Lone Star Renegades Read online

  Bubba put his hands on his hips and stared back at his teammates: “Mess with us … any one of us … and you’ve messed with the wrong team! Tell me who’ve they messed with?”

  The response was a weak scattering of voices, “The Lone Stars.”

  “Louder,” Bubba said. “Who?”

  More chimed in, “The Lone Stars.”

  “I still didn’t hear you! Who?”

  Now everyone yelled back, even Darren and Humphrey, along with Bosh, Platt and Hurst, in response, “THE LONE STARS!”

  Chapter 21

  They were told they could bring one bag or satchel each. Collin had his leather rucksack slung over one shoulder. Inside were his Beretta, extra mag, small flashlight and several other odds and ends. One by one the students walked off the Turd, into the freight bay of the Tyrant.

  This time they were greeted by far more soldiers, and bigger weapons were trained on them. No more than a few seconds passed before each teenager was fitted with four minimizer bands. None of the Daccian, catlike beings resisted having the bands placed on their wrists this time. But the three had decided not to fight for the Brotherhood. Instead, they had agreed to a house arrest-type situation where they would not be permitted to leave their suite of compartments for the extent of one year. They did not seem overly concerned with these restrictions and had gone along with them without any argument.

  As the fourth minimizer was firmly secured around Collin’s right ankle, he felt the same draw on his energy he’d experienced before. Added to that, his lack of sufficient nutrients in a long while was draining, and he was finding it hard to keep his eyes open.

  They were moved to what looked like a ship’s hold. The space was tight and the temperature had to be in the forties or fifties, chilly but bearable.

  A young officer in a dark red coat entered the hold. “I am Lieutenant Maugeri. Please forgive these accommodations. The Tyrant is currently en route to Nero Station. We will arrive there within thirty minutes.”

  * * *

  They had arrived at Nero Station. As quickly as they’d been ushered into the Tyrant’s hold, they were ushered right back out again. They were led through some kind of tubular concourse that connected the Tyrant to the space station. A series of small portholes offered a view of Nero Station beyond. Everyone in the group moved to the portholes and looked out.

  “Holy crap … Look at this thing …” someone said. Collin wasn’t sure who.

  Gleaming, everything stark white—it was probably the biggest non-natural thing Collin had ever seen. Evidently they were standing within a small connecting tube that was part of another major spoke of what was, in a sense, a ginormous wheel. There were twelve such spokes, each of which was probably miles in length. The spokes connected to a substantial outer ring. The center hub, which everything connected to, was thick and cylindrical. Like twinkling stars, a thousand little porthole lights glimmered—contrasting against the blackness of space beyond. Collin noticed another spacecraft was slowly moving in toward one of the other spokes—farther out from where the Tyrant was currently secured. Then he noticed there were other spaceships, of different shapes and sizes, around the distant periphery of Nero Station.

  Lieutenant Maugeri said, “Let’s move it along.”

  They continued down the concourse tube. Collin was somewhere in the middle of the pack. They were being ushered down a long, softly lit corridor. In time they emerged into an open, congested, atrium. Collin guessed this was a transport arrival level that circled around the station’s hub; an area where those disembarking from their moored vessels would eventually converge. It was a colossal-sized space, with spectacular views of the surrounding station’s outer ring via wide observation windows. Everything was ridiculously clean. And, like Captain Primo’s Tyrant ship, the bulkheads were in rich colors of reds and gold.

  They were herded off to a wide, central column. An elevator arrived and they moved inside. Before Collin knew it, the doors reopened and they were walking along a different corridor.

  The listless teens didn’t really talk—they simply continued on their semi-imposed march, like an incoherent herd of sheep. That is, until the aroma of something tantalizing, something incredible, reached their nostrils. Heads came up, expressions showed interest, paces increased.

  Up ahead, Collin saw Dr. Albergo and Captain Primo. The captain raised a palm to halt the oncoming procession. He looked down the line until he found Collin and gestured for him to come forward to the front of the line.

  “I’m glad you’ve decided to join us … join the Brotherhood,” Captain Primo said.

  “It was a group decision. Truth was, there wasn’t really much of a choice, was there?”

  “Soon, you will all be fed. But first, Dr. Albergo will be administering the same basic procedure you went through earlier—the installation of Com-dots on earlobes. It is imperative that our commands and directives are fully understood, going forward.”

  Collin didn’t say anything in response to that, but understood Primo’s reasoning. He turned to the line behind him. “Um … before we can go in and eat, everyone will have Com-dots … these things,” he explained, pointing to his own earlobes, “placed on their ears. It doesn’t hurt much. It allows us to hear what they’re saying and for them to understand us. They will flake off eventually, but by that time we’ll be able to converse back and forth … at least, that’s what they told me.”

  At the front of the line stood David Burk, but everyone just called him Brick—as in dumb as a brick. His life was all about football, being an offensive lineman, and since he’d rarely passed any of his non-elective classes, he’d spent most of his free time being tutored. It was good he was at the front of the line … Brick wasn’t a rabble-rouser … not one to cause problems.

  “Brick, they’re going to put something on your ears. It won’t hurt. See? I’ve got them too.”

  “Yeah, okay. We eating soon?” he asked, his eyes locked on the mess entrance less than ten feet ahead.

  Collin nodded to the doctor and watched as Brick’s two lobes were pierced with Com-dots. Brick smiled back at Collin and was quickly hustled into the mess.

  One by one, they all capitulated to the procedure. Before moving into the mess, each teen looked first at the captain, who nodded a silent welcome. As the last of them disappeared around the corner, Collin felt like if he didn’t eat something soon he was going to pass put.

  “Thank you, Mr. Frost, for your assistance here. Please, go eat.”

  Collin headed for the entrance.

  “Mr. Frost …”

  Collin looked back over his shoulder.

  “It does get easier,” said Captain Primo. There was humor in his eyes and something else—sympathy?

  The mess hall was ginormous. There were enough tables to seat hundreds, but the students sat together in one small section. Most had already gotten their food and were digging into their plates. If the aroma was any indication, this meal should be a feast to remember, Collin thought.

  Bubba and DiMaggio waited for Collin and together they moved to the cafeteria-style counter. Where he’d expected to see large metal pans filled, brimming with hot meats and vegetables, there were only display screens. Both Bubba and DiMaggio smiled.

  “Took us by surprise as well,” DiMaggio said. “You just touch the selector button for the items you want added to your tray.”

  DiMaggio and Bubba quickly moved down the line, selecting various food items. Both were making comments and jokes about their own selections. Although most items were completely foreign-looking to Earth cuisine, Collin felt there were enough similarities to some foods, like a burrito-type thing covered in gravy, that he felt the odds of them being edible were higher.

  By the time Bubba reached the end of the counter, a tray of steaming hot food was coming out on a conveyor belt, from some kind of oven-sized appliance. Collin waited for his tray to emerge, grabbed it up, and moved over to another counter where he collected eating utensils�
��a spork-type thing and a knife. As he approached the tables, a hand shot up waving three tables away. Setting down his tray, he realized it wasn’t Bubba and DiMaggio who’d signaled him. Lydia smiled up at him and she scooted over to her left, closer to Tink. “There’s room … here, sit next to me.”

  As happy as Collin was to be seated next to Lydia, all he could think about was the food in front of him. Without wasting another second, he attacked what was on his tray. Prepared for it to taste like crap, he was happy to discover the food was good. No, the food was outstanding! He took heaping sporkfulls of something that looked liked cooked carrots but was purple—then something that looked similar to mashed potatoes but was green, and then the burrito thing which, strangely enough, tasted pretty much like a burrito.

  Collin was three quarters through his meal before he realized the others at the table were watching him. As he scanned their faces, he saw they were waiting for something.

  “What? Why are you all looking at me? You didn’t like your food?”

  Seeing their now empty plates, he knew that wasn’t it.

  Lydia leaned in closer. “What’s going to happen now? Where are they going to take us?”

  Before Collin could say anything, Tink asked, “Will the boys be separated from the girls?”

  Another girl, Karen Muller, pushed her tray forward and said, “I need to tinkle … where can I do that?”

  Collin raised both hands, as if in surrender. “I’m just as new here as you are. I can try to find out …” He half-stood, looking over the heads of those around him. He hadn’t noticed earlier, but soldiers had taken up positions all around the mess hall. Before he could turn toward the entrance, a loud, angry sounding voice began barking orders.

  “Stand up. Up! All of you … stand up and pick up your trays!”

  The man’s voice was deep and gravelly sounding—like he’d smoked several packs a day since he was ten. With a quick glance over his shoulder, Collin saw that the voice fit the person.

  “I am Chief-in-Command Bragg and from this moment on I will be your boss. Get used to hearing this sweet, melodic voice of mine; you’ll be hearing it a lot.”

  The soldier was middle-aged, with salt-and-pepper gray hair. Short in stature, he was built like a fireplug. His uniform fit tight across his chest. Beneath the maroon fabric, his muscles were big and defined—he was not someone you’d want to piss off.

  “You will deposit your trays here, in this bin. You will not talk … you will not eyeball me … you will quickly walk to the corridor behind me and form two lines: one for females, one for males. Do it now!”

  There was no hesitation from anyone and as Collin stood he saw the anxiety on all of their faces. The only sound came from trays being placed into a large bin to the left of Bragg. Collin hurried by him, taking in as much as he could from his peripheral vision. As if sensing Collin’s appraisal, Bragg’s attention shot toward Collin.

  “Move it, little babies … double-time!”

  Chapter 22

  The line of six girls had been led away to, Collin guessed, barracks similar to the guys. Standing at attention now, just moments earlier they’d been ushered into a circular compartment about the size of your typical high school gymnasium. It had rows of what looked like pods, on either side of an open aisle. Colorful flags draped from high above, along the ceiling periphery of the compartment. Undecipherable characters, which were probably names or slogans, Collin thought, were hung beneath each flag. In the open spaces of the bulkheads, between each flag, were various items, including broad swords—crossed at their midpoints; a metal breastplate and helmet that would fit perfectly in Earth’s own Middle Ages; and an assortment of other barbaric-looking weapons, which Collin had no reference of, or comparison to, nor a clue to their usage.

  The fourteen boys were split into two rows of seven, facing across from each other, on both sides of the aisle. Directly across from Collin, standing at attention, was Humphrey. His eyes were currently boring into Collin’s with hatred, as if he’d personally been responsible for everything, from their initial abduction into the collector ship, to ending up here—in these barracks.

  Collin continued to stare straight ahead, because the last kid who had let his eyes follow the movements of the now-pacing Chief-in-Command Officer Bragg was ordered to do fifty pushups. Collin figured pushups were the universal punishment for any quasi-intelligent being with two arms and legs.

  “Over the next six weeks you should expect three things: pain, hunger, and exhaustion. Because our timetable has been accelerated, you will feel more pain, hunger, and exhaustion than the recruits who came before you.” Bragg stopped his pacing and, with hands on hips, surveyed the two lines. “I’ve been told you all are different. That you have strengths … perhaps capabilities our native-born boys don’t have. Well, let me tell you something. As far as I’m concerned, you’re no different. I will break each and every one of you. I will have you all crying for your mommies in your pods at night. I will break you … I will break you … I will break you.”

  Bragg stopped in front of Bubba and moved in close to him. Nearly looking straight up into Bubba’s face, Bragg spoke in a lowered tone: “You will address me as Chief. Is that understood?”

  The response was a mix of yesses, okays, and yes sirs … Bragg spun around with anger. “Yes, Chief. Not yeah … not uh huh, not sure … only Yes, Chief.”

  “Yes, Chief!” came the immediate response.

  “Better. Now you will strip down naked. You will pick up your smelly, disgusting clothes and deposit them over there, in that bin. You will then proceed into the lavatories and take a two-minute shower. You will wash your balls, your ass, and your pits. If I smell anything other than soap on any one of you, you will face a most unpleasant regimen of exercise. Now move it!”

  Their only saving grace, Collin thought as he disrobed, was that the girls were segregated elsewhere into their own barracks. To call Collin skinny was an understatement. His Sticks nickname was no accident, and standing there naked, in front of the others, was humiliating. Humphrey made no effort to hide his smile as he took in Collin’s bony elbows and protruding kneecaps.

  The showers were open, a line of twenty shower heads, six feet up, were spaced evenly on the bulkhead wall. Water came on as soon as Collin stepped up to the shower area. Thirty seconds into it, he realized the tepid water temperature was as warm as it was going to get. He concentrated on getting his body soaped and rinsed as quickly as possible and then stepped away from the bulkhead. He looked for a towel—something to dry off with. Nothing. The allotted two minutes was ticking away so Collin and several others left the head, still dripping wet.

  Bragg was still standing where they’d left him, two minutes and thirty seconds earlier. Collin returned to his previous position and stood at attention. One by one the other boys returned; by the time the last of them ran to his space on the line, Collin estimated close to five minutes had elapsed.

  “Some of you were only thirty seconds late. Others were closer to three minutes. So you will all be penalized: two hundred pushups. What are you waiting for? Down on the deck!”

  Collin did as told and began doing pushups.

  “Start over, one of you is doing them incorrectly,” Bragg ordered.

  Another minute transpired before Bragg said, “Start over, one of you is doing them incorrectly.”

  Thirty seconds later he said, “Start over, one of you is still doing them incorrectly.”

  “All the way down, Bubba,” Darren said in a barely audible snarl.

  “Start over … no talking allowed,” Bragg said.

  Collin was keeping a running tally in his head and he’d already completed one hundred and twenty-five pushups. One thing about being skinny—he could do these all day. Royce White, on the other hand, was struggling. While his two hundred and seventy pound girth worked well for a starting center, it made doing certain other things problematic. His ample belly was now barely leaving the deck—only his
chest was moving up and down. Collin waited for Bragg to issue the command to start over again, but it didn’t come.

  Collin was the first to reach two hundred, quickly followed by Humphrey, and then Darren and DiMaggio. By the time Royce struggled to his feet, Bragg was standing directly in front of him.

  “Pitiful,” Bragg said, turning toward the rest of them. “By now you’ve noticed the flags above your heads. We call them the Flags of the Term. Why? Because only after a full-year term will a new flag be added. Take a close look at these flags. They represent far more than the fabric they’re made of. They represent commitment, honor, allegiance, and sacrifice. They represent the very best of the best. Chains, which have endured the Brotherhood’s basic training over a one-year term.” Bragg gestured with his hand to the teens around him, “You all are a Chain … the dismal group of individuals that you are, the fourteen of you, along with the six females, are a Chain. Understand, you are the most vulnerable at your weakest link. With that said, you are the most powerful at your strongest link. You are a Chain … the sooner you come to understand that, the sooner you will begin to prevail here, and in life. Each flag above you represents a graduating Chain … a Chain that consistently scored higher than other Chains within a full-year term. We are at the one-year starting mark now, but I do not expect to see your flag added to the ones above.”

  Bragg began pacing up and down the aisle. “We measure you by the accumulation of your tributes. Tributes are awarded individually, and also for the Chain unit as a whole. I want you to understand these flags, the Chains that prevailed above all others, exhibited the highest level of commitment, honor, allegiance, and sacrifice … their accumulation of tributes were merely the by-product of those attributes. Unfortunately, you come to us … into this basic training … already disgraced. The mere fact that you left your home planet, while under attack, shrouds your reputation. By default you are the lowest of the low. You are nothing more than a bunch of renegades.”