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He had twenty-eight trainees; all of them on the young side, with an even distribution between the men and women. None of them wore anything as was usual here.

"Where guns?" Rig'Irik asked as Alex looked them over.

"It'll be a few days before they're here."

"Why here?"

"Because you can start to learn to fight before they get here."

Rig'Irik said something unflattering, by the tone of it, and the Samalians near him chuckled. "Know how fight. Learn shoot." He turned to leave.

Alright, they could start with this kind of lesson if that's what he wanted. Alex took the gun out of his holster. "Rig'Irik." Surreptitiously he took the power pack out.

The Samalian turned and Alex lobbed the gun at him. "Shoot me down before I've gutted you." He unsheathed two knives as Rig'Irik fumbled to get a grip on the gun. The moment He was holding it properly, Alex ran at him.

With a smirk he raised the gun and pulled the trigger. Once, twice, and a third time before Alex was close enough to strike. His expression becoming more and more worried with each shot that didn't fire.

At the last moment, Alex remembered the blond and copper Samalian wasn't an enemy and reversed his hold on the knives, striking with his fists instead of with the blades.

Rig'Irik reacted quickly once it was clear he couldn't shoot Alex down. He blocked and tried to claw Alex. His movements were clumsy, and rather slow, compared to what Alex was used to dealing with.

Quickly the Samalian was on his back with a knife at his throat. "Drop the gun," Alex commanded and pressed the knife harder.

Pathetic, Alex thought. He should have used the blades and given him a reminder for how poorly he'd fought. He still could, just on principle. All he had to do was move his hand, and he'd be cutting through the fur and skin. It would take little extra pressure to cut all the way through to the windpipe, although the bones on each side would keep his knife from just slicing it open. He'd have to change the angle and plunge the knife in.

A bark made him look up, it was followed by more, but it didn't have the menace in it he'd learned to associate with the angry dog his father's neighbor kept. That he still remembered it was a testament to how scary it had been.

People stepped out of the way until he saw Sartas seated at the edge of the circles of watchers, her body shaking in time with the barks. She slapped her leg in a gesture that shocked Alex with its familiarity.

She dried her eyes and looked at them. She said something in Samalian that had Rig'Irik growl. Alex glared at him and he stopped.

Her face sobered. "Do you plan on killing your students who fail?" There was a tone of warning in her voice.

Alex looked at his hand. He'd moved the knife without realizing it until the point was between the two protective bones. He moved it away, then took the gun Rig'Irik was still holding. He'd have to be careful about keeping his instinct in check. This was about training, not killing.

"Can you--" he cut himself off. He'd been about to phrase an order in the form of a question. He'd hated it when his father did that. "Is it possible for you to translate what I say?" he asked Sartas.

She nodded.

"Thank you." He turned to his trainees and waited until Rig'Irik was standing. He ignored the clear result on the man the adrenaline boost had given him, and while Alex had to work at it, the others around the Samalian didn't seem to even notice his excited state.

"First lesson." He spoke slower, to give time for Sartas to speak. He also kept his voice level even if he wanted to scream at them. "Never accept a weapon someone who isn't directly an ally hands you. You have no way to know what he's done to it."

Alex took the power pack out of a pocket. "Second lesson. Always verify that your weapon is powered." He slipped the pack in the butt of the gun. "And that there's an actual charge in the pack." He flicked the tester, and it lit up green.

He showed them the gun. "This is a gun. This doesn't win you the fight. It's just a tool to help you do that. It doesn't matter how good you are, if you're hanging all your hopes on this thing, you will be dead." He holstered it. "I will teach you how to use a gun, but I'm going to make sure you can fight without them too. I don't know what you call fighting here, but when you'll be going up against people intent on killing you, won't be the time to find out you're not fighting for all you're worth."

He paused to give them time to absorb what he'd said. Rig'Irik was paying attention. He touched his throat and looked at his hand, but there was no anger in his eyes when he looked at Alex again. Only what he interpreted as respect.

"Since there's only one of me, those of you who know how to fight will have to help train those who don't." As he finished speaking three older women and a man joined the group.

Alex looked at Sartas.

"They no longer think this is a waste of everyone's time."

"They know how to fight? Or are they looking to learn?" he recognized one of the women as having stood behind Hea'Las when she greeted them.

"They know. They've been fighting since they were young. Troublemakers the lot of them." The tone carried affection that contradicted the words.

Alex had them pair up, surprised at how none of the younger ones who didn't know how to fight put on airs of being better than they were.

Had he ever been like that? Honest about what he did and didn't know? He'd been driven when learning coercion. And once he decided to learn how to fight, but he'd always wrapped it around a facade of hardness. A determination not to show what he lacked while he was learning it.

The only one who was giving Alex trouble was Rig'Irik. Alex was getting angrier each time the Samalian refused to be paired off.

"What's your problem?" he finally snapped. "You're too g--"

"Fight you."

Alex snarled internally. Looked like the acceptance of his defeat had been an act. "I don't have the time to deal with a--"

"Teach me." The tone was firm.

That threw Alex. "You'd rather have me beat you up then show a new kid how good you are?"

"I learn."

Alex smiled. That had almost sounded like an order. His initial attraction to the man had gone away as he'd realized how little of a threat he actually was. Now, if it wasn't for Tristan, he could see himself becoming interested in a man willing to take a beating to learn. In a man he'd shape into the kind of weapon he could use.

"Alright, but I won't be gentle."

The flick of the ears that meant 'yes.' "I learn," he repeated. "Take claws." He nodded to the sheaths at Alex's hips.

"I'm going to hurt you with those, there's no avoiding it."

Another flick of the ears.

Yes, he could have fallen for a man like that if he hadn't already been dedicated to Tristan. He took off his jacket and shirt. Rig'Irik looked him over, but there was no reaction to what he saw. No wincing or flinching away at the sight of the scars.

He took the knives and readied himself. The Samalian launched at him, claws out.

* * * * *

It was good to fight. To feel claws rake his flesh after spending these last weeks training alone. He couldn't even get Tristan to do that anymore. Since the prison even the thought of hurting him seemed to scare the Samalian.

Rig'Irik wasn't Tristan. He never would be, he cared too much about the people around him, but he had claws, and he did manage to cut Alex a time or two in a day's training. For the dozen and more cuts Alex gave him.

He was down to wearing only a pair of shorts he'd made from the oldest of the pants he'd brought. It was as close to naked as he was comfortable getting.

The shallow cuts stung as the sweat rolled through them, but even the pain felt good. Everyone had cuts, and some of the watchers were moving among them with jars of a pale green unguent, offering to smear it on the cuts. It looked to be a form of ritual among them. The offering, the accepting. With most it was a simple act, with others there seemed to be an intent of more.

Pairs and groups left together, with no care for the mix of gender. From having almost walked-in on such a group a few days before, he knew they'd find an out of the way place to spend their excitement.

They didn't need 'privacy' the way humans did. Just a place where they wouldn't be in the way. Alex was envious, not only of how free they were, but that they had someone to be with.

He looked toward the House, like he did after every training sessions. Wanting to go to Tristan, but knowing he couldn't. He hadn't gotten much from the Samalian, but feeling him on top of him was enough for Alex.

Rig'Irik, handed him the jar. One of the younger men had offered to put the unguent on Alex's cuts that first day, but even then Alex had had a sense that it meant something to them that he didn't want to take part in, so he'd taken the jar and done it himself.

As he applied the unguent, three other Samalians joined them. An older woman, Tarel, one of the younger men who had known how to fight at the start, Grekri'Ol and a woman a little older than him, Kerolsast. She hadn't been as good a fighter as the others, but the younger ones looked up to her, did what she said without asking too many questions.

With Rig'Irik acting as interpreter, he was becoming more fluent as the days passed. They worked out the sentry schedule for the next day. Alex had had trouble convincing them of the need to keep watch for incoming hovers or shuttles, since none of them truly believed there would be another attack, but he'd managed it.

Two teams of three were posted outside of the town where the sounds of the people there wouldn't interfere with their ability to listen for incoming hover. Each shift was three hours. The teams were one adult, and two of the younger fighters.

At night Rig'Irik had managed to convince some of the older townspeople to take the watch so all the fighters would get proper rest.

Once the teams had been decided on for the next day, Rig'Irik and the others headed for the local bar to relax. Alex had gone with them on the first day, Rig'Irik had insisted, but as soon as he'd seen the assembled Samalians inside the building Alex had gone back to the House, to Tristan.

Rig'Irik had tried again the next day, but Alex had told me he wasn't interested. He hadn't said he didn't care to be among people he couldn't understand. That he hadn't wanted to drink alcohol when he missed being with Tristan this badly. He had enough bad decisions caused by alcohol already in his life. He didn't want to add one that might result in the town being destroyed by a pissed off, possessive and utterly unstable Samalian.

But Rig'Irik looked like he was going to try again. This time Alex was saved by one of the sentries running toward them. Alex recognized the word 'ship' which the Samalian used for anything that flew. The young woman pointed in a direction on the other side of the town, and Alex could see a dot in the sky, just above the distant tree line.

It was probably Jacoby.

It had to be him.

But if it wasn't?

"Get everyone inside. Have the sentry pull back to the town. Put the fighters undercover on that side. I'll meet the hover, if there's a problem have them ready to attack."

"You go alone?"

"I don't want them to know we're prepared until the last moment. And it's probably just Jacoby returning with the guns."

Rig'Irik grinned, showing teeth. He gave orders in Samalian and they all ran off.

Alex headed for the plain between the town and the House. He made himself a target; the only person in sight. The hover altered course to head for him.

He made sure the power pack in his gun was full and turned the gun on before putting it back in its holster. He relaxed a little as the hover came close enough to be recognized. It landed a dozen feet away, the side door facing him.

At this distance Alex only felt a strong wind buffet him about. He didn't even have to close his eyes, so he saw Jacoby step out.

He looked beyond the man, into the hover for any moving shadows. "How did it go?"

"Okay enough. Our destruction job got your supplier under scrutiny, but we managed to work around it. What you ordered is inside." Jacoby looked Alex over. "You going native?"

"You try fighting all day in this heat and you see how long you keep stuff like an armored jacket on."

Jacoby shrugged. "Where's everyone? I'd expect them to come running to all the new toys you got them."

Jacoby spoke with his usual mix of boredom and disdain when he mentioned 'everyone.' He was relaxed and wearing his gun.

"Did you make sure none of the guns were tagged?"

"Scanned them. All clean. I'd do a check of some of them, they look A few generation old. You seem a little tense."

"A lot can happen in nine days."

"Was there an attack?" Jacoby didn't sound worried.

He had to make a decision. Either Jacoby had been compromised, or he hadn't. What he did know about him told him wouldn't care if the town was destroyed, but he wouldn't have gone along with anything that might threaten Tristan.

Alex forced himself to relax. "No, I've used the time to start the training. Getting those who know how to fight help teach the younger ones. Now that the guns are here, we can start teaching them how to shoot."

Jacoby crossed his arms over his chest. "The guns are yours, Alex, you paid for them, but I'm not helping with this. If you need me to run errands, fine I'll do that, since it beats standing around watching this idiocy of a non-job you took on. But that's the extent of it. Now, where do you want the guns?"

The defiance made his hand twitch with the need to reach for a knife and gut Jacoby. He still needed him, he reminded himself, if only as a pilot and to run errands.

He couldn't wait for all of this to be over so they could go their separate ways. At least the Samalians respected that he was in charge.

"They're going to stay in the hover for the time being. I need to work out where the shooting range is going to be."

"Then I'm taking it back next to the priestess' home and I'm going to get back to tuning it up." The tone said he thought that was far more important than whatever Alex was doing. He turned and headed for the hover.

One knife, that's all it'd take. At this distance he could throw it and there'd be enough force to sever Jacoby's spinal cord, just below the skull where his jacket's armor stopped.

It would be so easy.

But he still needed him.