It was the Brotherhood’s equivalent of a bugle call. The instrument was totally unfamiliar and the song or melody was just as unfamiliar. But it had the same effect. Collin shot up in bed still wearing his mind-band.
Bragg’s voice filled the barracks from high above. “Get up, remove your mind-bands, and make your beds exactly as they were before you slept in them. Boys, bring a change of clothes to the boy’s head; girls, do the same into the girl’s head. Shit, shower, and shave. Get dressed and line up in the same formation as yesterday. You have five minutes. Go!”
* * *
Showered and dressed, Collin took his position in the line and waited for the others to do the same. Only three had arrived before him. He figured he was less than a minute late. He let his eyes rise to the flags overhead, where he again observed some of the odd-looking objects—weapons mounted to the bulkhead. He was now perfectly aware of what they were and what they were used for. One was a knight’s
cleave-sheer
—used to remove an opposing knight’s head from his neck in battle; another—a spiky, lethal-looking object called a throw-cutter, was used a thousand years earlier as a means to bring down both man and beast—they didn’t have horses, per se, but something similar, called a Jarrob.
Thanks to the mind-band, the SLPs, Collin knew a whole lot more this morning than he had last night. What he really wanted to know was what the Brotherhood was all about. And what was their beef with the ruling monarch, and who was the Kardon Guard?
The first thing that came to his mind was disgrace. He not only knew the course of events that transpired from an objective perspective, but he also
felt
, from a subjective point of view,
the shame the Brotherhood was currently burdened with since their fall from grace. For a thousand years the Brotherhood had stood at the monarchy’s side. Together, both were powerful. The monarchy ruled over all Notares, a vast star system made up of four suns, with close to one hundred planets within its system. Beloved by the masses, a presiding king or queen had ruled with fairness and compassion for a millennium. The many billions who lived within the bounds of Notares lacked for little. There were no poor, nor hungry. Disease was all but eradicated and the standard of living for its citizenry was close to the monarchy’s own.
But the Notares star system was not without enemies. Having little in the way of natural resources, especially certain minerals, elements, and rare metals, early on the monarchy had needed help from their charges to acquire what their own planetary system lacked. So for their own survival, their own advancement, they’d become interstellar raiders. A consortium of the best of the best young men and women—warrior knights—had been called up from the far reaches of the monarchy’s realm. For hundreds of years, the Brotherhood maintained the honorable role of defender of the realm.
So what went wrong? Collin searched his mind and then the answer became apparent. While the Brotherhood was a large, independent, often secretive organization—outside direct control of the aristocracy—the small Kardon Guard was quite different. Intended to be the king or queen’s personal militia, they were a kind of castle guard.
In years past, the animosity between the two groups had always been attributed to a healthy competitiveness between the two necessary, and highly regarded, military factions. Four years ago things changed. With the death of the Kardon Guard’s commanding officer, Commandant Montae, a new officer was quickly promoted into the vacated position. The newly appointed Commandant, named Nari, was ambitious, to say the least. There had been rumors that his relationship with the queen had grown into something more than professional, that he even had designs on marrying the queen. But that would first require his induction into the aristocracy—something the Council of Elders would need to pass judgment on. Three years ago Nari began a campaign to increase the duties of the Kardon Guard. Where once the Brotherhood maintained Notares’ only fleet of advanced warships, the Kardon Guard determined to acquire their own ships, their own military budget. As the relationship between Queen Arabella Valora and Commandant Nari became more cemented, and even as they appeared in public together at social and important events of state, Nari was pushing for the merger of his Kardon Guard and the Brotherhood.
It was no surprise to the knights of the Brotherhood that Commandant Nari and his ever growing fleet of warships would only stop reaching when he had total, unhindered domination of Notares space. It was also clear that he would soon have designs on the monarchy itself.
When the order came for the dismantling of the Brotherhood, exactly two years past, a declaration of war against Nari’s Kardon Guard, but not against the monarchy, was the inevitable result.
Ignoring the Brotherhood’s warnings of Nari’s obvious true intentions, Queen Arabella Valora, furious, sided with the Commandant and his Kardon Guard. In a broadcast that reached throughout the realm, the queen denounced the Brotherhood, and condemned anyone who maintained allegiance to what she now called an antiquated sect of old mystics and knights to a sentence of death by decapitation. Collin glanced above to the knight’s
cleave-sheer
, hung high up on the bulkhead. At least death would be quick, he figured.
The last of the recruits joined the line and stood at attention. Bragg appeared less than a minute later.
“Eight minutes. What takes one eight full minutes to accomplish a simple morning ritual? You there, the one everyone calls Tink. Do you have bathroom problems, perhaps a bit of constipation?”
Tink shook her head, “No!” she replied vehemently, her face blushing crimson.
“How about you … the big fellow with the belly; you were last out of the bathroom. Were there long lines? Or, perhaps, your shower head was malfunctioning?”
David
the Brick
Burk shook his head. “I actually am a bit constipated.”
That brought laughter from everyone and while the chief tried to keep a straight face, he was doing a poor job of it. “Listen up! You will complete your bathroom routines in five minutes or less. After today, you will start to lose tributes. Since you don’t currently have any, you get a one-day pass. Understand that life, from this point on, will not only be about acquiring tributes, but also keeping them. Talk to your leader. Any chance you have of returning to your home world will depend on your accumulating more tributes than the other two Chains.”
Eyes locked on Collin. All humor was replaced with apprehension.
The chief was pacing; the briefest of smiles crossed his face. Collin learned the first of many lessons to come:
They like to stir up the pot. They like to manipulate.
“By now some of you, maybe even most of you, are cognizant of the fact that you know more about the Brotherhood, the Kardon Guard, and life here, within the realm of the Notares, than you did yesterday. We tripled the SLP downloads in order to get you up-to-speed more quickly. Tonight, we’ll do the same. Let me know if any of your little brains exhibit side effects. We’re going well beyond the recommended subliminal allocation of information in order to even the playing field.
“In a few moments you will be marched up to deck six. There, you will meet the other two Chains. Let me give you this bit of advice before you embark on today’s competitions. They want to win. Their futures, like your own, depend on them winning. Here’s some free advice— assess your enemy’s strengths, as well as their weaknesses, and make adjustments accordingly. Be strategic. Any questions?”
Darren was the first to raise his hand.
“Mr. Mallon?”
How the chief knew Darren’s last name was beyond Collin’s understanding. It was then he realized the second important lesson since being there: the mind-bands worked both ways … not only did they deliver information into the mind—they collected from it as well.
“What is it … what kind of competition will it be?”
A mischievous look came over the chief’s face. “One you may be quite pleased with. I understand you have already played together as a team, am I right?”
Darren also smiled and looked over to his buddies. “You might say that,” he said, with a bit of bravado.
“Then you should have no problem defeating the other two teams in a little game of Pangallo.”
Another hand went up, this time from Humphrey. “What is Pangallo, Chief?”
“It’s a game and it’s a sport. All the boys and girls here, from the age of five or six, grow up playing Pangallo.”
Collin raised his hand. “Chief, how are we to compete with recruits who have played this sport since they were little kids? That doesn’t seem fair.”
The chief slowly walked over to Collin and held his gaze for several long seconds before answering: “Is it fair when three Marauder-class warships lie in wait behind an asteroid, only to surprise their quarry, a small Brotherhood freighter? Firing upon that vessel and killing all crew on board? Is it fair that Brotherhood knights have been ostracized and can no longer return to their homes … to their families?”
“No, sir, it’s not.”
“Do not confuse our Brotherhood values of commitment, honor, allegiance, and sacrifice with strategic necessities of war. Over the next six weeks you will be faced with what may seem to you to be contradictions … even paradoxes. Remember, above and beyond the final scores, you will be measured and rewarded on how you conduct yourselves.”
“One more thing …” the chief looked down and began walking again, “the Brotherhood’s basic training is intense, to say the least. Most Chains, over a six week period, will have several casualties.”
He let that sink in. Up until then, Collin had equated the Brotherhood’s basic training with something akin to the U.S. Army’s. Yeah, certainly tough and even physically daunting—but no lethal consequences were typically involved. What the chief was talking about was a ten percent mortality rate.
“Take a moment and look around. The truth is, young men and women, there’s a damn good chance some of you won’t survive the day, let alone the full six weeks.”
Chapter 25
The trek up to deck six was also an exercise in how to march. Three times the Lone Stars were ordered to return all the way back to the barracks and begin the march again. Finally, with their heads facing straight ahead, legs walking in unison, and with just the right amount of spacing between each person, the group was allowed to enter what was called the Training Field. Collin knew this because there was a placard above the double hatchway entrance that spelled the name out.
They entered the compartment, which was like a small sports arena, to the sounds of grunts and bodies hitting other bodies. The two other Chains were already there, one team wearing blue uniforms, the other wearing gray, and they seemed to be in the midst of a practice game. What struck Collin first, other than both Chains looking highly athletic—was the simple fact they were adults. Again, Bragg had thrown another curveball into the mix—increasing the odds they’d be defeated.
Collin tried to make heads or tails out of the game in progress. The field was roughly the size of a regulation football field, but probably closer in actual size to a soccer field. Each team consisted of ten players, their replacements standing by on the sidelines. The opposing players were in the process of lining up, in an inward-facing, circular formation. Now, with ten-man circles at opposing ends of the field, the players intertwined their arms at their elbows—creating an unbroken link around their own circle. A referee placed a yellow ball at the center of each circle.
A gong rang from somewhere and play started. The two big circles began moving toward each other, gaining speed as they went. The two yellow balls were kicked between the team players on both circles as the teams moved down the field. When they finally collided, the slapping sounds of large bodies hitting other large bodies made Collin cringe. Only the circle with the gray-uniformed recruits came apart, as two of their players were thrown to the ground. A gong sounded again. Apparently, the opening play was over. Collin figured the play seemed equivalent to a kickoff in football. The two players on the ground got up and rejoined their gray-recruit circle. A referee took their ball and threw it toward the sideline. The opposing team, the blue recruits, which hadn’t broken apart during the opening play, got to maintain possession of the one single ball, now in play.
“What the hell is this?” Humphrey asked. “No one said anything about f-ing adults being our competition.”
Collin was only too aware that this latest surprise would take the wind out of his team’s sails. He also realized this could be his first test as their chosen leader.
“Cool, huh?” he asked.
Darren spun around on him. “Cool? You think this is cool?”
Collin remained unfazed. “Do you remember last year when we played that scrimmage game? The one with those university kids … the Texan Musketeers? Most of those guys were in their twenties. We killed them. Sent them crying to their mommies.”
Darren’s expression changed. “I remember … yeah, they were
big
mothers too … so you think we can beat these guys?”
“I’m betting these guys and gals have played this stupid Pangallo game countless times. But are they an actual team … that’s trained and played together, day-in and day-out, like we have? Do they have the kind of mojo we have? No way.”
Collin turned his attention back to the game. “Hey, we need to pay attention … watch what they’re doing so we can beat them.” Collin pointed to the field. “Looks like each team has ten players on the field at the start of the game. Seven players are male and three are female. I guess the object of the game is to move the ball down the field, in the direction of the opposition’s end zone. That much is similar to our kind of football.”
But any other similarity seems
to end there
, he thought.
“What the hell are they doing now?” DiMaggio asked, making a puzzled face.
Both teams now had their three female players sitting on the shoulders of three large teammates—their legs held firmly in the grasp of the male players below. One of the females, on the controlling blue team, with short, dark red hair, now held the ball. As soon as the gong sounded she threw the ball across to another shoulder-riding blue teammate, who missed catching the pass and the ball dropped to the field. The players in blue used their feet to pass the ball between them. The gray opposing team, not having possession of the ball, immediately broke apart—though first ensuring that each team player was linked to another by at least one arm. In a whipping motion, the gray team players were sent in to break the opposing team’s linkage. All the while the blue team, holding the ball, continued to pass it between themselves. One of the blue male players, in a scooping motion, got his foot beneath the ball and kicked it up to one of the female players, who began passing it between the other two females. As soon as the gray opposition got close to disrupting the players closest to the ball, or around the ball, she’d pass it to another female. The blue team, as a Chain, moved the ball thirty yards towards the opposition’s end zone before the gray team managed to break through their circle and take possession of the ball. Then, in a surprise move, the grays—keeping their line of players still linked at the elbows—whipped one end of their line forward; then, abruptly, they swung the other end of the line forward as well. They quickly advanced, fifty yards down the field—all the while the ball was constantly in motion. Apparently that was another rule—the ball must not become stationary. The blue team, also reformed into a line of linked players, was doing their best to disrupt the grays’ advance, but to no avail. The grays’ line of players crossed over the opposition’s end zone. Then, in one final pass of the ball, a female positioned on shoulders just over the line caught the ball. Excited, she yelled, “Pangallo!”