by Sara King
“Libby?! Get back in line!”
“They’re cutting off our hair,” she whimpered.
Joe glanced at Nebil. “Libby, you’re gonna get in trouble. Get back in line.”
“I need my hair,” Libby said, tears tracing her ebony cheeks.
“That’s crazy. Why?!”
“Because it’s the only thing on me that’s pretty!” she cried.
Behind them, Scott and Elf snickered. Joe rounded on them with a scowl. When they looked away, he said, “That’s bull. Who told you that?”
“My mom,” she whimpered.
Joe was taken aback. Her…mom? “Then your mom’s a dumb bimbo who doesn’t know her ass from her head,” he blurted. “You’re plenty pretty. Now please get back in line.”
“You don’t mean it,” she whimpered.
Joe glanced at Battlemaster Nebil, who had finally noticed his group. He turned and squatted in front of Libby. “I mean it. You got pretty eyes, Libby. Dragon eyes.”
“Kreenit eyes?” she whispered, her eyes widening. “But they’re green.”
“If kreenit had brown eyes, they’d look like yours.” Joe said. “They’re dragon eyes, sure as spit.” He heard Battlemaster Nebil come up behind him and turned.
Joe flinched, but the blow did not come. “You’re next,” Battlemaster Nebil said, calmly grabbing Joe by the hair. He tugged him out of line and through the little blue door. Nebil shoved him inside the blue door and slammed it behind him, startling the Ooreiki doctors inside. He hadn’t waited long enough to let the last girl finish, so Joe had a first-hand view of what they were doing to the girls to make them cry.
A little bald-headed girl was in surgery. Ooreiki doctors were running a machine that slid back and forth over her abdomen, cutting into the skin with rapid, delicate precision while she struggled against the restraints holding her in place. The machine continued, heedless of her cries, and while Joe watched in horror, its mechanical tentacles reached into her stomach cavity and removed a bloody lump of flesh. This it tossed into a growing pile in a wastebasket to the side of the table. Then, as the girl screamed herself hoarse, the machine patched her up and the Ooreiki doctors injected a silvery solution into her arm. The wound stopped bleeding and began to mend before Joe’s eyes.
The whole thing had taken less than a minute.
Then the girl was pulled off the table and shoved toward the exit, still crying.
Joe felt an involuntary wave of fear as the Ooreiki doctor grabbed him and shoved him down onto the chair. The doctor strapped his arms down and picked up a device that looked much like a gun. Joe started to panic.
“Don’t breathe,” the doctor ordered through his translator. Then he pressed the barrel of the gun to Joe’s chest and pulled the trigger.
An instant flash of agony made Joe gasp. The pain was intense, like someone was jamming a knife deep into his flesh. He gritted his teeth and tried to yank his hands free, but the doctor was already moving away, replacing the gun on the table. Joe looked down.
A red mark about the size of a zit stood out to the right of his breastbone.
Then the doctor was back, this time with a syringe. The alien jammed the tip into Joe’s arm and depressed the end, pushing the blue-silver liquid into Joe’s body.
Almost at once, Joe was hit with a blinding headache. Joe groaned and closed his eyes as his vision started to swim. He doubled over against the chair’s straps, feeling as if his brain was being ripped apart.
The doctor pulled the needle loose and set it beside the gun. Then he reached up and started rubbing Joe’s head with his sticky brown tentacles.
Joe sat there dumbly as the alien gave him a scalp massage. It felt good, nothing like the painful, brute force that the other Ooreiki had used on him so far. Only as Joe saw his hair fall away in little tufts did he finally understand—the alien had injected him with something that made him go bald.
That made him struggle. He tried to jerk his head away from the alien, but it took his scalp in a stinging, tentacled grip and went on, heedless.
“Asshole,” Joe said, watching his hair fall away. He had always feared going bald. His father had been bald as a cue ball at thirty and Joe had secretly harbored the hope that his dad was just a genetic freak and it wasn’t inheritable. Now these aliens hadn’t even given him the chance to find out.
The doctor rubbed the rest of Joe’s hair from his head and tossed it into the same wastebasket as the bloody pieces of flesh.
“What’d you do to that girl?” Joe said.
The doctor looked him over, clearly considering whether it was worth his time to respond. Finally, he said, “We removed her ability to breed.”
Joe froze in horror.
The Ooreiki doctor continued talking boredly. “Congress has no need of reproductive behavior in its soldiers. Be glad we only need to sterilize one sex in Humans.” At that, the alien released him from the chair. Without waiting for Joe to leave, the doctor swept up a few loose strands of his brown hair and dropped it in the bloody wastebasket.
Joe felt like he’d been hit with a hammer. “You don’t have the right.”
The doctor looked up at him and the skin on its head scrunched up in an imitation of Commander Tril’s smile. “I assure you, Human, we do.”
Joe stumbled back into the waiting room, numbed. He couldn’t meet the others’ gazes as he returned to the line.
“What happened in there?” Scott whispered.
Joe closed his eyes and wondered if he was ever getting home.
“Joe?”
“Just leave me alone,” Joe whispered.
Everyone took their turns, and Joe never looked up. They were in Hell. All the churchgoers back home were wrong—it wasn’t fire and brimstone; it was an Ooreiki troopship filled with little kids a billion miles from Earth.
Once everyone was bald, Nebil led them back to their rooms and locked them inside. Ignoring his teammates, Joe went over to a bunk, slumped into its concave surface, yanked the blanket over himself, and closed his eyes.
“I’m hungry, Joe,” Maggie said, tugging on the blanket covering him.
“Me, too,” Elf said. “Are they going to feed us, Joe?”
“I have to pee,” Libby said. “Where do I go pee?”
“I don’t wanna sleep in a bowl,” Monk whined. “I want a bed.”
“Why can’t we have real blankets?” Maggie asked. “I want real blankets.”
“So what are we supposed to do now, Joe?” Scott asked. “There’s not enough beds for everybody. Do they want us to sleep together, Joe?” He scrunched his face and glanced at the girls.
“Yeah, I don’t wanna sleep with him. Do I have to sleep with him, Joe?” Monk demanded.
“How the hell should I know?” Joe snapped, throwing the cover back and rounding on them all. “Start thinking for your own damn selves.” He got out of bed, brushed past them, snatched up a metallic blanket, and lay down in a corner, his back to the five of them.
Back beside the bunk, Maggie began to cry.
“Oh shut up!” Joe shouted.
“You shut up!” Maggie screamed back.
And Joe did. Guiltily, he listened as the children climbed into the big round bed and began wrapping themselves up in the stiff, reflective blankets. They all lay down with their backs to Joe, snuggling together for warmth. Other groundteams did the same, leaving Joe the only one not in a bed.
Joe realized his feet were cold. He pulled them back under the blanket, tucking into a fetal position in order to keep his toes from being exposed. The blanket wasn’t big enough to wrap around his scrunched-up body, so he ended up hugging his chest with his arms and wishing he was part of the dog-pile on the alien bed across the room.
After what seemed like an eternity, Scott said into the silence, “We aren’t getting out of here, are we, Joe?”
For a long moment, Joe almost didn’t respond. Then, softly, he whispered, “I don’t think so, Scott.”
CHAPTER 6: Bul
lies
It seemed like they’d been asleep only moments. Too soon, Battlemaster Nebil was kicking them awake, screaming, “Rise and shine, lazy Takki scum! Get up and get in line, you miserable little janja turds! You have half a tic!”
As Joe scrambled to line his groundteam up for the march to the gymnasium, Maggie ignored him completely, crossing her little arms over her chest and pouting. She was, Joe realized with frustration, still upset with him for sleeping on the floor.
What was worse, as the aliens counted down their allotted time to arrange themselves, no amount of desperate begging, pleading, or cajoling would get her to move. Joe finally had to bodily yank her into line, which she immediately fell out of the moment he let go of her arm. “Damn it, Maggie!” Joe snapped. He grabbed her by a chubby little arm and held her wrist tightly as she struggled, leading her back to formation. She responded by screaming and pounding her stubby fist against his leg in an all-out tantrum.
“Maggie, shhh,” Scott hissed, eying Joe nervously.
Maggie ignored him and continued shrieking and slamming her fist into Joe’s thigh. Thankfully, Nebil and the other aliens didn’t seem to notice.
Grimacing, Joe endured her assault and dragged her down the hall and into the brightly-lit gymnasium in silence, knowing that, because Joe was under Tril’s microscope, the rest of his groundteam had become targets of his wrath.
When they reached the gymnasium, Joe hesitated. Half of the kids that were milling in nervous groups, he realized with a sick feeling, had still not gone through the Hell behind the little blue door. They stared at the bald ones as they marched in, looking confused and smug. Some were even stupid enough to point and laugh.
The aliens lined them up in neat rows by group. When Joe released Maggie, she crossed her arms and turned her back to him, refusing to get in line. Joe had to pull her into her proper place and twist her around so she was facing forward. She wouldn’t look at him, lifting her chin and sticking out her lower lip.
Sighing, Joe straightened and returned to his place at the front of his team. Once there, he noticed a black-clad alien walking around the edges of the room, placing blue spheres along the wall. He tensed, remembering the balls from last time. Frustration began building like a knot in his chest, knowing how many children were going to have to skip another meal. Other kids began to cry.
When Nebil strode into the room, the other battlemasters stomped their feet once in unison, silencing the room.
“Did you backstabbing ashers sleep well?” Nebil snapped.
No one dared respond.
“Good,” Nebil said. “Tril isn’t here, so today we do it differently. The recruit at the rear of each group, step out of line.” When no one moved, Battlemaster Nebil added, “Group leaders, get them moving.”
Joe whirled and dragged Maggie out of the line, gritting his teeth when she smacked her little fists into his bicep and kicked him repeatedly in the shin. Once he got her away from the group, he left her there and went back to his own spot. Maggie, alone, stopped pouting and began to cry.
Others were bawling, having been hit by their leaders to get them to follow instructions. Joe overheard one leader threatening the youngest kid, telling him he’d get another beating if he didn’t bring back a ball for their group.
“Before we start, there is one sphere for every group. Still, I want you to run. A lazy Congie is a dead Congie. Now, each group member that stepped out of line, go claim a ball.”
“Go, Maggie!” Joe ordered.
Maggie folded her arms over her chest and ignored him.
“Maggie, go get a ball!” Scott cried. “You have to run!”
Sniffing, Maggie shuffled to the wall and picked up a hard blue ball in two stubby fists. She brought it back at a walk, but Battlemaster Nebil did not seem to notice.
“Now each child with a ball will choose four other group members,” Battlemaster Nebil growled. “The five of you will be the only ones to eat today.”
Inwardly, Joe groaned. He already knew who was going to starve.
“Scott, Libby, Elf, Monk.” There was no hesitation in Maggie’s voice—she hadn’t even had to think about it.
Every single group leader received the same treatment.
Nebil grunted. “I’ve noted their choices. Those who weren’t chosen will be punished if they take food from their own group members.”
The twelve-year-old piranha-faced girl who had asked about hitting their groundmates raised her hand again. “Does that mean we can take it from other groups?”
“You can unless they can stop you.” Battlemaster Nebil’s slitted eyes fell on Joe, then moved on. “The other battlemasters and I are now going to give the ground leaders their recruit ranks. Hold still when your turn comes—it won’t hurt.”
Ooreiki began circulating through the hundreds of recruits, making every ground leader remove his or her shirt so they could touch a small black device to their chests. Those that still had their hair were overlooked, and could only watch in confusion as the Ooreiki approached those around them.
When it was Joe’s turn, he flinched when the device touched his skin in approximately the same place the Ooreiki doctor had shot him in the chest. Nebil hadn’t been lying when he said it wouldn’t hurt, however. A moment later, the Ooreiki removed the device and allowed Joe to put his shirt back on. When he did, the cottony material shifted over the left side of his chest, thickening and hardening before his eyes. In seconds, the cloth had shifted into a hard whitish metal bar. It stood out on his shirt parallel to the floor, gleaming in the bright light.
Joe stared at it, mouth falling open. Everything he’d learned in school told him that it wasn’t possible. Hesitantly, he touched the symbol. It was cold, hard metal. He touched the cloth. Stiff, pliable cloth. He looked at the symbol again and had the sudden realization that the single bar reminded him of a cattle brand stamped into the shaved skin of a fresh steer.
They’re claiming me.
Joe wanted to tear his shirt off and throw it on the ground and stomp on it, but he knew they’d only make him put it back on. He forced himself to look away, but could feel it burning against his skin like the enemy stamp it was.
“Group leaders, take your groundteams into the cafeteria to eat.”
Remembering Maggie’s choice to let him starve, Joe sighed and said, “Come on, guys.” He led them at a defeated walk back to the food line. The alien passing out the ladles of green goop looked up, but before Joe could indicate he should serve the other five, Maggie shoved Joe aside with her tiny body and stuck her bowl out for the alien to fill. “Don’t give any nuajan to Joe,” she said. “He doesn’t get to eat today.”
Grimacing, Joe went to the same table they ate at earlier and sat at one end. Maggie and the rest picked another table, pointedly ignoring him. Joe closed his eyes and put his head in his hands, trying to ignore the ache in his gut. He’d gotten pretty good at it since his capture, only having eaten once in…how many days had it been? He thought about home and what high school would have been like. Had Sam gone back to school yet? Would they even have school, now that there was nobody left?
Maggie’s shrill scream broke him out of his thoughts, quickly followed by Elf’s and Monk’s. Joe’s head snapped up.
Two big twelve-year-olds who wore their naked silver bars like badges of honor were arguing over three bowls of food they had taken from Joe’s group. Joe grinned to himself and would have gone back to his thoughts when he saw that Libby, her fingers curled into fists, was getting out of her seat.
Against two twelve-year-olds twice her size, she would only succeed in getting brained. Sighing, Joe stood up and went to stop Libby from getting herself squished. Just as the eight-year-old was launching herself at the bullies, he grabbed her by the shoulder and pulled her back while the two big kids, oblivious, split the third bowl in half and threw the empty container on the ground as they walked away. Monk claimed it and started licking the sides.
“They’re eating
our food!” Libby cried, struggling desperately to get out of Joe’s grip.
“I know,” Joe said. “Let me take care of them, ok?”
Libby glared and tried to yank herself free as she watched the bigger boys depart with an anger that surprised him coming from a kid so young. “I don’t need your help. I know taekwondo.”
Joe grimaced, immediately envisioning the slap-happy play-fighting that was taught to anybody under twelve. “Just let me handle this, okay?”
Reluctantly, Libby looked up at him, but she stopped struggling to get free. “I do,” she insisted. She looked him up and down. And, with complete, innocent contempt, she said, “I could kick your ass if I wanted to.”
Joe inwardly rolled his eyes. Sure, sweetie. “Yeah, okay,” Joe said. “But you’re our secret weapon, okay? Which means you’ve gotta stay secret. Let me deal with this.”
He thought he saw something move in her pretty brown eyes, and in the next moment, Libby just gave a tight nod.
Once Joe was sure she wasn’t going to try and follow, he took a deep breath and followed the two big kids back to their table. He saw with disgust that one of them now had two and a half bowls of food in front of him. He and the other boy were eating and laughing, joking with the others about the group of babies.
Joe casually yanked one kid off of his bench, sending him sprawling. The other got up in a hurry and looked up—and up—and his eyes widened when he saw Joe looming over him. He backed up hurriedly, babbling apologies. Joe snatched up three bowls of food.
“There’s always someone bigger,” Joe said.
“We thought they were alone…” the kid babbled. Like he was apologizing for messing with Joe’s kids, not apologizing for messing with kids that were weaker than them. The boy swallowed hard, obviously thinking Joe was gonna beat the crap out of him on principle.
Joe snorted and brushed past the boy who was just starting to get up, knocking him back to the floor. Meanwhile, all conversation in the room had stopped. He could feel all eyes in the cafeteria on him…again. Like he was a damn shark on the prowl in a pool of goldfish.
