Lone Star Renegades

by Mark Wayne McGinnis

  Collin wanted to confront the barrel-chested Chief Command Officer. It wasn’t like he, or the others, had a choice when they were abducted into the collector ship. He was making them out to be cowards, instead of the victims of bazaar circumstances.

  “You will notice words beneath each flag. They correspond to the name of the Chain, the flag that hangs above it. You will select a name for your Chain today. You will select a flag today. You will select a Chain leader.”

  A second Brotherhood crewmember, who didn’t look much older than any of the teens with perhaps the exception of Bubba, entered the barracks, pushing a flatbed hover cart.

  Bragg waited for the cart to be delivered where he stood. “This is Mr. Palermo, a recent graduate from basic training. He holds the position of squire. You will show him the same respect you’d show anyone else above your station here. These … these are your undergarments and uniforms. They will adjust to your bodies’ measurements … simply press and hold the small white square at the backs of the waistbands and collars. Periodically, you will need to readjust your uniforms as your physiques change. You will each take three sets of uniforms. You will wear fresh undergarments every day. Every evening you will place your soiled garments into the bin over there … you will find cleaned uniforms on your pod bunks every evening, before sack time. When I give the word, go, get your uniforms and undergarments, take them to a pod, get dressed, and pack the others into your pod drawer, below your bunks. When you hear me say dismissed, and not before then, you can go . . . Dismissed.”

  In a dash everyone converged on the cart. The young Brotherhood guy held up a hand to halt their onslaught. Starting with Humphrey, he handed each a stack of clothes. Collin waited for his turn to be handed his own bundle, then headed to where he’d seen Bubba and DiMaggio go earlier. He found their pods along the far back bulkhead. Collin, taking the pod that was in between theirs, entered the small, egg-shaped enclosure. Inside it was just wide enough to contain a bunk and a desk; he started dressing immediately in the new clothes. The walls of the pods extended to chest-level and he saw that Bubba to his right and DiMaggio to his left were both nearly dressed. It took Collin several seconds to understand how the various garments worked. The undergarments, similar to boxers and undershirts, were huge, but once he got the hang of pressing their little white squares to refit things, like some kind of smart fabric, he was surprised how perfectly everything conformed to his body. The uniform’s trousers and jacket were dark red and seemed a bit fancy for basic training. He found the locker beneath his bunk. Within it, he found socks and a pair of athletic shoes. Like the garments, they too had white squares attached that enabled a better fit. Dressed, he hurried from the pod, and returned to the same place he’d previously stood.

  Bragg was still standing in the same spot. With the boys now back in line, Bragg took a few steps. He stopped and signaled high in the air to someone. Moments later, the girls arrived.

  Bragg separated his hands apart in front of his chest: “Spread out from one another … let’s make room for the others.”

  The six girls moved into various open spots and stood at attention. Hair wet and looking apprehensive, the girls said nothing, keeping their eyes forward. Collin found Lydia on the opposite line, two spaces from Humphrey. Although her uniform was identical to his own, it didn’t fit the same—in fact, if possible, she looked more enticing to him than ever. She must have sensed his gaze because her eyes flicked in his direction. It was then Collin realized Bragg was standing directly in front of him, his face mere inches from his own.

  “Is this going to be a problem, recruit? Maybe this is a good time to explain the no-fraternization policy to you and everyone else here. Simply put, there will be none. Got that?”

  The response came in unison, “Yes, Chief!”

  “Soon, two other recruit Chains, young men and women, will be joining us … shipped in from another Brotherhood star-base. Make no mistake: their arrival only increases the difficulty you will have in adding your flag to those above us. Added to that, these recruits already have two weeks of basic training under their belts.

  “Moving forward, your days will be broken up—between morning physical training exercises and afternoon classroom work. Again, you are all at a major disadvantage … you have virtually no knowledge of Notares space, our history … our culture. Now … perhaps some of you may have noticed, each pod has a headband-type device hanging on your enclosure walls, near your bunks. We call these mind-bands. Starting tonight, and every night thereafter, you will slip the bands over your heads before lights out. While you sleep, you’ll be immersed in a variety of SLPs—subliminal learning programs. Not perfect, but they should catch you up, at least partially. The good news is, every morning when you wake up, you’ll be a whole lot more knowledgeable.”

  Collin was contemplating what the chief was saying, not really liking the idea of being brainwashed every night while he slept, when he noticed that several young Brotherhood crewmembers were pulling bulkhead walls into new positions. Once these movable bulkheads slid into place, their barracks area would be less than one-third its previous size.

  “Earlier, I told you to accomplish three things today,” Bragg continued. “Who can repeat them back to me for the benefit of the female recruits?”

  Collin watched as Humphrey searched his memory. Collin said, “We will select a name for our Chain today. We will select a flag today. We will select a Chain leader.”

  “That is correct. You are all dismissed.”

  Chapter 23

  Collin left the line, thinking the chief was giving them far more credit than he probably should have. Until now, getting any kind of united teamwork consensus from this group had proved to be nearly impossible.

  As the last of the bulkhead walls were moved into place, Collin noticed the brisk movements of dark blue uniforms nearby. Another Chain. Other young males and females were taking up residence in their new barracks.

  “Collin!”

  He turned to see DiMaggio waving him over. He and Bubba had assembled a small group over by their pods.

  “Come on … Darren’s already getting his peeps together.” Not surprisingly, Humphrey, Clifford Bosh, Owen Platt and Garry Hurst were over there, jumping around like a bunch of idiots. “Look at him. Darren’s acting like a politician or something,” DiMaggio said.

  Collin, in a glance, noticed that Darren had indeed assembled a group of his buddies together, where they’d set up a camp of sorts in their pods, on the other side of the barracks. When it came down to it, he knew Darren’s popularity would probably trump good sense. DiMaggio was right; he was like a politician—grandstanding was second nature to him, and by the growing size of his team, there would be no chance …

  “Hey, Frost … are you just going to watch them or get busy over here with us?” Bubba asked.

  With a jolt, Collin realized several more people had joined his group. Tink, all smiles, moved in closer to DiMaggio and they fist-bumped. Then, surprisingly, Royce White, the gargantuan-sized center was there, along with three others: David the Brick Burk; cheerleader Karen Muller; and fullback, Brian Owens—putting their team number at eight. Darren’s group was already at nine, with the addition of Heather Primm, Doug Summerfield, Dan St. Ama, and Melody Sawyer.

  Collin saw Humphrey look over their way, give a cocky smile, and flip him the bird.

  There were still three undecided teens, huddling together, between the two groups: Gregg Panichello, Dana Stoker, and Lydia Bennett. They were arguing. That doesn’t bode well, Collin thought. They needed two to tie, three to win. Collin’s heart sank as the three students suddenly stopped bickering and moved in the direction of Darren’s group.

  “Crap!” DiMaggio said.

  Suddenly Lydia stopped in her tracks. She turned and looked over her shoulder. She pursed her lips, smiled, and ran back, joining Collin’s group. Collin’s mind was reeling. What had just happened here? Their eyes locked for a brief moment before Bubba sa
id, “Cool that you joined us, Lydia … but we’re still two people shy.”

  Cheers erupted from Darren’s group. Next came an endless barrage of slurs and taunts.

  “Ignore them,” Tink said. “It doesn’t matter.”

  But Collin knew it did matter. Their very survival, after basic training ended in six weeks, could very well depend on who would be leading.

  “Sorry, man, you’re the one who should be leading us,” DiMaggio said.

  Lydia said, “Collin, we all know none of us would have survived the collector ship without your leadership. This shouldn’t be a popularity contest … you’re the best man for the job.”

  Collin felt his face flush. Trying to think of something witty to say, he was saved by the sound of some kind of commotion coming from the entrance to the barracks.

  Darren’s group had settled down enough to also check what was happening. The chief was back and so was his junior helper. Hushed voices made it impossible to understand what was going on. It was only when three more uniformed recruits entered the barracks that Collin began to put things together. For several minutes the chief talked to the recruits. He saw him point to the flags and to the pods. It became apparent the chief was giving them the same speech he’d given to Collin and the others earlier. He heard the chief say, “Dismissed.”

  The three recruits moved into the cluster of pods and stopped between Darren and Collin’s groups. They turned toward one group first, and then the other.

  Both DiMaggio and Bubba were hooping and hollering and punching fists into the air.

  “Good to see you guys again,” Collin said as they approached.

  Moving cat-like, Cine, Orman and Pack quietly joined their group. Orman said, “We changed our mind when we saw the cages we’d be living in over the next year. And we don’t like that other human who wants to be leader,” he added, pointing to Darren.

  “You know they don’t count, don’t you?” Darren yelled over, as he and his group approached.

  “Like hell they don’t,” DiMaggio said.

  “They’re not even human,” Humphrey said, exasperated.

  Tink, by far the smallest of any of them, stepped forward, getting into Humphrey’s space. “Well, neither was that wildebeest you call your mother … but hey … they still let you into high school, didn’t they?”

  That insult made everyone laugh out loud, including those on Darren’s team.

  “Ha ha, very funny, Tink,” Humphrey said. He was trying way too hard to sound angry, but he wasn’t … in fact, he was looking at Tink with more than a little interest.

  “Okay, great new leader, what’s next?” Darren asked, as the two groups merged into one.

  “Um … we have two more directives to handle. Any suggestions, Darren?”

  All eyes moved from Collin to Darren. He grinned, “Oh gee, that’s a tough one … I think we all know what both of them will be.”

  Bubba said, “Yeah, we’re still the Lone Stars … no way that’s going to change.”

  “And we’ll stick with the flag for our great state of Texas?” Collin asked.

  Nods came from all around.

  “Lights out in two minutes!” came the booming voice of Chief-in-Command Bragg. The lights dimmed to half their brightness. The group dispersed as everyone moved off toward their respective pods. Bubba, DiMaggio and Collin were the only ones left. DiMaggio put a fist out, and Collin and Bubba bumped it simultaneously. Then the three moved off toward their own pods.

  As Collin entered his pod, something on his desk pulled at his attention. There was a blinking icon on his terminal. Not seeing a mouse or keyboard, he touched the screen. The screen changed to a picture—some kind of coat-of-arms, on a field of dark red—and a shield, with two broad swords crossed in the middle. Above that was a knight’s helmet. Surrounding the emblem was an intricate latticework of small, braided chains. Across the shield was a collection of strange characters that somehow he could read. It said Brotherhood. Below that, in smaller text: Commitment, Honor, Allegiance, and Sacrifice.

  Apparently the Com-dots did more than merely help with audible translations. He was about to turn away when a message began to scroll across the screen.

  Congratulations, Mr. Frost. As your Chain’s chosen leader, you will be responsible for the success or failure of each individual charge within your Chain. Tomorrow, you will meet the recruits on the other two Chains: your competition. Please note, there has been an alteration to our agreement. At the successful completion of the six-week basic training, the Chain that has acquired the most tributes will have their Chain’s flag prominently displayed, hanging up with the other Flags of the Term. That part of our agreement has not changed. But with the expense involved with retrofitting it, and the scarcity of Brotherhood warships, the vessel you arrived in … the one you refer to as the Turd … will be added to the winning team’s bounty. Undoubtedly, this may affect your Chain’s ultimate goal of returning to your home planet at the agreed-upon one-year term. The stakes have been increased, Mr. Frost. It will be interesting to see if you and your Chain can rise to the challenge.

  Capitano di vascello, Dante Primo, Duca of the Brotherhood house of Torre

  Collin reread the message twice more and each time found himself getting more and more angry. If changing their original agreement was this easy, how many other adjustments could they expect? Was the promise to be returned back to Earth bullshit? He continued to stare vacantly at the screen for several more minutes before it suddenly went black. He didn’t notice at first that the overhead lights had gone out as well. The barracks were now dark, but not to the extent that he couldn’t see his way over to his bunk. He undressed down to his shorts and T-shirt, and crawled beneath the bedcovers. Only then did he remember the mind-band. Looking up, over to the left, he saw it hanging on the pod’s wall. It was just within reach; he pulled it down from its hook and looked at it in the dim light. It felt strange in his fingers—made from some material or fabric he’d certainly never seen back on Earth. It was pliable and stretched like elastic, but it held a coolness of temperature, almost like metal. He debated once more if he really wanted to place the thing over his head. But Collin didn’t see an alternative if he wanted to stay competitive against the other recruits, the other Chains. He slipped the band over his head and waited for something to happen. Nothing. He felt nothing and experienced nothing out of the ordinary. He let his eyes close and within seconds was fast asleep.

  Chapter 24

  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 w
as 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.