The Last Dancer | Page 8

want to talk to you," and then turned her
head away from him and looked out the window, at the sphere of the
Earth, the rest of the way down to New York.
She did not think she had been followed after leaving Goddess Home.
At least not in Realtime--and if anyone had attempted to follow her
through the Crystal Wind, Erika thought that Ralf the Wise and
Powerful would surely have stopped them.
At 4:48 a.m., on Friday, June 29, Erika Muller touched her handheld to
the cab's meter, waited for the meter light to go green, and stepped
from the cab as the canopy swung open.
The dojo sat in the heart of Greenwich Village in lower Manhattan, on
the third story of an ancient five-story brownstone walk-up; Robert
owned the upper three stories.
The building had no maglev; Erika used the stairs.
On the third floor the stairs let out onto a wide landing. The sign on the
landing's sole door bore the legend, Yo Instruction. With the exception
of the stairwell it was the only room on the third floor.
Erika toggled her ID to the Daimara identity, and knocked once. She
paused, touched her handheld to the doorgrid and placed her palm flat
against the door pad. Despite the passage of three years the door
recognized her name and her print, and curled aside to let her pass.

He had not known she was coming, but she had had no doubt that he
would be awake. Robert Dazai Yo never slept at night; he went to bed
with the rising sun.
Robert sat alone and silent in the center of the dojo, on the gray mat. A
meter-wide border of wooden floor, darkened with fifty years of hand
scrubbing, surrounded it on all sides.
The glowpaint shone so dimly it actually flickered slightly, sheets of
brightness running across the high ceiling at irregular intervals. It could
not have been bothering Robert; he sat with eyes closed, breathing deep
and slow. He wore a black gi, tied at the waist with a simple white belt.
His hands rested flat upon his knees, palms down. Though he was
culturally American, stretching back five generations, his features were
pure Asian, undiluted by interbreeding.
She knew, because Robert had told her, that he was in his early fifties.
Otherwise she would not have been able to guess his age for sure
within twenty years in either direction.
Rows of weapons hung from the dojo's walls. Many were modern,
multifrequency lasers and flechette guns among them; some, such as
the katana that hung by itself against the east wall, would not have been
out of place in the court of the twelfth-century shogun Minamoto
Yoritomo.
Standing at the edge of the long gray mat, Denice Daimara, once
Denice Castanaveras, sometimes Jasmine Martinez and Erika Muller,
removed her sandals. She left her sandals and bag at the edge of the mat
and walked forward to where Robert sat meditating. Without a word
she sank into lotus immediately before him, sat waiting for him to
acknowledge her presence.
After several minutes he opened his eyes and looked at her.
"You've had biosculpture," he observed. "The Asian touch is nice. It
suits you."

"I wasn't sure you would recognize me."
"I know no one else who walks the way you do. Dancers are as smooth,
but not so silent; those trained in combat are rarely so graceful."
"Graceful? Your eyes were closed, Robert."
Robert shrugged and smiled, eyes lit with deep amusement. "So I
peeked. Anyway you're the only person other than myself that door's
ever been keyed for. Where have you been?"
"On vacation."
"For three years?"
"Studying," Denice said.
"What?"
"Wicca, mostly. Feminist theology."
"Indeed? You studied Wicca?" Robert was silent for a moment, clearly
not expecting a response from her. When he continued one might have
thought he had changed the subject: "Why did you leave us so
suddenly?"
"Someone tried to kill me. Man named McGee--you wouldn't know
him, I don't think."
"Did you kill him?"
"Oh, no!" Denice blinked. "He was a nice man."
"I see."
"It was a misunderstanding. So anyway, I took care of it. When I was
done I didn't feel like coming back for a while."
"Oh." Robert nodded, thinking. "We missed you. I had to get a new

instructor for the morning classes."
"I'm sorry."
"So was I. You worked cheap."
They were silent together for a long while then. Denice's breathing
slowed, and she felt herself dropping into rhythm with Robert, her
breathing matching itself to his. The warmth and stillness enfolded
them like a blanket.
When Robert finally spoke he sounded almost sleepy, though his eyes
were clear and steady. "What did you learn of the subjects you
studied?"
"I'm not a very good