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CHAPTER NINETEEN

FROM CAPTURED HISTORY TAPES,
FILE 1846583A ca. 1832 a.d.
BUT CONCERNING EVENTS OF UP TO
2000 YEARS EARLIER

Sword Slashes and Burning Memories 

The next morning, Kren dressed himself carefully in a new summer-weight academic uniform, marveling at the feeling of smooth, strong quality in the cloth. It was vastly different from the heavy, rough warmth of his military cloak.

In part because he had been told that the director wanted to see him use a sword, but mostly because after wearing it all summer, he felt uncomfortable without it, he belted his sword on first, and put the cloak on over it. He was pleased to see in the mirror that it wasn't noticable under the voluminous garment, and resolved to wear it regularly.

When he and Dol arrived, the director's secretary had a dozen papers ready for Kren to sign.

"You might as well read through those before you sign them," she said. "It's an all or nothing deal, and nothing in these documents is negotiable, but you really ought to know where you stand."

Kren read through each one of them slowly, discovering that if he was injured for any reason, he could not sue the university, or anyone employed by the university, but had to pay for all of his medical bills himself.

If he was damaged beyond possible repair, the university would provide a new body, and then bill him for it. And if he was somehow killed beyond all possible hope of being properly eaten, the university would settle all of his debts, and then keep the rest of his bank account.

He was obligated to serve under the terms of the contract for as long as the director chose to maintain his scholarship. He could be dismissed, but he could not quit, until he graduated.

He agreed to play in any and all sports that the director saw fit, and would not expect to receive any extra compensation for the time that this took.

He would never in his life be allowed to play for any other university, nor could he play for any professional team while he was an undergraduate.

He would restrict his diet to one normal for a Mitchegai, that is to say, meat and water. Partaking in anything else, especially drugs, would result in his termination.

"Termination?" Kren asked the secretary.

"Oh, yes, and I do mean that literarily. The director publicly skins drug users alive, and then nails their hides to the wall down in the lobby. An athlete on drugs can get his entire team disqualified."

"Yes, I saw four of them down there as we were coming in. I'd wondered about them."

"Now you know. There are only four because we had an auction last year, and sold off three dozen skins. Be warned," she said.

Lastly, the contract said that he would obey the director, and such other persons as the director might from time to time appoint over him, in absolutely all things.

Finally, Kren said, "All of this seems very restrictive."

"It is," the secretary said. "But it's not nearly as bad as it sounds. You have to remember that the director's job is to make money for the university. He does this by having very good athletes playing for him. Happy, healthy athletes make the best players, so he wants you to be happy and healthy. As long as you do well, you will be able to get away with doing just about anything that you want. If you give him problems, or if your performance slips, he can get away with doing just about anything that he wants to you."

"I see. What would be the most drastic thing that he might do to me?"

"Under ordinary circumstances, I'd say that the worst would be to put you into the gladiator pool. Twelve times a year, we have a fight to the death with one of the other universities, during half-time ceremonies. It's a major draw, and often gets play on the Planetary News. The names of the participants are drawn by lot."

Thinking of the buffoons he'd seen on television, Kren figured that he'd come out of it without the slightest difficulty, and even get a free meal in the bargain.

"Well, if that's all, there won't be any problems," he said, and started signing the papers. Dol and the secretary witnessed them.

"Now then," Dol said. "How do I go about getting Kren reimbursed for these expenses?"

"You just give them to me, and I'll see to it that Kren's account is properly credited," the secretary said.

But on looking at the receipts, she shook her head and said, "Oh, my! Oh, me oh my! Uh, please, wait right here."

A few minutes later, the director strode in followed by his secretary.

"Kren! These amounts are excessive!" he shouted.

"I'm sorry that you feel that way, sir, but I only did as I was instructed to do."

"Instructed? By who?"

"Bronki, sir. She gave Dol very specific instructions as to where we were to go, what we were to do, and with whom we were to speak."

"Did Bronki tell you to pay three semesters of tuition in advance?"

Dol said, "No sir. But the registrar at the College of Business insisted on it."

"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?"

"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.

 

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