He replied in a dead voice, “This fire-walking stuff’s not too bad once you’ve got it under your belt, or done it once or twice.” He looked at me with minor curiosity, assessing me with his bushy brows lifting and a scar over his left cheek twitching under his skewed eye. Something about him tipped me off—I knew he was not like the others. A glint of deviancy showed in that skewed eye.
I stared in earnest at the bald man they hauled off from the fire. The bottom of his feet were fried, smoking. “Certainly he’d disagree.”
“He didn’t listen to Sister Kazu’s instructions.”
I laughed. “Name’s Rusco.”
“Zan Vulder. What brings you to Othwan?”
“Oh, a little birdie chirped in my ear, told me about this little utopia out here in nowhere-land. Mr. Mong took a big shine to me. Practically made me his bed mate since the get-go.”
“You don’t say?” Zan sighed. “One of those?”
“Yep, and you?”
“Master Mong’s captains initiated me into the pleasure of the brotherhood quite a while back. Recruited me from Bagrish when they ‘assimilated’ my home planet. Broke my brother’s legs, raped my sister. They told me I’d be next if I didn’t join his brigade of zealots. Said I had ‘all the qualities of excellent battle breeding’. ‘Fine-quality soldiery’.”
“That’s quite a compliment. Guess we all are indebted to Master Mong for some reason or other, bringing us here together.” I tipped my head at him. “Long live Master Mong.”
“Yeah, long live Mong.” His voice was edged with venom.
The exercises continued into the evening after the final prayers and picked up again the next day until we were a battle-weary and sleep-deprived bunch. Then we were shuttled back to the prayer hall to listen to those monotonous liturgies of Sister Kazu and her company of meslars, chiming off items of dogma that Mong called Teachings.
We settled upon our usual cushions and I steeled myself for the usual rubric of dogma and drawn out lectures.
“The soul and spirit are one. They must be fed by constant purity and discipline.
“The mind that is weak and the body that is impure are ones that languish and die in a state of sloth.
“We must vanquish evil. Must hear no evil or see no evil! Let us put forth our vows and learn the moral conduct of warriors! All in favor say ‘Aye’.”
“Aye!” came the crowd’s forced, automatic response.
“Open your heart and mind to the path of wisdom as espoused by Master Mong!”
“Aye!”
“Cherish the teachings of the elder age. Let the brotherhood envelop you!”
“Aye!”
“Work hard, be humble. Serve and be faithful! Never let the darkness or the temptation of deceit enter your heart!”
“Aye!”
And so on. Maxims after maxims and mantras and affirmations with it, a vestibule of brainwashing, enough to come slopping out one’s arse like diarrhea on demand. I wouldn’t give a wrap of dirty baby wipes for half this stuff. Hours upon hours of slogans and half-baked spiritual syrup, until I was bug-eyed and my ears burning and wanting to shut out the world around me and put a blanket over my head and curl up and die.
Mong had a nice little setup, I’d give him that. A brain-washing crib as cute and cuddly as any unofficial, high-end think tank engineered by any autocratic government. He’d select the most promising recruits, make them lieutenants, train them to fly those nice little Warhawks out into the wild blue and blow planets to shit and nuke any suckers who didn’t want to play ball with him, cede their native land and governments. People who’d die for the cause, grinning, faithful to the end to dear old Mong. How could a man demand so much loyalty? In the same way all the dictators, did it, through personal magnetism, an iron fist and classic conditioning. Genghis Khan, Nero, Stalin, Wasgon, Farseid, a hundred others, though my tired brain couldn’t conjure all the mad, sick fucks throughout history who’d done it, and succeeded, for a time.
Grey skies graced the horizon that day and the following day. Zan caught my eye and approached me at the refectory as I cleaned up my tray of standard beans and rice fare. I gave him a dutiful nod of acknowledgement, tired and exhausted from the day’s rigors.
“If a man were to think of getting out of this place,” he hissed, “he’d think fire in the hole.” He jerked his head in the direction of the prayer hall. “Some wild animals must have made a gap in the fence, been in and out eating from the garbage bins filled with all that delicious food you just chucked out.”
“You’re suggesting burning the joint down?”
He shrugged. “Just saying.” He walked off.
I rubbed my chin.
As I was well on my way away from the refectory, Mong came sauntering by to check up on me. I gave him a salute. “All well on the battle front, general? Enjoying your little batch of insects from a new dimension?”
“You know, Rusco, we found an alien species there never before seen. Trapped in one of those tanks. To describe the creature would do it no justice. Suffice it to say it had six tentacles attached to a greyish-black bulbous body with no visible face that we could see. Even I have the good sense to stay away from it.”
“A wise choice. These little nuggets of wisdom come from long experience. They leave one in the best of health.”
“Too true, Jet Rusco. Now to your health? Are Kazu and her people seeing to your comfort?”
“Kazu is simply marvelous. Couldn’t be better, especially my hand.” I held it up, showing my makeshift splint.
Mong gave an ear to ear grin. “I’m glad of that, Rusco. I see you have used your ingenuity to accelerate your healing. Bravo. That’s testament to a man of
