Dragons and Stars, Chapter 5: Body Weight Training

Neal was rescued from his misery by Grummel, who floated like a meaty blimp up out of the Living Cylinder’s circular hatch.

“Let’s go,” said Neal, leading the way down one of the several corridors out of the lobby cave.

They walked a long ways through the tunnel and several open airlocks until the tunnel slowly began to rise to one of the upper chambers in Providence base. This was a large upper chamber, with a rock roof supported by steel beams and netting. Whenever a meteorite hit Eros, the whole asteroid would shake slightly, and in the minimal gravity rocks only loosely held together and would sometimes shift. Fortunately, in minimal gravity there was little danger of being crushed by a heavy rock–you could easily push it away from you. But the netting on the roof helped keep them in place just in case. A large square air processor sat on one wall, where it monitored the oxygen levels in the large chamber and warned them of any dangerous leakage. In that case, they would evacuate to a sealed emergency chamber in the wall and suit up.

The chamber itself was the largest underground place in the base, perhaps two hundred by two hundred feet square. The miners often used it for recreation, since any balls they threw here wouldn’t fly off into space and be lost forever. At this moment, however, a small Chinese man was standing in the middle of the field. Around him were three younger children, and strewn on the ground in front of him were four blue weight-suits.

“Weight suits on, sank you,” he said. “Where is Mirks?”

“He might not be here today, Mr. Lin,” said Hanna.

“Oh yes, I am!” said a nasally voice behind them. As they turned around Mirk marched up to them with the strange robot steps that magnetboots encouraged. He glared furiously at Hanna but said nothing.

Neal unzipped his light gray spacesuit and stepped out, standing in his underlayer skin armor, a light plasticized full-body layer that was the last safeguard between the vacuum of space and a body. Picking up one of the blue weightsuits on the ground, he stepped into it and turned for Grummel to help zip him up. Then he turned and helped Hanna zip hers the last few inches she couldn’t reach herself. When they were all suited, they each put on a soft padded helmet without a face plate.

“Weights on, set to One Earse’ Grawe’ty,” said Mr. Lin. Neal pushed the Weight Up button on his left shoulder until it read “1”. The flexible suit was filled with uni-pole electromagnet surfaces, which uniformly pulled the whole body downwards to the metal core of the asteroid. Neal’s body felt twice as heavy as it normally did in the living cylinder. He strained to lift his arms and move his legs.

“Now,” said Mr. Lin. “We begin.”

Mr. Lin began a series of Tai Ji movements, his limbs flowing fluidly like water through a series of actions.

The three younger children and the four teens followed his movements as best they could. They had only been studying Tai Ji in the past year since Mr. Lin arrived at Providence. He had arrived as a common miner, but had worked so diligently that he was already the manager of Post 4.

Mr. Lin would also sometimes cook Chinese food for the community, if they could encourage him with enough praise. Mr. Lin had a weakness for “gaining face” which they all used as best they could to taste his dishes.

“Oh,” Hanna would start out innocently on a given day. “You know who is the best cook here, Neal? I think it’s your Uncle John and his stew.” “No,” Neal would shoot back. “Surely it’s your Granddaddy. His bio-lamb kebabs are to die for.” At that point, still pretending to be oblivious to Mr. Lin nearby, Hanna would say, “Well, you know, Mr. Lin isn’t such a bad cook either.” “Mm, I don’t know,” Neal would reply with a straight face. “I think he could make some improvements on his Gung-bao chicken dish.” Usually this would result in Mr. Lin disappearing into the kitchen and a large Chinese meal that night. As penance for their mischief, Hanna and Neal would always compliment his cooking until he nearly burst with pride.

When Uncle John had found out Mr. Lin’s skills in Tai Ji and martial arts, he asked him to teach the younger folks. “It will help improve their muscle and agility skills,” he said confidently. So the community had purchased five adult weightsuits (one for Mr. Lin) and three smaller suits for younger children.

As Neal swirled his hands forward in large circles, his mind wandered to Mrs. Silver and her dream. It was strange. He had to admit he didn’t mind the attention–she had said he was the one glowing like a star, she had come knowing only the asteroid and his face. But no, he didn’t want to get stuck on himself. And besides, trusting dreams was weird, unbiblical.

He groaned suddenly as they stretched their left legs far to the left and did a half-split. Hanna was doing hers flawlessly. She stuck her tongue out at him. He ignored her and pondered. God did send a dream to the apostle Paul. It was not only Abraham who had visions and dreams in the Bible. Could it be that God could still act in such direct ways today? That would be exciting. Would God ever talk to him more directly? He felt doubtful.

“Neal,” said Mr. Lin, “Your ‘Part de Wild Horse’s Mane’ needs to be more smooze. Imagine you are holding a large ball and roll it in you’ ams. Den’ repeat and pretend you are parting de’ wild horse’s mane.”

Neal worked on the movement until Mr. Lin nodded and moved on to another student.

What could the dragon in the dream be? Neal wondered. Aliens? A space monster of some sort? Maybe a giant wave of meteorites or gas? Maybe it was foolish to even wonder. Maybe Mrs. Silver just had eaten too much bio-sushi the night before and dreamed a dragon. But then… she dreamed of him. She saw his face. She saw their asteroid… She had probably seen a picture of Eros before. It was a reasonably well-known asteroid. But his face? Had his face ever been on the media? He didn’t know. He didn’t think so.

Mr. Lin was going through the twenty-four forms again of the Yang Tai-Ji Quan style. Neal stopped and watched in admiration at the flawlessly smooth bends and foot shifts, the ever-circling arms and hands– sometimes mesmerizingly liquid, other times moving in sharp bursts of energy that shocked and stunned the watcher. Neal remembered himself and went back to imitating the master as best he could.

“Pat de’ high horse,” Mr. Lin said as he extended his hand straight, his body perfectly balanced, and patted the air. “Kick wid’ right heel,” he said, bending and kicking out a powerful burst. “Box ears!” he said as he pulled smoothly back from the kick, bringing his two fists around and in to almost touch each other. “Turn and kick wid’ left heel!”

Neal lost himself in the physical actions, flowing smoothly from one into the next. Sometimes he just wanted to forget everything else and live in the moment, in the action of the tai-ji.

“Not too bad, Mr. Washer!” said Mr. Lin, watching Neal. Neal realized he had continued doing the forms when everyone else had stopped. He stopped also and stood up.

“As you know,” said Mr. Lin, “‘Dese exercises are to help you de’welop good muscles and balance in heavy grawe’ty, and strength. But al’dough Tai Ji Quan is used for exe’cise and relaxation, it is also a fighting practice. Watch.”

Mr. Lin went through the forms again, this time not peacefully and contemplatively, but in bursts of power and speed. He began stepping, blocking, spinning and kicking in a dazzling pinwheel of smooth motions. When he finished they all clapped, and he clapped politely with them, nodding his head.

“It’s not’ing,” he said modestly. “Now I want you to work in pairs. Imagine ‘dat you are fighting. Go gent-ly but try some moves on each o’der.” He moved to help the younger three children.

Mirk avoided Hanna and Grummel and came to Neal. They faced each other. “You try the ‘Parting Wild Horse’s Mane’ first to block some jabs,” suggested Neal. “I’ll do what I want,” snapped Mirk. He leaned forward and whispered: “You religious people think you can always order others around.” “I didn’t say anything!” protested Neal. Mirk crouched and went into a left heel kick. Neal wasn’t ready for it, and it caught him square in the stomach. “Ooof!” he said, falling backwards, hard, onto the ground. He wasn’t used to weighing so much, and it hurt. He struggled to pull himself slowly up, and was surprised to see Mirk dancing around him as though he had energy to burn. Neal stood heavily upright and dropped into a crouching stance. As Mirk came in for a jab, Neal spun his arms in a blocking circle, knocking them out of the way. But to his surprise, Mirk quickly flashed his arms again and landed two painful blows on Neal’s stomach, faster than Neal could react in his heavy weightsuit. Mirk turned again and kicked, connecting painfully with Neal’s leg, then coming in close for two fist punches to his face. Neal was stunned, falling on his knees under the blows. A sudden rage came over him and he swung his heavy arm clumsily at Mirk, who jumped back easily. Suddenly Neal had a suspicion. “You’ve turned your weight down!” he shouted at Mirk. Mirk quickly reached his hand up to his left shoulder and pretended to study it, while pushed the weight button up. Mr. Lin came over. “What’s going on here?” he asked. He approached Mirk and looked at his shoulder weight which said “1” in the earth gravity LCD. “Mirk,” said Mr. Lin. “I didn’t see everything. What happened?” “Nothing,” said Mirk. “We were just trying out some moves and Neal couldn’t block them.” “Go more easy,” Mr. Lin said as he turned away to explain to Grummel how to apply a blocking motion to one of Hanna’s play punches.

Neal was filled with a rage he never remembered feeling before. His face and stomach screamed with pain and indignation. “Whatever, Mirk!” he said. “You wouldn’t stand a chance against me if I didn’t have this weight suit on!” “Want to bet?” asked Mirk in his nasally voice. “Anyway, doesn’t your Jesus tell you to ‘turn the other cheek’? Why don’t you practice now?” Mirk suddenly stepped forward and heavily slapped Neal across the face. Hanna and Grummel heard the slap and turned at the last second to see Neal’s face spin to the side. He turned back to Mirk, blind with anger. “Meet me here ten minutes after class,” he hissed between clenched teeth, “and we’ll see who talks big then.” “You don’t know who you’re messing with,” said Mirk. He turned to walk away. “Don’t run off and be chicken now, like your dad was,” he said over his shoulder. Neal lunged forward at Mirk, trying in his weightsuit to punch at him. Mr. Lin saw and ran over. “Neal! What you do!?” He pulled Neal back off Mirk. Mirk said, “He tried to punch me! He’s been trying to harass me all day!” Mr. Lin pulled Neal up. “Neal! This is not acceptable! Please do not attend class for de’ rest of the week until you can learn some patience and self-control!” “But!..” exclaimed Neal, “He hit me first!” “I’m afraid I did not see that,” said Mr. Lin. “But no matter what someone does to you, you must exercise self-control at all times.” He stared carefully at Mirk, who looked uncomfortable. “Be careful, Mirk,” Mr. Lin said. As he walked away, Neal muttered to Mirk, “I’ll be here.”

[Author’s Note: a day after writing the past two paragraphs, I realized I want to re-edit this later. In the match-up Mirk will purposely pair with Hanna, and in the fight he will hurt her. This makes sense, since in his mind she disrespected and shamed his father in class. Also, I think it is a more believable motivation for Neal to be angry enough to demand a private fight after class.]