The Transporter's Favor C.M. Simpson (most motivational books .TXT) 📖

“Good fight, kiddo.”

I closed my eyes, and relaxed my head on the mat.

It was a compliment, but I didn’t feel like I’d achieved anything.

She reached down, offering me a hand up. “Come on. Wanderer and Abs have found the sales yard.”

That got my attention and I rolled to my feet, accepting Delight’s hand. From across the mats, the team came together. The guy I’d put down came in for a friendly ribbing, until Delight put the jokesters on the schedule to face me the next morning.

“Easy meat,” one of them sneered, and Delight looked to me.

“Take him down.”

I didn’t hesitate. Guy that big? That fast? I’d take every advantage I could get—and surprise was my only friend. He was still laughing when I kicked his knee in a direction it was never meant to go, kicked him in the ribs on his way down, and followed him to the ground.

Damn. Close combat with someone this size was not recommended, and the element of surprise was wearing off, even if the pain put him at a disadvantage. I went in hard, going for the solar plexus and throat.

“Enough!” Pritchard’s voice snapped through me, and I stopped, my fist resting against his neck.

It took me a few breaths to register the pain in my side.

I looked down and realized two things: Pritchard’s timing was almost perfect, and these bastards cheated as badly as their boss.

“Don’t be a sore loser, Cutter.”

“Didn’t lose,” I said, reaching back and wrapping my hand around my opponent’s wrist, slowly pushing the blade away. “We killed each other.”

He gave a bubbling laugh, and gently moved my fist away from his throat.

“You can fight beside me, anytime.”

He wasn’t the first soldier to tell me that, so I took it for the compliment it was.

“Sorry about your knee.”

“Doc’ll patch it,” he said, then frowned. “You throw up on me and all bets are off.”

Until he’d said it, I hadn’t realized just how bad I was feeling. Not that I was gonna admit it.

I stood up, and stepped clear of him.

“It didn’t go that deep,” I said, knowing I’d gone ghost white, and feeling sweat bead on skin gone suddenly cold.

Delight gave me a look that said I wasn’t a very good liar.

I made myself turn towards the door, squelched the urge to clap a hand over the pain in my side.

“What’s for lunch?”

Pritchard grabbed me before I could fall over.

“Let’s go find out,” he said, but he didn’t steer me to the mess hall.

He guided me out of the training hall and into the medical centre across the hall. The medic in attendance just rolled his eyes.

“Again?”

“She’s needed for weapons training in two hours.”

“What sort of training.”

“Hostage Scenario 5.”

I watched as the medic took a breath, his mouth forming the first protest, and then he closed his mouth, and pointed to one of the bays along one wall.

“I take it you’ll send someone to collect her?”

Pritchard might have replied, but the rest of the team chose that moment to follow us through the door, carrying the big guy I’d put down. The medic looked at the new arrival, looked at me, glared at Pritchard.

“And I suppose you need him at the same time?”

“Yes!” Delight snapped as she arrived, which put an end to that discussion.

They stuck the big guy, Scarpil, in the bay next to mine, immobilizing his leg, and putting him flat on his back as they injected nans and muttered about the stupidity of operational training, which injured the operatives as badly, or worse, than the real thing. Me, they stitched, and nanned, and threatened with another shot if I didn’t at least pretend to sleep until the team came to collect us.

“Last time you get underestimated,” Scarpil muttered, before they shushed him with a sedative, and I didn’t dare respond. There were too many annoyed medics out there, and way too many sharp and pointy objects within their reach. I cat-napped while I could.

I surprised myself by actually falling asleep, woke to Abby’s gentle mind-touch, just before Delight tapped me on the foot.

“Time for training,” she said, and there was no mention of the meal I’d missed.

There was a ration bar, though. Quick energy and slow-release nutrients to take us through to the evening meal—and if the medics thought it wasn’t enough, they didn’t say anything. Scarpil walked beside me as we headed out the door. He didn’t speak, but there really wasn’t much to talk about. We had training—and we’d have training tomorrow…and maybe the day after that.

Whatever, right?

It made me glad I wasn’t part of Delight’s regular squad of mischief makers, and wish for the days when Mack was handing me yet another impossible assignment that he probably hadn’t told me enough about.

Delight glanced over her shoulder, and smirked at me, but we’d reached the armory and the firing range, and Hostage Scenario 5 was a bitch. I got shot twice, and thrown out a virtual window once, and then I’d lost my temper.

And woken up in another tank.

“You feeling better now?” Delight snarked, and I grinned.

I remembered throwing her under a shuttle.

So, Hells, yes, I did.

And even she smiled.

“Good, because tomorrow we go harder.”

Harder?

“Shut up and get some sleep, Cutter.”

Well, okay, then.

I closed my eyes, and began running through kata in my head, feeling the muscle groups twitch in response. I fell asleep about half way through, and woke up outside the tank when Pritchard dumped my combat gear onto my chest.

“Get up and get dressed,” he said. “There are penalties for being late.”

In which case he should have woken me, sooner.

“There were also penalties for waking you too early,” he said, and a flick of his eyes indicated the unhappy-looking medics standing just outside the bay.

It almost made me want to laugh.

That was a feeling that was very short lived.

We pushed it, running the decks of the cruiser as a team, as pairs, as part of a multi-group hunt, and then we retired to the gym for more sparring. Scarpil