Chapter 8
Soleil Benoit, ex-Jumper, ex-fugitive, ex-dead woman, recent founder of a martial arts studio in the Canals, and the current teacher of eclectic exercise classes, surveyed the open studio with a mix of satisfaction and marvel.
Her life had taken astonishing vector changes in the last year. She was still adjusting to her new starlane and status. For the first time ever, she had more money than she knew what to do with, and she’d regained the love of her life after having lost him.
And unlike every other ex-Jumper she knew, she wasn’t dying of waster’s disease. Probably.
She walked slowly down the two lines of students.
They faced one another and took turns mirroring the slow movements of the person facing them.
She’d deliberately paired dissimilar body types and skill levels to get them to think outside their expectations.
Not the usual combat-training method, but for this group, it worked.
The students were as unexpected as her new life.
The least surprising were the five ex-Jumpers.
She had twenty-six regulars across all her classes, most with cybernetic parts, all with waster’s disease.
They’d joined in part because she was an ex-Jumper, and in part because they hoped her method would help them slow their degeneration symptoms like they suspected it had done for her. She couldn’t tell them it wouldn’t.
The rest of today’s class included a joyhouse medic with a couple of side businesses, two joyhouse workers, a young intersex who worked for a cremation service, and six street kids. Topping the astronomically improbable list was Brenner.
Their first meeting all those ten-days ago had been fraught. She’d known him then as Renner. At his twisted boss’s order, he’d used his talent to torture her. Then, astonishingly, he’d helped her escape certain death.
Soleil wasn’t conventionally religious, but she believed the gods of chaos got bored and therefore meddled a lot.
Why else would they have let Brenner live, then sent him to her tiny studio out of hundreds in the city and, just to be sure, made sure she recognized him despite his new look?
It had taken her a while to convince him she didn’t hold a grudge. He’d saved her life.
“Switch again.” Her raised voice echoed off the textured walls of the converted warehouse. “This time, leaders, make sure to incorporate a movement your follower does really well.”
Sorryal, one of the joyhouse workers, raised his hand. “What if I don’t know what she does really well?”
“Hmmm.” Soleil tilted her head. “Since you must have been blindfolded when she was the leader, perhaps you should follow her again, now that you can see.” Beautiful joyhouse worker Sorryal was only in the class because his equally beautiful coworker talked him into it so they could learn self-defense against unruly clients. He needed it more than she did.
The girl who called herself Fish smiled sweetly, then, when she had Sorryal’s attention, sank slowly into a full sideways split and rocked forward to place her elbows on the ground in front of her. Sorryal got about halfway down and whimpered.
Soleil couldn’t help but smile at Fish, a bone-thin, young-looking teenager with the instincts of a born leader and the heart of a wolf. “Go easy on him. He’s a noob.”
Fish rolled her eyes, but rose to her feet to match Sorryal’s stance, then led him into a less painful position.
Soleil moved down the line to Murtazo, an ex-Jumper well into Stage 4 of waster’s disease, frozen with intention lock. “May I touch you?”
“Y-yes,” Murtazo stuttered between clenched teeth.
Soleil gently stroked Murtazo’s straining shoulders and arms, moving closer to speak softly in the woman’s ear.
“Remember planet-fall. Visualize the movement. Let the mech suit do the work.” Every noob Jumper with a new skulljack made the mistake of trying to use their body instead of their brains to direct a planet-fall mech suit, leaving them sore for days.
“You don’t need all those muscles for this.
” Soleil kept stroking until she felt Murtazo slowly relax, then let her go and stood back. “What is Davonner good at?”
Murtazo smiled at the tall, lanky boy across from her. “C-c-climbing anything.” She pointed her chin toward the ceiling. “He f-f-free-c-c-climbed to the roof w-w-without a rope.”
Soleil nodded. “Good. This time, don’t think about the movement, think about the goal. Don’t lift your arms; take pleasure in reaching for the ripe apple that’s too high for everyone but a Jumper.”
Murtazo’s arms went up with a jerk, but they went up. Davonner mirrored her, down to the crooked grin on Murtazo’s face. Soleil nodded her approval to the boy and moved on.
At the end of the line, she watched Arco Charrascos. In person, she looked nothing like the broadcast image that reported news stories. Her movements were efficient but not athletic. She had an admirable willingness to try anything and a good attitude when she failed.
Her presence was more evidence of the gods’ meddling.
They’d met once before, ten years ago, but Charrascos didn’t know it.
Soleil had a different name and look, and had been wearing a mech suit at the time.
If Soleil let Charrascos stay, facts would come out.
The woman excelled at uncovering truths, and Soleil tanked at undercover work.
Soleil glanced at Brenner, leaning against the wall, arms crossed. A hem of flexin armor peeked out from under his usual knit tunic and utility pants, and his boots looked newer and heavier.
He’d refused to participate in today’s class because he was on duty. His expression was neutral, but his attention rarely wandered far from the two entryways or Charrascos. Seeing him now made Soleil realize she’d never before seen him that present and engaged before.
Of course, that could be because her memory of him was fuzzy.
He’d caused her considerable pain using his formidable minder talent.
When the gods of chaos had sent him wandering into her studio a few months ago, looking to trade cleaning for training, he’d maxed her deja vu meter until she figured out why.
He looked nothing like he had before, but his speech rhythm and emotional body language triggered her memories.
After a thorough check of his life since his supposed death, she’d taken him to the roof to tell him who she was. And that she knew who he was. She’d been unsurprised when he left…and stunned when he’d come back a ten-day later.
She had an unfair advantage in that she’d read all of Davidro’s journals, even the ones they hadn’t shared. She didn’t tell him because she’d have had to explain how she got them.
The studio felt heavy with secrets and hidden agendas. She’d agreed to observe and evaluate Charrascos, but Soleil was a Jumper, not a spy.
“Break for fifteen.” She nodded toward the south end of the studio, where trays full of veggie-protein wraps and water pouches sat on a narrow counter along the wall.
“Clean up if you make a mess.” Inspired, she added, “Find out something new about someone you don’t know well.
” One of her personal policies was not to pry, but nothing said she couldn’t let the students do it for her.
The kids launched themselves toward the counter. The food was mostly for them because she suspected it was often their only meal of the day. She pretended not to notice when unclaimed wraps mysteriously ended up in coat pockets.
The adults moved at a more sedate pace. Solomon, an ex-Jumper with cybernetics on most of the left side of her body and living with late-Stage 3 waster’s, approached Charrascos first. “I know you. You produced those where-are-they-now profiles on Eclipse Victor 8 squad.” The usually bitter Solomon seemed starstruck.
“Yes,” Charrascos agreed. “Another one comes out in two days.” She smiled up at all of the Jumpers as she hopped up to sit on the counter.
“I think every last one of you is completely crazy and fucking amazing.” Her tone was the same on-target blend of teasing and respect that ex-Jumpers used with each other. They smiled at her, despite themselves.
Fish climbed onto the counter and sat next to Charrascos, mimicking her posture.
“They are all that,” agreed Haseem, the intersex joyhouse medic with the mid-range tenor voice and who used male pronouns.
“And the frelling Citizen Protection Service thanks them for their service by issuing waster’s disease testing units.
” He grabbed two water pouches and offered one to Charrascos.
“It torques my jets that the CPS would rather spend untold billions on black-box projects like the Charisma mess instead of figuring out a cure. Good story, by the way.” He turned to hold out the pouch to Brenner, who was hovering at the edge of the group. “Water?”
Brenner’s face was a grimace of pain as he shook his head. Soleil made a mental note to check on him once the combat section started. She’d been failing him as a teacher and wanted to do better.
First, she needed to take care of another matter. She sat on the bench against the wall and caught the attention of Mags, a dark-haired teenager who was Fish’s newest recruit to the studio. “Bring me a water?”
Mags complied and threaded through the students to offer it.
Soleil took the pouch and patted the bench. “Sit with me a minute.”
Mags eyed her warily, then sat on the edge, clearly expecting trouble.
“Your dark skin and cosmetics hide the bruises pretty well, but you’re moving like my great-great-grandmother when the weather pressure changes.” It was clear from Mags’ first two sessions last week that she had the fighting spirit of a Jumper, if not the height.
Her expression turned defiant. “Falang skive been dangling frac or skin trade, long time. I ghost always, but skive emboscat moi near Gatesea break. Bataille both. I lift off first.”