The Ninth: Invasion by Benjamin Schramm Page B

Frank always attacked in the same pattern, left, right, left, left, and right – always aiming for the legs.  Frank’s torso would shift with incredible speed at the last second as he attempted to keep his true target a secret until the last possible moment.  Aiming so low tended to expose Frank’s head.  Brent suddenly had an idea.  Frank feinted to the left.  He knew from the pattern the true attack was coming from the right.  He quickly thrust out his left elbow.  As Frank shifted his torso to strike at Brent’s right leg, his chin impacted the exposed elbow.  Frank let out a yelp of pain as he fell to the ground.  Brent spotted the young boy.  The boy was on the verge of shouting in triumph.  As he helped Frank to his feet, he was still rubbing his jaw.
    “Somehow, I think our tournament is over,” Marie said.
    “Don’t think we’ll find a volunteer after that ,” Cain said, unconsciously massaging his own jaw.
    “It’s time for dinner anyway,” Tyra said dejectedly.  “I wonder what my mother’s got cooked up for us.”
    “I certainly hope you are referring to the meal itself,” Rhea said.
    Tyra let out a laugh.
    “My mother, cook?  I doubt she’d know which side of a spatula to hold.”
    She was still laughing as she led the squad back into the large, ornate structure.  The dining room was ridiculously oversized.  The ceiling was as tall as the structure itself, with massive hanging chandeliers made from expensive looking jewels.  The chairs were made out of wood with intricate patterns.  Brent chuckled to himself as he wondered if they were hand made or something similarly outlandish.
    After the last trooper had taken his seat, a fanfare sounded.  Horns and drums announced the arrival of the Governor and his wife.  The pair sat at the end of the table in two chairs purposely larger than the rest.  A plethora of servers appeared out of nowhere, quickly and gracefully dropping off plates of colorfully arranged meals.  The troopers, accustomed to the rations on the station, weren’t entirely sure if they were being served food or some kind of artwork.
    “So dear, tell us all about your friends,” Mrs. Lucchesi asked as she gracefully ate.
    The troopers tried to mimic her eating style as they began on the meal.
    “What do you want to know, mother?” Tyra asked coldly.
    “I don’t know.  I’m not all that interested in the military myself.  Which of them is the strongest?”
    “That would be Cassandra, ma’am ,” Cain said, as he intentionally slurped his soup loudly.  “She’s easily stronger than most of us combined.”
    “I see.  I had thought that would have been Mr. Murdock.  How about the bravest?”
    “That would have to be Dante,” Marie said politely.  “One time, he was going to take on an entire army of Weavers by himself.”
    “Really? Fascinating.  I wonder exactly how Mr. Murdock ranks.  How about intelligence?  Which of you is the most cunning?”
    “Brent,” the squad said in unison.
    Mrs. Lucchesi was startled by the answer.  She surveyed the troopers at the table, trying to guess which one they meant.  Brent clamped down on his expression, hiding any traces of his own surprise at the unanimous response.
    “Why are you so interested in my squad mates, mother?” Tyra asked.
    “No reason.  Tell me about this Brent person.  How exactly has he proven this place?”
    “You have something up your sleeve, don’t you mother?”
    “You caught me red handed I’m afraid.  I had hoped your friends would be up to a little game of mine.  Something to help me get to know them all better.”
    “Oh, a game!” Cain half-shouted with the blissful grin of an idiot.  “I love games.”
    “What kind of game?” Tyra asked suspiciously.
    “A guessing game.  You tell me something about one of your troopers, and I see if I can guess which one of them you are talking about.”
    “Why would you want to do something like that?  You said you