Controlled Contact: Part I
Posted on Fri Oct 10th, 2025 @ 7:21am by Major Hastios Eilfaren & Lieutenant Addison Talbert
1,624 words; about a 8 minute read
Mission:
In The Nick Of Time
Location: Holodeck 02
Timeline: MD003 - 1615 hrs
She was back to training, making certain her battle skills were not rusty. It had been sometime since she had practiced. One never knew when a doctor would be called into the middle of a battle. Sure, she would normally be called in to use her healing skills but one thing she didn't want to be is a doctor who was caught behind the lines and having to be rescued. She just didn't want to be a damsel in distress, if she could avoid it.
She went through a practice that had been set up for her, it just wasn't enough, she already knew most of the moves. Too predictable, from her stand point. She needed someone who was more versed in martial arts. And that would be Major Eilfaren.
She glanced around at the scenery an ancient arena, moss covered greystone, uneven steps, to where a dais once was. Her holo opponents were dismissed. She drank down a quarter of her water, brushed off a little bit of dirt on her dark brown pants, sweat made her dark blue tank top cling to her back. She wiped her forehead with a towel before she gave him a call.
"Computer, please contact Major Eilfaren and have him come to holodeck 2 please," the compute beeped and sent the message to the Major.
The computer’s chime cut across the end of his shift. “Major Eilfaren, you are requested on Holodeck Two by Doctor Talbert.”
Odd. He keyed an acknowledgement, rolled his shoulders to work the last of the armoury stiffness out of them, and headed down still in uniform.
The doors parted on an ancient arena: moss-dark stone, broken tiers, the ghost of a dais. Sweat and chalk hung faintly in the air. Hastios stepped in, boots scraping grit, eyes taking in the uneven footing, lines of approach, cover that wasn’t. A corner of his mouth lifted.
“Doctor,” he said, voice even, “you’ve a taste for atmosphere.”
He came a few paces closer, stopping where he could see the whole space—and her stance. “Computer said you asked for me.” A beat, curious rather than chastising. “What do you need?”
Addison looked around, "Its one of my training programs, I have several with different scenery."
She noted his attire, closed her eyes for a moment chastising herself, uttering an abashed chuckle.
Her eyes opened. "Apologies Major, I hadn't asked if you were busy. Now that you are here though" her cheeks coloring, "I do have a request, and that is, would you be willing to do some sparring with me and perhaps sharpen my skills in my fighting techniques?"
Hastios caught the flicker of colour in her cheeks, noted it, and let it pass. His eyes went back to her stance and breathing.
“Are you sure?” he asked, calm rather than doubtful. “You’re a doctor—most days you won’t need this. Some days you might. I’ve seen medics end up in the worst corners of a fight.” A beat. “What’s the need? Self-rescue if you’re separated? Holding a perimeter around a patient?”
He gave a small nod. “All right. We’ll keep it simple. Basics only: stance, guard, footwork, and how to break contact.” He slipped off his tunic jacket, rolling his shoulders. “No ego, controlled contact.”
“Any injuries I should know about? And what’s your baseline—academy combatives, anything since?” He stepped onto the stone, relaxed but ready. “We’ll start slow. You tell me when to dial it up.”
"No recent injuries, combative level, green belt in escrima." Addison answering matter-of-factly."prefer being more prepared and yes to the questions you had asked."
Her cheeks cooled down from her embarrassment of calling Hastos during duty. She wasn't aware that it was at the end of his shift.
Start with the basics, controlled contact, her footwork, light on her feet. Addison needed to get the feel of his skill, even though she knew he was far more skilled than she was.
Hastios dipped his chin, taking that in. “Escrima—good base. You already think in angles, not just straight lines. That’ll help.”
His gaze swept the cracked tiers and slick moss. “Good for drama. Bad for ankles.” He tipped his chin to the ceiling. “Computer, maintain visual palette—stonework, arena aesthetic—but replace surface with Level-3 shock-absorbent training mats. Remove loose debris. Add boundary markers and safety rails, two meters.”
The grit vanished; the floor softened into matte-grey padding that still looked like weathered stone. Subtle rails shimmered into place around the perimeter.
He stepped out onto it, boots settling as if he’d trained here a hundred times. “Prepared is the right answer, Doctor. We’ll keep it clean: open hands, no head shots, light contact. I’ll mirror and correct at half-speed first.”
He raised his guard—relaxed, economical—elbow tucked, palms loose. “Watch your feet. Weight over the balls, hips under you. Breathe.”
A small nod. “Your lead. Show me how you open—probe my guard, test distance. Don’t admire your work; touch and move.”
A quiet nod from Addison, no smile, only a look of concentration. Her first move, was a controlled jab towards his solar plexus, using the right hand. She moved just after that stepping back. One thing that could be noticed that her foot work was looking like it could be like that of an hour glass. Step diagonally to the left then moving to the right, then stepping back diagonally, then to the right.
Hastios let the jab land light against his guard, absorbing the contact without flinching. His eyes tracked her feet more than her hands, reading the rhythm of her movement. The hourglass pattern was there—structured, but a touch predictable.
“Good,” he said evenly, circling with her, adjusting his stance to mirror. “Clean strike, clean retreat. Footwork’s steady, but you’re tracing lines. If I see the pattern, I’ll cut across and trap you.”
He shifted forward a half step, just enough to close distance and brush her lead hand aside with the edge of his palm, then stepped back again, not pressing the advantage. “Angles are your ally. Think less in curves, more in breaks—triangles, pivots. Keep me guessing.”
His tone stayed calm, instructive, but his gaze stayed locked on hers—testing whether she’d absorb the correction or keep playing safe.
She gave a nod, as what he had said, an angle approach not a curve. Something she was taught in her previous life. This is why she wanted someone who was real and not just a hologram. A diagonal slice like a knifehand with the left and the right slicing diagonally as well, followed by the movement across the belly.
Hastios let her shift in, reading the diagonal lines of her movement. The knifehand strikes were sharper, more decisive than her opening jab—testing his guard, probing for an opening.
On the last cross-body strike, his hand shot forward, catching her wrist mid-swing. A twist of his hips, a step off the line, and he redirected her momentum cleanly. In the same breath he hooked her arm, dropped his weight, and guided her down to the mat with practiced ease. No excess force, no flourish—just controlled technique that landed her on her back before she could blink.
He released immediately, stepping back to give her space. “Better,” he said evenly. “Angles are sharper, but don’t overcommit. Test my guard, yes—but remember, every test leaves you open if you linger.”
One brow arched slightly. “Now—get up and try again.”
Addison wasn't upset when finding herself on the floor. The corners of her mouth twitched slightly as she was slightly amused at herself. She was sloppy, and she could hear her uncle Joseph Smythe telling her that she was being sloppy. If her brother. Todd who was in the Marines had seen just how easily she had been put to the floor, he'd be teasing her to no end. And would have challenged her to become more sharper.
She rose from the floor, a slight amused look in her eyes which faded away as an even more determined look came to view.
"Once more into the breach dear friends, once more." Addison whispered softly as she made her move. Angle move, elbow strike towards the rib. stepping away moving around not to get hit.
Hastios caught the shift in her stance—the amusement giving way to that steel underneath—and the quiet quote made one corner of his mouth tug upward. At least she had spirit to match her stubbornness.
As she closed and drove the elbow in, his forearm dropped to meet it, redirecting the strike across his midline with a solid block. He let her momentum carry her a half step past him, his other hand brushing lightly against her shoulder as if to remind her how easily it could have been a grab or a takedown.
“Better,” he said, voice low but steady. “Tighter angle. You didn’t overextend this time.” He pivoted with her as she circled, his stance calm, weight balanced. “But don’t just move away—turn your retreat into position. Distance is fine. Control of space is better.”
He reset, guard loose, eyes fixed on hers. “Again. This time, make me adjust to you.”
Fade...
A Post By
Major Hastios Eilfaren
Chief Security & Tactical Officer
Second Officer
USS Herodotus DTI-30656
Lieutenant Addison Talbert
Chief Medical Officer
USS Herodotus DTI-30656
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