fast, before Joe could attempt to twist his head away from the blow. A vivid red mark colored Joe's face. "You shouldn't pick on people's names, Hardy," Brand went on calmly. "Especially when they aren't around. It's not polite. Do you want to make jokes about my name? Orville."
The smile disappeared, and the thin lips hardly seemed to move as he added, "When I was a teenager, my peers loved to make fun of my name. But not for long."
Frank glared directly into Brand's hate-filled eyes. "Personally," he said in a bright voice, "I love the name Orville. One of the Wright brothers was named Orville." He paused, making sure Brand was looking at him. "Too bad you dishonor the name."
Brand spun toward Frank, his hand raised. But before he could connect, Joe lifted his feet, tripping Brand. The major grunted in surprise and then, with the agility of a cat, regained his balance. He's not going to be an easy one to fight, thought Joe, noting the maneuver.
"How many missing teenagers are there besides Biff?" Joe asked, wanting to distract Brand before he went for Frank again.
Brand's right hand was clenched in a fist, and he was shaking with rage. Then, as Joe had seen on the target range, he uncurled his fingers, grew calmer and spoke with quiet tension. "A few dozen. An elite corps for the colonel."
"How'd you pull it off?" Frank asked in disbelief. "Dozens of kids disappear, and no one questions where they went?"
Brand chuckled. The sound seemed like bones scraping together deep in his throat.
"Do you know how many runaways there are in this country?" he asked, actually beginning to enjoy himself again. "No, I expect you don't. You two are nice and content in Bayport, though I suspect that friends of yours, like this Biff, perhaps are not as satisfied."
The plane started a descent. Out of the window Frank could see a stretch of ocean past the clouds.
"Some kids run to the cities," Brand continued. "Most of them are looking to get away from terrible home lives. But they find they ran to more terrible things than they ever imagined."
The plane was slanting down through the clouds now, piercing the vast cotton-candy sky.
"Some kids go looking for adventure—or a cause." Brand nodded. "That's what we offer to those who want it enough to pass the test."
"The games, you mean?" Joe guessed, wondering exactly where they were landing.
"The Ultimo Survival Camp was legitimate. It also provided a perfect recruiting system and raised generous funds for the colonel's real purposes. You two made a grave mistake when you forced us to abandon it." He ran a hand over his scalp. "You should have seen those trainees milling about as we took off from our private airstrip. They were quite beside themselves."
"I still don't understand how you and Colonel Hammerlock get away with it," Frank said, pretending admiration.
"You don't fool me with your transparent attempts to appeal to my ego," Brand snapped at him. "But there is no reason not to tell you. Where you're going is the last stop." He stared at the plane ceiling for a moment, as if considering what to tell them.
Joe rubbed his wrists against the strap. His flesh burned with the effort, but the strap remained taut as ever.
"It was all quite easy once we had the camp going. But you see, only a few applicants ever got to play the game for real. I personally selected the trainees who proved they would make superior warriors," Brand began.
Frank could see the tops of trees out the window and a stretch of lovely, deserted beach. They were approaching an island!
"Oh, no matter how good a trainee was, if he came to our course with his parents' permission—or if I found out that he had told lots of people where he was going—he was never even considered for indoctrination."
The green tops of trees rushed by directly under them.
"I talked with your friend Biff for several hours. He took me into his confidence while I was giving him personal instruction in combat." Brand shrugged. "I
The smile disappeared, and the thin lips hardly seemed to move as he added, "When I was a teenager, my peers loved to make fun of my name. But not for long."
Frank glared directly into Brand's hate-filled eyes. "Personally," he said in a bright voice, "I love the name Orville. One of the Wright brothers was named Orville." He paused, making sure Brand was looking at him. "Too bad you dishonor the name."
Brand spun toward Frank, his hand raised. But before he could connect, Joe lifted his feet, tripping Brand. The major grunted in surprise and then, with the agility of a cat, regained his balance. He's not going to be an easy one to fight, thought Joe, noting the maneuver.
"How many missing teenagers are there besides Biff?" Joe asked, wanting to distract Brand before he went for Frank again.
Brand's right hand was clenched in a fist, and he was shaking with rage. Then, as Joe had seen on the target range, he uncurled his fingers, grew calmer and spoke with quiet tension. "A few dozen. An elite corps for the colonel."
"How'd you pull it off?" Frank asked in disbelief. "Dozens of kids disappear, and no one questions where they went?"
Brand chuckled. The sound seemed like bones scraping together deep in his throat.
"Do you know how many runaways there are in this country?" he asked, actually beginning to enjoy himself again. "No, I expect you don't. You two are nice and content in Bayport, though I suspect that friends of yours, like this Biff, perhaps are not as satisfied."
The plane started a descent. Out of the window Frank could see a stretch of ocean past the clouds.
"Some kids run to the cities," Brand continued. "Most of them are looking to get away from terrible home lives. But they find they ran to more terrible things than they ever imagined."
The plane was slanting down through the clouds now, piercing the vast cotton-candy sky.
"Some kids go looking for adventure—or a cause." Brand nodded. "That's what we offer to those who want it enough to pass the test."
"The games, you mean?" Joe guessed, wondering exactly where they were landing.
"The Ultimo Survival Camp was legitimate. It also provided a perfect recruiting system and raised generous funds for the colonel's real purposes. You two made a grave mistake when you forced us to abandon it." He ran a hand over his scalp. "You should have seen those trainees milling about as we took off from our private airstrip. They were quite beside themselves."
"I still don't understand how you and Colonel Hammerlock get away with it," Frank said, pretending admiration.
"You don't fool me with your transparent attempts to appeal to my ego," Brand snapped at him. "But there is no reason not to tell you. Where you're going is the last stop." He stared at the plane ceiling for a moment, as if considering what to tell them.
Joe rubbed his wrists against the strap. His flesh burned with the effort, but the strap remained taut as ever.
"It was all quite easy once we had the camp going. But you see, only a few applicants ever got to play the game for real. I personally selected the trainees who proved they would make superior warriors," Brand began.
Frank could see the tops of trees out the window and a stretch of lovely, deserted beach. They were approaching an island!
"Oh, no matter how good a trainee was, if he came to our course with his parents' permission—or if I found out that he had told lots of people where he was going—he was never even considered for indoctrination."
The green tops of trees rushed by directly under them.
"I talked with your friend Biff for several hours. He took me into his confidence while I was giving him personal instruction in combat." Brand shrugged. "I
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