"First of all," Vic stated flatly, "you're using way too much energy for this."
Vic had just started, and by the drawn-out look on her face, I could tell she wasn't going to let me off with just a few tips and pointers.
"Of course," she continued, "considering you, that's not altogether unusual."
I had to smile in spite of myself.
She was right. I love big moves and do not use them sparingly.
"Considering that, your delivery was excellent, Clare. If that had been a free-style kata, I think you would've scored tens up and down." She looked at me sternly. "But in practical combat, you'd end up just like that." She pointed at me, still lying flat on my back as I gazed at the dojo's ceiling.
I raised my hand.
Vic's eyebrow arched, but she acknowledged the time-honored gesture held among master and pupil.
"Does this mean I run ten extra laps again?"
I hated running laps. So repetitive. I felt like I was going nowhere.
"No," Vic replied evenly, "it means I'm going to teach you to use your style effectively or break you trying." She walked over, reached down and took my hands, "starting today, Clare Gibson. Right now."
I looked at the dead-set expression on my instructors face.
"Uh, can I go get some water first?"
Vic grinned fiercely.
"When we're done today, the only thing you'll want to drink is a shot of Vodka! Get up!"
She hauled my reluctant body to its feet and led me to center ring (or so it would have been, if we were in a real boxing arena instead of a padded, fifty-by-forty-five hardwood floor).
"Don't bother with a fighting stance," she advised casually, walking a few paces away before turning to face me. "I've something completely new to show you."
"Whoopee," I mumbled sarcastically as I crossed my arms, "like one technique will straighten me out."
I understood what Vic had been talking about; understood all too well. Like I said before, I use big moves, and as Vic indicated, I use them darn well. I'm a regular terror at the Nationals. Problem is, by the time I kick-butt my way to the final rounds, I'm just too darn tired to operate effectively anymore. I score high alright, but as my economics teacher would say, the expenditure is something close to exceeding the outcome.
But I couldn't see any other way of doing things. What was the point of learning the best techniques in the book if I wasn’t going to use them?
And I wasn't all that inefficient. I did know how to set the situation up for my really cool finisher moves. Hell, all I really needed was more energy to spend! I could do so much more!
Vic broke my thoughts by walking over to the small, black gym bag she always brought to the dojo with her. I watched curiously as she reached inside and withdrew two, red and white spheres, each about the size of her palm.
It took a moment for recognition to kick in.
Vic had a pair of Pokémon.
I knew what those were. I watched Pokémon tournaments on TV all the time, and I couldn't go through a class at school without them being mentioned or expounded upon somewhere. This was especially so in the hard sciences (about the only thing interesting I got out of those courses). Several people at school were Pokémon trainers. Some of them were friends of mine that I knew quite well.
Pokémon rock, dude!
My mom got us a pet Skitty when I was fifteen. We call him Dilbert (the most adorable little nuisance of a hairball you will ever meet) and we love'im to death! I had given some serious thought at one time to becoming a trainer. But I was always so busy doing other things, I felt it wouldn't be a good idea to commit to something that would take so much time and effort. I knew it would take at least that. My trainer friends had informed me about the mundane particulars that came with training, as well as the horrific list of liabilities. I'd even been told of several countries were Poké was practically all the inhabitants ever did (Kanto, Jhoto, The Orange Islands, etc.). That was just a bit much for me. Call it what you like, but I will not be tied down doing just one thing!
Still, when all is said and done, one fact remains: I freakin' love Pokémon!
Vic casually tossed one ball in the air and caught it again.
"You know enough about these, I imagine. Here," she tossed the round container to me, "open it."
I looked down at the pokéball in my fighter-gloved hands, fingering it for a moment.
My gosh, this is real! I thought as my heart began to throb in my ear.
Though I wasn't a trainer, I did have a trainer's license. It was a mandatory part of my school's overall curriculum. You got to choose when you took the course, but before you graduated, you were required to pass.
I'd polished it off early in my first year.
"Go on," Vic urged, "let it go."
Turning the ball's tractor beam port away from me, I tapped it's lid and tossed the storage device in the air.
The room exploded with a burst of white light. I immediately looked away, covering my face with the forearm sleeve of my gi. Even then, when my eyes again returned to the spot between myself and Vic, where I'd launched the Pokéball, the whole dojo seemed engulfed in blinding sunshine.
But now, through my dazzled vision, I could see something else was in the room.
A tall, humanoid creature, with wiry (but very muscular), sand-colored arms and bulbous thighs encased in a hard apple-red exterior, ending in slim, elongated, two-toed sandy feet stood on the dojo mat in front of me. On its head, it wore what looked like a kind of funny, nondescript, bulbous hat, kind of like it's thigh casings, the same color and looking just as tough. It glistened in the dojo's artificial lights like a helm of thick, polished leather.
It's sandy, three-fingered hands were already up, one leading with a forward-thrusting open palm, the other clenched into a tight fist at its side as it mechanically assumed its odd, off-set looking combat stance.
It's head lifted from a deep, meditative state as the lids to its soul shot open. It's glowing, liquid lavender eyes exploded forth, their psychic allure pulling me in.
"A Medicham..."
I stared in worshipful astonishment.
"My gawd, Vic....she's perfect!" I blurted.
"SHE?!" A deep, indignant voice echoed through the room.
An instant later, I found myself flying through the air and then colliding with the matted floor.
The next thing I saw was a pair of worried blue eyes looking into mine.
"Hey."
it was that voice again.
"You okay there? I'm terribly sorry!"
A pair of strong arms lifted me to a sitting position.
"But for cryin' out loud!" it continued, taking on an irritated edge again, "What kind of cryin' idiot are you? Look at me! Do I look female to you!?"
I stared blankly at the speaker.
It was Vic's Medicham.
"Ahhh!!" I cried, springing up.
Seeing Vic a few feet away, I made a blazing dash in her direction, leaving a trail of smoke as I ducked behind her protective frame.
"Help!" I squealed, wide-eyed and scared out of my wits "That thing talked to me!!" (Funny how my more select vocabulary abandons me in these moments)
"Yeah, Retro tends to do that," Vic replied casually.
She wretched my trembling hands from her gi.
"I guess a formal introduction is in order." she sighed. "I'm a bit disappointed, though. You usually like surprises."
I stared across the room.
Sinewy arms crossed and head cocked challengingly to one side, the talking Medicham stared back.
I gulped.
"I didn't know you had Pokémon, Vic."
"Heh. A well guarded secret." Taking my hand, she walked us both in the Medicham's direction. "I've bred Fighting-type Pokémon for the better part of my career. I raise them, and personally train them. When they're good enough, I pair them with a worthy partner."
That last statement almost sent me into another dead panic.
I dug my heels into the mat, bringing our approach to a staggering halt.
"Partner!?"
"Yes, partner." Vic repeated.
I backed away.
"And you're thinking I can actually be that thing's trainer!?"
Victoria chuckled.
"You're getting the idea."
"What do I need a freakin' Pokémon for!?"
From across the room, the Medicham picked himself off his (if it wasn't a "she" Pokémon, then it must be a "he", right?) feet and glided lightly to where I'd brought Vic and myself to a stop.
He landed squarely in front of me.
"First of all," the Pokémon began in a casual, almost belittling fashion, his arms still crossed, "I think I'll have to teach you a thing or two about basic anatomy."
"But before that," he took my hands, balled them into fists and lifted them in front of me, "I'm going to teach you how to fight."
My brow knitted.
"I already know how to fight, thanks." I replied curtly, my courage coming back to me.
"Who are you?"
Releasing my hands, the Medicham straightened and bowed.
"My name is Retro. And if you think you can handle me, Clare Gibson, I'll also be your new partner."
I winced.
How did he know my name (my full name at that)?
But curiosity soon got the better of me.
"Retro?..." I regarded the strange creature standing before me. He was several inches taller than I was, so at this proximity, I had to look up to hold his enchanting gaze. "But you don't even know me, Retro. Why would you want to be my partner?"
I stepped back a bit to get a better visual perspective.
Retro's eyes never blinked as he followed my every move.
"Victoria has told me what I need to know, and I trust her judgment. And I sense what I was told is indeed correct. You're exceptionally brash, Clare Gibson, but you are not, I think, unkind or hateful."
"Just call me Clare, okay." I replied, a bit edgily. Though the trait was probably to his credit, Retro's undying stare was making me uneasy.
I cautiously circled him, examining the rest of the Pokémon's physical attributes. The Medicham's build was fairly consistent all the way around: Retro was tall, slim, maybe a little lanky even, but he was ripped, his sand-colored body hard as a rock. I didn't doubt for minute he could teach me or anyone else how to fight. He looked like he'd been doing that all his life.
And his face, and those eyes...
"How old are you?"
... smooth and unblemished and completely ageless.
"Why do you ask?"
I shook my head, trying to clear it of its transfixed state.
"I don't know. I was just curious, I guess. How long have you been training with Vic?"
A tilted smile crossed his elfish face.
"All my life, Clare."
"And how long has that been?" I rebuffed instantly.
"About sixteen years."
"Like, no way!" I exclaimed as I came back around to stand beside Vic. "My gosh! That's how freakin' old I am, Vic! This can't be right. I mean, how am I supposed to tell him to do anything? We're the same freakin' age! It'd be like trying to tell one of the guys at school to do my homework for me. I could kick his butt up and down LA, but no way is he going to do a thing I say!" I stared helplessly at the beautiful creature before me. "But if I treat him like an equal..."
"He'll be all over you." Vic finished.
"And you're going to say Retro's not like that? How do I know! My gosh! I can freakin' talk to him. I can even insult him!"
(Not that I would, of course--one lesson in psychic propulsion was enough for me!)
I slowly shook my head.
"All Pokémon are sentient; I know that. But this one's too sentient! And we're the same freakin' age! No, this is just too freakin' weird!"
Across from Vic and me, Retro stood still as a statue, solemnly regarding me as I ranted like an idiot who'd been spooked by her own shadow.
"And when am I going to find the time to train? I'm already too busy!"
I paused to take a breath.
The Medicham wasn't looking at me anymore. His eyes were closed, head tilted down, chin resting on his chest.
"Hey! Did I say you could go to sleep!?"
One sandy lid opened to reveal its lavender orb.
"I'm listening." Retro replied evenly.
"Well good!" I huffed, "Maybe you can answer a few more questions then! Like, how-!"
"Maybe you can answer mine, first."
"Don't interrupt me! I--What?"
"I'll cut to the chase, Ms. Gibson." Retro pressed, "I can tell you anything you want to know about me. As your partner, that will be my obligation to you. But before that, I need to know, do actually want me?"
I paused for a moment. Did I sound like I didn't? I guessed I had.
So, did I want this?
That was a good question.
I knew I'd always wanted to be a trainer (that, and a million other things); knew if I only tried, I probably could be. This was my chance. I was being offered my first partner, fully and expertly trained to boot. All that was left to do was work out that special bond between Pokémon and trainer that had to occur before we became a "team."
But that was were the problem was, wasn't it. Retro defied everything I thought about Pokémon. My Skitty, Dilbert, for example was cute, cuddly, chased anything that moved and generally behaved like a pet was suppose to. Occasionally, he'd throw a furry-swipe or slash or juggle fountain pens and mom and I would applaud his antics. But that was about the extent of it. And even trained Pokémon, like those my friends had--they had way stronger attacks, of course, but they never said anything beyond the grunts, growls and roars that made up their own funny dialog, if indeed that's what it was (that's what I had been told it was supposed to be). Sometimes, I questioned those creatures' intelligence. No wonder they needed trainers. They barely had a mind of their own!
And I was actually comfortable with that. At least the creatures that had the elemental power to easily level half of California also needed someone to tell them how to do it! And better yet, at least they weren't just walking around talking to people! My gosh!
Retro was far beyond anything I had ever thought possible. He was an enigma, but more than that, a threat to my comfort zone.
Were all Pokémon this intelligent?
It was a disturbing thought. Not unlike looking into the sky at night and wondering if extraterrestrial beings existed. For all practical reasons, Retro was an alien, and intrusive being in my world, whose power probably far surpassed mine and who I could probably never hope to fully understand.
Vic was right, I thought darkly to myself, a shot of Vodka might be really good right about now!"
I silently laughed at myself. I didn't drink and neither did Vic. Alcohol and serious martial arts training were two things that were not to be combined as a general practice.
"Well, girl," Vic interrupted my thoughts, "what are you thinking?"
"I don't know what to think, Vic. I mean, what am I supposed to do with a partner like Retro? I can't spar with him. He's a freakin' Medicham; does things I could never do! I just don't see how this is going to further my training."
"If you would give me half a chance, I could show you how." Retro broke in.
"You'd rip me in half!"
"I'd never do that."
"Your word against whose? I still don't know you, and until I do, I'm not-"
"Alright, alright!" Vic chuckled, "You don't have to make a decision today you know; I just wanted the two of you to get acquainted. You'll have time enough to warm up to this." She gave the Medicham a wink.
"Really." I stated, giving Retro a suspicious glance. "Then why the rush?"
"Yes, I apologize." Retro shrugged indifferently. "I'll have to know soon anyway. There are other trainers who can use my services. If you are not interested, I will seek a partnership elsewhere."
"Others, huh," I replied, sounding altogether suspicious and totally unconvinced, "Like who's gonna put up with you if I can't?"
Retro gave me a look that actually bordered on exasperation.
"Walk in here some day and find me gone and you'll know who." He answered a bit sharply, his baritone voice assuming a threatening edge. "What do you cryin' want!? Names? Addresses? Social security numbers and criminal records!? How about this, Clare."
He turned to face the dojo entrance.
"Retro?"
Another girl strutted confidently into the room, the look on her pretty face shifting from amusement to possible jealousy. She was about my height, with flowing blond hair that, if it weren't pulled up in a neatly braided bun at the moment, would come down to her waist.
I inwardly groaned.
I knew this snob!
She had on a tight black gi with a red-striped black sash around her slender waist, both looking more like some silken garment a Chinese princess practicing crane-style kungfu would wear, not someone who professed the brutal kickboxing syllabus.
Actually, this wasn't far from the truth.
"Retro!" She repeated amiably, crossing the mats on her silken slippers to were we stood. "What are you going, Retro?"
"Jennifer Haut," Retro bowed lightly.
I frowned. Jennifer Elizabeth Haut was one of Vic's senior students and an assistant instructor to boot. She was nice enough, at first, but eventually her rich-girl nature came blaring right on through. You wouldn't find her at my school. She had a private tutor for everything, including martial arts.
Why Jenny Haut took lessons with Vic, I have no idea (maybe 'cause Vic's good? No, duh!), but all the other senior students (including myself), to put it tastefully, just really disliked her. She had nothing in common with the rest of us California kids and took great care to make us aware of it. She'd actually blown in from New England somewhere, and if she ever did talk to us about it (if she ever talked to us, period), she'd basically bring the conversation back to the same point, "I'm an unfortunate rich girl marooned in the ghettos, and you couldn't possibly understand." And that's as far as any of us ever got with her.
If Jenny was cold toward everyone, she was especially so toward me. We were opposite ends of the spectrum, she cool and reserved, I outgoing and impulsive. But it went a little deeper than that for us. We also happened to be two of the best students in the dojo--in fact, two of the best Vic had ever taught. Given the natural temperamental clash, Jenny and I were staunch rivals.
She assumed she was better. I had to prove her wrong.
I believed status was earned. She felt inclined to inform me that it was privileged.
We had fought only once, and that had been something close to either an accident or an act of God.
It was during the final rounds of the Free-style Nationals. Jenny and I were suppose to be on the same team, but due to some odd technicality, we were paired off against each other, presumably because our team was too big or whatever and had to be downsized (never heard of that before, stupid crap!).
Jennifer Haut and I grudgingly bowed to each other, a brazen glare on my tanned face, an aristocratic smirk on hers. We both assumed we would easily beat the other.
We were both miserably wrong.
Jenny proved to be more enduring than I had ever thought, and she was terribly annoyed that I was actually quick enough to dodge or block her shots. We made the longest, most intense match of the season and the crowds loved us for it. But in the arena, our little rivalry was fast turning into something more destructive.
Finally, I landed her a back-handed smack to the face. As she staggered away, I went in for a full-fisted punch to the solar plexus.
But instead of retreating, Jenny turned and charged, managed to twist away from the blow and slammed her heal into my foot. I screamed as the bones crunched and brought my other fist into her ribcage. Something in there went "snap". Falling to our knees, we each grabbed the other's lapel. Our skulls met with an audible crack. Then the referees came in.
This happy little brawl had occurred about a year and a half ago. Needless to say, neither of us had the presence of mind (or body) to hang around for the rest of that tournament.
"Sensei Victoria," Jennifer bowed to Vic, "I'm here for my class." She looked at her platinum Rolex. "I'm not early, am I?"
"No, Jen," Vic replied somewhat dryly, "you're right no time--as usual."
"Good. But why is Retro out? Am I sparing with him today?"
Something in the way Jenny looked at the Medicham really bugged me.
"You spar with this thing?" I interjected, forcing my presence to be an active ingredient in the developing conversation.
Jenny brushed a loose strand of golden hair out of her face and ignored me.
"How about it, Retro," she turned her back to me, dumping her black, leather Nike gym bag behind her, between us.
She came around behind the Medicham, put her arms about his midsection and gave him a snug squeeze.
"Tag. You're it." she said, pressing her red lips against his right shoulder blade.
Retro's smooth complexion creased.
"A bit possessive, aren't we?"
"Yes!" Jenny replied girlishly, "You're my Medicham, aren't you? Didn't you come out to play with me?"
I turned away in disgust. I wanted to barf. Jenny's tactics were just sick.
But apparently, she was one of those few 'others' Retro had been speaking of. She'd probably figured I was, too.
A small, mischievous grin began to work its way across my face.
What did Jenny look like when you made her jealous?
I turned to Vic.
"Okay. I'll take him."
Vic gave me an amused glance.
"So, we make a life-changing decision based rivalry?
"I make a lot of life-changing decisions based on rivalry," I replied.
That and a boatload of other things, I thought whimsically.
Retro shook his head.
"That is not good enough, Clare."
"Well, look; what would you rather have? Me, who'd at least treat you as an equal and a perfectly intelligent being," I pushed Jenny's bag aside with my foot, "or would you rather just be someone else's plaything?"
"And would you really be that kind of trainer to me?" Retro replied evenly (His hyper rationality was going to drive me crazy!).
"Yes. I would." I replied, committed before I even realized it.
"Then I'm yours." Retro extended his hand to me.
I grasped it with both of mine.
"You'll never be mine," I assured him fiercely, "you'll always be your own. I promise."
Vic smiled approvingly.
"Then it's settled," She said, clapping a hand on my shoulder, "I hereby pronounce you Pokémon and trainer!"
She turned to look for Jenny, "I'm terribly sorry, Jen, but we'll find you another-"
Vic was just in time to catch the hologram image as it faded into thin air.
We both stared stupidly after it.
Then Vic gave Retro a dark look.
The Medicham shrugged as his Pokéball teleported into his hand. He tossed the orb to me and I caught it mechanically as the device pulled him back in.
I looked down.
Jenny's bag wasn't there, either--had never been there.
None of it had!
Vic slapped her forehead.
I glared at the red and white sphere in my hand.
"My gawd, I've just been freakin' shammed!"