“Sorry, guys,” Otis said, explaining that there were no large cities on Brodor, nor were there any major highways. There was only one hotel suitable for outworlders, built primarily to house traders, but it was on the other side of the planet. The Great Cats chose to live a simple life, much closer to nature than most advanced species.
“What do you trade, Otis?” Josh asked.
“Our people,” Otis replied. “They are our only external commodity. Hasn’t Mike told you?”
“How can I tell what I don’t know?” Mike answered, slightly miffed. “I know the cats I’ve met have been exceptionally talented warriors, and I know they specialize in protection. Beyond that, I know virtually nothing about you. You haven’t exactly been forthcoming about your people.”
A tiny, bird unnoticed by Mike and Josh, suddenly swooped down on Josh. Otis pushed Josh out of the way and caught the bird in his hand without seeming to hurt it. The thing had vicious looking teeth and claws.
“You don’t want to get bitten by this little guy,” Otis instructed calmly as if nothing unusual had happened. “It’s bite is venomous. One bite will not kill you, but several biting at the same time might. Even one bite would make your next week miserable.”
He flung it back into the air and watched it fly away, uttering under his breath, “Miserable creature.”
He continued on his way as if nothing unusual had happened. Mike and Josh looked at each other in bewilderment, then shrugged and hustled to keep up with Otis, keeping a wary eye out to the sky as well. Their hands stayed near their blasters. How had Otis caught the bird in his bare hand, Mike wondered, and without hurting it? The Great Cats were famous for their quick reflexes, but to treat such a thing so casually struck Mike as pretty unusual.
Otis continued the discussion, explaining that no one knew much about Brodor, and the Great Cats preferred it that way. Josh’s men were an exception. Because of the unusual attempt to unify Terran and Brodor troops, he would hold little back from them.
Brodor’s population was around 100 million, very small by Empire standards. The Great Cats led what most of the galaxy would consider a brutal lifestyle, if they knew about it, though it was a lifestyle the cats chose of their own free will. The cats were predators, had always been predators, and they would continue to be predators, but never against their own kind. There had never been warfare on the planet. Natural prey abounded, and that satisfied their predatory needs.
For most of a cat’s lifetime, if he or she wanted to eat, he or she had to catch and kill their meal. The planet hosted a number of different prey, animals that over many thousands of years had developed their own skills to high levels. Competition was keen on Brodor. The People had been forced to develop their own skills to higher levels or perish. Those that failed did not live long.
The People had developed tools to assist them against their prey, and they were not shy about using them on occasion, but most preferred to hunt with their bare hands and teeth. Despite this anachronistic lifestyle, the cats did not live in poverty. Schools and universities were available to any who desired to attend, and most did attend. The People had their writers and poets and builders and doctors, they were comfortable with the high technology of the Empire, but they had little interest in other worlds. Other than the Guardians and Protectors who, by necessity, spent their lives surrounded by the highest of technologies, most on Brodor used technology in limited ways.
Mike and Josh sensed a rushing sound in the grass beside the dirt track and stopped, turning to Otis with questioning looks.
“I suggest you keep your weapons ready,” he replied to their unspoken question. “This particular little beast usually attacks in groups. The sound you heard is probably a diversion. Best look to the other side of the road, as well.”
Mike couldn’t believe his ears, nor could Josh. They both hesitated momentarily, looking at each other in confusion. Josh gave a hand signal, and they both turned to opposite sides of the road, but they were too late. Two dark brown streaks shot out of the grass at Mike and four more came at Josh. Neither had even raised a weapon before Otis’ blasters, one in each forehand, disintegrated all six creatures. None escaped. Mike and Josh whirled around looking for others as Otis casually holstered his weapons, then continued down the track in the direction of the village.
“Hold it, Otis,” Mike demanded, his blaster swinging uselessly at his side. “What’s going on here?”
Otis’ great head swung back toward them. “Welcome to Brodor, Mike, Josh,” he answered with his toothy grin. “I suggest that if you wish to live very long you stay alert. The creatures that inhabit this world would love for you to let your guard down. A moment is all they need.”
“You mean it’s always going to be like this?” Mike asked, aghast.
Otis turned toward them and sat, his head cocked at an angle. “It was Reba’s suggestion that we train here, Mike. In fact, it wasn’t really a suggestion, it was a demand, and I think I like the idea. Your men will develop a certain minimal level of alertness or they will perish. If they survive, they will have developed a working relationship with my men and a better understanding of their teammates. As I said, outsiders have never been invited to train under the circumstances we live with on a routine basis every day of our lives. This should be interesting.”
Mike gulped but kept looking around as he did so. Josh, too, looked worried, acting suddenly as if he was in a combat zone. And he was. “Do you expect us to kill our own dinners?” he demanded of Otis.
“Not right away. We don’t have the time. My men will not be hunting overmuch, either.”
“I’ve got to get back to the landing sight, Mike,” Josh interrupted. “I can’t let my men walk into this without warning.”
Otis padded back to Josh and glared up at him. “Give my men some credit, Colonel. They’ve all been instructors here at one time or another. And give them a chance to prove their mettle. Your men far outclassed them on the cruiser, and they’re smarting from it. They are not accustomed to being second best under any circumstances.”
Josh’s eyes continued shifting from side to side, waiting for another ambush. “How do you expect us to learn anything if we’re constantly distracted with trying to stay alive?” he asked.
“If you and your men learn that and nothing else, we will have accomplished our goal,” Otis replied matter- of-factly. “You might be the best of the best at soldiering, but that is no longer your task. You’re here to learn how to protect. We’ll cover planning, organization, and the necessary technology, but our job often comes down to the instantaneous reactions of trained men.
“Your men will never be the equal of mine. They are not physically as well adapted for this job,” Otis lectured, “but they will learn to provide backup, and it will be meaningful backup. They will add to the teams’ effectiveness, not drag the team down, or else this plan will fail. Your first month here will be devoted solely to that purpose. All training will take place outdoors. All of you will be forced to be on guard constantly. The lessons you receive during that time will be basic and repetitive, allowing you ample room for distraction. Your second and final month here will include indoor instruction under circumstances that will allow concentrated focus on the material, but we will spend plenty of time outdoors then, as well. Even after graduation when we’re on the job protecting the Queen, everyone’s mettle will be constantly challenged by training events the team leaders prepare. I can’t say your men will be better soldiers when we’re done here,” Otis added as they continued up the track toward the village, “but I promise you that your men will be far better Protectors.”
Otis continued lecturing as they walked, informing them that the Great Cats had, over the centuries, become known as Guardians, sought by the wealthy and powerful throughout the galaxy for their protection skills. Brodor was very, very highly paid for these services. The People fielded one Guardian for about every 200 of The People, meaning there were some 500,000 Guardians in total. Of those Guardians, one in a hundred reached the level of Protector, some 5,000 Protectors in all.
Mike was stunned. “You mean there are only 5,000 Protectors in the whole galaxy?”
“Actually, we’re short a few right now,” Otis responded gravely. “They’ve come on hard times.”
Mike, until this very moment, had never realized just what it meant to be surrounded by Protectors all the time. The cost of protecting the Royal Family must be prohibitive.
“Uh, just how much does the Royal Family pay Brodor for this protection?”
“Nothing,” Otis snapped. “We never charge the Royal Family. It’s a privilege to serve as we do.” Then his lips rose, presenting his teeth in a leer this time. “Don’t worry. We more than make up for it with private contracts. Besides, Brodor’s needs are minimal. We don’t need a lot of income from the Empire. That may be changing. It’s beginning to look like we’ll have to apportion more proceeds to our own protection, but in the past, the Queen has always taken care of that for us. The special skills we sell to the Empire are not appropriate for planetary defense.
