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honors. When the listings were posted, Jargy Hoad came over to Bran's squad
room and they had a couple of beers.
Jargy said, "We're neither of us likely to be up for cadet-colonel, like
Peralta-but captain's a good bet, and \iyou\i might make major."
Bran looked over his tipped-up beer, tipped it back down, and swallowed.
"Don't bet any money on it. Not me, anyway. You, maybe."
Jargy protested, but when the promotions were announced, Bran's pessimism was
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justified. Jargy made cadet-captain; Bran remained a squad leader. \iColonels
and elephants never forget;\i
Arbogast wouldn't have forgotten sentencing Bran to the special cell.
Bran had no right to be disappointed about the promotions and he knew as much.
But when, a day later, he was picked for a free-for-all, inside him something
froze. \iBe DAMNED if I will!\i But he knew he had to; there wasn't any way
out of it. He'd heard of the group that sat down and refused to fight- some
years back, that was. On a third refusal of the commandants orders, they'd
simply been gunned down where they
\b68\b sat. And then there was the group that had somehow communicated and
agreed to gang up on one of their number and kill him fast. They were
congratulated, then told to go ahead and fight to
\ianother\i death. Not that that case had any bearing on Bran's current
problem; well, he hoped not.
\iNo way out.\i But then-suddenly, Bran Tregare knew exactly what he was going
to do, next day.
Or try to do, anyway . . .
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Standing naked, one of eight in the drill field arena, even with the heat Bran
found himself shivering. Could he do it? Arbogast's hoarse voice brayed
"Start." Without hesitation, Bran moved.
No choosing of targets. Whoever was nearest, came first. Moving at top speed
while others vacillated, he kicked an opponent's knee sidewise, gave a
near-lethal neck chop, and broke an elbow.
\iThree down-four to go.\i He had to pause a moment to see where everyone else
was. Then: jump, kick, drop the man. Stiff fingers to a throat; trip the next
man for later. And then the remaining contender put out a defending hand. Bran
took it, twisted, had the man in front of him and ran him full speed, head to
head, into the one trying to get to his feet. \iSeven down!\i
Panting, he stood and faced Arbogast. Growling past the mouthed cigar, the
colonel said, "Well, go ahead. Finish one of them."
Bran shook his head. "I don't have to. They're all disabled, out of action."
Arbogast stood. "You haven't \ifinished."
"I'm\i not under attack, colonel, sir. No need."
"Finish it. That's an order."
\iToo much.\i "Take your order and-"
Which is how Bran Tregare became the first cadet to survive a full ten days in
the special cell, with the cold, the electric shocks, and the ice-water
showers. He was tougher now, and the experience didn't even put him into the
infirmary. Though for a few days after his release, he was glad that his
reputation saved him from challenges he couldn't possibly have handled.
"Are you crazy?" said Jargy Hoad, visiting Bran's squad room.
"Probably. This whole place is; you know that." "But to try such a trick ..."
\b69\b
"I thought it might work. You disable all the rest, that should be enough.
Only thing was, I
wasn't all that sure of doing it."
"Well, you did it, all right. And got ten days in Special."
Bran shuddered. "I'll never get the chance to kill Arbogast. A cadet wouldn't
have a prayer-and the way ships chew time up toward light speed, he'll be long
buried by the time I'm back from my first real space cruise. If I-if they let
me-if I ever get out there at all. . . . But-" Bran leaned forward. "He's
just one of a \ilot\i of bastards. And Jargy-someday I'm going to get rid of
some of those."
Before next visiting Lindya Haines, Bran waited a while. For one thing he
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wasn't sure how she felt about UET and Arbogast and the Slaughterhouse in
general. And he wasn't certain that he could smooth out his own feelings and,
if need be, use tact. Well, tact had never been one his greater talents! But
one evening, sending a bottle of wine in advance as a peace offering, he went
to see
Lindya.
His fears were needless; her first words were, "Oh, Bran! \iHow\i could that
bastritch treat you so?" Arbogast she meant; sure. So they cuddled and kissed
and drank some of the wine before they got laid, and the rest after, with the
dinner she'd prepared. And later talked with the Tri-V
running unnoticed, and hit the bed again. Twice, before Bran decided he'd
better not risk staying the night and maybe being caught absent from his squad
duties.
But before he dressed, they kissed goodnight while her tiny warm breasts
nudged his chest and made him wish he could stay longer.
At the age of fifteen, Bran Tregare recognized few limitations. Except, of
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