Modern Ata (and Estrella)
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There is a certain kind of small town that grows like a boil on the ass of every Army base in the world. In a long series of such places, Anita Vendraste was speed-raised like a mutant hothouse orchid flourishing under the glow of a thousand Buy'n'Fly security spotlights.

All of these places were basically the same, with the same franchise ghettos, the same strip joints, and even the same people -- she kept running into school chums she'd known years before, other Army brats who happened to wind up at the same base at the same time.

Their skins were different colors but they all belonged to the same ethnic group: Military.

That wasn't her words. It was from a book - some sci-fi thing a nerdy guy she kissed in eighth grade liked. The main character was like them, but smart, escaped the traps a lot of them fell into. And then he saved the world, which Anita honestly thought was less interesting even if it was probably important to do if you had the opportunity. Jack cared a lot more about the book than she did, which was why he remembered the name and she didn't.

She remembered it long after he tried to get her to read it because she and Jack made a pact: they weren't going to be like their parents. Out of the service, out of the base towns, do something with their lives. Jack waffled sometimes about maybe being a flyboy was far enough but she didn't.

Her first try was police academy, but she neglected to consider that in Arizona, her skin color mattered a lot more to them than it did to her (as did her gender, but that part she'd expected). Also, it turned out she hated most of the men in the academy, though the instructors were mostly alright. She pushed through the pressure for nine months to prove she could, but ditched it after she passed a major hurdle and no one could claim she was washing out.

It helped that Dad was reassigned and now she sort of counted as Californian and could apply to the UC schools and maybe afford them. Her grades had actually been pretty good and 'why I'm not a police trainee anymore' was something admissions people ate up so she got into Cal Berkeley and booked a confused schedule of Business, history, and visiting three different martial arts dojos twice a week each. (One of them contained a wiry redhead who demolished her in sparring, repeatedly, and eventually offered her "a ride home", and thus did Anita discover kissing girls, which was almost as distracting as the sparring.)

She really wasn't cut out for academic classes. History wasn't so bad, particularly when it was focusing on how physical changes in technology and environments affected what people did and believed, but most things were so incredibly removed from the actual world of bodies and objects. She dropped Business, tried Chemistry, considered swapping to the engineering school but found it was basically impossible, and kept spending as much time in the dojo as the classroom.

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As luck would have it, she met another nerdy boy in the technically-Chemistry-department machine shop.

"Hey, I've seen you in Ancient Mediterranean Civ, right? Can you let me back into the shop, I'm in the middle of making a sword."

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"Without permission to use the shop? What major are you even?"

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"History. Come on, it's not like they actually use this shop to capacity, not like the Engineering one. I'll help you make your own sword!"

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"...Okay, I admit, I do want a sword. What are you even going to do with yours, though?"

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"Swordfight, duh! Me and one of the nerd frats and some grad students and, until last semester, a Chem junior, read medieval fighting manuals and fight with reconstructed armor and deadened blades, historical style. Way better than boffing or fencing."

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"You, mister, are speaking my language. Okay, let's go make a sword."

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And so they did. And she dropped two of the dojos and replaced them with the Historical European Martial Arts club, both fighting and making equipment. It was way more satisfying than her actual classwork, and frankly better than the more formalized fights in the dojo. (She wasn't going to drop those entirely, though. They had pretty girls who beat her up and didn't want to switch.)

With the metalworking grounding her, she found that chemistry and materials science were more interesting as well. Even when the frat went in on the tools for a safe and mostly-modern forge in their backyard and the Chem machine shop wasn't needed, it was still much more interesting than it had been initially.

(She made a lot of male friends and a surprising number of them were into her, but while it did turn out she was interested in men as well as women, her type in men wasn't as broad as 'can beat me up'. And also shockingly few of them could, in fact, beat her up. The nerds were not pasty but they mostly hadn't been in shape before they took up swordfighting, and fifteen years of significantly more exercise was a substantial advantage.)

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She did, though, want to do engineering rather than lab chemistry. And so she talked to some professors and staff and made plans to get a Master's in it.

Berkeley was lovely, and the vicinity of San Francisco was an excellent place to meet women who would beat her up and then go to bed with her, but she didn't want to stay. Five years in the same place already felt like too long.

Her hobby gave her a suggestion again. The manuals they read were almost all coming from copies made at a place called Higgins Armory. Worcester, Massachusetts. Right next door to a pretty decent engineering school, WPI. And actually the state schools there had a lot of solid Chem Eng programs.

So she went down to Stanford and Cal Poly and the couple schools in LA, but she also booked a flight to Boston.

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The various UMasses were unsurprising and unremarkable. Amherst was alright for a small towñ but still a small town; Lowell was the most depressing city she'd ever seen.

She had higher hopes for Worcester - second city of the state, right?

 

Yeah, no. Everyone seemed to hide on campus, because it was such a confusing and exhausted city. Worcester Polytech seemed good, she had good conversations with professors, but the city was... well, she could probably expect a long dry spell. If not outright being closeted.

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Higgins was great, though. She got to join in with the originals - the Higgins Sword Guild and Doctor Pugliese himself. And deliver in-person thanks from the club at Cal - they wanted to send a gift but couldn't get a sword in her luggage or think of anything else appropriate.

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The last stop before she flew home was UMass Boston. And, because it would be silly to not look, MIT. Did she have a chance getting in? Maybe not. But it was legendary.

And for the first time at any school on either trip, she found another historical swordfighting club. Mostly undergraduates, of course, but still...

And Cambridge was an excellent town. Boston was pretty alright - muted, reserved, though not ashamed - but Cambridge was the best part, a little slice of Berkeley in Boston.

(She even had a one night stand with someone from the local club. Who told her she'd better get in to Tech and come back because Anita was delightful and she was not in the habit of letting delightful things slip between her fingers. It was very sweet, though when Anita had no longer recently been beaten up it was more possessive than she liked.)

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"Professor," she said to her advisor halfway through her junior year, "I want to get into a strong Chem Eng Master's program. Somewhere it's not an afterthought. My heart's not set on MIT but it would be nice to have a respectable chance. What should I do?"

"Hmm, your course selection is solid," he said slowly, "But having a publication that caters to common engineering tasks would help. Usually that's applying well-understood techniques to a new problem."

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"Huh," she said, and was quiet for a good ten seconds. "Would some comparative metallurgy work? Take some metal samples with similar structural properties but different methods of manufacture and apply the usual tools of analysis to search for differences?"

"...Yes," he said, surprised, "That would be pretty much ideal. You have something in mind?"

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"The swordfighting club has two different methods of making swords. In the machine shop, or traditionally. They seem mostly interchangeable, but only mostly. Make a few more and do some destructive testing and we might learn something new, too."

"That... does seem like a good choice. See if you can find anyone who has direct use for the data and ask them for specifications on what they'd find most useful; that should also appeal to engineering programs."

"I can think of some historians - one I just met during my school visits in Massachusetts is something of an authority."

"Then I think this will go very well for you."

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It did.

Enough for MIT to approve.

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And so a little shy of two years later she was packing her life up, giving her furniture to her now-ex-girlfriend (long distance is just asking for Jodies to show up somehow), and moving to Cambridge, Massachusetts.

Bossy Hookup didn't have space in her house (maybe for the best), nor did anyone she talked to from her new department or the HEMA club. They did point her toward a group house that was often good for people who were "extroverted, self-sufficient, and fine with a little collectivism", and so she moved into a sprawling former fraternity with forty years of accumulated idiosyncrasies (one of the earliest of which was the 'allowing women' and therefore, after longer than you would have expected, the 'former').

So she settled into a new routine - less dojo, more schoolwork, though she still kept time for swords and unarmed fighting two nights a week each. (She tried several; MMA seemed like an interesting idea but the school for it didn't impress her in practice.)

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A couple weeks after the undergrads arrive, she swings by a club fair to do some basic sword instruction. And check out the fencers, the boffers, hear a little about what 'hacks' are new...

And, unexpectedly, about the pistol target shooting squad. Who apparently are often the best in the country.

"You ever give lessons? I know my way around a range but I've never put much focus into it."

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"Oh, yeah, our first meeting after the fair is always focused on new people," he says, looking at her posture and how much she's moving. She's standing very deliberately. "I'm going to guess you'd be pretty good at it. Martial arts background?"

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"Tons. Mostly historical swordfighting, recently. Why?"

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"The trick to target shooting well is moving precisely, keeping yourself very still, and having precise awareness and control of your breathing. At a glance, you have the first two pretty well, which usually comes from martial arts, or sometimes seriously competitive golf."

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"Checks out, I spent as much time in the dojo as the classroom at Cal. Well, if you include our HEMA studio as a dojo, I discovered them partway through."

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"That's the swordfighting? I keep meaning to try it, but I never have time. When does it meet, here? We're in the basement of West 31, open practice is Tuesday nights and the other evenings are team practice."

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"Monday, Wednesday, and Friday six to ten, Zesiger building... I think that's West 35? I'm still not totally oriented."

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"Sounds right. Give it a month. And then start learning the underground routes, they kill the Californians. See you Tuesday?"

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"If not Monday!"

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