Live and Let Psi Page 13

  I rolled my eyes at the Kilodan. He shrugged.

  “Okay, let’s get started. Get into your fighting stance.”

  I immediately regretted saying that. As a student, Drake was every teacher’s nightmare. He contradicted everything I said, told me how he would adapt what I taught him to “his personal preferences,” and generally lived within an inch of being turned into my own private punching bag.

  “Your Mental Arts skills aren’t quite black belt level,” I told him after two hours of being annoyed, “but your kung fu is impressive.”

  “Yours isn’t bad, either,” Drake said. “Although I am a little shocked that you’re a teacher. But I don’t mind a lesson or two from a hot babe like you—if you get my meaning. Nudge, nudge, wink, wink.”

  I turned to Andy to ask if I could nudge Drake into oncoming traffic, but got control of myself and decided to do what the Kilodan expected of me. In hindsight, I should have pushed him in front of a bus.

  “I can see you’re having a hard time keeping up with a fast learner like me,” Drake said. “Let me make a suggestion. Since my kung fu is by your own admission excellent—”

  “I said it was impressive. I did not say it was excellent.”

  “Potato, potahto. I want to practice more Mental Arts. Specifically the One-Inch Punch. I think that’s the only technique I haven’t already mastered.”

  “Drake, the One Inch Punch is a kung fu technique. It’s all physics, no Mental Arts.”

  Drake waved his palms in the air. “No, no, no. I’m talking about the technique that Bruce Lee made famous. You know, the one where you hold your fist an inch away from your opponent and knock him off a wall. It takes extreme concentration. It’s a primary Mental Arts technique.”

  “There’s no psionic energy in a One Inch Punch. It’s about how you twist your shoulders and hips. All physics.”

  “I’m definitely in.” Drake gave me the glazed-donut look again. “Especially if I get to watch you twist your hips.”

  I turned to Andy, speechless. I expected him to be laughing his butt off at my frustration, but the expression on his face was anything but amused.

  “Show him,” Andy said quietly.

  “But Andy—”

  “He’s wearing armor. Demonstrate.”

  “Now we’re talking,” Drake said, rubbing his hands together. “Let’s see what you’ve got, little girl.”

  That crack officially put me over the edge. “My pleasure. Get in your fighting stance.”

  Drake shook his head. “No, that’s not how you do it. I stand facing you with my arms down at my sides, and bam! You cut loose.”

  I smiled and raised my fist an inch from Drake’s chest armor. “Would you like me to explain the physics behind the technique, or should I just cut loose?”

  Drake reached up and patted my cheek. “You tell me what you know, and I’ll fill in the blanks.”

  I glanced over at Andy, thinking he was going to call this off, but he just nodded.

  “Okay, here’s what little I know about the One Inch Punch. As I understand it, the power of the punch comes from my entire body. I push off with my feet, twist my waist, tighten my arm, and snap my wrist. All the force is transferred into my fist like a battering ram. Did I get that right?”

  Drake smiled smugly. “Not quite. Let me—”

  Bam! My fist cracked into Drake’s chest, and he flew through the air, bouncing nicely off the wall.

  “Sorry,” I said. “I thought you were finished talking.”

  “I think the boy has a new appreciation for physics,” Andy said. “You okay, Drakie-poo?”

  Drake pulled himself to his feet, rubbing his chest. “Wow, that was awesome! Didn’t feel a thing through the armor. But it is a little embarrassing to be knocked through the air by a girl.”

  “Our armor will stop a blow to the body,” the Kilodan said. “It is not designed to protect the ego.”

  “Yeah,” Drake said. “I noticed she gets a little full of herself, but still, she’s a good teacher. We’ll cut her some slack this time. Maybe I can get her to twist her hips again after practice.”

  The Kilodan slowly clenched his gauntlets into fists.

  I took a deep breath, preparing to explain the concentration techniques needed to form Psi Weapons, but Drake opened his big, annoying mouth again.

  “No offense,” he said, “but I don’t think the Mental Arts are all they’re cracked up to be. I mean, now that I understand the One Inch Punch, I’ll be the best Psi Fighter ever. I’m ready for a real challenge.”

  Andy moaned like Lurch from the Addams Family.

  Just as I was about to end the lesson rather than pound Drake into the oblivion he so desperately deserved, my beloved, by-the-book Kilodan did something I never thought he would do in a million years.

  “Such enthusiasm,” he said. “Tell me, Mr. Reynolds, would you like to test that intriguing theory?”

  “Sure. Which theory do you mean?”

  Andy gaped at the Kilodan and said, “Are you serious?”

  The Kilodan folded his hands behind his back. “I was merely wondering if Mr. Reynolds would like to demonstrate the superiority of his kung fu skills over the Mental Arts. That would certainly settle any unanswered questions.”

  “That would be awesome!” Drake said. “Give me your best Psi Fighter. I’ll show him what I’m made of.”

  I was speechless. That was like asking someone to wield a piece of overcooked spaghetti against a serial killer with a rocket launcher. Not even Drake deserved to fight against such uneven odds.

  “Lynn, Mental Arts only,” the Kilodan said. “Do you understand?”

  “Not even remotely.”

  “Come on, dude, she’s just a girl,” Drake said. “Give me something real.”

  I raised an eyebrow.

  Drake stared at me like he was bored out of his mind.

  “What’s wrong?” I said. “Scared?”

  “No,” Drake said. “I just don’t want to waste my time proving something that’s already obvious.”

  I clucked like a chicken.

  “Okay, you asked for it,” Drake said, facing off against me. “Get ready.”

  Rather than dropping into my fighting stance, I drew my Amplifier and bowed.

  “Never take your eyes off your opponent!” Drake shouted and fired a front kick at my face.

  “Shield,” I said, and a blue dome exploded from my Amplifier, slamming into Drake’s kick. I stood up from my bow and said, “I don’t need to see you to beat you.”

  Drake laughed, but then winced as he rubbed his shin. “Nice trick. Be careful, now, I’m about to take the kid gloves off.” He leaped into the air and threw a beautiful spinning back kick at me. He really was good, and I really shouldn’t have done what I did. But I did anyway. Fear me, I thought. The shield burst and reformed into the Dart of Paranoia. I flicked my wrist and slashed the Dart through Drake’s well-timed and beautifully executed attack.

  He landed, and his eyes grew wide. They whipped high, then low, bouncing left, then right. He began swatting at the air, swatting his arms and stomach, screaming, “They’re everywhere! Get the spray! I’ll swell up! Help me, Mommy!”

  “You’re wearing armor,” I whispered, extinguishing my Dart. “They can’t hurt you.”

  Drake calmed down, then smiled at me. “You tricked me. How did you know I’m allergic to beestings?”

  “I didn’t,” I said. “That was a Mental Arts technique. It makes you face the things you fear.”

  Drake nodded slowly. “Okay, I see what’s happening. I know those techniques. I just never thought they were useful enough to use them against a real attack. I was taking it easy on you. The Mental Arts could never stop me if I went all out.”

  “Only one way to find out,” I said. “Do you want to see the technique I’m going to use, so you can plan your defense?”

  Drake looked hesitant. “No need, but go ahead. Show me what you got.”

  I
imagined a clock, and my Amplifier formed a smoky, old-fashioned pocket watch in the palm of my hand.

  Andy burst into laughter. “This, I have to see.”

  The Kilodan simply folded his arms and said nothing.

  “What are you gonna do, swing that thing at me by its chain?” Drake asked. “Okay, Rinnie, it’s serious this time. You’re not wearing armor, so I’ll pull my blows, but I’m going all out. Are you sure you can handle this?”

  “I hope so,” I said, smiling at Andy. “Attack when you’re ready, Drake.”

  “How about now?” he said, and lunged at me with a lightning fast side kick.

  I chose the technique I thought would only damage Drake’s oversized ego. Okay, it was a weak moment. The Time Twister is a Mental Arts technique that disrupts your opponent’s perception of time. It also affects the Psi Fighter, but in a much different way. Everything was in slow motion to me. But to Drake, I would appear to be moving at the speed of thought.

  I folded my arms and stood there, waiting for his foot as it inched toward my face. I almost started giggling because of the idea that popped into my head. I stepped back, away from the slow moving attack, untying his boot as the kick passed by my face. I bent down and untied Drake’s other boot while he was still in mid-kick. When I stood back up, Drake was looking around as though he didn’t know where I was. Then he focused on me and threw a series of punches. By the time the first one reached my face, I had already ducked to tie his laces together. When I was done, I extinguished my Amplifier, and the pocket watch fizzled out. Above me, Drake’s last few punches were striking empty air. I stood up and grinned.

  “What a waste of time,” Drake said. “Is that what the Mental Arts are all about—running away from your opponent? You didn’t prove anything.”

  I placed my Amplifier back in my belt while Drake watched. “Attack again,” I said. “I’ll show you how to defeat an opponent without touching him.”

  “You’ll be sorry,” Drake said. He lunged toward me. And fell flat on his face with a thud.

  “Can I give you a hand?” I asked, giggling.

  Drake glared at me, untied his boots, and pulled himself to his feet. “Oh, it’s hilarious when my laces get tangled and I trip. What have you proved? Show me a Mental Arts technique that’s actually useful in battle.”

  “Like what?” I said, giving Drake a palms up.

  “Might I suggest a Mental Blast?” the Kilodan said, the slightest hint of amusement slipping through his normally emotionless voice.

  “You’ve got to be kidding,” I said.

  “Yeah,” Drake said, “let’s see a Mental Blast. Show me what you’ve got.”

  “Okay,” I said, “here goes.” I eased into my fighting stance and extended my half-open fist, placing it delicately against Drake’s chest armor. I thought of how hilarious this situation was. My body jumped as mental force ignited the laughter inside me, firing down my arm. Sparks snapped, my hair frizzed, and my hand opened. A sonic boom rent the air and Drake went sailing.

  I had to give it a ten.

  “I believe Drake has a new appreciation for the Mental Arts,” Andy said, then clapped his hands. “Class dismissed.”

  “So soon?” I asked.

  “I have to work on a new invention, and you have to recon a graveyard.”

  “That’s tonight?”

  “It is.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Memories of a Murder

  “Keep communications open,” Andy said. “I don’t like the idea of you going out there alone.”

  “I’ll be okay,” I said.

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’ll be here listening the whole time. I just wish I was further ahead with this invention so I could go with you.”

  “Referring to your toy?”

  “No, my other project. But for your information, the Andymobile is not a toy,” Andy said, shooting his nose into the air. “It is a finely crafted, technologically advanced super-gizmo.”

  “Super-gizmo?”

  “Technical term for a vehicle that will revolutionize driving. All you do is think. Lean forward when you want to go forward. Lean back when you want to slow down.” Andy started to dance. “Lean it to the left, lean it to the right. Stand up, sit down, fight fight fight. Simple.”

  “Just like you.”

  Andy grunted. “Seriously, be careful tonight. I will be in constant contact. You remember how to get to the secret entrance in Commander Nat’s butt?”

  I nodded. “Walk three or four hundred miles through the mines and stop at the first ladder.”

  “Have fun. Don’t be late. Call if you need me.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” I said, totally not thrilled about the long walk.

  “Rinnie, I’m serious,” Andy said, his face drawn with worry. “If you need me—”

  “I’ll keep my com-link open. I’ll be okay.”

  Andy pulled me into a fierce hug. “Be careful.”

  I gave him a peck on the cheek, then pulled on my mask. “Careful is my middle name.”

  I left Andy standing at the Academy entrance and walked off slowly through the main tunnel toward Commander Nat’s statue. Andy was a butthead sometimes, but he was a sweetheart. I had just closed the passage door when light reflecting off a shiny metallic surface caught my attention.

  The Andymobile.

  Hmm.

  …

  Glistening black walls rushed by as I sped through the tunnel, perched securely in the driver’s seat of the Andymobile.

  Oh, yeah. Much better than walking.

  I had no experience driving a regular car, but even if I had, it wouldn’t have helped. Sitting in the driver’s seat of a mind-powered vehicle with no visible controls of any sort was a bit confusing. Electrode plates lined the armrests on either side of me, and my fingertips were firmly planted on them.

  This wasn’t so bad. I leaned forward.

  The Andymobile sped up. Just as Andy said it would.

  Awesome.

  I wondered what would happen if I drove one-handed, the way my dad did in a real car.

  So, I tried it.

  Bad move.

  The Andymobile lurched, spinning a complete one-eighty before it came to a jarring stop.

  “Oops,” I mumbled. “Made the super-gizmo do a donut.” I relaxed and emptied my mind, then laid both hands gently on the electrode plates and took off again.

  As long as I didn’t think of the Andymobile as a real car, I glided along nicely to the secret entrance. The psionic transport went where I looked. If I leaned forward and imagined going faster, it sped up. If I relaxed and imagined coasting, it slowed down. It was smooth sailing all the way. Until I came to the ladder leading up into Commander Nat’s statue, where I actually had to stop. Apparently I had been leaning forward a bit more than I realized.

  The secret exit in the tunnel’s ceiling approached surprisingly quickly. It grew larger and closer in the bright anthracite tunnel…and blurred as I streaked on by as though I had just made the jump to hyperspace. That was awesome. I was really getting into this driving thing. It was exhilarating. It was intense.

  That’s when I noticed that the tunnel was about to end.

  I was rocketing toward an unyielding wall of solid coal, my foot slamming down on the brake with the force of a jack hammer, when I remembered that there wasn’t one.

  That seemed like a good time to panic.

  The Psi Fighter armor protects us from gunfire, Mental Weapon attacks, and probably nuclear blasts. But I had never heard of it being used to protect a crash test dummy. Emphasis on the dummy. I quickly pulled one hand off the electrode plate to brace myself for the crash, hoping I would do better than a bug hitting a windshield.

  Suddenly, the Andymobile skidded, spun a complete one-eighty, and came to a jarring halt, its tail end inches from the Wall of Doom.

  My brain stopped working completely. My heart pounded a jillion miles an hour, and I gulped air as if I had just sprinted a marathon. Unste
adily, I lifted my other hand from the electrode plate. Nothing happened. I slowly released my seat belt, opened the door, and trickled out onto the polished coal floor. As I lay there facedown, feeling the coolness of the tunnel floor through my armor, I was overcome by the worst case of the giggles I ever remembered in my life. Now that I wasn’t dead, I couldn’t wait to tell Andy. That was hilarious.

  After my giggle attack subsided, I pulled myself to my feet and admired the Andymobile. It was awesome. Sleek, powerful, and totally out of my league.

  I decided to walk back to the secret exit.

  After finding no lifeforms on Commander Nat’s surveillance equipment, I exited the statue and headed for the section of Sinclair Park’s cemetery where Mrs. LaReau had died. The night was warm and hazy, but a few stars managed to twinkle through.

  “Red,” I said into my mask, and eerie green infrared night vision kicked on. I had no idea what I was looking for. The cemetery glowed, but nothing unusual showed up. I stayed in the shadows as I approached the place where Nicolaitan had murdered the two police officers. A spray pattern of green dots glowed on the ground. Blood. The place where the first officer had been forced to shoot himself. There would be no blood where the second officer was murdered. Handless Death doesn’t leave a mark.

  Just beyond, I saw the open grave that Nicolaitan had blasted Mrs. LaReau’s body into. Something about it made me shudder. Then I realized that the hole had been filled with dirt and covered with straw.

  It was unlikely the woman was buried there. The police would have given her body to the coroner.

  Drag marks rutted the grass where Nicolaitan had towed Mrs. LaReau toward the open grave. As I got closer, I picked out his footprints. He had walked toward the grave, then turned and come back, stopping close to the place where the officers had died. After which he’d gone off toward the woods, did a U-turn, and started meandering back and forth as if he was looking for something. I placed my boot alongside one of his prints and decided that Nicolaitan must wear a size ten. Sloppy of him to leave tracks. I looked behind me to make sure I had been more cautious. The grass was unmarked. I had walked lightly and placed my feet carefully. Part of my Psi Fighter training. Andy would be proud.