by Sara King
“Joe!” Libby poked his bare shoulder.
“Go back to bed,” Joe muttered.
“What’s wrong with you, Joe?” Libby insisted. “Are you sick?”
“I’m not gonna be a Congie,” Joe said. “I’m going back home.”
Libby’s young brow furrowed instantly. “No you’re not.”
“Just because you wanna stay here doesn’t mean the rest of us do.” Joe flipped his jacket off his knee and held it up to inspect the silver triangle.
It should be a star, a rebellious part of him thought before he squashed it.
Irritated with himself, he folded his jacket neatly in his locker-niche and began unlacing his boots. “As soon as I get the chance, I’m out of here. I’ve figured out some of their writing, Lib. I got the barracks door to open for me on duty last night. Won’t be long before I can do it every time.”
Libby scowled at him. “You can’t leave, Joe.”
“I’m not fighting for some friggin’ aliens, Lib,” he growled back at her.
She stared at him long and hard. “Tril already hates you. You keep making Nebil mad and you’re never gonna get battlemaster.”
“You be the battlemaster,” Joe said. “Nebil’s never gonna give it to me. He hates me. You see how he treats Sasha. She screws up all the time and he doesn’t find someone else. Then one recruit messes up in my squad and what does he do? He drills me for hours because I was responsible for him. Does he do that to anybody else? No. Does he make Sasha drill when her recruits screw up? No. It’s just me. Why the hell does he do that to me?”
“Because you’re better than them, Joe,” Libby retorted. “You’re gonna make the best soldier they’ve ever seen and Nebil knows it.”
Joe laughed and slammed his boots into his niche, startling several sleeping recruits. “I’m getting out of here. Nebil can go screw himself.” Without another word, he went to crawl in bed with the rest of his groundteam and go to sleep.
The next day, when Battlemaster Nebil had them check out their new weapons from the armory and disassemble them, Joe stalled. When Nebil had them reassemble them, Joe read the writing inscribed on the armory wall instead. He was going to need the writing to find a way off the planet. He’d never need the rifle.
Then, suddenly Libby’s loud voice clearly rang out, “Battlemaster Nebil, Zero has put the barrel on backwards three times now and he’s been playing with the trigger mechanism for twenty tics.”
In the moment it took Joe to shoot Libby a scathing glance, Battlemaster Nebil was standing in front of his table. For the first time, the Ooreiki really inspected the parts arrayed before Joe. Apparently, he didn’t like what he saw.
“Get up, Zero.”
Joe did.
“Why are you not taking my class seriously?”
Joe bit his lip, promising himself he would get back at Libby later.
“Assemble your otwa, Zero.”
Joe bent down and slowly started to fumble with the pieces.
“If it takes you more than a tic, I will take that little pocketknife you’ve been hiding from us in your gear and throw it into the waste system.”
Joe glanced up sharply. Libby dropped her gaze and would not meet his eyes.
You little shit, Joe thought, utterly furious.
“Now, Zero,” Nebil warned.
Furious, Joe assembled his weapon, the silence in the room shattered by the pops and clicks as he slammed the parts together. When he finished, he threw the weapon on the table in front of him, glaring at Battlemaster Nebil.
Instantly, Battlemaster Nebil had him by the throat in a stinging python grasp.
“The otwa is what we used to fight the first Jreet invasion, before we formed Congress. It comes of an era where our ancestors gave up their ideals to survive, and it will be treated with respect.”
Joe held Nebil’s brown gummi-bear eyes unflinchingly. Why should I care about your ideals? It’s not my history.
The Ooreiki released him suddenly and peered down at the weapon. When he raised his eyes to Joe, his face resembled Kihgl’s after Joe ran from him after the Choosing Ceremony. “Am I making things too easy for you, Zero? Is that why you are insulting me like this?”
Joe did not respond.
Battlemaster Nebil spun and disappeared inside the armory and returned toting a big gun Joe had never seen before. He slammed it down on the table in front of him. “Disassemble that. You have one tic.”
Joe stared at it. It was like nothing he had ever seen before. “I don’t—”
“Do it, Zero, or I’ll find worse things to do to you than take a little trinket you’re not supposed to have anyway.” Battlemaster Nebil’s voice was utterly cool, utterly furious. Joe had never seen him lose his temper like this. Swallowing, he picked up the weapon and turned it in his fingers.
It was completely foreign, the difference as great as that between the Congie guns and those he had watched his father clean a billion years ago on Earth.
Yet, somehow, Joe’s fingers seemed to know what to do. They slid along the barrel, found the catch, and twisted it free. The cartridge came next, followed by the trigger mechanism and then the slide. It was more complex than the ceremonial weapon, much more. As each sleek blue part came off in his hands, Joe felt his confidence growing, until he had the entire weapon splayed out on the table in front of him. It had to be over a hundred pieces, some no larger than the tip of his thumbnail. Joe put it back together even quicker than he had taken it apart. He set it down in front of Battlemaster Nebil as one sleek, seamless piece.
Nebil stood before him in silence for so long that Joe began to shift uneasily.
“If you ever feign ignorance again, Zero, you will not eat for a week.”
After the weapons class, Libby tried to apologize, but Joe ignored her. He managed to keep his cool through Tril’s miniature hell, but when Linin lined them all up for an inspection and began berating them for arriving sweaty when Tril had not allowed them to wash off, Joe ended up in a shouting match with him. Afterwards, several battlemasters took Joe aside and took turns exercising him until he was too exhausted to move. They returned him to his room well into the night.
Libby was the only one still awake when the battlemasters shoved Joe into the barracks, doused in sweat and coughing up red phlegm.
“Sorry Joe,” Libby whispered, trying to touch his arm as he passed.
Joe ignored her and stalked over to his gear to see if the aliens had taken his knife. They had. Furious, he went to the far corner of the room and lay down on the floor, his blanket wrapped around him. He was still wet—they hadn’t allowed him a shower—and stank. The acne that had been bothering him had been rubbed raw and was stinging from all of the salt, but Joe couldn’t sum up the energy to take a shower.
He was beginning to fall asleep when a cold hand touched his arm. Reluctantly, he looked over his shoulder.
Libby was squatting behind him, her face a picture of misery. She held out a fist. “They looked for it but couldn’t find it.” She dropped his knife into his palm. “I tried to get it all off, but it might still have a little spit on it—I had to hide it in my mouth.”
Seeing his father’s knife again, Joe felt his anger fade in a wash of total gratitude. “Thanks.”
“I’m sorry, Joe,” she said softly. “I should’ve left you alone.”
“It’s okay,” Joe said. “No use worrying about it now.”
“It’s not okay,” she whimpered, drawing her knees up to her chin. He could see tears glistening at the edges of her eyes.
Joe sat up and touched her shoulder. “It’s okay. Really. All they did was run me around a bit.”
She shook her head, biting her lip.
“Come here,” Joe said. He dragged her into a hug. Her skinny body shook as he held her, but her tears were silent. When she was through, he held her at arm’s length and looked her in the eye. “I’m not mad at you, okay? You were right. I shouldn’t be blowing off my training. If we’re�
��” Joe took a deep breath and let it out between his teeth. Starting over reluctantly, he said, “If we’re gonna be here awhile, I should be paying attention. I don’t take it seriously, I might miss something that will save my life later on.”
The relief in her eyes as she looked up at him was immense. “How’d you take that gun apart, Joe? It wasn’t in any of the pictures they showed us.”
“I don’t know,” Joe said. “It was like you said. I just saw it in my head.”
“There were too many parts. I couldn’t have done that, Joe.”
Joe ruffled her hair. “You’re just eight, Libby. You might be growing like a beansprout, but you’re still just a kid.”
She straightened, her face serious. “I’ll get better, Joe. I’ll get so good they have to keep me here forever. I’m not going back.”
Joe was taken aback by her vehemence. He wondered what her life had been like to make her this adamant about staying. He wished he knew if it were as bad as she claimed, or if it were simply an eight-year-old who didn’t understand the pressures her parents were under. Not knowing quite what to say, he ventured, “Lib, it’s not your mom and dad’s fault the aliens took you…” When she didn’t respond, he added, “They couldn’t have stopped the aliens from taking you, Lib. None of our parents could. You shouldn’t blame them for that.”
“They never wanted me anyway,” Libby said, obviously convinced of the fact. “I was the first one on the ship. My mom dropped me off early so she could go to a photo shoot. Why else do you think they called me recruit One?”
Joe frowned. “She did? You’re serious?” He hadn’t even bothered to learn Libby’s number. When he looked at her armband, though, tiny numerals under the bold alien squiggle marked her as One. He lifted his eyes back to her sad face. “Lib, I didn’t know—”
“It’s okay, Joe,” Libby interrupted. “I didn’t like them anyway.” She stood up. “I’ll get better. Watch me. I’ll get better than you, Joe. Then I’ll never have to go back.” Then she went back over to the bed and settled her head on Scott’s arm, tugging a corner of a blanket over herself and closing her eyes.
Joe watched her, feeling a stab of pity. What had her home been like? His had been good, until the end. He flinched, remembering his mother’s last words to him before the aliens caught him.
Go to Hell, Joe.
Minutes went by, Joe lost in thought. He started when he realized Scott was watching him over Libby’s head.
“You gonna sit there all night, Joe?” Scott asked softly, so as not to wake the others.
“Thinking about it.”
Gently, Scott levered Libby’s head off of his arm and stood up. He came over to where Joe was sitting and squatted beside him. “She was really upset when they came looking for the knife.”
Joe sighed. “Yeah, I know.”
“You gonna forgive her?”
“I guess I have to, don’t I?”
Scott glanced at the knife in Joe’s hand, then shrugged. “You can do what you want. You’re Zero.”
Joe snorted.
Scott slumped against the wall beside him, sighing.
“You’re not gonna sleep?”
“With you sitting there watching me?”
“I wasn’t watching you. I was thinking.”
“About what?”
“About home.”
Scott absorbed that in silence. The minutes stretched out between them before he said, “Do you miss it?”
“Yeah.” Joe felt his throat tighten, his eyes sting.
“Me, too,” Scott said softly. This time, it was he who seemed to zone out, staring at the far wall in thought.
#
“Oh yeah? Well I bet I could hit that beer can over there.”
Scott eyed the distance, then shrugged. Billy hefted the rock in his hand, then tossed it. It sailed past the can and landed in the dirt beyond.
“Want me to try?” Scott said.
Billy was still frowning after his last throw. He picked up another rock and tried again. It flew even further off course. He threw two more, neither of them even coming close.
“Want me to try?” Scott asked again.
Billy threw a pebble down in frustration. “We both know you can hit it.”
“What about with my eyes closed?”
A sly look crossed his friend’s face. “Eyes closed and I get to spin you around.”
Scott felt a smile itch his lips. “But that’s gonna be a lot harder than just throwing with my eyes closed. I should get your juice if I make it.”
Billy eyed his juice box. “I don’t know…”
“I’ll give you the rest of my gum if I lose,” Scott offered.
“Deal!” Billy cried. No one could resist an almost-whole pack of Big Red gum.
Scott tried to contain his grin as he picked up a stone. “Okay. I’m closing my eyes. Spin me.”
“Bull!” his friend cried. “We need a blindfold.” He glanced around and, finding nothing but dust, trash, and broken glass in the abandoned lot, he peeled off his shirt. “Here. Put this on.”
Scott wrinkled his nose. “It’s all sweaty.”
“Well it’s hot out. Now put it on. I’m not letting you cheat.”
Scott sighed and took the shirt his friend offered. He tried not to inhale as Billy tied it around his forehead and checked to make sure it was secure. “Okay,” his friend said. “Here we go.” He spun Scott around several times, stopping him in the opposite direction of the can. “There you go. Throw. You’re facing the can.”
Scott laughed and turned to face the can. He threw. Through the blindfold, he heard the tinny clatter as the pebble knocked the can over.
“How do you do that?!” Billy cried.
Scott left his blindfold on and turned. “Dunno.” He grabbed Billy’s juice box and unerringly poked the straw through the top, still blindfolded. He took a sip. Grape. Scott wrinkled his nose, but took another drink anyway.
“You don’t even like grape,” Billy muttered.
“I do now,” Scott said. He was sipping through his straw, still showing off, when he felt something move overhead. He dropped the juice box and whipped the blindfold off.
“What?” Billy asked, following his stare. Nothing but perfect, blue sky.
Scott felt another presence follow the first. Just as he could point in a straight line to any place he’d ever been, from his grandma’s home in Idaho to the gaming store downtown, he knew something was up there, moving above them.
Seeing nothing there, Scott felt waves of goosebumps electrify his arms and legs. “We need to get back home,” he said, staring at the sky.
Billy frowned at him, then at the clouds. “You going crazy or what?”
“Something’s happening,” Scott said. He felt another presence slide overhead.
Billy crossed his arms stubbornly. “So now you got ESP too or what?”
“Come on, Billy,” Scott said, grabbing him by the arm. The one above them had stopped, directly above the playground. “We need to go now.”
“What about my juice?”
“Take it,” Scott said, backing away. Whatever it was was sinking, getting closer. “I don’t like grape anyway.” Feeling the impending presence descending from above, Scott turned and bolted.
Billy, who knew Scott would never willingly give up the spoils of one of his bets, left the juice where it was.
CHAPTER 16: Storytime
Battlemaster Nebil jolted them out of bed the next morning by upending their lockers over the floor.
“Get your gear!” he was screaming. “Get your fire-loving gear on now! Faster, faster! Do it faster!” The Ooreiki battlemaster’s translator was turned off, as it was most of the time now.
Joe’s groundteam stumbled over each other as they tried to pull their clothes from the jumble. They weren’t doing it fast enough, however, and Battlemaster Nebil started kicking their gear around the room in a fury.
“You Takki sootbags would be dead by now!
When you’re fighting Dhasha, you have only three seconds after the first man screams before you’re all dead! Hurry! No! The vest goes on the other way! Useless Human Takki! You’re dead! All dead!”
All the while, the Ooreiki battlemaster was kicking clothes and boots around the room, upending lockers and throwing gear in all directions.
Joe managed to find a shirt big enough for him and put it on—it was tight around the chest, but as long as he didn’t breathe too deeply, it would work. He found pants that pinched at the waist and, finding no better alternatives, forced his legs into them. He got a mismatched pair of boots, put them on, and struggled to find a vest that would fit. He finally had to coerce one of the smaller kids in another groundteam to give up a vest that was obviously much too big, getting into a fight with the kid’s ground leader when he saw what was happening.
The battlemaster zeroed in on the disturbance like a hawk. “Zero, you Takki sootbag!” He let loose a string of Ooreiki curses, grabbed Joe by the neck of his shirt, and dragged him to the front of the barracks. “What were you doing, Zero?” he demanded, once Joe was out where everybody could see. “Stand at attention, you miserable furgling!”
Joe straightened, acutely aware that everyone was staring at him.
“Tell them your name and what you were doing!” Nebil shouted into his face, sudah fluttering on his neck in fury.
“I’m Joe and I…”
Battlemaster Nebil cuffed him. “You’re a recruit! You have no name! Only a number! Remember that! What is your number, recruit?!”
“Zero,” Joe said. But my name is Joe.
“Tell them what you were doing, Zero.”
“I don’t understand…” Joe began.
“Shut up, sooter!” Nebil snapped. “I don’t want to hear your furgling voice unless I tell you to burning use it!”
“But you just told me to—”
“Did I tell you to tell us what you understand? No, I told you to tell them what you were doing. Do you know what you were doing? You were stealing from a fellow grounder. Stealing gear from another grounder. Do you know what the penalty is for stealing gear, Zero?”
