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"It's used primarily for thrusting, but you can also slash," said Hunter. "It's called fencing."

She frowned. "So is the enclosure used to keep in goats. I see no connection."

"There isn't one."

"So why is it called fencing?"

"I don't know why it's called fencing. It just is, that's all."

"It's foolish. These clothes are foolish. This is a foolish time. I do not like it. This is nothing like what you told me."

"Give it a chance, Andre. You've only been here for one day."

"I see no reason why we have to wear these foolish clothes. I saw other people on the road who did not dress this way."

"They were peasants," Hunter said. "This is how people who are reasonably well off dress in this time period. We're going to have to stay here for a while, until I can contact my friend in the underground. I explained all that to you. If we're going to travel to the time I spoke of, you're going to need an implant and not just any implant, but one that can't be traced. It's the only way for you to learn things that would otherwise take you a lifetime of education. You're going to need that knowledge in order to survive. It's a very complicated procedure."

"Why can we not go directly to the time you came from to get this implant?"

"Because it would be too dangerous. Besides, it has to be surgically implanted and-"

"It has to be what?"

"Implanted. The implant must be implanted."

"I do not understand. I thought it was a device."

"It is a device."

"Then what does 'implanted' mean?"

"It's an action. You must implant an implant."

"How can it be a device and an action at the same time? And what does this word surgically mean?"

"It's too difficult to explain right now," said Hunter. He knew only too well how her 12th-century mind would react to the idea of minor brain surgery. "What matters is that I have to get in touch with a certain person who has the skills to accomplish this and that person chooses to reside in Paris, in this time period. Our mission will go easier for us if we assume the character of people of a certain social class."

"Why can I not wear man's clothing?" she said. "It certainly appears to be more comfortable than this dress and these absurd undergarments."

"It probably is," said Hunter, "but that's not the point. The point is that you're a woman and you've never had a chance to learn to act like one. You never know, the knack might come in handy someday."

"I see no advantage in learning how to flirt and simper and use my sex to advance myself."

"I think there's a little more to being a woman than that," said Hunter.

"If there is, then I have not observed it."

"Well, even if there wasn't," Hunter said, "the simple fact is that using your sex to advance yourself, as you put it, works on occasion, and I believe that one should use anything that works."

"Then why use that child's plaything of a sword?"

"Child's plaything, is it?" Hunter tossed her his rapier, then unwrapped a spare one from its cloth covering. He tossed both cloth covering and scabbard onto the bed. "Let's see just how much of a plaything this is," he said. "Attack me."

She swung the sword, awkwardly. Hunter parried easily, using the Florentine style-rapier in one hand, dagger in the other. He had little difficulty in blocking her crude strokes. The weapon was strange to her and she was uncomfortable with it.

"It's not a broadsword," Hunter said. "It's meant for speed. Watch."

This time he went on the offensive and she redoubled her efforts, taking her cue from him but still parrying clumsily. In seconds, he had disarmed her of the rapier, tapping her wrist lightly with the flat of the blade after hooking her sword, showing how a slash there would have caused her to drop her weapon and sustain a wound at the same time.


Tags: Simon Hawke TimeWars Science Fiction