Lone Star Renegades

by Mark Wayne McGinnis

  Collin heard Owen Platt and Garry Hurst shout taunts and obscenities at the opposing teams from the sidelines. The referee looked ready to issue another penalty. Fortunately, the two boys quieted down.

  All three circles re-formed.

  Darren was back barking orders. “We have to move it! Tink, Lydia … Karen, up on the shoulders of Bubba, White and …” he looked around the circle, “and you, Collin.”

  Bubba lifted Tink onto his shoulders with one arm. Royce got Karen up on his shoulders, which left only Lydia standing, looking up at Collin.

  “It’s not the frigging prom here, Sticks. Just help her up,” Humphrey prompted.

  Collin lowered himself to one knee as Lydia climbed onto his shoulders from behind. Unsteady at first, he stood all the way up. He felt the warmth of her thighs pressed in around his neck and shoulders. He glanced up at her.

  “Just pay attention to the game,” she scolded.

  The players intertwined their arms again.

  “Wait! Which way are we going? Which way is our end zone?” DiMaggio asked.

  There were more than a few confused expressions around the circle.

  “We keep going the same way we started. Good God … are you all retarded?” Darren asked between clenched teeth.

  The referee was back and placed the yellow ball in the middle of their circle. Each of the circles now had their three females up on teammate shoulders.

  “Whatever you do, don’t let go of the person next to you,” Darren ordered. “I’m going for the ball … I’ll get it up to one of the girls. Don’t forget to keep passing it around. You got that?”

  The three girls nodded, none looking particularly confident.

  Collin looked behind him and saw that the players within the other two circles were quickly making plans, strategizing in hushed voices. He caught the eye of one of the opposing players. He mouthed something unintelligible, but Collin got the gist of it: He was out for blood.

  Gong! Both the gray and blue teams broke apart. Darren pulled like a plow horse, both arms straining to maintain the holds at his elbows. Everyone moved in unison. The circle spun faster than before, the players somewhat more familiar with how things worked. Collin watched as Darren reached the ball and, soccer-style, dribbled it forward.

  “Hey hey hey … Watch the left side!” Humphrey yelled. But it was too late. The blue team whipped their line of players toward the Lone Stars’ red circle. They had a Bubba counterpart—big and mean looking, the man at the end of the line was scary just standing still, let alone being whipped around with the accumulated momentum of a freight train. He charged at the Lone Stars with enough force to bring three of the teens down to their knees: DiMaggio, Humphrey and Gregg. Each grimaced. Collin guessed that it must have felt as though their arms were being yanked from their shoulders.

  The referee scurried in and, with his hands on knees, closely inspected the fallen red players. “The Lone Stars’ links are unbroken … they maintain possession … continue play!”

  Scrambling back to their feet, the Lone Stars, their arms still intertwined, began moving again.

  “Get ready, Lydia!” Darren said, now dribbling faster. He glanced up at her, perched high on Collin’s shoulders.

  “Careful … Blues are coming,” Collin said, seeing their swinging line of players running full out, ready to make their swing inward.

  Darren got the ball a foot into the air with the toe of his shoe, then gave it another bigger kick, sending the ball high in the air, over everyone’s heads. Collin strained to position Lydia beneath the ball. She caught it with both hands and immediately tossed it over to Karen, who in turn tossed it over to Tink. Three more swinging lines of attack came from the opposing teams, as the Lone Stars’ circle steadily made progress down the field.

  The gray Righteous Warriors had managed to get themselves into a straight line in front of the now-approaching goal line. There was no way the red team would be able to cross into the end zone as a circle.

  Collin yelled across to Bubba, “Let go of Humphrey’s arm. We’re going to whip you into their line. Lydia, when you get the ball, pass it back to Tink.” Collin’s eyes met Darren’s—he nodded his agreement to the plan.

  Bubba let go of Humphrey’s arm just as the Brave Hearts, in blue, made their own move. Their leader, Fico Lucan, was at the end of their line—ready to snap forward.

  The ball continued to be passed—to Lydia, then to Tink, back to Lydia, then to Karen, around and around. In a united effort, the line of Lone Stars, ten players arm-in-arm, swung around one hundred and eighty degrees. By the time Bubba and his substantial girth careened into the line of gray Righteous Warriors, near the center of the field, there was nothing their players could do to stop him. He hit them like a bus hitting traffic cones. Lydia passed the ball to Tink, in the end zone. She yelled, “Pangallo!” With that, the referee announced the Lone Stars had scored and were awarded one hundred points, minus the ten they’d lost earlier.

  While the Lone Stars reveled in being the first to score, Collin noticed Captain Dante Primo standing on the sidelines, next to the chief. Over the next forty-five minutes, the other two teams scored once. Both teams, Righteous Warriors and Brave Hearts, had earned one hundred tributes, while the Lone Stars had ninety.

  Chapter 27

  The march from the activity field over to the weapons range took five minutes. The Lone Stars were in low spirits. They weren’t used to losing, and even though it was only a ten-point deficit, they were still angry. Collin hadn’t expected them to do as well as they had against experienced, adult, opposition. Tink, Karen and Lydia were somewhat more upbeat with what they had accomplished as females on the team, but not everyone was that positive.

  “We’re in last place … epic fail … and that doesn’t get us back home!” Humphrey spat.

  “We’ll make up the difference somewhere else,” Collin said. But by the dark expressions on everyone’s faces, his pep talk was falling on deaf ears.

  As they approached the weapons range, the muffled sounds of energy weapons being discharged increased. The corridor had become more and more congested with Brotherhood military personnel passing by. Some glanced at them with mild interest—others, with scowling obvious annoyance.

  The range was in another immense compartment. As they filed in through the double-hatchway, Collin became immediately at ease. It wasn’t that it looked anything like the little rifle range he and his father frequented back home, in Middleton. Rather, it was more a feeling he got from a combination of different things: the sounds of constant weaponry fire—and something else—something that happens when there’s multiple shooters with their hyper-concentration—an almost imperceptible buzz which permeates the atmosphere.

  The chief gestured with a finger to his lips for everyone to be quiet. They merged into one line and slowly walked behind him. The firing range was huge, closer in size to a typical golf course’s driving range. Collin noticed there were varying terrains off in the distance. With bright orange demarcations, each shooter had his, or her, own cordoned-off lane, or slice, that widened into the far distance. A dozen soldiers—some prone on the ground, some standing, and some down on one knee—were firing at a wide assortment of stationary and moving targets.

  “They’re like holograms,” DiMaggio murmured in a lowered voice, standing behind Collin.

  “The ultimate video game … I got to get me some of this,” Humphrey said from the back of the line.

  The chief turned around while walking backwards. His eyes found Humphrey and his cold stare conveyed his intended message: shut the hell up.

  But Collin’s attention was out on the range. The holograms were amazing. He’d actually only realized the targets were holograms when DiMaggio pointed it out. Some of the targets were armed attacking soldiers, dressed in some sort of battle suit. Other targets were hovering robots or drones, firing their own integrated energy weapons back at the shooters, who were practicing at the front of the range. He
actually felt heat coming from a series of pulse shots from a tank-like hover vehicle now emerging over a distant crest. The boys looked at each other and smiled.

  The chief waved everyone into a smaller compartment. The hatch slid closed behind the last teen to enter. With the exception of perhaps some big gun shows, Collin had never seen such an assortment of firearms in his life. Certainly he’d never seen this type of weaponry. Multiple rifle-rack rows lined two of the bulkheads. Another bulkhead was dedicated to smaller racks, and shelves, holding hand-held firearms.

  The chief stepped up to a high metal counter holding a variety of handguns atop it. He motioned the teens to huddle around him. “You are here to learn about a variety of Brotherhood weapons. You’ll learn how to fire these weapons … and to do so with precision. You’ll also learn how to maintain your weapons, which, at some point in your life, might mean the difference between survival or death.

  “Is there anyone here familiar with weapons?”

  “Call of Duty: Advanced Warfare … Stinger M7; that’ll show the Kardon Guard,” Humphrey said enthusiastically, fist-bumping Clifford Bosh.

  The chief looked momentarily confused by Humphrey’s words when he saw Collin had raised his hand. “What’s your experience, Mr. Frost?”

  “My dad’s a veteran soldier. He takes me to the range when he’s not deployed. I’ve been around firearms most of my life.”

  The chief nodded and turned to see if anyone else had any weapons experience. “Individually, and as a Chain unit, you will need to excel, to outperform all others. Let me make one thing perfectly clear … this is not play. The weapons you’ll be using can easily be set to lethal settings. A lapse in concentration, a mistake here and on the range, will get someone, maybe the person next to you, killed. There have been twenty-nine weapon range fatalities here on Nero Station. And those mishaps befell recruits with more experience, more weapons knowledge, than any of you have. So let me say this … if I find any of you acting inappropriately, not taking this seriously, I will shoot you myself.” With that, the chief picked up the closest handgun on the countertop, checked it, and shot Humphrey in the chest.

  The energy blast was loud enough to cause everyone to jump. Humphrey dropped like a sack of potatoes. One second he was standing beside Clifford Bosh; the next, he was splayed awkwardly on the deck. There was an acrid smell of ozone and singed fabric in the air. Wide-eyed, no one moved. They all stared down at the lifeless body—a burn-hole in his heart area.

  “As I said, these weapons are fully functional.” The chief looked down at the energy weapon in his hand.

  Both Collin and DiMaggio started to crouch down next to Humphrey.

  “Do not move!” yelled Bragg. He waited for them to stand up straight. Collin was having a difficult time keeping his rage in check.

  “Now this is a Ponge 412, the standard sidearm weapon for Brotherhood forces. If you look here, at the lower left side of the barrel, you’ll see that it has six micro-settings.” The chief used his thumb to move the selector switch to the first position.

  At this point the knuckles on Collin’s two fists had turned white.

  The chief droned on, “The first position is the lowest level, a stun setting. Mr. Humphrey was nailed with a setting of three: enough to burn a hole in his uniform and through several epidermal layers as well. The jolt to his nervous system was enough to disrupt consciousness … but he is not dead. I don’t think.” He casually glanced down at Humphrey for several seconds before the unconscious teenager’s eyes fluttered open. “Someone help Mr. Humphrey back up onto his feet.”

  The chief scanned the faces around him. “You. Come around here next to me.”

  Lydia’s eyes widened and she froze in place.

  “I’m not going to shoot you, Ms. Bennett. Do as you’re told.”

  Lydia took in a breath, walked around the counter, and stood next to him.

  “What is this weapon?” he asked her, in an almost comforting voice.

  “Ponge 412.”

  “How many different settings does it provide for?” he asked, handing her the weapon.

  “Six,” she answered. She took the gun in her right hand and looked at the selector switch.

  “Good … now change the setting to the first position.”

  She used her thumb as the chief had shown them and repositioned the switch. “Like that?”

  The chief took the gun from her and looked at the setting. He raised the weapon and pointed it at Collin. “You tell me … was it set to the lowest setting, or the highest, most lethal, setting?”

  Lydia’s expression turned to uncertainty as she searched her memory.

  The chief fired once, twice, three times.

  Lydia screamed, “No!”

  But Collin did not fall to the deck as Humphrey had. In fact, he was smiling back at her. He rubbed at a point on his chest and said, “Warm.”

  “Setting position one. This is the training-level setting you will always use, while on Nero Station.” The chief looked at Humphrey, who was now back on his feet. He still looked somewhat disoriented. “What is it I just said, Mr. Humphrey?”

  “Setting position one is the training-level setting and we will always use that setting, while here on Nero Station.”

  “Correct.” The chief walked to the back bulkhead and removed a rifle from one of the racks. He brought it over to the counter and laid it flat before him. “This is a Larrik 5 … most commonly referred to as a Doubler. As you can see, there are two barrels that merge into one, here at this end. It disperses plasma … high-energy ionized gas. The plasma is created by superheating internal lasers. A very powerful weapon. This is the same weapon the Kardon Guard utilizes.” He flipped the weapon over and tapped at a selector switch near the trigger guard. “And here is your power-level selector switch. Again … setting one will be the only setting ever used within the confines of Nero Station. Is that understood?”

  Everyone nodded.

  “Over the next hour you will learn how to dismantle and clean both the Ponge 412 and the Doubler. In the weeks to come, you will be able to disassemble and reassemble these weapons in seconds … you’ll be able to accomplish this in total darkness. Any questions?”

  “When do we get to shoot them?” Bubba asked.

  “Maybe tomorrow. Let’s see how well you do today, with the basic maintenance aspects. You’re already well behind the other two Chains … you better hope you don’t fall back any further. It’s all about tributes and you’re lacking in that regard. There are countertops situated around this compartment. Each of you must retrieve a Ponge 412 and a Larrik 5 Doubler from the racks. Go now.”

  Chapter 28

  Chief-in-Command Bragg left the Lone Stars at the close combat gym. They’d taken a transport elevator to one of the sub-decks, located at the very lowest level of the station. Gone were the deep, rich colors, textures, and muted high lighting. This part of the space station was barebones, utilitarian, and drab. Pipes and conduits ran along gray bulkheads.

  Collin, leading the way into the first of what he figured were several adjoined compartments, was almost bowled over by the hot, humid air. With the exception of a three-foot-wide walkway that encircled the thirty-by-thirty-foot square compartment, the deck was completely covered with padding. In the center of the room, standing beneath a dim overhead light, stood a lone figure. The girls giggled—both Lydia and Tink covered their mouths, embarrassed. The boys said nothing, but made faces at each other.

  He was a slight man, no more than five foot seven—if that. His body, glistening with sweat, was toned and showed an astonishing amount of muscle definition. He was also naked, with the exception of a small black loincloth that covered his privates.

  The Lone Stars moved around the periphery of the compartment, mindful not to tread upon the padded floor in shoes. Eyes closed, the man continued to stand perfectly still in what looked like a yoga position, or maybe a Kung Fu-type pose. Then Collin realized the man was balancing all his w
eight on one foot—actually, on his toes. Five minutes passed before he gracefully moved into a regular standing position.

  He opened his eyes and surveyed the group. He smiled with child-like innocence, bowing his head and bringing his hands together as if in prayer, and remained still. Collin was the first to follow suit and bow in a similar manner. One by one, the others followed his lead, until everyone in the compartment had a bowed head, their two hands clasped together, like the slight man in the center of the compartment.

  He stood erect and smiled again. “Welcome to this sparring room … the Roko. Thank you. I am honored by your presence here. I am honored I was assigned to train you. Please address me as Master Car.” He took several steps forward and then turned and walked around the compartment, looking closely at each teenager, holding their gaze and nodding to each one. He returned to the center of the compartment.

  “You must be an exceptional group of young men and women. I was retired; have not been involved in training young recruits for some years now. Note that you, alone, will be trained by me … the other two Chains have other trainers. I am one hundred and thirty-six years of age. My body does not move as it once did. I am not as quick as I once was. Please forgive my shortcomings and I will forgive yours. So let’s get started. There are male and female dressing rooms. I will wait here while you dress for today’s exercises. Place your garments, your shoes … everything within the cubbyhole shelves. Rest assured, no one will take your things. This is a safe environment. Go now.”

  Collin continued to stare at the strange slim man. He looked to be no older than forty, if even that. He projected an aura of confidence, while still maintaining an air of humbleness at the same time.