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"Signpost For a Lost Traveler"
Apr. 2nd, 2023 02:05 am"Signpost For a Lost Traveler"
4/3/1989
I.
Fuming, Chen Wong-Lai slammed the door to his quarters with unnecessary emphasis.
He seldom stayed in these rooms at the KDF headquarters, keeping little more than a couple changes of clothes and a few books he caught up on when manning night monitor duty. Keeping his own tiny apartment on Ventnor Street had been important to his independence.
Still under thirty, Chen was as fit as any Olympic athlete. Not only he had studied his father's secret Fang Lung style, he had been taught Kumundu by Teacher Chael at Tel Shai for the past two years. A few inches under six feet tall and lean as a runner, Chen was more than a match for opponents much larger thaan himself. At the moment, with anger making him tense up, the new Dragon of Midnight moved more stiffly than his normal smooth catlike motions.
He caught himself breathing quickly. Chen stepped to the center of his room and stood with feet together and fists at his side. He bowed to Teacher Chael, farther away than miles could measure, then began his DohRa form. This started with poses that became more difficult to hold, then shifted into slow motions which became kicks and blocks and punches. As he warmed up, his strikes blurred out quicker and quicker as he seemed to be fighting multiple imaginary enemies. Twenty minutes passed. Chen's movements slowed again, became stances which gradually cooled down in the same salute that had begun the form.
The DohRa forms were individually developed for each student by Chael and modified constantly as they improved. Chen was breathing deeply and evenly. His temper had been reined in by the concentration. He went into his bathroom, stripping down and tossing his clothing in a hamper in one corner. After a steaming hot shower, the Dragon of Midnight emerged and examined his reflection in the mirror over the sink. Shaving was hardly necessary. Chen had tried to grow a beard once without noticeable success. He had been letting his coarse black hair grow recently at its covered the tops of his ears and reached the base of his neck.
Even in the shower, he kept the flat Dragon Pendant on its fine-linked chain around his neck. Two inches high, it represented a stylized Imperial wingless dragon rearing on its hind legs with its muzzle gaping. As he toweled off, he carefully dried the ancient talisman as well.
It was a warm April afternoon. Chen tugged on snug black jeans, a white T-shirt and a blue Chambray shirt he left unbuttoned and with the sleeves rolled back. Thick cotton socks and white sneakers completed the outfit. He frowned at the closet door where what looked like a leotard of wet silk with a glossy sheen was hanging. He was sick of wearing that flexible armor under his clothes every day all day. He was sick of carrying the anesthetic dart gun holstered under a jacket. Chen felt so annoyed by the world he almost left the Link on his dresser but realized that would be going too far. The team might depend on him being available. He grudgingly clipped it to his belt. Wallet, keys, some cash went into his pockets but none of the miniature gadgets KDF members invariably carried. One day without carrying an arsenal was not too much to ask.
Chen hurried down the stairs from the second hall to the front hall of headquarters. To his right, the office door was open. As he reached the bottom step, he saw Jeremy Bane glance up from the big oak desk beneath the hand-painted map of the world. "Hey, Chen,"said the Dire Wolf from behind a shambles of loose pieces of paper.
"Think I'll go for a little run."
"It's a great day for it," Bane agreed. "I only wish the paperwork would do itself."
"You can reach me if anything comes up," said the Dragon of Midnight, already heading for the door.
"Enjoy. We're having roast turkey catered at six, remember."
Chen left the building, stepping down to East 38th Street. He did feel like running. Swinging right, he took off at an easy lope he could keep up for hours. Being out in the open air helped his mood. Sometimes he realized how patient his teammates were with him. Chen was not the easiest person to get along with, but at least his moods blew over quickly.
At 42nd Street, he turned left and had to wait for the lights to cross Fifth Avenue. He slowed to a walk and paused at the front steps of the Public Library. Little kids were having their pictures taken by the stone lions. Their giggling and posing made him wistful. Sitting on the steps, a blonde college age girl was sketching with charcoal on an oversized pad. A fat middle-aged man was lost in a newspaper. Chen sighed audibly. None of them knew about the brutal Midnight War that raged unseen around them. They lived in a protected bubble of blissful ignorance.
Then he noticed the white-bearded Asian man staring at him from twenty feet away. He was tall and thin, wearing an old-fashioned business suit with his hands deep in the trouser pockets, the shirt top button undone with no necktie. At least seventy, he had longish hair and a neat beard that were both pure white. Most striking were the spiky eyebrows over deep-sunken eyes with a single inner fold.
Chen could not help being annoyed at that steady stare. "What are you looking at?"
"A lost traveler looking for a signpost," came the reply.
( the rest of the story )
4/3/1989
I.
Fuming, Chen Wong-Lai slammed the door to his quarters with unnecessary emphasis.
He seldom stayed in these rooms at the KDF headquarters, keeping little more than a couple changes of clothes and a few books he caught up on when manning night monitor duty. Keeping his own tiny apartment on Ventnor Street had been important to his independence.
Still under thirty, Chen was as fit as any Olympic athlete. Not only he had studied his father's secret Fang Lung style, he had been taught Kumundu by Teacher Chael at Tel Shai for the past two years. A few inches under six feet tall and lean as a runner, Chen was more than a match for opponents much larger thaan himself. At the moment, with anger making him tense up, the new Dragon of Midnight moved more stiffly than his normal smooth catlike motions.
He caught himself breathing quickly. Chen stepped to the center of his room and stood with feet together and fists at his side. He bowed to Teacher Chael, farther away than miles could measure, then began his DohRa form. This started with poses that became more difficult to hold, then shifted into slow motions which became kicks and blocks and punches. As he warmed up, his strikes blurred out quicker and quicker as he seemed to be fighting multiple imaginary enemies. Twenty minutes passed. Chen's movements slowed again, became stances which gradually cooled down in the same salute that had begun the form.
The DohRa forms were individually developed for each student by Chael and modified constantly as they improved. Chen was breathing deeply and evenly. His temper had been reined in by the concentration. He went into his bathroom, stripping down and tossing his clothing in a hamper in one corner. After a steaming hot shower, the Dragon of Midnight emerged and examined his reflection in the mirror over the sink. Shaving was hardly necessary. Chen had tried to grow a beard once without noticeable success. He had been letting his coarse black hair grow recently at its covered the tops of his ears and reached the base of his neck.
Even in the shower, he kept the flat Dragon Pendant on its fine-linked chain around his neck. Two inches high, it represented a stylized Imperial wingless dragon rearing on its hind legs with its muzzle gaping. As he toweled off, he carefully dried the ancient talisman as well.
It was a warm April afternoon. Chen tugged on snug black jeans, a white T-shirt and a blue Chambray shirt he left unbuttoned and with the sleeves rolled back. Thick cotton socks and white sneakers completed the outfit. He frowned at the closet door where what looked like a leotard of wet silk with a glossy sheen was hanging. He was sick of wearing that flexible armor under his clothes every day all day. He was sick of carrying the anesthetic dart gun holstered under a jacket. Chen felt so annoyed by the world he almost left the Link on his dresser but realized that would be going too far. The team might depend on him being available. He grudgingly clipped it to his belt. Wallet, keys, some cash went into his pockets but none of the miniature gadgets KDF members invariably carried. One day without carrying an arsenal was not too much to ask.
Chen hurried down the stairs from the second hall to the front hall of headquarters. To his right, the office door was open. As he reached the bottom step, he saw Jeremy Bane glance up from the big oak desk beneath the hand-painted map of the world. "Hey, Chen,"said the Dire Wolf from behind a shambles of loose pieces of paper.
"Think I'll go for a little run."
"It's a great day for it," Bane agreed. "I only wish the paperwork would do itself."
"You can reach me if anything comes up," said the Dragon of Midnight, already heading for the door.
"Enjoy. We're having roast turkey catered at six, remember."
Chen left the building, stepping down to East 38th Street. He did feel like running. Swinging right, he took off at an easy lope he could keep up for hours. Being out in the open air helped his mood. Sometimes he realized how patient his teammates were with him. Chen was not the easiest person to get along with, but at least his moods blew over quickly.
At 42nd Street, he turned left and had to wait for the lights to cross Fifth Avenue. He slowed to a walk and paused at the front steps of the Public Library. Little kids were having their pictures taken by the stone lions. Their giggling and posing made him wistful. Sitting on the steps, a blonde college age girl was sketching with charcoal on an oversized pad. A fat middle-aged man was lost in a newspaper. Chen sighed audibly. None of them knew about the brutal Midnight War that raged unseen around them. They lived in a protected bubble of blissful ignorance.
Then he noticed the white-bearded Asian man staring at him from twenty feet away. He was tall and thin, wearing an old-fashioned business suit with his hands deep in the trouser pockets, the shirt top button undone with no necktie. At least seventy, he had longish hair and a neat beard that were both pure white. Most striking were the spiky eyebrows over deep-sunken eyes with a single inner fold.
Chen could not help being annoyed at that steady stare. "What are you looking at?"
"A lost traveler looking for a signpost," came the reply.
( the rest of the story )
