Young Rissa by F.M. Busby

“Oh, never mind,” said Cecily. “I don’t think you’ll forget again.  
    Because I’ve noticed something — you never make the same mistake twice.” She laughed. “You’re doing fine, Rissa — maybe not as rapidly as in combat arts, but quite well.”  
    Jorge said, “Another month, I’ll bet on it, Rissa — you’ll be up for your turn in Erika’s private circle.”  
    She shook her head. “Private circle?”  
    â€œDidn’t your talkative roommate tell you? Erika keeps a rotating stable of concubines — both sexes — and she’s not greedy about it. The system serves two purposes — it’s also your final exams.”  
    â€œI — “ Rissa frowned. Remembering Maria’s sudden turnabout, she said, “It may not be . . . wise . . . to discuss  
    Madame Hulzein’s private life.”  
    â€œOh, Erika doesn’t mind,” said Cecily. “She makes no secret of it — and no apologies for anything she does.”  
    â€œShe doesn’t have to,” said Jorge. “Customs don’t bind her.”  
    Rissa said, “Nor laws, I understand.”  
    â€œIn this country, if a law annoys Erika, she has it changed.”  
    â€œSomehow I don’t think you’re joking,” said Rissa. “Or not by much.” Slowly she rose, stretching. “I’m due for a session with Maestro Gomez. Today’s task is to converse, ad lib and on cue, in the voice tones and speech patterns of two assumed identities he assigned me last week.”  
    The others groaned. “I wish you luck,” said Jorge. “That’s something I’m not good at.”  
    Â 
    On the day she could have died, Rissa learned a new thing about herself. She rode with Erika to the city, observed while the older woman visited branch offices; they lunched together. Ready to return, Erika said, “I’m a little tired; would you like to take us back?”  
    â€œOf course.” Rissa liked aircars and handled them well. As Erika sat, relaxed, Rissa took the car up. “How about the shortcut, the gap through the foothills?” Eyes closed, Erika nodded.  
    Past the gap, emerging over a canyon, the motors failed. Abruptly the car dropped — boulders far below, the cliff looming — We’re dead! Only seconds left . . .  
    But . . . it felt like minutes, as Rissa looked around her — rocks and trees, the cliff — a sloping ledge, and below that —  
    She steered at the ledge, grazed it broadside. Metal shrieked but did not crumple; the car was slowed. Next — there, the dropoff they had passed — where it curved and —  
    Back across the canyon, still plummeting, again she struck at a grazing slant — rebounded, hit again and skidded, metal screeching against rock — down the cliff as it curved to canyon floor. Can this work? Why doesn’t Erika — ?  
    Metal flew; windows sprang free of mountings. No steering now — she could not avoid the boulder, struck it glancing and now the car rolled, over and over. She felt nothing but roar of sound; then they stopped, and the roar was in her own ears.  
    â€œErika!” The car sat tilted; she scrabbled free of her safety harness and clambered to see. “Are you all right?”  
    Blood streaked Erika’s chin but she said, “Well enough — shaken, nicked a little, like yourself. My God! How did you do it? It seemed like hours.”  
    Startled, Rissa said, “ Yes — that’s it! When I saw — we had no chance — it changed, like slow motion on Tri-V. I looked and looked a long time before I decided the ledge was best. Then — ”  
    Wiping away blood, Erika smiled. “So you’re another!” Rissa shook her head, waiting. “I call us adrenaline freaks — though that