It was dark. Most of the Blues were still in sleeping tents, in the middle of the circles of pump trolleys. Jaye and Hett were asleep ─ away from both circles in a separate make-shift lean-to─ until Ponti burst through the opening and slapped them awake. “Up boys. Get up. Rechat has a job for you.”

     Jaye wiped sleep from his eyes. Hett grunted and yawned deeply as they exchanged looks of concern. Ponti continued. “Rechat said he never got a chance to thank you two boys for a job well done.” Ponti bent over digging his fingers into Jaye’s shoulder. “Come on boys, you don’t want to piss off the boss. He seems to be in an especially good mood this morning. Now, MOVE IT!”  Ponti growled and ducked out of the lean-to. “DON'T HEAR NO ACTIVITY! Ponti shouted.  “I SAID MOVE IT!”

     Jaye turned to Hett.  “Guys a butt hole! A double kundu. What do you think?”

     “I’m not sure.” Hett rolled out of the sleeping tarp and slipped on his Tineke short pants. “But I’m bringing the spike knife.” Hett slipped it into his boot.

     From the inner circle of pump trolleys came mumbles and grumbles of protest as the Blues encampment awoke. The smell of ower bean coffee and mint tea wafted into the lean-to. Jaye and Hett dressed in double time. Splattering water on their faces and folding their sleep tarps haphazardly.

     “I don’t like this,” Hett whispered. “The Blues are off schedule. Out of sync. Everything is way too early.”  

     “Maybe we should disappear.” Jaye gulped water from his water bag. “What'd you think?” 

     Hett slipped on his boots and stood as tall as he could in the confines of the tent. “I think we should get moving. And fast.”

     The curtain to their lean-to flew open. With one arm, Rechat lifted the nose of the entire structure high in the air. His body took over the entrance. “That’s what I want to hear. Moving fast. Need more like you.  Teeners that like to get moving and moving fast.” Rechat held out his arms. “Come here. Come here. Gentlemen.” 

     Reluctantly, Hett and Jaye stepped outside. Rechat draped an arm over each boy’s shoulder. “Never thanked you for what you did back in Lakal. And I heard you’ve been building those arm muscles pumping up these mountains.”  Rechat squeezed Hett’s bicep – hard.  Hett flinched. Rechat enjoyed inflicting pain. “Yep, you’re getting fit.  HARD ARMS, HARD DICKS.” Rechat bellowed. 

      Hett and Jaye inched backward.

      “And I got a job for you where you can use them. . . Arm muscles that is.” Rechat's laugh was high. Almost feminine.  “Okay?” 

     “Yes, Sir,” They muttered.

     “WHAT WAS THAT? Could barely hear you.”

     “YES, SIR!” 

     “Good. Then this will be easy. I want you strong young men to move a few trolleys until both camps are one big circle. Can you do that for me? For the Blues? For our cause? Can you do that?”

     “Yes, Sir, ” Jaye said. 

     “Good, when the circle is complete and everyone is awake, I want you to move my trolley into the middle. It will serve as a stage. I’m going to make a special announcement which should be of interest to you and all my Blues.” Rechat put a hand in the small of both boy's backs and nudged them toward the closest circle of pump trolleys. “Get on it, boys. Find me when you’re done. I’ll be waiting.”

     Other than some difficulty with one pump trolley and its occupants ─ three naked, dead drunk members of the Blues knotted in odd sexual configuration ─ Hett and Jaye created the task in less than an hour.    

     “I have a weird feeling,” Hett whispered as they pushed Rechat’s pump trolley into the center of the gap. 

     “Yeah. Me too.”

     “I don’t think Rechat’s going to make us members of the Blues.” Hett put restraining blocks under the rear tires of the trolley.  

     “I don’t want to be a Blue anymore,” Jaye said.

     “Me either.” Hett gave Jaye a sly grin. “I have a just-in-case idea.”  

     Together they pushed one pump trolley a little further from the others. Faced it back down the rutted terrain to the mouth of the valley and purposely didn’t set tire blocks. They angled a second pump trolley across the exit path of the camp and bumped elbows.  

     Chandra was still in the sky as the first rays of the sun spread over the encampment. Most of the Blues sat crossed-legged on the rogak tundra eating breakfast and drinking hot ower bean coffee or mint tea. Two men in dark blue cloaks moved about the area dosing the previous night's fires. 

     Seemingly for no reason a sense of anticipation spread through the contingent. Hand in hand, Rechat and Eem wandered among the Blues exchanging greetings with those they knew by name and introducing themselves to those they didn’t.  

     Ponti found Hett and Jaye at the far edge of the assembly.  “Come on. Come on. You boys did another good job.” Ponti ushered the youth through the crowd.  “Rechat's hinted he has a surprise for you.”  

     Rechat and Eem were already standing on the platform when the trio arrived. Ponti pointed to the rear of the trolley, “Wait there.”

     Rechat ignored their arrival. He turned in a slow circle looking over his Blue army. Waiting until the hush of morning chatter subsided. Waiting until people stopped eating and makeshift plates and mugs were laid aside. Conversations ceased. Laughter stopped. Silence prevailed and all attention was on himself.  Then ─

     Rechat shouted.  “ARE WE PROUD TO BE BLULES?” 

     “WE ARE PROUD!” returned the Blues.

     “ARE WE PROUD TO BE BLUES?” Rechat shouted louder. 

     “WE ARE PROUD! WE ARE PROUD.”

      Rechat strutted up and down the platform then cried. “WHO ARE WE?” 

     “WE ARE THE BLUES!”

     “WE ARE THE BLUES!”

     “WE ARE THE BLUES!”

     Again, Rechat waited until the chant subsided. Until silence reigned. Slowly he circled the square platform, then stopped and said with only enough volume to force everyone’s head forward, “Did you know Sagra commanded me to disband the Blues.” Those close enough to hear each word gasped. Those further away drew closer. Rechat strutted. Hands behind his back.   He stopped and shouted with outrage, “SHOULD I DISBAND THE BLUES?” In a pleading motion, Rechat raised both hands to the crowd. “SHOULD I DISBAND THE BLUES?”

     “NO! NEVER!” cried the crowd.

     “SHOULD I DISBAND THE BLUES?”

     “NO! NEVER!”

     “SHOULD I DISBAND THE BLUES.” 

      A cacophony of ‘NO’S’ and ‘NEVER’s’ rang from every direction. Spreading, then melding again into the unifying, “WE ARE THE BLUES!”

     “WE ARE THE BLUES!”

     “WE ARE THE BLUES!”

     Rechat held up one arm for silence. It came quickly.  “Sagra, Hanar, Tyree, and the Council of Equals want me to dissolve the Blues. . .” Rechat paced from one side of the platform to the other.  “While they establish a dynasty. Their dynasty. With the Blues gone, they can and will do with you as they wish. The elite will live like kings and queens and you. . . We will be left with nothing. We will be fodder. Slaves to their whims. . . Slaves. . . Slaves destined to live long, long lives. Did we come to this world to serve a king or a queen?” 

     Again cries of ‘NEVER’ and ‘NO’ shot from the gathering. “Did we come to bow our head . . .Bend a knee to Sagra, his family, or his Council of Equals?”

     “Never.  Never.” One by one, fists were raised. Blues rose to their feet pumping their arms. “Never. Never. NEVER!”  

     “And SAGRA HAS INFESTED US WITH . . . SPIES!” The quiet was instantaneous. “Spies to watch our doings. Spies. TRAITORS to our cause.” 

     For the first time, Eem and Ponti joined in. “THERE ARE SPIES.” 

     A subtle murmuring grew in the Blue Army. Various members cast suspicious eyes on one another.    

     Eem took Rechat’s hand. “SPIES. THERE ARE SPIES.” Her shrill voice careened around the encampment. The Blues yelled as one. “KILL THE SPIES. KILL THE SPIES.”

     Again, Rechat waited until the blood lust drew quiet. Glaring into every corner of the encampment. His eyes roved from the nearest Blue to those at the furthest edge. Rechat drew himself to his full six feet two, sucked in a deep breath of air, glanced at Ponti, and cried. “BRING ME THE ‘NAPPERS!’ “ 

     Ponti spun around reaching for Hett and Jaye. 

     They were gone! 

     Ponti looked at Rechat in panic, leaped off the platform, and disappeared into the angry crowd. 

     “KILL THE SPIES! KILL THE SPIES!” Hate ignited; the Blues spread in every direction at once. “FIND THE ‘NAPPERS!”  

     Eem looked at Rechat with concern. “Ponti should have ─ “ 

     Rechat whispered in her ear. “That went perfectly.”

#

     At the first mention of spies, Hett and Jaye bolted from the back of Rechat’s platform and raced to the forward pump trolley. Hett hopped on board and tried to pump the handle. Jaye, larger and stronger shoved his shoulder into the back of the trolley platform struggling to rock the vehicle from inertia. Behind them, the venom in the voice of the Blues grew louder. Closer. Angrier. “KILL THE SPIES.’

     “FIND THE ‘NAPPERS!”
    “Push, Jaye,” Hett yelled.

     “I am pushing. Shenzi won’t move! Help me!” 

     “KILL THE SPIES.”

     “KILL THE SPIES.”

     Hett leaped off the platform and together they tried to rock the pump trolley into motion.

     “KILL THE SPIES.”

     “FIND THE ‘NAPPERS.”

     “I SEE THEM!” Cried an angry female voice.  “THEY’RE AT THE FRONT TROLLEY!” 

     “THE FRONT TROLLEY!” A basso voice joined.

     “THERE THEY ARE!”

     “Shenzi!” Hett cried. A burst of fear and adrenaline surged through both bodies. The pump trolley flew forward, downhill, out of their grasp.

     Behind them, the Blue army turned as one. “KILL THE SPIES! KILL THE SPIES.” Lean, mean, and fast, Ponti quickly separated himself from the crowd. 

     Hett wasn’t lean or fast. Jaye sprinted after the descending trolley, grabbed a cleat, and hand-vaulted aboard. 

     “KILL THE SPIES! “Continued. Louder.  With more venomous. 

     Gathering speed, Jaye used all his strength to depress the trolley brake.  It slowed. He abandoned the break.  Sprinting, Hett reached out. Jaye extended his hand. Fingers locked. Jaye hefted Hett onto the platform and raced back to the pump handle.   

     “Thanks, kundu,” Hett said between gasps for air. 

     Jaye pumped. “No prob─ Hett, BEHIND YOU.”  

     Hett turned.

     Inches away from Hett’s foot Ponti had one hand on a cleat. 

     “Shenzi kundu's.”  Ponti snarled, bared his teeth, and hoisted a leg onto the rear of the platform. 

    Instinct and self-preservation took over. Hett drew the spike knife from his boot, dropped to a knee, and stabbed it straight through the back of Ponti’s hand. Twisting the spike, he yanked it back out. Ponti screamed and tumbled backward off the pump trolley and rolled into a rut on the side of the road.  

     “That pissed him off,” Jaye shouted pumping the handle frantically. 

     “Yeah,” Hett smiled wiping Ponti’s blood from the spike knife. 

     From around a curve behind them came a piercing whistle and a thunderous rumble.  A half-dozen pump trolleys appeared hurtling down the trail after them.  The lead trolley barely slowed as arms reached out and dragged Ponti aboard with one smooth motion. 

     “Hett. I could use help up here.” 

     Hett staggered to keep his balance on the plummeting trolley. Won the battle, and grabbed his pump handle. Within seconds they settled into their well-practiced rhythm. The combination of fear, adrenaline, well-honed muscles, and youth helped them create a larger and larger gap between their trolley and the pursuit. “Pump, Pull ─ Pump, Pull,” they chorused.  

     Where the descent wasn’t steep, it was curved. Sharp curves. Unnoticed during the climb. Treacherous during the descent. An hour into their escape, arm muscles built during the ascent, tired. Legs cramped from pushing the brake pedals. Twice they were forced to drag and push their trolley up small slopes even their strong arms could not overcome. Too often they had to walk their trolley along the edge of a cliff or risk losing the vehicle over the side.  

     Mercifully, after the first half dozen miles the shrieks and war cries of the Blue army faded in the distance. Five miles further the trail widened, and their pump trolley came to a long, steep incline. Hett and Jaye pumped up the hill until gravity took over and the trolley came to a halt and started to inch backward.  

     Jaye jammed both feet onto the brake.  Hett leaped off the rear and angled his back into the rear boards. “I think I can hold it ─‘” The trolley sipped backward. Hett dug his heels into the dirt. “Jaye, need help.”

     Jaye slid off the platform and shoved his back into the rear of the trolley. Side by side.  Grunting and cursing they pushed the trolley up the incline one foot at a time. 

     “If we both jumped away at the same time,” Jaye gasped.  “We could  . . . Leave  . . . This here.”

     “Great plan.” Hett sighed. “You want to walk back to Lakal.”

      “Right . . . Now . . . I  . . .Do.”

      “You are such ─  Oh, SHENZI!” 

     The pump trolley started backward. 

     “WHAT HAPPENED?”

     “Sorry,  foot slipped,” Hett said meekly.

     “Don't want . . . To . . .Hear that,” Jaye grunted. “My arms.  My legs are dying.”

     Hett peeked up the hill over his shoulder and lied. “We're almost to the top.” 

     Much later, with their pump trolley perched at the crest of the incline, Hett and Jaye sat exhausted on the pump trolley housing case. 

     “You're a good liar,” Jaye said. 

     “Lots of practice.” Hett turned sideways and looked back down the incline. 

     “I’m. . . thirsty,” Jaye complained. 

     “Really. We’ll stop at the next water fountain.”

     “Not funny. What’s the plan?”

     “Head for Lakal. We’ve got important . . . No vital information for Sagra.” Hett pushed strands of damp hair away from his eyes. “Rechat and the Blues are planning a revolt.” 

     “Yeah, then maybe Sagra won’t kill us.”

     “He doesn't know who slit those tires.”

     “Yeah. Right, maybe he’ll just cut off our balls.”

     “I think we need a better ─ Do you hear some─?” 

      A single Blue army pump trolley rumbled around a curve a few hundred yards below and rolled to a stop at the bottom of the incline. In the front, Ponti brandished a spear in a bandaged fist. “YOU are going to die.” Ponti brought the whistle to his lips. The shrill burst of sound careened off the mountainside for miles. Ponti blew it again and again. 

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