"Did she know that Kren was one of my athletes?"
"Yes sir, I informed her of that."
"Then the director of the College of Business and I are going to have a little chat. I see a receipt from Bronki for a year's rent. The monthly rate is normal, but paying a year in advance is not. I'll talk that over with her. The price of books looks okay, but these clothing expenses are ridiculous!"
"We went to the store that my employer insisted on, sir, and paid the price they asked."
"Did she tell you to pay seven gross Ke for an overcoat?"
"She told me to see that Kren got a full and proper kit, sir. Yes, we bought the best quality available, but quality pays for itself over time. Low-quality clothing would have to be replaced every year, at your expense, but these garments should last him throughout his entire undergraduate career. Feel this cloth, sir. This is enduring quality."
"What's your name? Dool?"
"Dol, sir."
"Then Dol, you are dressed like an engineer, but you talk like a tailor who is studying to be a lawyer! Okay, Kren will be reimbursed for these expenses, but there are others who will not get off quite so easily!"
"Thank you, sir," Kren said.
"Fine. Now, there are some things that I want you to do for me. I don't like the ID scars on your arms. They are sloppy, ugly, and they mark you as being military. For various reasons, like keeping the betting odds on you high, I'd rather that everyone on the planet didn't know that you were a veteran. This afternoon, my secretary will set you up with a clinic that can burn some academic-looking identification brands into you. Something nice and fancy that will hide the old scars, and still be hard to read. After the burn, have them rub in some of that red powder. That will really look great!"
Kren was pleased by this development. Anything that could distance him from his vampire past was all to the better, to his mind.
"That would suit me, sir, since if Duke Dennon is having the difficulties that you referred to yesterday, it might be best if I was not associated with him."
"There is that, yes. Just get it done."
"As you wish, sir. Won't I need a new credit card as well?"
"Of course. My secretary will take care of all that. Next, I don't want you to wear that military outfit around this city ever again, you got that?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good. Come with me. You, too, Dool."
They followed the director out to a large gymnasium.
Clothing, or the lack of it, has no sexual connotations among the Mitchegai, since the Mitchegai have no sex in the mammalian way of thinking. Clothing is used for identification, and to keep warm. Anything energetic, like athletics, is normally done naked.
A person wearing protective goggles was waiting for them in the gym.
"Kren, this is Dik. She was an all-planet fencing champion when she was an undergraduate, and she will be your personal trainer here when I am not around. She's also our best instructor with the sword. So strip down, chose an épée, and let's see what you can do."
Kren looked at the rack he'd gestured towards, picked up one of the long, thin, edgeless swords, and said, "It's the same story as yesterday, sir. I've never handled one of these things before. I mean, it's very light weight, and it has a beautiful balance, but it doesn't have an edge! All I know about is working with a standard military sword, like this one."
He pulled his sword out from under his cloak.
The director hefted and swung Kren's sword, and said, "If I let you use this thing, you'd kill somebody!"
"That is the idea, sir."
"Well, we can't have you killing our instructors. Undergraduates, perhaps, but not instructors, so using this thing is out. Dik, give him about a half hour of the basics with an épée, and then spar with him for a bit. I'll be back shortly."
So Kren was shown the basic moves of fighting with a sword with a point but no edge. The light weight of the épée compensated for its greater length, and a thrust with an épée was just like a thrust with a military sword.
In a while, he got the idea that the use of the épée was just a very simplified version of fighting with a real sword. You could thrust, but not cut, and only about a quarter of the various blocking moves were still needed. Furthermore, only a single, simple grip was used.
"I think that you are getting the hang of it, Kren. Put some safety goggles on, and we'll spar for a few rounds."
"As you wish, madam."
"Forget the 'madam' stuff. Around here, I'm just 'coach,' and outside, I'm just 'Dik.' "
"Thank you, Coach."
"Good. On guard!"
Dik was smooth and fast. In twelve minutes, she got six legal touches on Kren while being hit two times herself. Kren also got eight cuts on Dik, which of course didn't count.
In sporting slang, a "touch" was to hit your opponent with the point of your sword, while a "cut" was to hit her with the edge, in military parlance. However, with the épée used, the point was blunt and the edge was nonexistent.
"I'm sorry, Coach. I keep forgetting that I'm not allowed to cut. It's habit, I suppose."
"We'll get you over it. That's what training's for."
The director had been watching for six minutes.
"Well, Dik. What do you think of him?"
"You were watching, sir."
"First string varsity?"
"Absolutely."
"That will put him in fencing and all four javelin events," The director said.
"That's quite a load to dump on a freshman."
"He can handle it."
"You're the boss."
"Right. Okay, Kren, you've done well. Go get a rubdown, and then see my secretary about that branding shop. Take two days off to heal, and then come back here on Monday, the first day of classes. Seven o'clock, wasn't it?"
"Yes, sir."
Dol, who had been watching the whole thing, followed Kren into the rubdown room. Finding two masseurs on duty, and no other athletes present, she simply stripped down and got onto one of the tables. The masseur, assuming that she was supposed to be there, started working on her. Kren got on another table.
Dol said, "I was really amazed by your performance. Do you realize that you are the first person to get a touch off of Dik in over three years?"
"No, I wasn't aware of that. The standards here seem to be a little different from those in the military. Also, the rewards here appear to be considerably greater," Kren said, referring to the pleasure of the rubdown, something that he had never experienced before.
Following the secretary's directions, they got to the branding shop within a half hour.
"The director's secretary said that this was a rush job, and that you wanted something fancy. I've taken the liberty of sketching up three possibilities for you," the brander said.
Kren looked them over, but didn't feel qualified to make an artistic judgment.
"What do you think, Dol?"
"Take the one in the middle, definitely. It has excellent form and balance, and is intricate enough to completely hide the old scars."
"Very well. The middle one it is."
The brander immediately started carving the design into a plate of soft, dry clay. It was done to her satisfaction in an hour, at which time she placed the plate in a small ceramic tray and poured some sort of metallic powder over it.
"What is that stuff?" Kren asked.
"A special powdered metallurgical alloy. Its exact composition is a company secret. All I can say about it is that it sinters nicely."
"What do you mean, 'sinters'?"
"When you heat this stuff up to the right temperature, the grains weld together without quite melting. It makes for a clear, sharp impression, without bubbles, warping or shrinking."
"I see," Kren said.
"The director will be paying for this branding plate and the branding itself, but he doesn't pay for anesthetics. He likes his players to be tough."
"Very well. And what would this anesthetic cost me?"<
br />
"A mere twelve Ke. It will be effective for four days, until the worst of it is over," the brander said.
"Then, by all means, I'll pay for the anesthetic."
"Most players do, the smart ones, anyway."
Kren was given a hypodermic shot, and then a second anesthetic, an oil, was rubbed over his upper arms.
A ceramic lid was placed over the powder, and the tray was placed in a small induction oven. In moments, it was glowing red hot, and was removed to cool a bit.
Kren was strapped into a chair that held his body, and especially his upper arms, immobile.
"Some customers can't help flinching, and that messes up the brand," the brander said.
The ceramic tray was then broken open, revealing that the powder had been converted into a solid metal plate with the carved design embossed on it. Using long pliers, the brander put the still glowing plate into a mechanical arrangement that would put the brand in the proper position.
Without a bit of warning, she forced the red hot plate into Kren's left arm, while Kren struggled to keep from crying out with pain. After letting it burn for three seconds, the plate was moved to the other arm and again burned in, this time for four seconds.
"It's really best to just get it over with," the brander said with a smile. "Anticipation only makes it worse."
"That is difficult to imagine. Being worse, I mean," Kren gasped.
"You've never tried it without the anesthetic," the brander said. "Now, then. They said that you would like those burns to stay bright red?"
"The director recommended that, yes."
"Then we've got just the stuff for it."
A bright red powder was dusted on the wounds, and rubbed into them. Instead of hurting, it was actually soothing. Then Kren was unstrapped from the chair, and bandages were placed around his upper arms, not because there was any danger of infection on this sterile planet, but to keep the red powder in place, and to protect his new cloak from staining.
By then the plate had cooled, and the brander removed it from the machine.
"This is your property now. You can take it with you, and keep it for when you need a new body, or we can keep it here in our vault at no charge, and do the next branding for you."
"You keep it for me," Kren said, getting ready to leave.
"Very good, sir. And, uh, there was a matter of the twelve Ke that you owe me?"
Kren was not at all sure that he had actually received any anesthetics, but with no way of proving anything, he paid the brander with his credit card and left.
CHAPTER TWENTY
FROM CAPTURED HISTORY TAPES,
FILE 1846583A ca. 1832 a.d.
BUT CONCERNING EVENTS OF UP TO
2000 YEARS EARLIER
An Attack in the Afternoon
Kren slept poorly that night, kept awake by the pain in his arms. In the morning, he was half dozing, sitting upright in his suite when Bronki came in.
"Kren, I've been thinking. It appears that it will be impossible to find you a standard, undergraduate room anywhere in the city for this semester. Also, certain business associates of mine have been acting in an unpleasant fashion lately, and while I think that it would be very unlikely for them to actually do anything physical, I would find it very comforting to have a real warrior living with me. What would you think of making this room your own, say, for the next year?"
"I've yet to see a standard undergraduate room, but I cannot imagine that one would be as large, or as beautifully appointed as this suite is. Yes, I would accept your offer eagerly."
"Then we will consider it done. And if I were to need your martial aid, you would come?"
"Yes, but in the unlikely event that this should prove necessary, I think that it would be appropriate that I should be rewarded for my efforts. Shall we say, a thousand Ke?" Kren said.
"That seems like a large amount for a few minutes' work, but very well. I long ago had an alarm system put in. It sounds like my voice, telling where you would be needed."
"When I hear it, I will come, and I will do what is necessary. And while the hourly rate might be high, the typical job does not require one to risk his life."
A few hours later, Kren was again half dozing while considering sending out for a small juvenal to eat. Perhaps that might ease the pain in his arms.
Suddenly, an unseen speaker was shouting in Bronki's voice, "I need help in my bedroom! I need help in my bedroom!"
Already wearing his sword out of habit, he picked up his spear and ran toward Bronki's room.
There were four Mitchegai in the living room, wearing not cloaks, but formfitting dark green garments of a sort that he'd never seen before. Mentally, Kren thought of them as being the Greenies.
On seeing Kren, one of them pulled out a throwing knife, and was preparing to hurl it at him when a military standard spear went through her throat and out the back of her neck. The Greenie standing behind her had tried to jump up and to the side, but wasn't nearly fast enough. The spear next went through her shoulder and pinned her to the wall with her toes inches above the floor. It ruined a beautiful painting in the process.
The two remaining Greenies drew their swords and came at Kren. Fighting alone against two, standard military doctrine is to run to one side and to dispatch the first one you come to as quickly as possible. If your enemies can get you between them, the one in front of you needs only to block your blows, while the one behind you can easily put a blade in your back.
They will undoubtedly kill you, no matter how good you are, or how inept their swordsmanship might be.
Kren followed doctrine.
He used the "spear" attack, a dangerous maneuver that involves holding your sword straight out in front of you while running at your opponent as fast as you can, while screaming at the top of your lungs in the hopes of startling her.
It worked.
The warrior in green could easily have blocked the blow, if she'd had a moment to think about it, but she lacked that moment, she missed the opportunity, and shortly thereafter, she lost her life.
The Mitchegai heart is located low, surrounded by the pelvic girdle, and is assisted by two smaller, single-chambered hearts below the knees that pump blood depleted of nutrients and oxygen upwards. Swollen ankles and varicose veins are unknown in this species.
At the last instant, Kren lowered his sword and sent it straight through her heart. He quickly pulled out his dripping blade, and used a horizontal blow to decapitate his opponent, since a Mitchegai can function for minutes without any heart at all.
The Greenie who was pinned to the wall was still struggling between a dead coworker and a valuable painting, so Kren turned to his last opponent. This one, he could take a bit of time with, and perhaps they would get into some interesting sword play.
As they squared off, two very loud explosions sounded from Bronki's bedroom. This startled the last Greenie, who turned and looked to the bedroom doorway. Almost regretfully, Kren took advantage of this by cutting off the female's right arm. As she stared stupidly down at her severed limb, Kren took her head off in disgust.
The girl had been no fun at all!
When Kren got into Bronki's bedroom, she was standing with a complicated-looking metal object in her hand. It was smoking.
Lying on the floor were two more Greenies with large holes in their abdomens, bleeding on the lovely carpets.
"Well! It certainly took you long enough to get here! I had to do the job myself! Now, put that sword of yours to some use and dispatch these two! I didn't have time to do anything but gut shots. These two have been knocked out cold by the hydrostatic shock, but I would just as soon that they don't come around."
"Yes, Bronki," Kren said, decapitating the two unresisting Greenies. "I regret the delay, but there were four more of these . . . individuals in your living room."
"Indeed?" Bronki stepped out to look. "I see. Please excuse my earlier remarks. You've served me well this day. You'd better kill this last one, too, but ple
ase be delicate about it. That's a genuine Kado that this trash is stuck to, and there are only three other paintings by her still in existence."
By the time that Kren had done the job without further damage to the painting, chopping the Greenie's head in half from the top, and had retrieved his spear, a dozen servants were crowding in, and Bronki was giving orders.
"Well, you can all see that we've had a disturbance here. Strip these bodies, flush their clothes down a toilet, and put them on the party tables. Remove the brains, chop them up, and flush them down the toilets, too. We wouldn't want any of this sort of trash to be resurrected. Put everything else they had with them in a pile somewhere. I'll go over it later. If you find any identification or credit cards, bring them to me at once. Then clean this mess up. After that, we'll all have a nice, family feast. Once we're all completely through, you will remember that nothing unusual happened here today."
"None of these Greenies knew anything worthwhile?" Kren asked Bronki while the servants scurried around.
"Greenies? That's as good a name for them as any, I suppose. Do they know anything useful? I doubt it, since these were all low-ranking trash. I mean, look at their small heads! But one of those in my bedroom was the leader of this bunch, and considerably smarter than the rest. Quality trash, I suppose you could call her. Come with me."
Bronki was soon sketching out another brain, showing Kren exactly what he should and should not eat.
"There. That should give you a considerable background into the underworld of this city, without taking up too much of your cranium. That's if you want it, of course."
"I think that it might be helpful, if today's events prove to be common."
"That remains to be seen, but by all means, help yourself."
"Thank you. About that feast, tell them to save me an arm and a leg, would you? And could I have some of their weapons for souvenirs?" Kren asked.
"Okay, and yes, I have no use for them, so you may have them all, if you keep them hidden in your room. It wouldn't be healthy to be seen with such things in the streets. Your sword and spear are legal, but that will not be so for everything that these Greenies were doubtless carrying."
When Kren had eaten those eight small portions of the brain that Bronki had suggested, he collected up and cleaned all of the weapons that he could find, his own included. It was quite a collection.
Kren of the Mitchegai Page 12