometimes they went to a nearby park and played together on the equipment. He noticed that she did not try to associate with any of the other children; she stuck almost embarrassingly close to him. Indoors, they played cards and board games. Once he took her to a movie she wanted to see, and let her hold his hand as if it were a date. Sometimes they sang together. Yes, they were of widely different ages, but it was fun. The fact was that when he was with her he wasn't lonely or bored, and she was good company.

“I'm comfortable with you,” she told him.

“Ditto,” he agreed. “We're friends.”

She frowned. “I don't want to be your friend. I want to be your girlfriend.”

She was certainly single minded! “Isn't holding hands enough?”

“No. Holding hands is just the first thing I want to do with you. There are ninety nine more. Like kissing, hugging, stroking, feeling, getting naked together--”

“Stop it, Pira. You know they'd throw me in jail if I did any of that with you.”

“But I wouldn't tell.”

“No,” he said firmly. But he had to admit guiltily to himself that he enjoyed her adoration, as long is it was restrained.

Then summer expired, and they both had other things to do. He thought that would be the end of it.

2

Commitment

Six years passed, not in an eye-blink, but in a busy life. Orion graduated from high school with middling grades and went on to college. He continued with his judo, and when he was 20 his sensei, or judo teacher and guide, finally persuaded him to enter one competition. He did well, and finished second, only because he held off rather than embarrass his opponent with tricky moves the other obviously was not conversant with. But the senior officials, familiar with Orion’s history and wise in the nuances, caught on and promoted him to black belt.

But somehow it was his time with Pira he remembered. They had different schedules, she being thoroughly home schooled in summer and winter, while he had home duties, practice sessions, and the never-ending load of classwork and homework. All that eased, for both of them, when they were together, whether it was weekly, monthly, or more widely spaced. He taught her to play chess, which they played on his smart phone, and she soon became as good as he was, which was nothing special, but it was fun. They also played board games and cards. Often they saw movies, but sometimes they just sat in the park and talked. They simply liked each other's company, different as they were in many respects.

“They tell me I'm a gifted child,” she said.

“Oh, did they test you?”

“I guess. Mainly my coordination.”

“You're good at hot hands.”

“Yes. Something about reflex speed. And my vision is 20:05. I think that's good.”

He was surprised. “Normal vision is 20:20. That means that a person sees what he should see at twenty feet. Some have worse vision, like 20:40, meaning that at twenty feet it feels like forty. So you see as if you're only five feet away. I never heard of anyone with eyes like that.”

“I thread needles for mom. It's easy for me. But I guess I'm also a problem child.”

“They told you that?” he asked, surprised.

She smiled. “No. My hearing is pretty good also. I heard mom discussing it with a social worker, when they thought I was too far away, or maybe absorbed in my games.” She grimaced. “Sometimes I'm bored with their deals, and thinking my own thoughts. They call that being inattentive. Sometimes what they want is stupid, and I try to argue.”

“So you get labeled argumentative. I've been there, done that.” It was part of their shared nature: trouble with the ignorant throng.

“Yes. Once they wanted to test me on math, and I used algebra to solve for X and got the answer too fast, so they thought I cheated.”

“My fault. I shouldn’t have told you about algebra when you weren't supposed to be ready for it.”

“You shouldn't have,” she agreed, laughing. “And when I'm supposed to be quiet, I'm up running around. The teachers hated that. That's when mom had to start home-schooling me.”

“You're a square peg.”

“What's that?”

“Most punch holes are round. A square peg doesn't fit.”

“You're a square peg too.”

“I am,” Orion agreed. “But I learned early on to hide it. I just go along with what they say, even though I know better. It's best not to make waves.”

“Waves?”

“Waves can be mischief, and people don't like them.” He smiled.

“Why the smile?”

“It reminded me of a joke.”

“Tell me!”

“But it's dirty. Nice girls don't like dirt.”

“Tell me anyway. I'm nice only on the outside; inside I'm one mean little fish. It will be our secret.”

“Okay.” They did keep each other's secrets. “It's about a man who dies and goes to Hell. The devil gives him a choice of three rooms he can spend eternity in. The first is a torture chamber, with people being constantly dismembered, jammed back together, and torn apart again. The second is a wild gay bar, only he's not gay. You know what I mean?”

“Sure. It's when men like men and women like women. What's wrong with that?”

“To you and to me, nothing. But some men hate gays, and will kill them if they get the chance, just because they’re different. This man in Hell is that kind; he'd rather die than be stuck with gays, and he's already dead. The devil knows that.”

“The devil's pretty smart.”

“And tricky. Then they checked the third room. It's dark and cool, and there's only a sort of low whispering. Our man doesn't even need to think about it: he chooses that room. It can't be as bad as the others.”

“What is it?”

“When they turn on the light, he sees it's filled with liquid shit, and there are people standing in it on tiptoe, with only their mouths barely above its level. They are whispering 'Don't make a wave! Don't make a wave!'”

She laughed. “Serves him right. And I'll bet the devil makes a wave every so often.”

“Well, it is Hell. But life is also like that. You can get into ugly situations through no fault of your own, or by guessing wrong, and just have to manage.”

“I'll never tell you told me,” she promised. “I'm not even supposed to know what that word means.”

“It's better to know the words, even if you never use them yourself, so you know what others are talking about.”

“Tell me the words!”

So he told her the words. “Don't tell your mother I told you.”

“Never. That would just make a wave.”

They laughed together.

Pira was curious about many things, especially if he had any connection to them. One of them was judo. “Teach me judo.”

“That's really not a one lesson discipline. It would be better to take a continuing class.”

“I don't like classes.”

He understood why. So he taught her the basic throws, and how to take a fall, crucial in judo. She caught on to them quickly, and could have done well in a formal class. She preferred the mat work, which was like wrestling, because that put her right up against him.

“In real life, a kiss is not part of a hold-down,” he cautioned her.

“I prefer fantasy.”

After that, they practiced judo in off moments. It was just one of their many interactions, fun because they liked doing things together.

So the years had passed. This time he was home alone in the evening when Pira called. “My folks have a meeting and they don't want to leave me home alone. May I join you?”

“You're asking me to babysit you?” he asked, surprised. “You don't need that. You're 14.”

“I get nervous alone. They don't like me to be nervous.”

He laughed. Pira was a fine and competent girl, but she did have her hangups. She also remained pleasant company. “Sure, come on over.”

She arrived shortly on her bike and he let her in. She was in a soft red dress, and wore her hair loose rather than her normal long ponytail. She was actually quite pretty, but the top of her head came only to his chest. “Hi,” she said faintly.

“Pira, you didn't have to dress up for me.”

“Yes I did.”

He brought her into the house and sat her down in the living room. “Pira, what's going on? What's really on your mind?”

“What's the difference between fascination and love?”

Surprised, he stumbled. “I wouldn't know, from personal experience. I've never been in love. But I understand that the feeling is similar, except it's love that lasts.”

“How long?”

“Well, a crush normally passes in a few months. Love lasts years.”

She nodded. “Remember how I had a crush on you, that first summer?”

“Oh, yes! You held my hand at the movie, and wanted hugs.”

“So that should have passed in maybe six months.”

“Didn't it? You've acted normal the intervening time, except for some teasing kisses.”

“No.”

He was surprised again. “How long?”

“How about six years?”

“Pira! Still?”

“Still.”

“That sounds like love.”

“Yes.”

“You're 14. I'm 20. You're in ninth grade. I'm a junior in college. You play hot hands. I date college girls. Our worlds are quite different. We're friends, not a couple.”

“And I look 8,” she said, accurately. “The women in my family mature late. I'm not really a child.”

“I know you're not. And it seems that your emotion is well beyond your appearance.”

“Yes. I think it's as far ahead as my body is behind.”

“I assumed your crush had passed after that summer. You never said anything since.”

“I didn't want to embarrass you. You're not into children.”

“Are you teasing me? Is this a joke?”

“Hardly. Will you let me kiss you? For real?”

He hesitated. “This is relevant?”

“Yes.”

He sighed. “Then let's do it right.” He fetched a footstool. “Stand on this so you're closer to my height.”

She stood on it, having no trouble with balancing. He stepped into her and put his arms about her small body. She looped her arms around his shoulders and set her hands on his head. She hummed “Black is the Color.” She held him and kissed him, her loose black hair caressing his cheeks.

He was amazed. It was the desperate passion of a woman in love.

“Oh, my,” he breathed as he stepped back. “You're serious.”

“Oh, yes.”

Now he realized that there was a reason she had dressed pretty for him. She wanted to look her best, for this contact. “Pira, I don't know what to say. I think you're one great girl, but I'm not in love with you.”

“I know. You're not emotionally committed. I'm not asking you for that. I know I'm not a sexy college girl. You can date all of those you want to, and I won't be too jealous. But I'll do anything you want, and I won't tell. You can use me and throw me away. Anything you want, I'd love it.”

He had to turn her off. “You know that if I even touched you in any such manner, I'd go to prison for molesting a minor.”

“No one would know.”

“I'd know.”

“When I come of age, I'll marry you.”

“I'll be 24! Maybe married by then.”

“You'll wait for me. When I'm 18, I'll look like my mother.”

He realized it was true. She already had the face; the body would follow. But it was crazy. “Pira--”

“Humor me. I had to tell you. We have to be honest with each other. I won't make a scene. I told you and you answered me. It's just part of the background of our relationship. Let's get on with the babysitting.”

“Wait! Why tell me now, after six years?”

“Because things may be changing, and you need to be in the know.”

“Changing? Pira, we can still be friends. I like you. Like you a lot. I just don't love you. What is changing?”

“Let's wait a bit on that.”

So there was more. He was happy to let it wait. She would get to it in her own fashion. “I'll put on a movie. Do you have a preference?”

“Do you have Camelot?”

So they sat chastely side by side and watched Camelot, both enjoying it. But he was highly aware that she wasn't finished with him. “You have something else on your mind,” he said when the movie was done.

“Oh, you remembered!”

He made as if to spank her bottom. “How could I forget? What is it?”

“I have a big decision to make.”

“Ah.”

“You—you're good at martial arts, aren't you?”

“Judo. I can handle myself. You know that long since.”

“I do,” she agreed. “I've been offered a—a place at a special school. There'll be a house mother who watches over me, so I won't be too shy. I think I can manage it.”

“A school for what?”

“For martial arts training, I guess you'd call it.”

“What discipline?”

“Crossed Lasers.”

Orion shook his head. “I know of no martial art by that name.”

“It's secret. I can't tell you much about it, and you can't tell anyone else.”

“My lips are sealed.”

“And I know your word is good. Okay, it uses laser beams to heat things at a distance. Two beams, and they have no effect except where they cross. There it's hot.”

“I've heard of laser surgery. They can even do brain surgery, without having to cut into the head.”

“That's it. The beams are like X-rays, going through most things. But where they intersect, it's like a torch. So there's no blocking it. The trick is to make them cross at just the right place, so you don't fry someone's eyeballs or something by accident.”

He nodded, thoughtfully. “A weapon that can't be blocked. That would be deadly indeed.”

“Yes.”

“They want to train you to do that?”

“They tested my coordination. They think I might be good at it.”

“You might indeed, Pira. Your hands are so fast.”

“I'd go to this boarding school for a year to learn it. I hear there's a high dropout rate. Maybe I won't graduate.”

“And maybe you'll ace it. You won't find out unless you go.”

“Yes. Should I?”

“Pira, that's your decision, not mine.”

She faced him with an intense focus. “When I said I'd do anything you want, I wasn't just talking about you maybe touching my ass. I need your reaction. Do you want me to do this?”

Orion reminded himself again that she might look eight, but was actually fourteen, and older than that if her passion counted. “I need more information, and not on lasers. Why is my input here so important to you?”

“Because if I go, and I graduate, I'll be able to hurt, maim, or kill with just little gestures of my hands. I'll be like you with your judo, only more so. I'm afraid of that power. You aren't. You have perspective I lack. If you tell me not to do it, I'll know that's the right decision.”

“Do you want to do it?”

“I do if you say so.”

“No! I mean if you could have me answer the way you want, and I don't guarantee to do that, what would you have me say?”

She didn't hesitate. “Yes. But only if you'll support me.”

“Support you?”

She paused, her face studiedly neutral. “Do you have to have it now?”

“In judo you don't go into a dangerous situation without knowing your options. I suspect you want more of me than you think I'm ready to give.” He smiled briefly. “That maybe I'd be better off just pinching your rear.”

Now she smiled. “Yes, you would, and you're welcome to it.” Then she visibly nerved herself. “A year from now I'll still be under age. I may have to go places, even out of the country. I'll need an adult companion.”

“Or a bodyguard?” Because she would still be a small girl, physically, bait for unscrupulous men. She might have deadly power, but would hesitate to use it.

“That, too. They'll provide one for me, if I make it through the course. But I'd rather choose my own. I need the right one. I'm—I'm sort of fragile, emotionally, is what the shrink says.”

“The shrink!”

“It was a pretty comprehensive test. I'll need the right support.”

“And you think I'm the right support?”

“I know it, Orion. I love you. With you I'm whole. I can do it with your support. But only you. No one else would work. I can't do it without you.”

He thought back over the years he had known her, and concluded that was probably true. They knew each other well, and there was mutual trust. “Pira, this is not a commitment I can make right now. I have a year of college yet, already paid for by my family. I can't let them down. I can't just quit.”

“You'll have that year.” She shrugged. “And maybe I won't graduate, so it'll be academic. Will you gamble on that?” Her chin was quivering, and he knew she was close to tears. She desperately wanted his support.

Orion realized that this could be a rare opportunity to do something dramatically different. Those crossed lasers interested him. There was evidently a competent organization behind this new technology. He was telling her to make her own decision; this much was his own decision. His life was as yet uncommitted beyond college. Did he want this? He thought he did. For one thing, it might be an opportunity for a continuing relationship with Pira, and he wanted that. Also, her desperation moved him; he did not want to hurt her.

“I'd have to clear it with your family, and with the laser folk. There's nothing certain about it. But yes, if it works out, I'll do it.”

Pira folded in on herself, confirming that she had been under severe tension. “Thank you, Orion,” she said bravely.

He put his arm around her. “You're welcome, Pira.”

“Don't tell.” Then she collapsed into tears of relief.

Oh yes, she needed him. And maybe he needed her.

3

Crossed Lasers

Orion completed college, getting his degree in general arts. He was not a top scholar, merely adequate; that got him by. He had continued dating, but for some reason no girl seemed right, though more than one had been interested. He remembered Pira saying he would wait for her; was that really the case? Had she somehow spoiled him for regular girls? That seemed unlikely. Maybe it was that he was looking forward to getting involved with the crossed lasers, and that meant her.

She called him. “Orion--”

“Come on over.” He could tell by her tone that she was excited in a positive way. That meant she had made it. That excited him more than he had anticipated. He did want this adventure.

She arrived shortly, positively glowing. She still looked about nine years old, but she was now fifteen. Wordlessly, he swept her into his embrace, picking her up so that her feet were a foot off the floor, and she feverishly kissed his ear. There was an odd padding on her back; what was she wearing?

“So how was it,” he asked as they settled down.

“I loved it. Not being away from you, I mean, but the classes. It came natural to me. I was first in my class.”

“How big was your class?”

“Six finished, out of twenty who started. They didn't all flunk out; some lost their taste for it and quit.”

So it was not a huge deal, but good enough to qualify her. “Are you wearing body armor?”

She laughed. “Were you trying to feel me up? There's nothing to feel, yet.”

“I felt the padding when I hugged you.”

“That's my harness with my power pack. I'll be wearing it always, awake and asleep, except when I shower. Then you'll hold it.”

“Oh, I don't want to invade your privacy.”

“Yes you do. As my companion you'll always be close to me. You'll see me naked.” She grimaced. “I wish I had more than a little girl's body to show you, but that just has to wait.”

“Why should I see you naked?”

“And feel me, too. So if we're in trouble, and can't make any sound, in the dark, you can still verify that it's me. You have to be sure, always.”

“I'm not sure I understand. I thought you were into crossed lasers.”

“Oh, yes. I'll show you. Hold up a piece of paper.”

Orion picked up a section of the day's newspaper. A scorched hole appeared in it. “What?” he asked, confused.

“I lasered it.”

“But you didn't do anything. You just stood there.”

“Hold up another, so it hangs down.”

He held up another sheet. Then as he watched, a burn mark appeared on it, curving around like script. In fact it was script: Pira. Her signature.

But still she was holding nothing and her hands weren't moving.

“Now you have my attention. This relates to seeing you naked?”

“Yes.” She took off her shirt. Under it was a thick flesh-colored padding that mounded on her back and fastened around the front, like a large backward bra. Sections of it extended down the insides of her arms to her hands, where she seemed to wear transparent gloves. “This is my harness,” she said, turning around so that he could see it all. “This is my most valuable possession. It's worth a fortune.”

“It doesn't look like much.”

“It's not supposed to. It's supposed to be inconspicuous, so no one notices it. Now I'll take it off.” She pulled on one hand with the other, prying off the glove, then tackled the other side. The padding peeled away from her arms, and then her body as she unhooked it. She stood bare from the waist up, her body completely childish, holding the ponderous harness. “Hold it.”

Orion took it. It weighed about twenty pounds, a hefty weight for a girl her size to carry around, and was awkward in his hands, like a sliced animal carcass. “Weird.”

“We'll assume I just took my shower. Now give it back to me.”

He helped her put the harness on. This was a slow, careful process. Then without putting her shirt back on, she faced the burned newspaper. It suddenly burst into flame.

“Hey! Don't burn down the house!” he exclaimed, stomping it out.

“The power travels down my arms to my hands, where the lasers are generated. I control them with my orientation and my fingers. Without that harness I have no power.” Now she donned her shirt and tucked it in.

“I don't see any generators. Your hands are bare.”

“They're in the gloves. They're flesh colored, and transparent at the tips of my fingers to show my nails, so that my hands seem bare unless you look closely.”

“They fooled me! I didn't realize they were gloves until you took off your shirt and I saw the harness extensions.”

“That's the idea. That's why I stripped: so you would see.” She flashed a shy smile. “If I had my grown body, you'd never notice my hands at all.”

“I never would,” he agreed. “So the idea is that I have to guard you when you're without your weapon?”

“Yes. So no one else should even see the harness. It must never leave my body, or your hands, except when recharging. It's dangerous.”

He nodded. “I appreciate that. So I have to stay close enough to you to see that no one takes it from you.”

“Yes. If someone grabbed me when I slept, I'd have trouble focusing. The two hands have to be apart, so the beams can triangulate. You need to see that that mischief never happens.”

“But what about when I sleep? Unless we take turns sleeping, you'll be vulnerable then.”

“Yes. That's why you'll have to sleep with me. Sharing my bed. Your hand on my body. So that if anyone even touches me, you'll wake and react.”

“Sharing your bed,” he repeated thoughtfully. “Pira, I don't think that's wise.”

“That's why it can't be just anyone. I don't want a stranger in my bed.”

“You don't want any man in your bed! You're young, but you're still a woman.”

She made a helpless gesture. “I'm not afraid of—of rape. I'm afraid of losing my harness. That's more valuable.”

This bothered him. “I don't know quite how to say this without being crude. I'm a man. If I slept with a woman in my arms, even a very young one, a girl, I might forget she wasn't there for sex. That could be extremely awkward.”

“I'd let you, and be glad of it, even if it hurt.”

“You're a virgin.”

“Yes. But you're the one I want to lose it to.”

She was determined. “I'd have to sleep fully clothed, so it couldn't happen.”

“No. In your pajamas, so no one would know we weren't lovers.”

“A man and a child!”

She gazed at him sadly. “That's the irony. It's the harness that must be protected, not my virtue, in reputation or reality.”

“I'd be convicted of child molestation.”

“I'm sorry I'm not a grown woman!” she flared. “Must you rub it in?”

This was getting nowhere. The problem was not so much her body, but her evident willingness. “Maybe I should talk to your mother.”

“Yes!” she agreed gladly.

That set him back. He tried to regroup. “Is this the only sticking point?”

“Maybe not. You may not like the action.”

“The action?”

“I—I may have to maim or even kill someone, sometime.”

“Maim or kill! What are you getting into, Pira?”

“The crossed lasers may be used in hostage situations. To take out the bad guys before they kill their hostages. I'm trained to do that.”

“Pira, you're not a killer!”

“I'm not,” she agreed. “That's why I need you.”

“I'm not a killer either.”

“But you have more martial arts experience. You're trained to handle tough people. I need that.”

Orion sat on the couch, feeling faint. “Oh, Pira, I don't want you getting into combat situations.”

She joined him, touching his hand comfortingly. “Hostage, not combat. But it could be life or death. I couldn't handle it alone, but you could tell me what to do, and I'd do it. You have the—the mature perspective. I really do need you, Orion.”

“You really do,” he agree, awed. He knew he was going to do it. “Let's go talk to your mother.”

They walked to her house. Manta met them at the door; she must have been expecting them. “In the living room,” she said. “So as not to disturb your father's TV in the family room.” She clearly knew what they were here for.

“I'll join dad,” Pira said, excusing herself. That was another signal: this was adult business.

Orion tackled it. “Pira tells me that if I sign up for this, I'll have to be her close bodyguard, day and night. Even if others misunderstand our relationship.”

“You'll be her guardian. We'll sign the papers.”

“I'm not sure I'm ready for that kind of commitment.”

“Pira is a very determined girl. She needs a firm hand.”

“I'm not that hand!”

“Yes you are. She'll do anything for you.”

“That's the problem. She says I could do anything, including inappropriate touching, and she wouldn't tell.”

“She wouldn't,” Manta agreed. “She needs a guardian because both her training and her equipment are valuable. Neither can be left unattended, for even a moment. That harness is worth a million dollars alone, and it cost a similar amount to train her.”

“A million dollars!”

“To start. So you can surely appreciate that not just any person will do to be with her. It has to be one she trusts and relates to, and one that both the Crossed Laser authorities and her father and I accept. We recommended you; they did a thorough investigation, and we agree: you're the one.”

“But I'm just the neighbor boy!” he protested. “We just happened to get together, as friends.”

She put her hand on his arm. Her touch made it tingle. “You are more than that, Orion. You are a fine young man, worthy in every respect. Your martial art facility adds to it; you can protect her from incidental mischief.”

“I'm not worthy! I—in the night—with a willing girl—I fear the temptation. I'm a normal young man, always aware of sex, awake or asleep. Pira is a child, but she has told me that she loves me, woman to man, and I believe it. She constantly flirts with me, and behaves seductively. It may be a game to her, but--”

“It's no game. She loves you, as she says.”

“That's mischief. If I ever got drunk, I might forget. Surely you understand.”

“Pira is young and inexperienced and painfully shy. She has not learned to express herself with appropriate subtlety.”

“Shy? She's not shy with me!”

“That's what makes you special, Orion. She's at ease with you. You were the first to relate to her as a person. Not as a parent, or a bully, or a child her age, but as a friend, reaching across your differences in age and gender, being special. You never talked down to her or made her feel isolated.”

“Of course I didn't! She's a real and worthwhile person.”

“You have not had sufficient occasion to see how awkward she is in normal social situations. She's not autistic, just not properly social, largely because of her size and the social isolation home-schooling entails, not to mention her premature interest in sex. You will have to teach her how to be at ease with others, as you are.”

Orion shook his head, recognizing the validity of her assessment; there had been hints. “That may be. But she even spells out what she wants, such as getting naked in bed with me. Does she have any idea what that means?”

“She does. I taught her the relevant biology. She knows what goes where, and the significance of the act. That's why she wants it, even if her body is not ready. She is more than willing to put up with a little pain, for the sake of the larger objective.”

“She has to know that's not proper.”

“She knows intellectually, not emotionally. She wants so much to impress you. You will have to show her that there are other ways beside sexuality to do that. So that when she comes to her maturity, and has a body like mine, she will use its power carefully. You must civilize her in a way we have not been able to. She will learn from you, because she wants to win you.”

“Win me?”

“Don't be naïve. She wants to marry you.”

“Marry me! She's fifteen!”

“When she comes of age in three years. She already knows her will, and I doubt she is mistaken; you're more than worthy. Don't dismiss her ambition out of hand, Orion. She's young now, but she'll be a lot of woman, when.”

That set him back anew. “I can't promise her anything like that. She's a nice and talented girl, and I do like her, like her a lot, but this is a different league of commitment. The—the way things are going, she'll be ruined before she ever gets mature in body or mind.”

Manta met his gaze, and he was struck again by her beauty. She was consciously showing him what her daughter would become. It was phenomenally impressive. “I do understand, Orion. We are asking a lot of you. But this is important. Pira has a rare opportunity, something that will truly exploit her special ability. It's the chance of a lifetime, for her, and we must facilitate it. It will also be a significant service to the welfare of the world. She needs your help. Do you want to deny her her dream?”

“No, I want to support her. But sleeping in her bed--”

“We do not approve of juvenile sex, of course, for the record,” she said earnestly, leaning forward. He couldn't help noticing how that brought more of her fine full breasts into view. “But we must be realistic. The average age of first sex for a girl is fifteen. She is in the range, despite her appearance, and more than into it emotionally. It would not be a disaster, regardless of the law, as long as no one told, and no one would.”

He was shocked. “How can you say that? You're her mother!”

“You have no idea how far I would go to help my daughter become all that she can be.” She inhaled, and the view intensified dramatically.

“Manta! This—you--I can't believe that--”

She closed the remaining distance and kissed him on the mouth. “Now will you shut up and listen?”

He nodded, at the moment unable to speak. She had silenced him more effectively than a blow on the mouth would have.

She smiled reminiscently. “I do know how it is, and I'm a realist. A bit of private personal history, trusting your discretion. I was a gymnast, a good one. A small, light, immature body can be ideal, if there is coordination, and I certainly had that. My trainer was a good man, knowledgeable and caring. I loved him. He was married, but he had a thing for fit young girls, and I was more than willing. I never regretted it. I was fifteen. I never told anyone except my later husband, and now you.”

He stared at her, speechless.

“I was shy too; that's one reason I got into gymnastics: it's an individualized sport. My trainer made me a star performer, and also his secret mistress. But more importantly, he socialized me, taught me to stand up for myself, and gave me vital self confidence. After that I was ready to handle the world, especially when I matured physically. I owe him more than I can say, and I love him yet, in my fashion. Yes he seduced me, but the larger experience was well worth it, and the sex wasn't bad either. He introduced me to the female orgasm, and I loved having him in me.”

“You shouldn't be telling me this. It's no business of mine.”

“Ah, but it is. Must I say it directly? You would hurt Pira far more by refusing this mission than by having sex with her. You will have a scant three years to socialize her; once she blooms, you will no longer govern her, she will govern you. We trust you to do the right thing, whatever that may be.”

What could he do? She had overwhelmed him. Pira, mature, would be like Manta. “I will try.”

She smiled, and it was as if the room brightened. “Thank you, Orion. I apologize for treating you roughly. I had to get through to you, just as you have to get through to Pira.”

Dazed, he knew he was committed. It was time for the crossed lasers.

4

Demo

Orion's own parents weren't so sure. “We paid your way through college, so you could throw it away nurse-maiding a snot-nosed neighbor's child?” his father demanded.

This was not going well. “She's a pretty unusual child.”

“Dear, we'll need more than that,” his mother said in a tone that brooked no refuting.

He would have to do it. “I can show you how unusual she is,” Orion said carefully. “But you must swear secrecy.”

“Secrecy!” his father said.

“There's—government involvement. This must not be known outside of particular circles.”

His parents exchanged a glance. “Granted,” his father said gruffly.

He brought in Pira, who had been waiting in another room, ready in case it came to this. “Make the demonstration,” Orion said.

She made it.

His folks didn't say a word, but the issue was settled.

There were necessary complications, forms to be filled out and notarized, partial explanations made to family and friends, but within a week Orion was Pira's legal guardian for any travels away from her home. He had a new expense account to cover any costs; and a regular check was to be deposited with his family, payment for his services. They also had new unlisted cell phones. Things had been accomplished with remarkable efficiency, as if hidden strings were being pulled. It seemed Crossed Lasers had resources, but they kept out of sight.

Pira was thrilled; this was her dream, to have the ideal job and, as she saw it, the ideal man at her beck. It was exciting for Orion too, in its fashion, but he was wary.

“What now?” he asked her. “Do we go check in at Laser HQ?”

“No, silly. They know all about us. We just wait for the call.”

“The call?”

“When there's a crisis in this area, or one that needs a One, they'll tell us where to go. Meanwhile we have free time with pay. We can go see a movie.”

“A movie.” He felt somewhat let down.

“A nice romantic one. We can hold hands in the dark,” she said hopefully. “I won't tell.”

Just so. He had tacit leave to do with her whatever he wanted, in or out of bed, but she knew that hand holding was about as far as she could push it.

Then her cell phone rang. They had to travel to a neighboring state. “Our first mission!” Pira exclaimed. “I'm so excited.”

“Uh, yeah,” he agreed.

Soon they were on a plane. “It's exactly how I dreamed it would be,” Pira said. “Going somewhere with you. Maybe you'll forget it's business.” She laid her head on his shoulder and slept.

Like a date, again. She was playing a game, but underlying it was her very real hope that he would forget, if only for a moment. He was glad she was relaxed. He wasn't; there were too many unknowns. Hostage situations were dangerous.

The address turned out to be not a grandiose skyscraper office but an old warehouse. Which made sense: folk would not notice activity there. A severe older woman ushered them in. “Just call me Supe,” she said tersely, indicating her small badge showing crossing lasers. “We are largely anonymous here.”

Orion spoke. “We're--”

“We know who you are. Laserist and guardian. That suffices until the paperwork arrives.” She glanced at Pira. “I must say, you don't look like much. We didn't know they were recruiting children. What's your rank?”

Pira stayed touchingly close to Orion, cowed. “One, she said faintly.”

“Don't fool with me, girl. There are no Ones.”

Nervously angry, Pira met her gaze. “There is now.”

“I don't think you understand. We have a crisis that can't wait on personal games. Hostages may be killed at any moment. We sent for help, anticipating maybe a Two.”

Pira looked at Orion, her fundamental uncertainty manifesting. “She doesn't believe me. What do I do?”

In judo, a high ranked visiting competitor was soon put to the test; it was not possible to fake it. He needed to come up with something she could do that would settle the issue. “Can you make a fast but effective demonstration that goes beyond setting paper on fire? That fellow laserists would acknowledge?”

“Sure. But that wouldn't be nice.”

“This is not the time for nice. They are questioning your competence. It's the time to damn well show off. Do it.”

Prompted by his advice, Pira turned to Supe. “You've got a practice room?”

“Of course.”

“Bring out your best laserists, with practice gear. Get a bulb unit for me too. We can do this in five minutes.”

“Of course.” The woman didn't try to conceal her doubt. Orion couldn't blame her; who would believe that what appeared to be a nine year old child would have a top ranking in a highly specialized discipline? Yet sometimes it happened, as with chess prodigies or gym competitors.

Soon they were in the practice room, which was about fifty feet by a hundred feet, with small light bulbs set along the sides at measured intervals: ten feet, twenty feet, and so on to the farther corner. Three men appeared. Orion could see that they wore similar under-shirt harnesses to Pira's, complete with the flesh colored gloves, now that he knew what to look for. “She says she's a One,” Supe said.

“Call me Five,” one man said.

“Four,” the second said.

“Three,” the third said.

All donned exterior frames that supported lighted bulbs about a foot in front of their chests. Pira's looked larger, because she was so small. She was barely half the mass of the thinnest man. “Try me first,” Five said. “I'm the slowest.”

“No,” Pira said. “All three together.”

“You sure, kid? This is not a game.”

“Exactly.” She glanced at Orion. “Call it, randomly.”

The four faced each other, three grown men and one girl child, all with their hands slightly spread out from their bodies, palms forward. It certainly looked uneven.

“Blow the lid off,” he murmured to her. She nodded, emboldened again by his certainty. It was not her laser competence that made her hesitate, but uncertainty about what was called for to make the right impression.

Orion lifted his right hand. “Ready.”

They waited.

“Now!”

The bulbs before the three men popped, One! Two! Three! in rapid order. Then Pira removed her own bulb and tossed it into the air, where it popped in flight.

“What's your record?” she asked.

“Forty feet,” Three said, looking dazed.

She oriented on the measured bulbs, her hands spreading wide apart, and they popped, starting at the fifty foot one and proceeding to the hundred foot, popping about a second apart. The men watched, mouths open.

“Enough!” Supe cried. “We believe you! You're One.”

Obviously that was the case. Pira had come through amazingly.

Three shook his head. “Never saw the like.”

Orion stepped in, seizing the moment. “The crisis. Let's get on it.”

“You get the details,” Pira told him. “I gotta go pee.” That was her first indication of physical tension, now that she had proved herself.

“This way, honey,” Supe said, smiling. Her attitude had suffered a sea change, doubt replaced by awe. “Brief him, Three.” She guided Pira through a side passage.

“You look as surprised as we are,” Three said to Orion. “Haven't you seen her perform before?”

“Not like that.”

“Didn't she tell you her rank?”

“Yes. I assumed she meant she graduated first in her class of six.”

All three men laughed together. “Number one in her class, sure,” Three said. “But it's more than that.”

“Number one in her state?”

“Number one in the world.”

“In the world!”

“She's the first One. Two's been the highest. That's why we doubted.”

“We don't doubt any more,” Five said. “She's authentic. We're believers.”

“She didn't even hesitate,” Four said. “She took us out before we could move, then not only got the distant bulbs, she did them in a second apiece. No time at all for aiming. That's laser genius.”

“And in between, the thrown bulb,” Three said. “A moving target. We can't do that except by luck.”

“You must be proud to be her companion,” Four said.

Orion suppressed his own awe at the performance. “Yes. Now the mission.”

“Hostage,” Three said. “Bank. They swear to execute a person every hour if the police don't capitulate, starting at noon.”

Orion glanced at his watch. It was eleven thirty. “We'd better get over there.”

“Taxi's waiting.”

Naturally they used a taxi rather than a limo, for the low profile.

Supe and Pira returned, and they bundled into the taxi: Supe, Pira, Three, and Orion. Pira looked at him. “Hostage. Bank,” he said. “Noon deadline before they kill a hostage.”

Now she quailed. “I don't want to kill anyone.”

Orion thought fast. It was always better to find a way to defuse an issue, if possible. “You don't have to. Orient on his gun. Heat the trigger burning hot so he can't fire. Then the police will nab him.”

“I can do that,” she agreed, relieved.

“Brilliant!” Three said, glancing at Orion with increased respect.

Supe shook her head. “Such precision. One of ours would have to fry his brain, which is chancy. If we hadn't seen her perform...”

They arrived at the bank, which was cordoned off by the police. “We're the team,” Supe told the sergeant gruffly. The man evidently knew her, and passed them through without question.

It was five minutes to noon. They entered the main waiting room. “She's the one,” Supe told the negotiator.

He saw only a child. “But--”

“Believe it.”

A ragged man emerged from a back room, holding a terrified young woman. She was pretty, which was probably why she had been selected for this ordeal: to encourage capitulation. He put a gun to her head. “You think I'm bluffing?” he demanded belligerently.

Then his face contorted in pain. He dropped the gun. “Ow!”

Two riot policemen charged across the room and grabbed him. The hostage fainted.

The siege was over.

“I'll be damned,” the sergeant said.

“Why kill him, when we want to question him and put him on trial?” Supe asked rhetorically. She was plainly reveling in the scene.

The hostage woman recovered and asked to see her savior. “She's a civilian. She'll go public,” Supe said. “We can't have that.”

But the woman was already upon them. “You saved me!” she said to Orion, flinging herself upon him and kissing him. She had a cute face and a full bosom, both of which compelled his attention as they pressed against him.

“Take it,” Pira whispered.

He appreciated the logic: he was a decoy, keeping Pira secret, at least from the public eye. “All in the line of duty, ma-am,” Orion replied smoothly.

“But how did you do it? I saw you look at him; then he dropped the gun.”

“We have a—a device that heated the gun so he couldn't hold on to it. I didn't do it myself; I merely distracted his attention so he didn't know what we were doing. That's not important; what counts is that you are safe.”

“Safe, thanks to you.” She eyed him speculatively. “You're handsome. Are you single?”

Uh-oh. “Not exactly, ma-am. I have to look out for my ward.” He indicated Pira, who arranged to look even younger than usual. “She's a handful.”

“Oh. Still--”

“We're just passing through. We won't be staying here. But it was nice meeting you, ma-am, and we're glad you're safe.”

“This way,” Supe said imperatively, cutting off any further dialogue. They left the pretty woman behind, frustrated.

“Nicely played,” Supe murmured.

“I'm a handful?” Pira demanded.

He put on a mock frown. “You think its fun towing a rebellious child?”

She looked ready to explode, then caught on and laughed.

“You get time off until the next call,” Supe said as they rode back to the warehouse. “You really came through for us. We'll put you up at a fine second rate motel and you can tour the town.”

Second rate, again to avoid public attention. It made sense.

Supe glanced at them shrewdly, and Orion realized that she had picked up on Pira's crush on him, and his need to keep the girl in order. An ability like hers had to be carefully managed. “Have a ball. Or just sack out for a few days.”

“Yeah,” Pira agreed. “The sack.”

“Next time, say you have to visit the ladies' room, not pee,” Orion murmured.

“Supe already told me that.”

Back at the warehouse Four greeted them. “The confirmation came through. She's legit.”

“Now they tell us,” Supe said. Then they all laughed.

In the hotel room, Pira was all a-flurry, now that she could finally relax. “That was great! But it wouldn't have been if I'd had to fry his brains. You fixed it so nobody got hurt.”

“I think that's my job.”

“That, and to keep me from being too much of a girl dog.”

There was an uncomfortable element of truth there. “You did come through, Pira, for the demo and the crisis.”

“The hostage got to kiss you and glue her boobs to you. My turn.” Now that they were alone, her private boldness was back in full force.

He knew better than to deny her that much. He hugged her close and kissed her. “But we don't need to make a habit of this.”

“Damn.” Then she brightened. “But at least I can show you my ass. I'm all cold sweat; I need to take a bath.” She started undressing, and he couldn't object. He was supposed to watch her all the time, and hold her harness when she wasn't wearing it. She got out of it and handed it to him.

“I'd better wash this off too,” he said, dipping a washcloth in the sink and wringing it out. He knew better than to immerse an electronic device in water.

Naked, she bent over to start filling the tub. “Oh—plug it in.”

He stared at her exposed bottom. “What?”

“The harness, silly. I used a lot of power today; it needs recharging.”

“Oh.” He finished wiping it off and found its recharge plug.

“Had you going there, didn't I,” she said, satisfied.

“You're a regular little tease.”

“Right now I'm high on reaction. I'll try to tone it down another day. But you know I really do need you, and not just to handle adults.” She climbed into the tub while it continued to fill.

“I know.”

“If I—if I go too far, get too smart mouthed, just shut me down with a word of reprimand. I'll obey you.”

He considered briefly. “Pira, I think you need to unwind in your own fashion. Part of the reason you're vamping me is that you know I won't take advantage of it.”

“Damn,” she muttered. “He caught on.”

When she finished her bath he wrapped a towel around her and dried her off. Then he stripped and stepped into the same bath. “I'm sweaty too.”

She smiled. “I guess turnabout is fair play. I can't give you your privacy any more than you can give me mine.” She studied his body intently. “But I wish I could make three years pass in an instant. You've got everything I want in a man, and I wish I could have it now.”

“You were looking at my groin.”

“Well, I showed you mine.”

The harness soon recharged and she put it back on. Now they were no longer tethered to the bathroom.

In due course they ordered a room-service supper. Then they watched a sanitary cable show, and he let her hold his hand.

Then, out of nowhere, she dissolved into tears. He put his arms about her and held her close. It was the reaction he had been waiting for, the final surrender to the tensions she had held off all day.

“Thank you,” she murmured into his shoulder.

They did share the bed that night. This was awkward, because they had to travel light; they had no pajamas. He slept in his underpants, she in her panties and T-shirt that descended low enough on her to resemble a nightie. She lay half astride him, pausing to see if he protested. He did not.

“You can put your hand on my ass if you want to,” she said.

“Of course I want to.” But he did not do it. She was so tired that she slept immediately, perhaps not noticing. If she did notice, did she get the message?

But he did put his hand on her back, over the harness. Now he felt something. It was a subtle, odd pulsing, rhythmic but not a heartbeat. What was it? After a moment he realized that it was the harness. It was providing its power to her hands, ready for use at any time. It was like a living thing, a symbiote.

They had survived their first day on the job. They had both performed well. If it continued no worse than this, it should be all right. If only he could be certain of that.

5

Dance

He woke in the morning to find her lying there looking at him. “Hello Pira,” he said.

“Did we do anything last night?”

He knew what she meant. “Not a thing.”

“Damn.” But she looked relieved. No matter how strongly she came on, she didn't really want to transgress the essential boundaries.

“Come on. I have to pee. I mean, visit the ladies' room.”

“Why didn't you do it when you woke?”

“Because the bathroom's over ten feet away, so I shouldn't go there alone, and I didn't want to wake you. You're cute when you sleep.”

Now he remembered: they had taken turns on the pot last night, he while she bathed, she while he bathed, thus staying close enough to each other and the harness. He had been distracted by other things and hadn't really noticed. This was another lost privacy. “Sorry about that,” he said, sitting up and swinging his feet off the bed.

“It's okay. I like looking at you. But you do snore.”

“And you don't?”

“Not as loudly.” She jumped off the bed and scooted around him to reach the bathroom first. She hoisted her nightie and plumped her bottom down on the seat. In a moment he heard the swish of her urination.

When she was done, he took his turn, sitting on the pot.

“Don't you do it standing up? I thought all men did, when they didn't have to poop.”

“Two reasons why not,” he said. “First, it can be messy indoors; a person's aim isn't always perfect at night. I don't want to mess up the seat or the floor. Second, you're watching.”

“So? I saw your penis last night.”

“You didn't see it pissing. That's different. Maybe you have seen the hardware, but the software is more private.”

“Okay. But how about when we're married. Will it be okay for me to see you piss then?”

He remained carefully neutral. “Yes, if you want to.”

“Gee, you didn't say we won't be married.”

“I don't want to argue with you about it. The fact that I don't challenge everything you say doesn't necessarily mean I agree with it.”

“I've got three years to win you over. That should be enough.”

“That and your mature body, when,” he agreed.

In the morning they washed out their used clothing and ran it through the dryer. Orion had only one change of shirt and trousers, and those were readily washable, while Pira had shirt and skirt, plus a single light dress. Even their shoes were feather light. They were limited to what they could carry on a plane in not-too-heavy bags, and they normally remained packed, ready to move in minutes.

They had lunch at a salad bar, sticking to wholesome foods. Pira did not protest, to his surprise; she had been raised healthy and didn't fight it.

They took a walk in the local park, enjoying the flowers and birds. In the afternoon they went to see a movie. As usual, she took his hand in the darkness. She did have some discretion now, and didn't cling in public, which he appreciated.

In the evening they ate in their room, microwaving a frozen entree, with fresh fruit and milk. It was faster, more convenient, healthier, and far more private than eating out.

That night he slept before she did. He woke to discover her hand holding his, not in the ordinary way. She had a firm grasp of his extended middle finger. That was suggestive as hell, but he didn't challenge it. There were worse things she could do with his body while he slept, and he preferred that she not soon discover them. It was bad enough that she was aware of his natural nocturnal erections. At least she had the discretion to pretend to be oblivious.

The second day he tackled something he feared she would resist. “You're in tenth grade. You have summer homework to keep up with.”

“Mom blabbed!”

“She did. Let's get on it while we have free time.”

“It's mostly boring reading. Something French, I think.”

“You haven't looked?”

“Why would I look at it an instant before I had to? It's homework.”

It seemed she was no better student than he had been. But college had provided him a more mature perspective. “We'll read it together. There may be male and female parts we can animate.”

“Gee. Then maybe it won't be so boring.”

“Let's see the book.”

She dug it out. “Cyrano de Bergerac,” he said. “I remember this.”

“So you know it's boring.”

“It's nothing of the kind. It's one great love story. A play, actually.”

“A love story,” she repeated, perking up.

“About a great swordsman with a very long nose, so the woman he loves isn't interested.”

“Is the nose a symbol of his penis?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Too bad.”

Then her cell phone rang. Their next mission was upon them. They scrambled to get in order to travel.

The play would have to wait. But at least he had perhaps piqued her interest.

The assignment was in another state, but Crossed Lasers evidently pulled some strings and within the hour they were on a plane going there. The type of business they had could not wait long. There was no Crossed Lasers unit there; they would be on their own.

Before the day was out they were on a city street where a suicide bomber was holding court of a kind: he demanded that all American troops be pulled out of his native country immediately, or he would blow up the city hall.

“He's an amateur,” the police captain confided quietly to Orion. “A truly committed one wouldn't talk, he'd just march in and detonate. But he's got a real bomb, and it will go off the moment his grip on the hand unit relaxes. We've evacuated the building, but he can still do a lot of damage. We need to defuse that bomb soon.”

“I don't know anything about bombs,” Pira murmured.

Orion took charge. “You have identified its type, of course. Show us a diagram of the wiring.”

They presented a color picture with the key wires marked. “If you can fuse these two, from a distance, it won't go off. But that's the problem: no one can get close enough. Fifty feet, and he'll blow it; he has said so. And if you fuse any other wires, it'll blast instantly. This has to be exactly right.”

Orion looked at Pira. She nodded. She could do it at that range. Probably no other laserist could.

“But that small, that far away, I'll need a few seconds to orient,” she said. “Can you give me that time?”

“I'll see what I can do,” Orion said.

A car dropped them off at the hundred foot perimeter, and they walked to the fifty foot line. There stood the bomber, a disheveled older man with a spring mechanism in his right hand. He was easy to identify, apart from being the only person there; the bomb mechanism surrounded his upper section. It was clear that no one could charge him and disarm it, and neither could a sharpshooter take him out from a distance, because his death would loosen his grip and set it off.

They walked slowly around the fifty foot perimeter, marked on the pavement in chalk. They stopped. “Hellooo!” Orion called.

“Who are you?” the man demanded.

“We are a party of two, come to talk you out of this nonsense,” Orion called. “I'm Orion, and this is my ward Pira.” He actually patted her on the head. She, meanwhile, was focusing her sharp vision on the bomb, and her hands were spreading wide apart. She was orienting on the key wires.

“A civilian and a child?” the bomber said derisively. “You better have the news I want, or I'll blow it right now.”

There was a faint sound as Pira activated her lasers. “Got it,” she whispered.

“You're sure?”

“Yes.”

“I'm sorry, I don't have the news you want,” Orion called. “But I can make you this offer: end your threat, let the bomb deactivator man approach and null the mechanism, and you will be charged with only a misdemeanor, not a felony. You will also save your life.”

“You spawn of Satan!” the man shouted. “I'll show you. I'm doing it now!” and he dropped the detonation mechanism to the ground.

Nothing happened. The man flinched, then stared, evidently not quite believing that he remained alive.

“I'm sorry you did not accept my offer,” Orion said. “You had a bum bomb, but you're still in deep trouble for the threat.” He nodded to the police. “He's all yours.”

The police walked with deliberate speed toward the bomber, seeming not absolutely sure yet that this was not a ruse to get more people in close enough to be bombed.

“A bum bomb!” the man echoed, his shock converting to rage. “Those bastards!”

“You can get back at them,” Orion said. “Give their names to the police, in exchange for leniency.”

Then the police were there, efficiently holding the man and stripping away the bomb. The crisis was over.

Orion and Pira turned and walked away.

Later, in the privacy of the police station, they got the word. “It was a live bomb, all right, and powerful enough to take out the whole building,” the captain said. “If you hadn't fused those wires, it would have detonated. Amazing.”

“But we'll just pretend that the bomb was a dud,” Orion said. “Pira and I want no publicity.”

“No credit?”

“None on the record. Crossed Lasers prefers to operate quietly, so no one knows we're coming. Forget we were here.”

“You got it,” the man said, bemused. Indeed, there was hardly a reference in the local daily newspaper.

“Now Cyrano,” Orion said firmly that evening when they were alone in their hotel room.

“I'd rather watch TV.”

“This first. It's better than TV.”

She frowned, but did not argue further. Soon she was laughing as they got into the “noses” sequence, and then she was crying as the tragedy of Cyrano’s hopeless love came across. “He's such a good swordsman, and so clever. He loves Roxanne so much, but she doesn't know, and he can't tell her, because of his nose.” she said, sniffling. “He even has to help his rival win her.”

“That's what makes it a tragedy.”

“Like the way I love you, and you don't care.”

“Not exactly. I care about you, Pira, as a friend, not as a girlfriend.”

“I'm like a top swordsman, and I'm sensitive, but I look like a child, so you won't touch me.”

“All true.”

“At least I don't have to help a dumb college girl get you.”

“You can see how this story relates to real life,” he said. “There's a bit of Cyrano in many people, and many are hurting. That's what makes it good literature.”

“It would be better if I didn't have to write a damn paper on it.”

“That's part of your tragedy.”

“Oh, pooh!” But by this time she was smiling.

Other assignments followed. Pira was competent to handle them all, and they were largely successful in keeping out of sight, or at least out of public notice. Then came one that was different. It was a dam that was the hostage, with a bomb to be set off by remote control, and only the terrorist knew exactly where the bomb was hidden.

Orion talked with the anonymous Crossed Laser dispatcher. “Listen, she can't defuse a bomb she can't see,” he said.

“But she might defuse the remote control,” the man responded.

“So might anyone else. Why her?”

“Because she's a child.”

“Come again?”

“The bomber is a grandfather type who likes children. He'll let a child come close, but not an adult.”

“Let us consider.” He turned to Pira. “You want to be a child?”

“I want to be a woman.”

“Put her on,” the dispatcher said.

Orion handed the cell phone to Pira. “What is it? A pedophile?” she demanded, then listened. After a moment she returned the phone to Orion. “I'll do it.”

Thus it was settled, to his surprise, and they were soon on the plane to the new location. “What did he say?” he asked.

“Not a pedophile. I can handle it.” She glanced obliquely at him. “But I'm always a woman to you.”

He did not argue the case. “We've got a couple hours on this flight. Time for your studies.”

“Oh, beans!” But she seemed resigned, and not really displeased. She had been learning the nuances of literature, and was coming to appreciate them. “What is it this time?”

“The curriculum says early 20th century British poetry. You have to select a poem and analyze it.”

“Oh, double beans! I hate poetry.”

His eye skimmed down the list of prospects. “What about this one? 'Among School Children' by the Irish poet William Butler Yeats. Maybe that will help you get in the mood to be a schoolchild for the bomber.”

She opened her mouth to protest, then reconsidered. “Maybe it will. Let's see it.”

“First the background note. It seems the poet as a man of 60 saw children in a schoolyard and was reminded of a story told him in the past, by a loved and beautiful woman, of something that had happened to her as a child. He tried then to see her as she had been as a child: did she look like one of these? He succeeded, and it was as if she was that child standing before him. But he also sees her as old as he is, and in the poem he transitions between these ages.”

“Let's just get to the poem,” she said impatiently. “Read it to me.”

“'I walk through the long schoolroom questioning:/ A kind of old nun in a white hood replies;/ The children learn to cipher and to sing,/ To study reading books and history...'” He continued, and the poem did not seem to relate to her interest well until the conclusion. “O chestnut tree, great rooted blossomer;/ Are you the leaf, the blossom or the bole?/ O body swayed to music, O brightening glance,/ How can we know the dancer from the dance?'”

They went over it again, discussing its aspects, and gradually the meaning clarified. “It's so hard to know what is real,” Pira said. “Is she old or young, or both together? Does the dancer make the dance, or the dance the dancer? He really was thinking it through.”

“He really was,” Orion agreed, realizing that Pira herself had issues of age and appearance, so was picking up on it here.

Then the plane was descending for its landing, interrupting their dialogue. The time had passed in an instant, perhaps fittingly.

Pira covered his hand with hers. “You're right; there are good things in old poems.”

He was glad to agree. “There are.”

They were soon at the key site. “The bomber's in that cottage,” the local police chief said, indicating the location of a map. “We don't know exactly what he wants, but we know he has set the bomb. We have to stop him somehow; hundreds of lives could be lost if that dam is breached, not to mention property destruction.”

“We'll do what we can,” Orion promised.

“One thing: you won't be able to get close to him, being grown. He's a hermit, and doesn't trust any adult. But he does like children.”

“Children,” Orion repeated guardedly.

“He's no pervert. He's more like a grandfather. Name's Bill Butler. So the girl will be able to get close, and that's what counts.”

Orion was not entirely easy with this, but kept his mouth shut. Pira had been chosen less for her laser ability than for her youth?

But when they were outside, Pira said it: “He'll trust me, so I'm the one to mess him up?”

“Maybe you can talk him out of it.”

“I'll sure try.”

The cottage was on a slope part way below the caldera that was the giant dam. There was no road to it, just a winding path. “Look! Beavers!” Pira exclaimed, looking to the side where the beaver dam and pool were.

“Not for much longer,” Orion said. “That stream is almost out of water.”

They approached the cottage. “Halloo!” Orion called.

The door opened. A bent old man stood there, his head almost bald but his beard still full. “What do you want?” His whole attitude was hostile.

“My ward and I need to talk with you, Mr. Butler,” Orion said, indicating Pira.

“About the damn dam?”

“Yes.”

The man assessed the situation. “She can come in. Not you.”

“No,” Orion said. “She stays with me.”

“Then go away.”

Pira stepped forward. “Please.”

She had a visible impact. Butler did like children, and she was a fetching one. “Why?”

She glanced at Orion. “May I tell him?”

Should she? He made a risky decision. “Yes. Tell him the truth.”

“Mr. Butler, my name's Pira. I'm the one sent to stop you from blowing up the dam. I've got lasers. But I wish you'd let me talk to you.”

“Why?”

“Because you remind me of William Butler Yeats.”

Butler laughed. “That's because of my name, William Butler. But you can call me Bill.”

“Maybe,” Pira agreed. “I only know one poem of his, and that he was an old man who liked children.”

“And for that you want to come talk with me like a friend?”

She was abashed. “Yes. I'm sorry.”

“Okay, Pira. Come sit with me here by the house. But your guardian stays back.”

“Even if he promises not to mess with you?”

Butler considered again. “Do you trust him?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” He was clearly moved by her cuteness. “Come into the house, both of you, and we'll talk.”

“Wait,” Orion said. “You're forgetting that we're here to stop you.”

“I'm forgetting nothing. You can't stop me.”

“We surely can,” Orion said. “I don't want to approach you on false pretenses.”

“How?”

“May we demonstrate?”

“Sure.”

Pira spread her hands. A pine cone on the ground exploded into smoke and debris. “It's lasers,” she explained. “Where I cross the beams.”

“You must have a way to signal your bomb at the dam,” Orion said. “Pira can melt the connection.”

“That's impressive,” Butler said. “But it won't work. It's a cell phone. When I punch the keyed in number, the dam will blow. If the phone melts, the damn will blow; that's the default. If you can even find the phone.”

“He's right,” Pira said to Orion. “I need to see it to melt it. And I don't dare melt it anyway.”

“Then we are at an impasse,” Orion said. “Maybe we can negotiate.”

“Easy to do,” Butler said. “All I want is to save the beavers and the other creatures that depend on them. They’re a keystone species, you know; if they're okay, the whole local animal and plant community is okay. But now they’re being starved for water. Come in; sit down.” He seemed positively affable, now that they had agreed to talk.

They entered the cottage and sat in the main room. “We saw the beavers,” Pira said. “They're nice.”

“They certainly are,” Butler agreed. “But the damn dam is stealing all their water, and they'll have to move or die. That's the tragedy of it. Sure the mucky mucks want to generate power from the dam; I understand that. But can't they spare a little for the beavers who were here first?”

Pira turned to Orion. “Please.”

“There may be a way,” he said, focusing. “Don't big dams have spillways, to stop them from overflowing in rainstorms?”

“They do,” Butler said.

“And wouldn't some water from a spillway be enough for the beavers?”

“It should.”

“Let me see what I can do.” Orion dialed his local police contact.

“Yeah?”

“Orion Ordovan, currently in negotiation with William Butler. If we can save the beavers, he'll let the dam be. Release enough water via the spillways so that the beavers have their stream back. It may take the dam longer to fill, but at least there'll be a dam.”

“That's it?” the sergeant asked as if smelling a joke.

“That's it. Do it now.”

“It'll take a bit.”

“We'll wait.”

“They'll do it?” Butler asked.

“If they don't, the dam is yours. That's our deal.”

Butler pulsed his lips appreciatively. “We'll see.”

“The poem is “Among School Children,” Pira said. “Do you know it?”

“Oh my yes. How can we know the dancer from the dance?” He glanced at her. “Can you do the dance?”

“I guess.” She got up and twirled on her toes so that her skirt flung out.

“That's it. What do you know about that poem?”

“Only how Mr. Yeats saw school children, and it reminded him, and he could see all the different ages of a woman when he looked at her. Or all the ages of a tree when he looked at it. So he wrote the poem.”

“He did indeed. He wrote many poems. I was teased mercilessly in school because of my name, so I made a study of Yeats and read all his poems. They range from love to total obscurity.”

“Love?” Pira asked, her interest sparking.

“Have you heard the song 'The Sally Gardens?' He wrote the original poem it was made from.”

“A love poem?”

“A beautiful one. They meet at the Sally Gardens, her with her little snow white feet. She bids him take love easy, as the leaves grow on the tree, but he is young and foolish and does not agree. Now he is full of grief.”

“That's so sad.”

“It is. He should have heeded her warning.”

“What's your favorite one?” She was really getting into it.

“'Crazy Jane Talks with the Bishop.'”

“That's a poem?”

“It is.” Butler fetched a book, opened it, and read the poem aloud.

Orion was astonished. It told how old Jane met the Bishop on the road and talked with him, hitting him with truths he surely was not keen to hear, telling him that fair and foul were near of kin. “A woman can be proud and stiff/ When on love intent;/ But Love has pitched his mansion in/ The place of excrement...”

Pira's eyes were round. “Wow.”

“It takes some time to understand Yeats,” Butler said. “But it's well worth it.”

Then there was a sound, a sort of rushing. Orion looked up in alarm.

“The water!” Butler exclaimed. “They let it flow!”

“The beavers will be okay!” Pira said gladly.

“Yes.” Then an odd expression crossed the old man's face. “Pira, I want you to have this book; I know you'll appreciate it.”

“Oh, I couldn't--”

“I will have no further use for it.” She went to him, and he set the book in her hands. “And this,” he said, giving her also a cell phone.

Then he smiled, leaned back in his chair, and became very still.

Orion jumped up. “He's dead!”

“Oh!” Her eyes were filling with tears.

They gazed at the man. Orion realized that attempting heroic methods to revive him was pointless; Butler had departed in a manner of his own choosing. He had saved the beavers, and relinquished control of the dam.

“We'll tell the others,” Orion said heavily.

They had accomplished their mission, albeit not in quite the manner they had anticipated and not with light hearts. They had time off, but neither was in a festive mood. They just stayed in their hotel room and quietly suffered. They had known Bill Butler only briefly, but he had become a friend.

“That song,” Pira said. “Can you sing it?”

Orion looked up the music and sang it for her. Tears ran down her face. “I love it! Sing it again.”

He sang it again, and saw her acting out the role of the sensible love whose wise words were not heeded. She was really into it.

“I'm like that man in the song,” she concluded. “You keep giving me good advice, and I don't pay much attention.”

“You're young and foolish,” he agreed with a smile.

“I'll do better, Orion! Honest I will!” She returned to the book.

Orion saw an ad for a dance in a neighboring town, Scotland Heights. It seemed it had been settled by Scots, generations ago, and maintained some of their traditions, such as difficult fast-stepping dancing. They had a weekly dance that was open to the public, with spot dancing competitions. It had become a tourist attraction.

They needed something to snap them both out of their depression. “There's a dance,” he said. “Why don't we go?”

Pira hardly heard him; she was still locked in the book Butler had given her, the collected poetry of William Butler Yeats. “Love has pitched his mansion,” she read. “In the place of excrement. What does that mean?”

He had to tackle it if he was ever to get her attention for anything else. “The ultimate expression of love is considered to be sex,” he said. “It's even called 'making love.' That means penis in vagina, and the vagina is right between the urinary and the defecatory apertures.”

“Oh, come on! We're alone now. It's that fucking is right between pissing and shitting. Now I get it. What a place for love!”

“What a place,” he agreed wryly. “It's no better with the man; he uses the same penis to piss and fuck. But please don't use gutter terms; it's unladylike, and it demeans the sentiment.”

“I'm sorry.” She seemed genuinely contrite.

“Regardless, Crazy Jane certainly smacked the Bishop with some home truths.”

“Oh, he deserved it.”

Orion decided to let that pass. “Can we change the subject?”

“You said something about a dance?”

At least it had snapped them out of grief. “Yes. There's a local dance. I thought we might go.”

“I can't do that! I've never been to a dance.”

“Why not? You twirled well enough for Bill Butler.”

“That's different. I was alone. I'm too small for a real dance. I'd have to dance with a boy five years younger than I am. Ugh!”

“You could dance with me.”

“And get my head caught in your armpit while people laugh? Some dance!”

“Pira, any two people can dance together, if they know what they are doing.”

She glanced at him in the sidelong way she had. “You actually want to dance with me?”

This might be mischief, but perhaps the risk was worth it. “Yes.”

“You're just teasing me.”

“When you come of age and want to fascinate me, you will have to dance. It's a form of courtship.”

“Oh, you fight dirty!” But she got to her feet, ready to dance.

“I think you know the basic motions,” he said, joining her. “The box step, the traditional swing, the patterns.”

“Oh, sure. I've danced by myself all the time.”

He took her hand and put his arm around her back, as her waist was difficult to reach comfortably. They stepped together. She did know it, and they meshed nicely. “Can you twirl as part of this?”

She twirled. “But I'd rather have you holding me close.”

“We already sleep embraced.”

“Not the same. You never touch me, you just sleep. What's so great about a dance anyway?”

“Well, the hidden point of dancing is to make the girls look petite, adorable, and innocently sexy.”

Her interest quickened. “I can try that.”

It was clear that they could do it. “So let's go to the dance.”

She hesitated. “Will you promise to have me dance only with you?”

There was her fear of public exposure, alone. “Yes.”

Her commitment increased. “Let's do it.”

Orion called, and got information on the dance and the admission charge. It was done in the traditional costume of blouse, skirt, white gloves and slippers for the woman, dark clothing for the man. Their authorities observed the dancers and invited the better ones to contest separately. There was no prize, only applause. It was low key.

“That seems good for us,” Orion said. “Oh—are there any age limits or other cautions?”

There turned out to be only one caution: any couple selected to compete had to do the traditional dance, with its tricky stepping, plus one original element. They would be judged on both.

“That shouldn't be a problem for us,” Orion said. “We won't be competing.” He ended the call.

“Problem?” Pira asked.

“Competitors have to do the traditional dance with the fancy stepping, plus one original element. We won't be into that. We're just going there to have a good time.”

“Yeah,” she agreed dreamily. “It's the only way I can get you to hold me.”

“Now let's see about getting appropriate dance clothing. And we'd better practice that step. I understand it can be difficult for non Scots.”

“But not for us.”

“We'll practice it anyway.”

“I'll practice it all day and night, while you're holding me.”

“Pira--”

“I know, I know. If I had a body I'd be dangerous. Can I have a tiara for my hair so it won't get all messed up?”

They shopped. They dressed. They practiced. Pira's superior coordination enabled her to catch on rapidly.

Next day they went to the dance. Pira clung close to him, as she did in public, but he knew she would relax once the setting became familiar.

A Scot in a tartan greeted them at the door. “I called yesterday,” Orion said. “We're not professionals; we just want to relax. We won't be a dancing with anyone else, just each other.”

“You and the child,” the man agreed affably. “Daughter?”

“Ward.”

“Have a ball. The punch is spiked, but you can get an alternate if you ask for it.”

“Thank you.”

“Do I get to drink the spiked punch?” Pira asked hopefully.

“No. We'll both abstain.”

“Awww,” she said, exactly like the child she looked.

“If something came up unexpectedly,” he tapped her hand to indicate the laser capacity, “and you were sloshed...”

She was instantly serious. “Point made.” Because of course she wore the harness under the long-sleeved blouse; her lasers were always ready. They were never off duty in that sense.

There were a number of couples in the ballroom, each garbed in the traditional manner, just as the two of them were. Orion could feel Pira relaxing. She was anonymous, apart from being the youngest participant there.

The music started, played live, including bagpipes. The couples danced. So did Orion and Pira. He felt her remaining stiffness melting as they got into it. This was easy and it was fun. Soon she was doing the fancier moves, and twirling. She was lovely in her animation. O body swayed to music...

In due course there was a break. “We will now have the contest,” the tartan man announced. He walked among the couples, selecting some.

And he selected Orion and Pira. “We thought perhaps you would be taking baby steps,” he murmured. “Clearly we were wrong. You dance well.”

“Oh,” Pira said, taken aback.

“We did not come to compete,” Orion said hastily. “Just to relax.”

“As came we all,” Tartan agreed, and moved on.

They looked at each other. “Are we up to this?” Orion asked her. He meant her, because this would be a more public exposure.

“Oh, let's do it.”

“But we'd need an original element. We don't have one.”

She considered briefly. “I've got an idea. We could do it, but I don't think anyone else here could, so it must be original.”

“What is it?”

She told him.

“You're sure?” he asked uncertainly. “I mean, your harness could handle it?”

“Yes. It's tough.”

“Okay, then.”

When their turn came, Orion requested the melody of “Down by the Sally Gardens,” knowing that would thrill Pira.

There was confusion. “We don't know that one,” Tartan said.

“The words are by William Butler Yeats, which were set beautifully to music. Suppose I sing it for you, so that your musicians can pick up on the melody? Then they can play that music for our dance.”

“This is unorthodox, but let's try. We do appreciate Yeats.”

So Orion stood and sang. “Down by the Sally Gardens, my love and I did meet.” Pira had walked away some distance, but as he sang she walked toward him. “She passed the Sally Gardens with little snow-white feet.” Her white slippers flashed in the spotlight. “She bid me take love easy, as the leaves grow on the tree.” She faced him and pantomimed earnest dialogue. “But I, being young and foolish, with her would not agree.” She looked disappointed. In her joy of the occasion, she had become a consummate little actress.

Now they stood side by side, facing the audience. “In a field by a river my love and I did stand.” They looked together across the river, which was a sea of faces: the audience converted. “And on my leaning shoulder, she laid her snow white hand.” Pira laid her gloved hand on his shoulder, looking earnestly at him. “She bid me take life easy, as the grass grows on the weirs. But I was young and foolish, and now am full of tears.” He bowed his head in grief, remembering William Butler, who had introduced them to this song. Pira looked sad too.

It was not supposed to be the occasion for it, but the audience broke into applause. Some of the women were wiping away tears. The song was evocative, and Pira had played her role perfectly. She was the sensible love who had tried to caution him about his impetuosity.

The musicians played the melody, now having it straight. Orion and Pira faced each other, then did the dance. This time the spotlight was on them, and Pira seemed to glow as she moved and twirled, and her tiara reflected light like a halo. Now he saw her in all her ages, as she had been when they first met and pulled dandelions, as she was now, and as she would be when she bloomed. Are you the leaf, the blossom or the bole? She was all of them, and he embraced them all.

She caught his eye, and smiled. O brightening glance...

And loved them all.

Then they came to their improvised finale. They gravely linked elbows, his right hooking her left, and put their free hands on their hips. Then, doing the intricate step, Orion swept her forward. Her feet left the floor, still doing the step, and she swung by her elbow, her right hand on her hip. Faster and higher she swung, until she was almost parallel to the floor, her feet still dancing. She was so small and light she was able to do it; few if any other dancers could. Again there was applause.

He slowed, letting her down gently. Her moving feet touched the floor, still dancing, matching his own footwork. They had done it.

Pira was breathing hard, still glowing. She loved this, for multiple reasons. How could he blame her? He loved it too.

He picked her up and hugged her close. He had never told her he loved her, but he knew he was getting there. He did not plan to say it now, dreading the complications, but she knew; her glad smile signaled it. She kissed his ear.

They won first place, probably more for originality than for expertise. There was no prize, merely applause. That was more than sufficient.

That night in the hotel they both remained charged up by the experience. “I did it!” Pira said. “I danced in public and I didn't mess up.”

“Indeed you didn't,” he agreed. “You were perfect. The dancer and the dance.”

“We were perfect,” she said. “I loved the way you sang it for them.”

“I loved the way you danced. I couldn't help loving you, then.” He had finally said it openly. He knew this had been coming on for some time, but it was good to let it flow.

They hugged each other again when they retired, and kissed fervently. “I love you, Orion,” she whispered.

“I love you, Pira,” he whispered back.

“Are we going to do it?”

“We shouldn't.” Both of them were breathing hard, flushed.

Then they were naked on the bed, and his state was apparent. Pira evinced no concern. She spread her legs wide. “I know it'll hurt the first time, but I'm ready.”

He hesitated. “I don't want to hurt you.”

She drew him in toward her. “I'm ready,” she repeated.

He positioned himself, knowing that he couldn't stop now. He kissed her again, repeatedly, as his hot groin sought hers.

“Tell me—tell me to say no,” she gasped.

He obeyed. “Say no.”

“No.”

He paused. “No?”

“No.” Her tears formed. “Oh Orion, I want to say yes! I want to so much! But it's no.”

He drew back. “Why? I thought you wanted this all along.”

“I did. I do. But it's not time yet.” The tears were flooding now. “Oh Orion, hold me tight!”

He held her tight, his urgency between them but not inside her. “To wait until it's legal?”

“That too.”

“The body,” he said, understanding. She wanted to have the woman's body, for their first occasion, rather than the child's body. To be all that she could be, for him.

“Are you mad at me?”

“Oh, no, Pira, no! I was going wrong, but you did the right thing.”

“I hope so. I don't really know what's right, and don't much care. I just think it's better to wait.”

He drew back. “You're right. Let me get my pants back on.”

“No! Let's stay naked. I love feeling you against me like this.”

With his sexual interest rampant? “But Pira--”

“Please.”

“But the temptation--”

“It's our compromise. Love has pitched his mansion. Everything but the last thing.”

He saw it. “All but the last thing,” he agreed.

“I've got the place of excrement, but not the mansion, yet. That's not enough.”

“You don't want it to be without the mansion.” She wanted the balance of the good with the bad, as she saw it.

“Yes! It will be a wonderful mansion.”

He remembered her mother's form. “I know.”

“We don't want to be young and foolish.”

“Or full of grief,” he agreed, kissing her. She was still a child, technically, but she was already becoming a woman.

And so they slept together, aroused, naked, and clasped. Without sex.

It required phenomenal discipline on his part, but somehow that seemed better than the completion might have been.

6

Acorn

The next call came, and the next. They handled them all, staying mostly anonymous as far as the public was concerned. It was really better that the bad guys not know how their weapons could be quietly nullified from a distance; they were not on guard against that.

A year passed. They were allowed to return home for a week's “vacation,” though they were still on call. Pira kissed Orion passionately in the car, then jumped out and ran gladly to her mother's arms. He smiled, and drove to his own home. They had agreed to be apart this week, both feeling that such a break could be instructive. “You can date some real girls,” Pira had teased him. “And maybe do the last thing with them.”

“The place of excrement,” he agreed, making a wry face.

“Make them wash it first.”

And lo, next day a former college girlfriend called. She was Tina, smart, pretty, educated, motivated, and clearly quite ready to take it to the next level. She had her own apartment, where he visited her; there would be no barriers.

“You were the best of my passing boyfriends,” she said candidly, tossing her blond tresses in the way he remembered. “Now I'm looking to settle down.”

“I—have a job now,” he said.

“That you can't talk about,” she agreed. “I've heard the rumors. Must be important. Like being a secret agent.”

He smiled. “Maybe.”

She stretched, showing off her figure. “Are you on the social market?”

“Not really.”

She frowned; that evidently was not the response she had been fishing for. “Tell me about Pira.”

Caught by surprise, he answered before he thought. “I love her.”

Tina nodded. “So she's the one. Sex?”

“She's a child!”

“Who will soon be a woman. Sixteen is not considered childhood.”

“No sex,” he said tightly.

“I'd marry you in a moment, Orion, but it's clear you're taken. I wish you the best. But if you're interested in a passing dalliance for old times...” Her eyes flicked toward the bedroom.

Would he be smarter to take her up on it? He wasn't sure. Pira had given him leave, in her fashion, but did he really want to?

“Answer enough,” she said, reading his hesitation.

The date continued, but the promise of it was gone. He regretted that, in a manner; Tina was completely worthy, and he should have given her more of a chance.

Next day he went to see Pira; he couldn't stay away. “She's in the tub,” Manta said. She was as beautiful as ever. “I'm sure she'd welcome you if you cared to join her there.”

“She would,” he agreed. “We've had joint baths before.”

“Mercilessly teasing each other. She'll be out soon. Meanwhile we can chat.”

“Okay.” He wasn't sure what she had in mind.

“Pira's grown a magnitude in a year. They gave her a standardized test and she passed it without effort. She can discourse on math, literature, and all day on William Butler Yeats, and she's not nearly so shy as she was. So she has passed 11th grade in fine form. You have been phenomenally good for her.”

“She applies herself,”

“As if you had nothing to do with it.” She glanced at him obliquely, just as Pira did. “She tells me that you're in love, that you sleep naked and embraced, but that you haven't touched her, so to speak.”

“She's right.” He sighed. “You said that when she bloomed she would govern me. She already does.”

“In that case, who is declining the sex?”

“She wants to wait.”

“She wants to wait?”

“She wants to bloom first. To have the body.”

“And to be legal?”

“That too, maybe.” That echoed their own discussion of the matter. “At any rate, it's her decision. She governs.”

Manta shook her head. “You govern each other,” she concluded.

“That seems to be the case.”

Pira appeared. “Orion!” she cried, flinging herself into his arms. “I missed you so bad!”

He kissed her. “What, not your parents?”

“Oh, you know what I mean.”

“After one day apart,” Manta said, bemused.

“He's my better half.”

“So it seems.”

Pira kissed his ear as he set her down. “Let's go on a date.”

He made a mock frown. “What, and hold hands in public? What will people say?”

“They'll be jealous.” She grabbed his hand.

Manta shook her head. “I never saw two people so in love before, and it's not even time.”

“We're breaking rules,” Pira agreed happily.

But they agreed to separate again. It did seem to lend perspective to their relationship.

The next call came as their week ended. “Washington!” Orion said. “Surely the president isn't holding Congress hostage.”

Soon they were on the plane. Whatever protocols there were had been waived; there were no delays, no waiting in offices, no chains of command. They met privately with the third assistant to the secretary of state. “We are in a situation,” he said solemnly.

“Not a local hostage situation?” Orion asked, bemused. This meeting was totally unlike the quiet orders that had directed them before. Pira had retreated to shy silence, as she usually did when in public.

“Not exactly. We are in delicate private negotiations for a complicated international trade agreement that we would very much like to achieve.”

Orion spread his hands. “This is not our area of expertise. We just do what we're told.”

The man smiled. “And are doing it very well, I am told. You have saved a number of lives, and spared our country much awkwardness, while seeking no public credit.”

“That's our job.”

“We have done our best to keep Crossed Lasers out of the news. But it seems there has been a leak. There is a request for the Little Fish.”

Pira looked up. “Me?”

“You,” the man agreed. “The piranha. They have given us to understand that negotiations will be significantly advanced if the two of you go to South America for two days. The deal we are working on is potentially worth billions. We are obliged to humor them in this if we can.”

“What do they want of us?” Orion asked.

“They won't say. It is surely not inimical; they are a friendly nation. They may simply want to question you about Crossed Lasers, which they clearly know about. They promise no publicity. But they definitely want you there.”

“Maybe they want to set up their own laser facility,” Orion said.

“Quite possibly. Other nations are doing so. Maybe they are simply fans. There is still no other Number One in the world.” He glanced at Pira. “You are famous, in a classified manner.”

“Why don't you just send us there?” Orion asked. “We've never been asked before to agree or disagree to a mission. We simply go and do what we can.”

“Because you will in your fashion become American envoys. We want to be sure you make no inadvertent errors of protocol that might torpedo the deal.”

“You don't want us to fuck it up,” Pira said.

He looked startled by her term, taking her for the child she appeared to be, but agreed. “That is the essence.”

Orion glanced at Pira, who nodded faintly. “We'll do our best.”

They were treated to a rapid course on international manners and sent on their way. There were no dignitaries at the other end, no ceremony, no explanation. They were quietly met and hustled into a limousine that took them swiftly to they knew not where. They arrived not at a hotel but in a wing of what looked like a prison. And to a lone prisoner.

“All this hullabaloo about getting our visit, and no welcoming party?” Pira asked quietly. “What's wrong with this picture?”

“They surely have reason.” But he wondered too. Something odd was afoot.

The prisoner was a bedraggled boy who appeared to be no older than Pira, which meant he was probably younger. He sat hunched in a corner of his barred cell, not looking at them. They were here to meet this?

Yet there was something about him. “Hello,” Orion called.

The boy flinched and hid his face.

“He's been abused,” Orion murmured. “I think this is your play.”

“My way,” she said. “Guard—the key.”

The man who had brought them here had faded into the background, but now he stepped forward and gave her a key. She took it and unlocked the gate. She entered the cell, startling the guard. Orion let her, knowing she could take care of herself.

She went to the boy. “Hello,” she said.

He looked up at her, not responding.

“You're lonely and unhappy,” she said. “I will help you.”

He did not move. It occurred to Orion that the boy did not know her language.

She got down beside him, leaning back against the wall. She took his hand.

His eyes widened. He turned to her.

“Yes, I am one,” she said. “I know about being outcast and lonely.”

It was surely her tone and manner more than the words, but the message got through. He turned into her, put his face against her shoulder, and sobbed. She held him as well as she could, patting his back, comforting him. They remained that way for some time.

Finally it passed. The boy drew back and gazed at her.

“I am Piranha, the little fish,” she said. “Who are you?”

He said something in his language that sounded vaguely like Acorn.

“Acorn, I will play a game with you,” she said. “Stand up.” She clarified her words by standing up herself.

He copied her and stood facing her.

“Put your hands out, like this,” she said, holding hers out, palms down.

She was going to play hot hands with him!

Acorn held out his hands, and she put hers palm up beneath them. “Ready?”

He seemed to understand.

She flicked her right hand around and over, slapping at his left with blinding speed. And missed.

“Your turn,” she said, turning her hands over.

He put his hands under hers. Then both his hands moved, slapping at hers. And missed.

He stared. Then he smiled.

“Now we are friends,” she said. “Orion!” she called over her shoulder.

Orion entered the cell. The boy watched him nervously, so he moved slowly.

“Acorn, this is my friend Orion,” Pira said, nodding to him. “Orion, this is my friend Acorn.”

Acorn stood there blankly.

“Friends,” she said. She stepped forward and hugged Acorn. Then she let him go and went to Orion, and hugged him.

“Friends,” Acorn repeated, catching on.

But there was something else. “Cameras,” Orion whispered in Pira's ear as they separated. She nodded faintly, understanding that they were being observed and recorded.

Orion took the initiative. “You look hungry,” he said to Acorn. “Hungry.” He rubbed his stomach.

“Hungry,” the boy agreed, rubbing his own tummy.

“Guard,” Orion called. “Bring some food.”

“He won't eat,” the guard replied.

“Ah.” Orion pondered a moment. “You must have tried to feed him the wrong kind. He's Indian, by the look of him. Do you have cornbread? Fish? Whatever it is the Indians eat.”

The guard departed. “Acorn is as fast as I am,” Pira said. “You know what that means.”

“Crossed Lasers! The potential.”

“That's why they wanted me. They knew I could relate. He's like living gold: enormously valuable to them, if they can just get him into it. I don't think he likes them, though.”

The guard returned with a loaf of cornbread and a roasted fish on a platter. Pira took it and presented it to the boy.

Acorn grabbed it and took a bite of the bread. Yes he was hungry! In moments he had eaten all the bread and the fish, bones and all.

While the boy ate, Orion approached the guard. “What's the story here? Why do you have this native boy in prison? You know he's special.”

“There was a fire. His village got burned out, his family killed. We managed to rescue him alone. There was no safe place to keep him but a wing of the prison.”

Orion pondered that. It was entirely too pat. The one person to survive was the one they wanted for Crossed Lasers? More likely they had spotted Acorn's potential, been unable to recruit him from his family, so had deliberately torched his village to cover the raid that abducted him and wiped out his family. Latin American politics could be deadly, particularly with respect to Indians. Naturally they hadn't said anything to Orion and Pira, and made sure there were no officials in the know present. But what could he say? He could not recover Acorn's family. It seemed better to let it be, much as that griped him. They would surely take good care of the boy, once that potential was harnessed.

Pira and Orion had established relations with Acorn in a way the local government could not. Soon they were teaching Acorn a few words of English, a language he did not know.

“We need more,” Pira decided. “We have only two days and this may get complicated. We have to get better dialogue.”

“Flash cards.”

She nodded. “Maybe that will do it.”

Orion faced the guard. “We need a set of flash cards, the kind they use for retarded children. Pictures of things, with words.”

The man disappeared. During his absence Orion whispered “ugly background.” He could not risk saying more, because of the surveillance cameras. But Pira's lips thinned. She got the message.

Soon the man returned with a set of cards. Probably the surveillance cameras endorsed the request; the hidden authorities wanted this as much as Orion and Pira did. They were in Portuguese, but that didn't matter for this purpose.

“Ideal,” Pira said. She picked up a card with a standardized picture of a man and held it for acorn to see. “Man,” she said, ignoring the printed word.

“Man,” Acorn echoed.

She indicated Orion. “Man.”

The boy nodded. He got it.

She got another. “Woman.”

“Woman.”

Another.“Girl.”

“Girl.”

She pointed to herself, and waited.

“Girl,” Acorn said.

She got another. “Boy.”

“Boy.” Acorn smiled. He pointed to himself. “Boy.”

“You got it!” she exclaimed, and kissed him on the cheek. Plainly he liked that. Pira was, as it turned out, an effective teacher. She understood motivation as well as substance.

They went over other words, establishing the basics. They had rudimentary communication.

Now Pira tackled a new aspect. “Get us better fish pictures,” she told Orion. “Not generic; I want types, including piranha.”

Orion explained to the guard, who in due course fetched more specific fish pictures.

Pira found the one she wanted. “Piranha,” she said.

“Piranha!” he agreed. He recognized that fish; it was probably a danger in the jungle where he must have lived. Then he looked at her, confused. Orion was perplexed too; where was she going with this?

“Yes, that is my name,” she said. “The Little Fish.”

He made a gesture as of pulling his leg from water. He said a word that might have meant Danger. He made exaggerated biting motions.

“The piranha bites,” Pira agreed. “So do I.”

Acorn was understandably confused.

Pira gestured to his bare foot, and made a bite in the air.

Acorn jerked back his leg. She had lasered him!

She gestured to his hand, air biting again. He jerked it back.

“I can bite at a distance,” she explained. Then she used cards and gestures to clarify what she could do, concluding with a flash card on the floor which burst into flames. It did not take him long to get the essence.

“Now we will take a walk outside, and I will show you more.”

Orion spoke to the guard. “Take us outside. To a park. No people.”

The guard led them through a labyrinth of passages to a private park.

Acorn gazed at it with longing. Yes, he was a forest boy.

“We will walk,” Pira said. She glanced at the guard. “Alone.”

The man balked. “No.”

“Do you not understand?” Orion asked him. “We are not running away. We merely want private time with the boy. A walk in the park alone. Is this not reasonable?”

But the man stood his ground. “No.”

“You'll have to encourage him,” Orion told her.

Pira nudged Acorn in a conspiratorial manner. “Watch,” she murmured.

“Return to the prison,” Orion told the man. “We will rejoin you there shortly.”

The man stood, going nowhere.

“Do it,” Orion said to Pira.

The guard suddenly jumped up. “Yow!” She had given him a hotfoot.

Acorn laughed. “Piranha!” he said, making a biting gesture.

“Now let us be,” Orion told the man. “Your superiors will agree. You won't get in trouble. Don't make the little fish bite you again.”

The man retreated, returning to the building.

They walked through the park. “Cameras?” Pira asked.

“Not here,” Orion said. “We surprised them by coming out here.”

“Good.” She turned to Acorn. “Watch.”

“Watch,” he agreed.

He watched as she oriented on dry leaves at the base of a tree. “See my hands,” she said. She held them up close to his face, so he could see the veined gloves. Then she slowly aimed them at the leaves.

The leaves burst into flame.

“Piranha!” he said, understanding the power if not the technology. To him it probably seemed like magic, but it was clear that she controlled it.

“Yes. There are beams. Where they cross, boom!” She aimed her hands again, slowly, so that they faced the tree. She angled them, and it was almost possible to see the invisible beams reaching out. The two beams intersected, and there was more fire.

“Two beams,” Acorn said, getting it. He was plainly amazed.

“Take off your shirt.”

He looked at her in alarm. “Burn—no—please.”

“No burn,” she agreed, removing her own shirt.

“Pira, what are you doing?” Orion asked, alarmed.

“I'm going to have him use the harness,” she said. “So he knows exactly what it's all about.”

He was horrified. “But--”

“Trust me.”

Orion raised his hands in surrender. This was a side of her he had not seen before.

Pira removed her harness, then put it on Acorn, who was of similar size. Then she touched his hands, using a code to activate the power. “Careful,” she told the boy.

“Careful,” he agreed, frightened but fascinated.

“Aim at the leaves.” She pointed to another small pile near the first.

With extreme care, Acorn angled his hands until the invisible beams collided. Leaves scorched. He was doing it! He looked as if God had infused him.

“Enough.” Pira deactivated the harness and took it off him. Orion was relieved to see her back in it herself. They both put their shirts back on.

“I hope that's it,” Orion said, feeling weak in the knees.

“Now he knows what we offer.”

“Does he?”

Pira faced the boy. “Acorn, you can be like me. You can have your own harness. You will have to go for training, but then you will have this power. Do you understand?”

“Merica,” he said, repeating what he had heard of the word. “I go Merica. Be a little fish.”

He understood.

They walked back to the prison. The guard was waiting by the door. He said nothing, merely turned to lead them back to the cell. It seemed he had gotten the word from above. What the visitors wanted, they got.

Pira got on her cell phone. In a moment she smiled. “Crossed Lasers will take him, on my say-so.”

“We will take Acorn back with us,” Orion informed the guard.

But now the home authorities objected. “He stays here,” the guard said, his own cell phone in hand.

“You negotiate,” Pira told Orion. “I'll work with Acorn.”

Orion took the guard aside. “You want your prodigy trained? He has to go to the Crossed Lasers Institute.”

“Send your trainer here. We are setting up our own laser contingent.”

There was the confirmation. They had a star pupil in mind.

“Let's let our boss go head to head with your boss.” Orion dialed the number of the third assistant secretary of state. “Sir, we have a problem here.” He explained it briefly.

“We'll handle it,” the man said. “Take five.”

It was more than five minutes. They got a good dinner for them all, and nice bathroom facilities, and got to watch what was, for Acorn, the amazing novelty of TV, featuring nature programs relating to the Amazon jungle. Acorn was totally fascinated. They spent the night sharing the cell with Acorn, Pira holding his hand as he slept. He trusted her as he did no other. Maybe Pira's bit with the hotfoot had shown him what side she was on.

The impasse continued in the morning with no signal of resolution. Titans were wrestling in the background.

Then at last word came down: the two Secretaries of State had hashed it out personally, and made assorted concessions whose details were classified. Orion and Pira would take Acorn to the Crossed Lasers Institute today.

That proved to be another minor adventure. The boy knew nothing of airplane flight, and was terrified; he buried his head in Pira's flat bosom and she held him until he slept. “I feel like a mother,” she murmured to Orion.

“One day you will be.”

“The talent comes naturally,” she said. “The training is mostly for details. He'll be able to do it.”

“Of course.” But Orion had his doubts.

“When he returns to the Amazon, he'll have power like none other. He'll be able to help his people.”

“It is best,” Orion agreed.

They arrived at the Crossed Lasers Institute complex. Orion had no idea where it was; its location was classified, and a closed limousine had taken them there.

Then they stood in a practice chamber like the one Orion had seen when Pira made her original demonstration. “Bring him a harness,” she said.

The man in charge looked dubious, but brought one, and Pira put it on the boy, and activated it. “See that bulb?” she asked, gesturing to the nearest one along the wall. “Burn it.”

Acorn oriented carefully, as yet not practiced with this device. He aimed his hands. The bulb exploded.

“Yes,” Pira said in a matter of fact tone. “Now do the next.”

The boy oriented on the next, gaining confidence. In a moment it exploded.

“Now that one in the far corner,” she said as if this were routine. “Can you do that?”

Orion remembered how no one but a One could handle that range. She was asking a lot of the boy.

Acorn oriented; his hands spreading wide as he sought the invisible crossing. The far bulb exploded.

“He qualifies,” the man in charge said, clearly impressed. “Just as you said.” Orion knew that even trained laserists could not necessarily match that performance. The fact that an untrained boy could do it spoke volumes. What was his potential with training? He might well be their second Number One, as Pira clearly hoped. No wonder she had acted with dispatch.

“That's good,” Pira said approvingly to Acorn. “Now you must go with these people, who will train you before you go home.”

“Stay with you!” Acorn protested.

“I wish you could, Acorn, but it is not to be. But they will take good care of you, I promise. You'll like it here.”

He looked to be near tears. This was not what he had hoped for.

A woman approached. She was about 25 and beautiful. Her skin was dusky; she was Indian. “I am Blossom.” Then she spoke in a language Orion could not fathom.

Acorn brightened phenomenally. He replied in the same language. Blossom hugged him, and he accepted that familiarity gladly. She was of his tribe!

“This is your adult companion,” the man in charge said. “A result of the negotiated compromise. She will handle all the details, and stay constantly with you. You may reject her if you find her unsuitable.”

Both Orion and Pira had to smile. There was no way that would happen. The woman was probably an agent of the Latin government, here to keep tabs on the boy as well as helping him, but he wouldn't care any more than Pira did about Orion's authority. She would do the job.

The two secretaries of State had proven their mettle, achieving a compromise that worked for all parties. Especially for Acorn.

Acorn looked at Pira, not really understanding what he had been told. So Pira acted it out. “Man help laser girl,” she said, briefly hugging Orion. “Woman help laser boy.” She nodded, and the lovely Indian woman embraced Acorn again. Now he got it, and was plainly thrilled, perhaps not entirely because she spoke his language.

“Damn, I almost envy him,” Pira murmured to Orion as they departed. “Sleeping on a bosom like that.”

That night in their hotel room, Pira was candid. “You have to be the one to say no tonight. I've got no willpower left.”

“I tell you no,” he agreed. “Knowing that's what you want.”

“Thank you.” Then she melted into his arms. She had performed marvelously, these two days, and he was proud of her. She was another giant step toward being a woman.

7

Judoka

There followed more routine assignments. “You know, I feel guilty for even thinking this,” Pira said. “But this is getting dull for me. I'd like to hurry up and bloom so I can sweep you off your feet and spend the rest of my life satisfying your insatiable passion.”

“Me too,” he said, laughing. “But I fear you would get a bit sore in the groin after the first hour or so. Love's mansion might suffer erosion of the foundation.”

“Well, I'd put on a padded female condom so it wouldn't chafe too much.”

“Surely we can hold out one more year.”

“Surely we can,” she agreed without enthusiasm. She was coming up on seventeen, and looked twelve.

Then they got a remarkable call. It was from Crossed Laser HQ, but it was for Orion: he was invited to attend a judo exhibition in Japan.

“I'm not a sightseer,” he protested.

“They want you as part of the exhibition.”

“Nonsense! I'm not known for judo.”

“Not by the man on the street. But Japan has always been the headquarters of global judo. They make it their business to know what's what. They are quite specific: they want you.”

This was passing strange. “You know I can't leave Pira behind,” he said. “Suppose she had a call?”

“Take her along, then, as a tourist.”

Then he caught on. “An unofficial way to get her to an off-the-record assignment.”

There was just enough of a pause. “We prefer not to put it that way.”

He glanced at Pira. “They want me to go to Japan, and you may tag along.”

“I've always wanted to see Japan,” she said enthusiastically.

Within the hour they were on their way. It was a long flight, and they slept on the plane, merely holding hands. Pira was taller than she had been, and heavier; the signs of her future blooming were starting to show. She looked enough like a young girlfriend to attract no attention.

In Japan they were whisked to quarters in Tokyo. There a foreign minister garbed as a bellhop gave them the necessary information. A local dojo, or judo center, was next door to a hobby shop. A judoka practicing late had overheard suspicious dialogue in the adjacent shop, and had the wit to turn on a recorder. He had turned it in to the authorities, who had authenticated it: a secret terrorist cell was plotting to bomb a key government installation.

“How do we relate?” Orion asked.

“That bomb is dangerous. It must be defused before it reaches its target. But the terrorists are indirectly sponsored by a theoretically friendly, or at least neutral, power. It would not be expedient to make a scene, or even to openly defuse the bomb. It is better that when it is placed, it simply not work. No issue will be made. Officially, nothing will happen.”

“Pira can defuse it. We'll need a schematic she can study.”

“You will have it. Meanwhile, the two of you will visit the dojo for some friendly interaction.”

“The dojo next to the bomb.”

“Exactly.”

They spent the night trying to relax, but both had jet lag. It was hard to sleep, and the sleep did not seem to accomplish much. “I wish I had a bosom with big soft breasts,” Pira said. “So I could cushion your head and make you feel better.”

“Try it anyway,” he suggested. They were wearing pajamas, concerned that they could be under observation and preferring that the precise nature of their relationship not be known; that was another off-putting factor.

She gladly held his head to her chest, and he heard her rapid heartbeat. And it helped. Her chest was not bony; there was some flesh there. Soon he was asleep.

In the morning he had a second thought. “I was selfish. What of your jet-lag?”

“Oh my dear, you banished it! You made me feel like the future, as if I already had the mansion.”

“You are generous.”

“Well, I love you.” As if that was the ultimate argument. Maybe it was.

Somewhat restored, they made ready for the day.

Orion was formally welcomed to the class at the dojo. He was provided with the white gi, the jacket and trousers used in classes, and a black belt. That signaled his rank; black belts were special. The levels of student achievement were indicated by the colors of their belts, from white as the lowest up to brown as the highest.

Pira was fitted with a smaller gi, and a red belt, signaling that she was a complete amateur. Actually she knew some judo, as Orion had demonstrated it for her, but had never been at a formal class. She was given a white-belted Japanese girl as a working partner and guide, while Orion and the elders stood on the sideline to watch the class. Each student bowed as he or she came to step on the mat, bare footed, honoring the protocol.

They did randori, a kind of dance wherein they took turns trying throws on each other. Judo was in significant part the art of throwing one's opponent to the mat on his back, the theory being that in real life, such a fall would leave a person disinclined to pursue a quarrel further. That mat was there to protect against injury, which was one reason it was honored: it was a significant friend.

A dozen pairs moved about the room, and some succeeded in throwing their partners to the mat, where they landed with loud slaps of their free arms to take up the shock. Mostly, they tried and failed, and sometimes both partners would get tangled and fall. They were after all beginning students.

Suddenly Pira's partner was down, unhurt but surprised. Pira had thrown her, using O Soto Gari, the big outside clip.

The man beside Orion was surprised too. “She knows the throw!”

“I did teach her a few basics,” Orion said. “I think she wanted to find out whether they work.” He did not know the name of the man, but was sure he was fully competent. Also, that he knew their real purpose here.

“They work when correctly performed,” the man said. “She has marvelous balance.”

“She is a very coordinated girl.”

The man laughed, appreciating the understatement.

The two resumed. The white belt girl tried a throw, but Pira spun clear of it, then countered with a successful Tai Otoshi, the body drop.

“The speed!” the man said, surprised again.

“She's a very fast girl,” Orion agreed.

“You taught her well.” It was of course all small talk, as though they were incidental visitors.

The class concluded. A woman took Pira aside, and they talked quietly. Orion realized that this was another contact. Pira was getting briefed on her mission. In fact she was studying a schematic diagram, learning the wires that needed to be nullified on the bomb. Soon enough she would be melting them, completing the mission.

Now the seniors took the mat. After the preliminaries, Orion was required to demonstrate a personal technique; it was part of the way of judo. He knew he had nothing to teach these folk, but for the sake of the show they were putting on he had to do it and they had to take it seriously.

“I accompany and look after my ward, Pira,” he said. “She is perhaps half my mass, and not muscular, so doing judo with her can be awkward. So I devised a variant of the uki-goshi, the rising hip throw which the master Jigoro Kano himself developed and performed so well.” Jigoro Kano was the founder of modern judo, highly honored, especially in his native Japan. “My variant is largely a matter of timing and positioning. Let me demonstrate with my ward, who is familiar with it.” Pira joined him in the center of the mat, and they stepped through the stages of the throw, explaining the nuances, so that she could throw him. “This might be difficult on the street, but with the cooperation of a partner, can be accomplished,” Orion said. And Pira performed a nice straight-kneed throw, putting her arm around his back, pulling him forward, balancing him across her hip and putting him on his back on the mat. It was more like a kata, a scripted judo play, than a real throw, but they understood about that. This was not competition, but instruction. “A child can learn it, and who knows, it might be useful when that child grows.”

Then with perfect seriousness the others brought in children and did the technique. They had paid the visitor due honor.

Next was a general mixing session. This was where they would truly take his measure. Orion found himself doing randori with the man he had been talking with, a fellow black belt and clearly competent. But Orion in the course of his years in judo had developed a feel for such things, and knew he could throw this man if he chose to. Rather than embarrass him, he started his throw, and then aborted it. The man smiled, recognizing the move and the balk.

Then Orion was with another, an older man, and immediately he knew that this was a far more proficient judoka, probably an international competitor. Orion might be able to avoid getting thrown, but no way could he throw this one. He was being felt out by a master.

“I am called Bole,” the man said.

“I am glad to meet you, Bole.”

“You do not compete.”

“I do not,” Orion agreed as they moved about the mat.

“You do not even test for advancement, yet you achieve it.” Obviously this man knew all about Orion's judo.

“My sensei makes his judgments. I would not question them.”

“You lack the fire in the belly, the overwhelming desire to win.”

“I do,” Orion agreed.

“That is perhaps unfortunate. You have remarkable skill.” Bole was able to tell this from the way Orion handled his body, just as Orion could tell the same about Bole.

“Thank you.”

“You do not seek notoriety.”

This was getting pretty personal, but Orion went along with it for the sake of courtesy. “I see no point in it.”

“Then what is it that brings you to judo?”

“Its training in attacks and defenses appeals to me. It refines my body and perhaps my soul. I am not a religious person, but the spiritual essence of judo is part of my being. Perhaps through it I can accomplish some good in the world. I do not crave any recognition beyond that.” He was paraphrasing the essential credo of the martial art, but it fit.

“Such as protecting a child,” Bole agreed. “Some might consider this a waste.”

“She's a remarkable child.”

That was all there was to it. The class moved on to other aspects, and in due course finished. Then Bole went to stand by the wall, implying that there was something beyond it. The bomb, of course.

Then he indicated an almost concealed door, an access to the adjacent chamber, probably used by cleaning crews.

They had the word. The judoka departed, leaving them alone in the dojo. The mission was on.

They listened at the door. There was no sound. Orion worked the handle and the door opened to reveal a room lit only by night lights. They entered and looked about.

There was a crate in the center. That would be the target.

Orion was uneasy. “No defenses? No alerts?”

“Maybe those would alert the authorities that there was something special here,” Pira said. “So they treat it like junk.”

Perhaps that made sense.

They went to the crate and lifted the lid. No alarm sounded. There was a complicated metallic device with an electronic timer. The bomb.

Pira oriented her hands over it. There was a faint sizzle inside. “Done,” she said. “Let's get out of here; this place is spooky.”

“Not yet,” a harsh voice said, as the main lights came on. Men were emerging from doorways all around the chamber. It was a trap. They had blithely walked right into it.

“Freeze,” Orion whispered.

Pira went quite still. That way he would be able to strike without looking, not concerned that she would be in the way. Orion quickly surveyed the situation. He needed to know exactly how many men there were, and how they were armed, so as not to be surprised by more when the action commenced. There were eight; that seemed to be the total. All of them carried knives rather than guns. That was good and bad; guns could strike at a distance, but knives could be more deadly in close quarters, if wielded by those who were trained in their use. Obviously they did not want gunshots attracting attention in the neighborhood; knives were silent.

“To what do we owe the honor of this visit?” Orion inquired of the man who had spoken, as if this were an incidental encounter. If that surprised him, so much the better. “I regret I do not know your name.” As if the man would give his real one.

“Call me Joe. It is the little fish we want,” the man said, and strode to grab hold of Pira. Pira did not resist; she was letting Orion handle this, knowing that he was the competent one when it came to combat. “She has long been a thorn.”

So foreign intelligence was operating again. “The bomb—a decoy?” Orion asked.

“Oh, the bomb is real,” Joe said. “We had to see it defused to be sure of the mark. But yes, this as a honeypot to attract the bee.”

No more men had entered; eight was the total. Evidently they deemed it more than sufficient. Seven of them were standing in a loose circle around Orion, separating him from Pira. They knew what they were doing.

“She is to be the hostage?” Orion asked.

“No hostage; not exactly. We wish her to come to work for us. And you too, imitation judoka, because she will perform if you direct her to.”

They did not think he actually knew judo. That was his advantage. “And why should I do that?”

“Because you will be the hostage for her performance. We understand she loves you; she would not like to see you tortured. You will tell her to do our will, and the two of you will be well treated.”

“And if I do not?”

“We will dismember you before her eyes, slowly. We believe that rather than see you suffer and die, she will accede.”

“No deal,” Orion said.

Joe frowned. “That is too bad. Perhaps you would prefer the alternative.”

“Which is?”

“You will watch her dismembered. First we will cut off her feet, saving her hands in case she changes her mind. How far will it be necessary to go before one of you changes your mind?”

“No deal,” Orion repeated. Pira remained absolutely still.

“Perhaps you think we bluff. That is readily answered.” Joe glanced at one of the others, and the man drew his knife and strode toward them. “Such delicate little feet; it will be a shame for her to lose them.”

Orion acted. He screamed “Kiai!” as he leaped at the man directly before him, just as that man drew his knife. The man hesitated just a second, surprised by the scream. Orion caught him with the kosoto gari, the small outside clip, his left foot catching the man's right ankle and sweeping it inward as he caught the man's right sleeve and pushed him off balance. In a moment the man was swept off his feet, literally, and landed on the floor, and Orion had the knife.

He hurled that knife directly at the face of the man menacing Pira. Caught by surprise, that man barely managed to fend it off, taking the blade in his forearm as he fell back. It was nevertheless a punishing strike; Orion had thrown with power and accuracy, and the knife split the flesh to the bone. The man was in pain and out of action.

But Orion was still in motion. He caught the jacket of the next man to the left, kicked him in the stomach so that the man grunted, dropped to the floor on his back with his foot still in that stomach, and heaved him forward and into the two on the right side. It was the tomoe nage, popularly called the stomach throw, normally done so as to allow the opponent to do a forward roll and recover his feet. But Orion put extra oomph into it, so that the man fairly sailed into the others, and all three went down in a tangle, inadvertently menacing each other with their knives.

Four down, for the moment. Orion flipped back to his feet and reached for the next man to the left. That man swept viciously with his knife. That was his mistake, as the knife committed him to that particular strategy, easy to counter. Orion ducked the sweep and clubbed him in the throat with his fist. Some folk thought that judo was confined to throws and mat-work, but that was only the student grades; the seniors studied the vulnerabilities of the human body so that they could if necessary kill with a single blow. The man had expected an attempted throw; now he would be lucky if he survived his crushed larynx.

The next man also thrust with his knife. Orion sidestepped, caught his knife arm, drew him forward, got behind him, and wrapped his arm about his throat. It was a blood strangle, and the man sank to the floor, unconscious in seconds.

And of course Orion now possessed the knife. He looked at Joe, who was still holding Pira. “You're next,” he said. “Want to gamble I can't score on your eye from here before you get your own knife out?”

Joe was unfazed. “Look behind you. While you're getting me, they'll get you.” Indeed, the three who had gone down in a tangle had recovered their footing, and were now advancing with knives extended. It was not over yet.

They were, however, more cautious than they had been before, having seen Orion in action. They were spreading out so as to come at him from three sides.

“Not if I take you hostage,” Orion said, charging Joe.

Joe quickly released Pira. He had to, because he would otherwise have no defense. Now he drew his own knife, and the way he handled it made it clear that he was no amateur. Orion would not be able to put him down fast enough to keep the others clear, assuming he could put him down at all.

Orion halted. “Blind them,” he snapped to Pira, who was now free to act.

Her hands barely moved, but suddenly the three were clawing at their own faces as they staggered in place. Their eyes were burning, literally.

“Now we can do this one of two ways,” Orion told Joe. “I can come at you and we'll find out who survives the encounter and in what condition. I specify in advance that I really don't like you, and neither does my companion.” That was a dire threat, because Pira had just demonstrated her power. If Joe killed Orion, Pira would kill him. “Or you can surrender, lie prone on the floor, and proffer no further resistance, and I will see that you are taken into protective custody and given a new identity in witness protection after you testify about who hired you to take out the little fish. Your information will buy you immunity.”

Joe considered. Then he dropped his knife to the floor and got down himself, face down.

Now it was over.

Bole was chagrined. “That was one of the finest judo demonstrations ever performed,” he said. “And it was real. We have it all on video: their surveillance record. And we can't show it.”

The Japanese authorities had of course honored the deal. Joe was now in witness protection. They were very interested in the details of the terrorist plot, but the incident would never be publicized.

“Sorry about that,” Orion said. “I merely did what was necessary to save my ward.”

“Concluding with the best technique of all: talking your enemy out of it. You have our admiration.” Bole shook his head. “And she is surely worth it. We saw her in action too.”

“Thank you. She is.”

In due course, back in the States, Orion got a call from his sensei. “We need to talk.” The man was not one to fool around; there was something urgent afoot.

They went to the dojo. “You can't tell me what happened in Japan,” the sensei said, frustrated.

“We can't,” Orion agreed.

“But you did visit a local dojo there.”

“We did.”

“And demonstrated a personal technique.”

Orion smiled. “It is expected of a ranking visitor. They were very polite, though we all knew this was pretense to mask the real reason for my presence, which related to Pira's mission.”

“Uki-goshi.

“Yes, my little variant, with Pira.”

“They like your variant. They are using it in their classes now.”

Orion laughed. “That's carrying politeness a bit far. There is no further need for pretense.”

“And you did randori with one of their senseis.”

“Yes. Bole.” Where was this leading? The sensei was serious to the point of grimness.

“You do not know who that was?”

“I do not. I did not inquire his full name. The point was the visit, not the names. But I can say he was a competent judoka and a knowledgeable person. I liked him.”

The sensei shook his head. “Perhaps you are happier in your ignorance. But now you reap the consequence.”

“Did I offend him? I certainly did not mean to.”

“Bole says you truly embody the spirit of judo, an echo of the master, and they wish to recognize this. You have received an amazing double promotion, to sandan.”

Orion looked at him, perplexed. “Third degree black belt? I did not test for anything. In any event, I was not of their dojo. It must be a confusion.”

“No confusion. Their authority in this matter completely overrides mine, even if I wanted to object, which of course I don't. It is a valid promotion, and you must accept it.”

Orion spread his hands. “I don't understand.”

“Neither do I. The technique is merely a pretext. You did something that made them take note. That they are not speaking of.”

“They are being extremely generous.”

“Oh come on,” Pira said. “You know you earned it.” She kissed him on the ear. “And saved the maiden in dire peril.” As if she had not done her part.

The Japanese had not been able to publicize the tape or to recognize Orion formally, but it seemed they had found a way to make their point.

8

Rogue

The routine calls continued, only now they were global as well as American; the word had leaked out. The Little Fish was becoming a quiet celebrity. “I may have to retire,” Pira said, not entirely dispirited. “I'm getting too well known. That ruins much of my effectiveness.”

“You're coming up on eighteen,” Orion said. “You are taller, your outlines are softer, and you have a hint of breasts. I'm in a position to know.” They still slept embraced, naked, savoring their thwarted passion.

She glanced down at herself, pretending dismay. “Will you still love me when I don't look like a child?”

“Of course I will! I fell in love with you at the dance, when your body swayed to music and your brightening glance met mine. I saw you as the leaf, the blossom, and the bole, all together. The whole of you, past present and future. Now at last I'll get the bloom.”

“I'll be a handful.” She cupped her nascent breasts. “Two hands full.”

“Will you still want to sleep against me naked when you have the mansion?”

“Well, I don't know. Your member won't be as hard.”

“Why not? You’ll have the architecture to make it firm as a rock.”

“Because it'll be empty. All of its juice will be inside me, leaving nothing to press against my belly. Why should I want to have a limp wiener touching me all night?”

He laughed. “Point made. We may have to do what old married couples do: get the sex out of the way early, then sleep in peace.”

She considered. “Maybe I can tease you by not giving you sex, so it'll stay hard forever.”

“Don't you dare!”

They laughed together. Pira's flirting was constant, and Orion rather enjoyed it. She no longer used lowbrow vernacular, preferring to be more ladylike, but got her points across clearly.

Pira also tried her hand at actual cooking and baking, when there was time. In this she was no genius, and some of her early efforts were grotesque.

“Pira, you don't have to be a housewife,” he protested. “You're a professional.”

“I'll retire. All I ever wanted was to be a housewife to you.”

They also ran in the park together, keeping in shape, whenever they were in the vicinity of something suitable. “I want to be trim and nice for your enjoyment,” she said.

He chuckled. “Being a mundane sex object? You are perhaps the most deadly female in the world, and this routine dullness is your dream?”

She frowned. “'Perhaps'?” A pine cone on a branch above the running path exploded, punctuating the word. “'Female'?” Another exploded. She didn't like the qualifiers, and she was probably correct.

“Such impertinence! I ought to spank you.”

“After I get my bottom. At least that's one way maybe to get you to touch it.”

“You do understand that I don't touch it because if I did, I'd go crazy with lust and ruin everything?”

“Yes, and I'd let you,” she agreed dreamily.

“You're incorrigible.”

“And right before the wedding I'll go to the doctor and have him verify my virginity, so they'll know you haven't been corrupting a minor.”

“They'll think I'm impotent.”

“Maybe we could set up cameras and broadcast the event to the world. That might satisfy them.”

“Oh Pira, all humor aside, I can hardly wait. No cameras necessary.”

“Awww.”

Then something serious came on the horizon. Somebody or something was taking out laserists. It was not publicized, of course, but the word was quietly spread: there was deadly danger.

Gradually it clarified. There had been a candidate for Number One, before Pira, who hadn't made it. He called himself Hammerhead, like that shark with the widely spaced eyes and sensors, who triangulated effectively on dilute blood in the water and sped to its source. The authorities had concluded that he was close, but not sufficient, and ranked him as a Two.

That evidently rankled. Hammerhead thought they had misjudged him, denied him his rightful status, and he was annoyed. Instead of fading with time, that ire had apparently increased. Finally he left Crossed Lasers, taking his harness with him. That was not legitimate, but they had little way to get it back without first catching him, and he was both evasive and dangerous. He was not a One, but he was better than any other Two, with a score to settle, and that was deadly mischief.

Now laserists were perishing, their brains boiled. Hammerhead was taking his revenge against the organization that had denied him his supposed due. No one knew when or where he would strike next, but strike he would.

“This is an excellent person to stay away from,” Orion said.

“I can't.”

“Pira, he's a dangerous nut!”

“Two reasons,” she said. “First, he is the one who chooses his victims. He could choose me.”

“That's why you have to hide until this is over.”

“Second, I have to take him out, because I'm the only one who can. I'm a true One.”

“What are you going to do—challenge him to an old west style shootout? He wouldn't meet you honestly; he'd ambush you. The guy's a rogue, following no law. You can't risk that.”

She turned to him, tears forming in her eyes. “Orion, right now I need your support, not your argument. I have to do this.”

There it was. He had to join her, or let her go it alone. “Then I support you,” he said. “No more argument.”

She dissolved, as she did when a crisis was past. “Thank you.”

He held her while she sobbed. This was not something she wanted to do, but that she had to. He feared for her, with a chill that permeated his body, yet there was also pride. She was standing up for herself, putting her very life on the line, to do what she felt was right. It was a value he had taught her, that he had to respect.

Yet he couldn't help thinking: should they stop holding out, and have sex now, lest she die before she came of age? He angrily suppressed the notion.

“Should we do it now?” she asked.

Damn! She had the same thought he did.

“No,” he decided. “We'll wait.”

“Thank you,” she agreed tearfully.

“If we're going to tackle this freak, we have to prepare,” he said in a businesslike manner. “We need to know as much as we can about him, especially what he looked like before he went on the lam. He can change superficial things, but he'll still be a large heavyset male. We'll need to zero in on his location, updating it as we go. If he had a beard before, he'll be clean shaven now, maybe with long hair.”

“Yes,” she agreed, satisfied to let him take over.

“We'll need to find out how he zeroes in on hostage crises that aren't in the news. He must have input from Crossed Lasers, maybe a tapped phone. Find that connection, find him.”

“No one would help him that way,” she protested.

“Maybe not knowingly. But there must be many phones at CL headquarters, and it's hard to track them all. Or the tap is on a line, reading it without interfering with it. When an assignment call goes out, he reads it, and heads for the crisis too.”

“But it might be far away.”

“He would choose ones within his range, wherever he is at the moment. That's what makes it erratic: he goes after maybe only one in ten CL calls. Then he may travel far, to be in a completely different area when the next one comes.”

“Then how can we ever catch him?”

“We'll have to think the way he does. Become a predator of opportunity. Only our prey is not another CL agent, but Hammerhead himself.”

“How will we know when he's close enough to intercept?”

Orion pondered. “There may be a way. We need to check global travel logs to see who is at different crisis locales. Chances are that very few folk will go from crisis to crisis, especially when most are hidden from public view. The airlines surely have records.”

“Those aren't open to the public. It's illegal to get into them.”

“Since when did legality ever stop a hacker?”

She nodded. “But he's still anonymous.”

“No, we'll get the name from the tickets. We'll trace him back. We'll verify Hammerhead, by whatever name he travels under.”

“And take him out?”

“I think not at that point. Legally we should catch him in the act. Meanwhile we'll just watch him.”

“But that won't tell us where he'll strike next.”

“Yes it will. He'll be alert for a crisis assignment within his range. We'll track him as he goes to it, and we'll go there too.”

“Are you sure this will work?”

“Not at all sure. But it seems like our best bet.”

She was doubtful, but she acquiesced.

They got a secure line to CL HQ and discussed it. CL was glad to have Pira tackle it. “But do not put yourself at undue risk,” their representative said. “You are more valuable to us than any other agent.”

Pira broke the connection, then exploded. “These are people, not units!” she exclaimed. “Some of them are my friends. How can they put values on them?”

“Let me handle future negotiations,” Orion said.

“So you can safeguard my innocence?” she asked sharply.

“Of course. Innocence is precious.”

“Precious!”

“Shut up or I'll kiss you.”

That actually did shut her up.

Crossed Lasers did the legwork, and soon had a likely suspect. Orion and Pira took a flight to a city in that vicinity and waited. In due course a call came, not for Pira but for another laserist to handle a developing hostage crisis in the region. But Pira was privately notified.

Sure enough, Hammerhead caught a flight for that location. With luck they could intercept him and take him out before he took the CL man out.

Then a savvy police negotiator talked the gunman out of it and the crisis defused without laser intervention. The CL man went home without taking action, and so did Hammerhead. “Darn!” Pira swore. But she seemed relieved, too.

The next likely crisis caught them in a weather delayed flight. They arrived just too late; the CL woman had been quietly assassinated and the crisis continued.

What could they do? Pira took the assignment herself, and nullified the gunman. But the CL woman remained dead, and Hammerhead remained on the loose. “Darn darn darn!” Pira swore while Orion held her close.

The next one was in order. The CL man oriented on the gunman, while Orion and Pira searched desperately for Hammerhead. But nothing happened. The CL man handled the crisis, and Hammerhead never showed. He had been there, but not struck. Had he gotten suspicious?

Then came a suicide bomber taking hostages: any balk and he would blow up the entire bank. This one was tricky, and for Pira herself. She studied a schematic of the bomb and headed for the event.

And so did Hammerhead.

Orion didn't like this. “I think he knows you're after him. He wants to catch you distracted, so he has an advantage. He claims to be a One, but deep down he knows you can take him.”

“I can,” Pira said.

The showdown was in the bank's main lobby. The bomber stood surrounded by kneeling employees, demanding a million dollars in thousand dollar bills. The bank manager was scrambling to assemble and package the money, in sight of the bomber. The police lined the lobby wall, watching helplessly. Orion and Pira quietly joined that outer line. The bomber evidently didn't care who came and went, knowing that they were simply putting themselves at risk.

Pira oriented her hands. “Done,” she murmured. “The bomb will not detonate.”

“You sure?” the nearby police lieutenant asked nervously.

“Yes. Go get him.”

Not entirely reassured, the lieutenant stepped toward the bomber.

“Bogey at ten o'clock,” Orion murmured, stepping forward himself. He had been watching everyone, and saw a cloaked figure that could be Hammerhead. The man had seen the lieutenant move out, so knew that the bomb had been lasered. Now he knew where Pira was.

The man saw Orion. His hands oriented in that special way. Orion's hair sizzled, literally, and his scalp burned. It felt as if a hot poker had clubbed him. In a moment the man would correct his aim and blast Orion's head.

But Orion was already dropping to the floor, combat style. “Pira!” he cried in warning.

He felt Pira's legs on either side as she straddled his prone body. Instead of retreating she was advancing! An animal growl of a kind he had never heard before sounded in her throat, and he knew her hands were moving. He peered forward despite the blood dripping across his forehead, hoping that Hammerhead did not see her.

Vain hope. The man's hands were orienting in deadly alignment.

Then Hammerhead's head exploded, literally. Blood and brains blew out to strike the adjacent wall, and the virtually headless man fell to the floor. On either side blood-spattered people's jaws were dropping.

It was done. Now Orion let his consciousness go.

He woke to find himself on a bed, his face on Pira's lap. His head was bandaged, but otherwise he seemed to be intact. He knew he was on pain medication because the pain was faint and far away. He must have been unconscious for several hours while they tended to him and sewed up his scorched scalp. “Pira,” he said.

“Oh Orion!” she breathed. “I thought you were dead!”

“That's why you blasted him.” Now in retrospect he was amazed. He had never realized that Pira had power like that. The man might as well have eaten a live grenade.

“That's why,” she agreed. “I was mad.”

“I hope you're never mad at me.”

She leaned down carefully and kissed him, her face upside down with respect to his. “Never, my love,” she promised.

Then they were both crying in reaction, comforting each other.

Crossed Lasers covered it up, of course. The incident could not be entirely hidden, but the story was that the man had had a grenade that went off prematurely, blowing off his head. Fortunately the larger bomb had malfunctioned, and no one else was harmed.

That comfortable explanation lasted one day. Then the real bomb hit.

Hammerhead had prepared well for his own demise. His death triggered the release of a complete expose of the Crossed Lasers Institute, from its origin to the present, together with information on the special harness. All the major global news media received it, and they did not hesitate to run it. Suddenly the truth was out, and was the talk of the world. Now the man's vengeance was complete.

And of course Pira was abruptly famous. She was the Little Fish who had taken out the Big Fish. She was required to do interviews and to demonstrate her ability. The newsmen quickly picked up on the fact that she had settled exactly who was Number One: the brutish challenger had been beheaded. “Never anger the piranha,” one wag wrote. “That little fish can bite.”

“What can I do?” Pira asked Orion when she had a moment.

“You can retire.”

“I can retire!” she repeated gladly.

And so it was. The little fish disappeared from public view, giving no further interviews, and soon faded into obscurity as other news took the global stage.

Epilogue

The guest list was extremely limited, and no media were there. Both the wedding and the reception were strictly private, conducted at Manta's house. Now Orion and Pira, husband and wife, were mixing informally with the guests. “Excuse me; I must visit the ladies room,” she murmured. She was starting to relax.

Alone for the moment, Orion talked with Manta. “I'm nervous. She expects a supernova, and I can't deliver more than a flicker of fire.”

“Don't be concerned. I taught her better than that. All she wants is your love.”

“She's had that throughout.”

She laughed. “That virginity test! I confess to being surprised.”

“It was a close call. I'm a bit surprised myself.”

Pira rejoined them, resplendent in her bridal gown, her lustrous hair refreshed. Black is the color of my true love's hair... The two standing together were like radiantly beautiful twins a generation apart. “Are you talking sex with mom?”

“Just getting advice on how to seduce you tonight. The first time is always nervous.”

“Don't. I'm going to seduce you.”

Orion leaned confidentially toward Manta. “I'm not sure she's bluffing.”

“Maybe you can sneak out the back way.”

“Nu-uh,” Pira said. “I locked the back door.”

Orion's college friend Tina approached, as pretty as ever; Pira had invited her, to Orion's surprise. “Lovely wedding!”

“Thank you,” Pira said politely. She was perfecting politeness.

Tina turned to Orion. “Now I see why you waited. She's a nova!”

“Well, she bloomed.”

“At last!” Pira whispered.

Tina moved off, and young Acorn approached, guided by his lovely adult companion Blossom. “I thought you were going to marry Pira,” he told Orion. His speech had improved markedly in the intervening months. “Not some trophy bride.” He was still too young and too new to this culture to have mastered all the nuances of courtesy. Orion was reminded of Pira in her early days.

It was true that Pira's aspect had changed almost beyond the point of recognition. The child was gone, and the woman scintillated.

“Trophy brides are more fun in bed than underage girls,” Pira told Acorn. Then she reached out, caught his head, and brought it in to her full bosom. “And who do you think comforted you during the flight north, you little savage?”

“That heartbeat!” he exclaimed gladly. “It's you!” He had somehow watched the wedding without catching on.

“And feel my harness,” she said, drawing apart, taking his hand, and pressing it against her back so he could feel its outline under the silk.

“Oh, Pira! I owe you everything!”

“Well, I'm retiring. I need a replacement One.”

“That, too,” he agreed.

“CL maintains a low profile,” Blossom murmured to Orion. That was of course one reason why she was largely anonymous. “I have a message: Pira will take a year training recruits at CL HQ, and you will join her, training companions.”

Orion was taken aback. “They hardly need trainers for that.”

“Oh, but they do. You made Pira into all that she could be. They need your touch so that companions can similarly evoke the best in laserists. They want no more mistakes like Hammerhead.” Then she made a low clicking sound, and Acorn broke off his dialog with Pira and moved back into the throng with her.

“She's got him on a close leash,” Pira said, impressed.

“As women do with men,” Orion agreed. “Do you think she'll marry him when he grows up?”

“Oh, yes. She'll make sure he doesn't go wrong, down in the Amazon. Can't afford to take chances, with a One. She may even like him.”

He glanced at her, surprised by the implication, but she wasn't smiling. Crossed Lasers was serious business. The excitement of the demolition of Hammerhead had faded, and the organization remained known but obscure, the stuff of mythology. They evidently took pains to stay out of the news.

They came to Orion's sensei, who was with Bole, the judoka from Japan. “I would not have recognized you, Pira,” Bole man said politely.

“That's the idea. The little fish became too well known. She had to be retired. No one will notice me now.”

Both men burst out laughing. Pira as she was today could not walk down a street without fomenting car crashes.

“Speaking of privacy,” the Japanese sensei said to the American one, who clearly remained in awe of him. “I have a private recording to show you, that may answer some questions. Do not be concerned; it's brief.”

Bole had brought the video! That would indeed clarify the reason for Orion's double jump in rank.

And to Pira Bole said “I was impressed with your performance, blinding those thugs, and more impressed with your handling of the shark.”

“I shouldn't have lasered him so hard,” she said. “I was mad, and I thought Orion was dead.”

“He represents your discipline.”

“Yes. Without him I'd be nothing.”

“You are in good hands.” He smiled. “I note that Orion really performed his best only when you were threatened. Later you showed your true power only when he was threatened. Each of you evoked the utmost in the other. That perhaps is a definition of love.”

Orion and Pira exchanged a glance. It was true.

The two sensei moved off. They had a video to view.

Pira sighed. “I only wish that Mr. Butler could have been here.”

The grandfatherly man who had saved the beavers and given her the book of Yeats poems that so transformed her outlook. “He knew the dancer from the dance,” Orion agreed.

“Yes. Let's dance.”

There in the reception room they held each other and danced a waltz without music. Soon others were dancing too, with or without partners. It seemed appropriate.

Pira glanced around. “Tina's dancing with your sensei,” she said as if reporting gossip.

“Well, he's a good man, and she's a pretty girl who likes martial artists.”

“And Bole is dancing with Blossom.”

Orion saw. They made a nice couple, from two completely different cultures. “Now there's symbolism for you! Are they the Leaf, the Blossom, or the Bole?”

“All of them together.” Then she saw something else. “Poor Acorn. He's left out. He must be the Leaf.”

Indeed, the boy stood on the sideline, observing how American slow dancing was done. Then Manta crossed the room, took Acorn's hands, placed them appropriately, and led him into the dance. With her firm guidance, he was soon getting it. He was no longer left out.

“How can we know the dancer from the dance?” Orion murmured, impressed anew.

“We can't, beloved. Let's just enjoy the moment.”

They danced, letting the moment rule. The poet surely would have approved.

Author’s Note

I get ideas all the time. I summarize them and store them in my ideas file for future reference, because I can't trust my aging brain to remember them all otherwise. Indeed, I often forget about particular stories, and read them with surprise later when looking for something else. It's like storing things in a box: they may never be taken out again, but at least they are there, just in case. When I have a request for a story I check the file and find what's appropriate. It's a system that generally works.

But some ideas don't care to wait their turn. They keep returning to my attention, and I make supplementary notes, until sometimes the notes alone are the length of a short story. This was the case with “Pira”; it started on July 6, 2014 as an exploration of the crossed lasers notion, wherein laser surgery that already exists becomes a weapon in the field in the very near future. That's what makes this science fiction: the amplification of an existing science notion into a story of what may soon be.

But I needed people to animate the technology. Thus came Orion, a youth of high capabilities who had not yet found his destiny, and Pira, who took an early act of kindness too seriously and was foolishly locked into love. It happens; I had crushes in my childhood, and I still remember them with fondness. They didn't last, but they were intense while they existed. Not just crushes; sometimes mere images. Once as a gradeschooler I was lying on a mat on the ground outside, part of a class resting period, and the teacher, a shapely young woman, crossed the yard and stepped past my mat, and I got one brief peek up under her skirt to her panties as her thighs moved. I didn't say a word—I wasn't an idiot, after all—but that image remains with me today, when I'm 80 years old. The notion that children are not sexually aware is foolish; they lack the intensity of the adult sex drive, but some have a notion what's what. So I have a child in this story who is sexually aware. That may foster outrage in some readers, but it has its validity.

The story simply wouldn’t rest, and finally by the end of August I had 4,746 words of notes, computer count. What could I do? So I started in writing it, and in three weeks had it done. I don't think the story was jinxed, but on the third day of writing I had on odd dream that someone was trying to bash me with a soccer ball, so I grabbed his arm—and woke to discover I had grabbed my wife's knee. She thought it was some strange animal on the bed. We sorted it out, and she went back to sleep, but that disturbance disrupted my own sleep and I was stuck wide awake. So I went to the study and typed more of the story. I wound up with my best writing day in months, over 4,000 words, though not quite the way I would have chosen.

Five days after I started writing, I was on my morning exercise run when my left foot snagged and I fell on the rough asphalt drive, scraping my left forearm, calf, and scattered other parts of my body. Worse, I had bashed or strained my left ribcage just below my shoulder. This made coughing prohibitively painful, and I was unable to lie down without pain, and my exercise routine was in trouble as I could not do the left side weight lifts or draw my bow either side. At least I could sit and type, so my writing continued. Gradually I mended, painfully slowly (pun not intended), and after a week I was able to get up from bed in the morning with only minimal pain. After two weeks I was able to draw the bow again, right side, not left side, and do most of my other exercises to varying degrees. My runs slowed down to walks, but they became fast walks. So by the time the novella was completed, I was mostly back in order. But, taken as a whole, I would rather not have this particular experience again.

Ten days into this piece we passed the fifth anniversary of the death of our daughter Penelope, whom we called Penny, from melanoma that metastasized to her brain and lungs and took her out at age 41. Her birth had transformed our lives, as we had feared after three miscarriages that we could not have children, and her early death was an ugly shock. Her dance was done.

Thus the dull story of my life during this project, which I hope is more interesting than I am. There are references to things that interest me, such as judo; in my three years of judo classes I never got more than midway through the student grades, to green belt, but I developed a profound respect for the judo philosophy that is reflected here. And the poetry of William Butler Yeats, whose work I found obscure at first, but increasingly significant as I fathomed it. Life is indeed a process, like a river or a fire, constantly changing, and we see only the ongoing present rather than the complete entity. Suppose we could see the whole tree in four dimensions, time included, rather than just the momentary leaf, the blossom or the bole? And isn't life like a dance, largely meaningless when frozen in place, yet so much more when viewed in motion? How can we ever know the whole story? How can we distinguish the dancer from the dance? Yeats explored this question, and others, with rare insight, and we should also.

And the characterization of the leading figure, Piranha, called Pira. In my observation a person who is unusual or extreme in one respect may be extreme in other respects as well. Pira has remarkable vision and coordination, as though her life template focused first on that rather than growing up. Her feelings are correspondingly intense; she drives for what she wants with single minded intensity, awkward as that can be for those around her. She does need close adult guidance, and in Orion she finds it, diffident as he is at first. Is it unrealistic for her to reach puberty at 18? No, she's at an extreme in that too. Some girls mature at age 8 or 9, some later. Some boys, too; I reached puberty at 18, long after my classmates. I never looked my age, was the smallest in my class male or female, then finally got there with a growth spurt in college. People who don't know me still don't believe my age, taking me for maybe 15 years younger. I'm still writing, still exercising, still sexually active, still avidly participating in the dance of life. Some of us just seem to live more slowly. It's a disadvantage when young, an advantage when old. So I am in this story, as I am in all that I write, not as a character but as a collection of interests and feelings that animate the narrative. Writing is an intensely personal experience that doesn't always show on the surface, like life itself.

This novella was proofread by Scott M Ryan, who I trust did not have any similar accidents (SMR-I did badly bruise a rib January 9th several years ago), and by Anne White. If you want to know more about me and my works, check my website at www.HiPiers.com, where I do a monthly blog-type column and maintain an ongoing survey of electronic publishers for the benefit of aspiring writers. I was once an aspiring writer myself; I remember.

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