by Sara King
“Roast them,” Nebil repeated. “I’m not taking another point. Been there three times already. Not doing it again.”
The Dhasha peered at Nebil for several breaths, then said, “Very well. The Committee can take its complaints up with me.” He turned to scan Nebil’s recruits. “Now. If you really gave that recruit the Eighth Degree, she won’t be useful for another week. Do you have another recruit that might be able to assist me?”
“Zero,” Nebil said.
Joe felt like he’d been punched in the gut. Nebil was offering him up as a slave?
Prince Bagkhal twitched his head. “Zero? Is that the name of a recruit?”
“Kkee,” Nebil replied. “He’s the one who led the offensive that captured the flag.”
No, Joe thought, his whole body stiffening. He fisted his hands against his sides. No. I won’t do this. Not again.
The Dhasha cocked his huge, sharklike head. “I was under the impression that Draft rolls began at One.”
“They do,” Nebil replied. “He was an Unclaimed who Kihgl added under Zero.”
Prince Bagkhal clicked his teeth together. “Very well. Bring him to me.”
Battlemaster Nebil turned to Joe. “Zero, get out of formation.”
Betrayal raking his insides, Joe did not move.
For one long moment, Nebil stared at Joe and Joe ignored him, staring straight ahead as rigidly as a statue. Then the Ooreiki stalked forward, grabbed him in his stinging tentacle grip, and threw him at the Dhasha’s feet.
“No!” Joe shouted, jumping back. “I won’t do it again. I’d rather you killed me first, you burning asher!”
“That can be arranged,” Nebil said coolly.
Prince Bagkhal observed the exchange with a quizzical tilt to his massive jaws. “What does he mean, ‘again’?”
Joe turned to stare directly into the Dhasha’s eyes, hoping it would get him killed. He was not going back. The Dhasha grunted and flinched slightly, like someone fighting down a sudden reflex, then just stared back, looking almost…curious.
“I gave Zero to Knaaren rather than see Tril use the Ninth Degree on him,” Nebil growled, “the ungrateful furg.”
The Dhasha jerked. “He was a slave?”
“For two weeks. Knaaren traded him back to Tril for another recruit.”
Joe continued to meet the Dhasha’s gaze, deciding to pull Kihgl’s maneuver and get eaten for it. He would not be a slave again. Never.
Clicking his black rows of teeth together, Prince Bagkhal said, “It doesn’t appear he learned any manners while in Knaaren’s care. Unless he is deliberately trying to provoke me.” The Dhasha leaned closer to Joe, filling his vision with a single emerald eye. “Are you trying to provoke me?”
“I’m not a slave,” Joe gritted. “I’ll die first.”
The Dhasha seemed to digest that a moment. “Take off your shirt, Human.”
Joe ignored him and returned to his groundteam.
“You Jreet-loving sootwad, do it!” Nebil roared, yanking him back.
“I won’t wear those burning robes again,” Joe snapped. “Go burn yourselves.” Joe turned around and started to walk away.
“Battlemasters, detain him,” the Dhasha said. Three Ooreiki swarmed Joe and dragged him back to the Dhasha’s feet. They held his face in the gravel until Bagkhal gave them the command to release him. Slowly, fury burning in his chest, Joe righted himself.
“I’ll repeat, Human. Take off your shirt,” the Dhasha said. “You would not like it if I did it.”
Taking a step away from the Dhasha so he could look up into his eyes, Joe said, “And I repeat, asher, go burn yourself.”
The Dhasha clicked his teeth together again. “Battlemasters, take off his shirt.”
“Get off of me!” Joe shouted, trying to struggle out of the Ooreiki’s burning grip. When he refused to raise his arms over his head, they ended up ripping the shirt off of him. When they released him again, Joe picked up a chunk of diamond from the ground and got ready to clobber one of them with it.
“Zero!” Nebil snapped, “Put that down, you soot-eating furg! He’s not looking for a burning slave!”
Joe paused uncertainly. “What?”
“I’m going to need to document that,” Prince Bagkhal said.
Joe realized the Dhasha was staring at his chest.
“Is this the only survivor?”
“As far as I know,” Nebil replied.
“And he was still under Congressional protection?”
“Kkee.”
“Destruction of Congressional property. Send clips of it to the Committee for Knaaren’s trial. Let them see what he did when he wasn’t eating them.”
Joe dropped the rock, confused.
Prince Bagkhal clicked his teeth together in amusement. “I’d tell you to put your shirt back on, but it seems you can’t.” He turned to Nebil. “Battlemaster, you’re sure I can have this one?”
Joe stiffened again. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
The Dhasha stared down at him, his scaly alien face lit up with amusement. “Then we are at an impasse, because I’m not leaving until you do.”
Joe laughed. “What kind of furgsoot is that?”
The Dhasha waited.
Joe’s amusement died in his throat. “You’re just going to stand there?”
The Dhasha said nothing.
“I’m not going anywhere with you,” Joe repeated uncertainly.
“Zero, I will beat you until you’re a bloody—” Nebil began.
“It is just as well, Battlemaster,” Bagkhal replied. “My sons and I had a good fight with Knaaren and I have nothing more to do today. The rest of you may go acquaint your battalions with their biosuits.”
“Perhaps we should have kept the perceptual unit,” Nebil said, his scowl giving Joe the idea he wanted to strangle him. “He’s one stubborn sooter.”
“So am I,” the Dhasha said, staring down at Joe like a cat watching a mouse.
“You’re declaring ka-par?” Lagrah demanded, from a few yards off. His pale brown eyes went from Joe to the Dhasha and back. “With a recruit?” He sounded shocked.
“I’m considering it,” Prince Bagkhal said, still fixated on Joe. “This one intrigues me.”
“No need to waste your time, milord,” Nebil growled, reaching for Joe’s neck. “I’ll deal with the fire-loving Jreet.”
“Go attend to your battalion, Battlemaster,” Bagkhal ordered, his tone allowing no complaint. “I will handle this.”
Battlemaster Nebil gave Joe a look promising a few thousand laps around the barracks, then turned and went back to Sixth Battalion, leaving Joe standing in front of the enormous Dhasha alone.
As the spore-breeze whipped across the plaza, tinkling the diamond chunks disturbed by Bagkhal’s taloned feet, Joe found himself stunned that the Dhasha hadn’t ordered anyone to drag Joe back to his den for him, let alone batted him in half.
Still, he knew that it could be a ruse, a hoax, a cat playing with its mouse… The last thing he was going to do was go back to a Dhasha’s den. Once he was there, Bagkhal could do anything he wanted to him, anything at all, and Congress would simply turn its head.
“Whenever you’re ready to follow me to my quarters,” Bagkhal calmly said into the silence that followed, “let me know.”
“I won’t serve you,” Joe growled. He started to back away.
“I didn’t dismiss you,” Bagkhal reminded him.
Joe felt a flush of anger. “Like I give an ash.” He turned his back to the Dhasha, fully prepared to be eaten, rather than taken as a slave to Dhasha again.
“What you are doing is insubordination,” the Dhasha reminded him calmly.
“Damn right, it is,” Joe said, still walking towards the barracks.
“You’re not afraid of me,” Bagkhal commented.
“I just know I’m gonna die,” Joe retorted, without turning. “Don’t really care, at this point.” He kept going, waiting for the jaws
to descend upon him.
“Do you know what ka-par is, Zero?” Prince Bagkhal rumbled, at his back.
Joe hesitated. He could feel the huge predator watching him. Frowning, he turned. “Let me guess…” he snapped, with more disdain than he intended. “Some obscure new way to claim a slave?”
“It is an ancient ritual amongst the elders of my people,” Bagkhal said serenely. “A way to settle arguments and determining the better warrior without the inconvenience of shredding each other. Though with lesser species, it is often a way for a Dhasha to legitimately claim dominance, yes. When declared, even Congress recognizes the results of ka-par, and other Dhasha will enforce the result, which is why it is not offered often.”
Joe snorted. “Burn you.” He turned to go again.
“I haven’t dismissed you,” Bagkhal repeated calmly.
“So eat me,” Joe said, still walking.
“I could,” Bagkhal said. “But I’m more interested in fixing the mess that my ignorant furg of a predecessor left for me. Thus, I would like to offer you ka-par.”
Joe hesitated at the word ‘offer.’ He stood there for several moments, staring up at the barracks, feeling the Dhasha’s piercing green stare at his back.
Knaaren had never offered him anything.
With that thought nagging at him, Joe turned back slowly, suspicion heavy in his soul. “What do you mean?” he muttered.
“Ka-par,” Bagkhal said, cocking his huge head, “is a contest of wills. Instead of using tooth or talon, which, with Dhasha, rapidly depletes the fighting force, the two warriors duel with their eyes until one backs down. The first one to surrender submits completely to the victor. Much more important than physical brawls—it is how princes are made.”
Joe narrowed his eyes, still fighting the urge to walk away. “And if I lose?”
“You will do whatever I tell you to do, without question, from now until your training is complete,” Prince Bagkhal told him.
Yeah, that wasn’t going to happen. Still, Joe was curious. “What if I win?”
“Like I said,” Prince Bagkhal said, cocking his shark-like head, “Congress recognizes the results of ka-par. If you win, you would find yourself in command the Eighty-Seventh Regiment of the Fourteenth Human Ground Force, and I would serve you, if that was your wish.”
Joe’s heart stuttered at that. Warily, thinking it had to be some sort of trick, he looked the Dhasha up and down. “A staring contest.”
“A ka-par,” Bagkhal replied.
“You want me to beat you in a staring contest.”
“I don’t want you to beat me,” Bagkhal said, clicking his teeth together in a Dhasha chuckle. “I want your service, after all.”
Joe’s pulse was beginning to hammer in his ears. “You’re serious, aren’t you? I’d command the regiment?”
“If you accept my ka-par, and win, you would command the regiment, yes.”
Licking his lips, Joe said, “How?”
“You watch your opponent with the intensity of a hunter. You cannot back up or lower your gaze. The goal is to make him nervous enough to break his concentration and make him back down. It is the test of a warrior.”
Feeling a rush of suspicion, Joe growled, “And you’ll, what, jump at me? Snarl at me? Shove me over? What?”
“I will wait,” Bagkhal replied. “And watch. It is not about sudden movements or distractions. It is about spirit. A Human has the capability of winning. It is why it is a duel, not a slaughter.”
Joe could not believe it. A staring contest. He wants me to duel him in a burning staring contest. Nervously, he glanced up at the barracks, wondering if his groundmates were watching. Turning back, he scowled at the Dhasha. “I won’t be your burning slave.”
“So,” Bagkhal said, tilting his great head, “ka-par?”
Joe narrowed his eyes. Though the stubborn part of him was screaming at him to back down, to stalk back to the barracks or get eaten for insubordination, it was the rash and reckless part of him that had gotten him captured by aliens that said, “You’re on.”
Bagkhal made a satisfied grunt, and Joe felt a little spasm of panic, realizing he couldn’t take it back. “Ka-par rak’tal. I accept.” Immediately, the Dhasha prince took three steps towards him, until they were little over an arm’s-length apart, then settled a comfortable position and leveled him with a bone-deep emerald stare, focusing on Joe with complete predatory intensity. “Mahid ka-par,” Prince Bagkhal said. “May it begin.”
After the first hour passed, Joe realized Bagkhal was utterly serious. The Dhasha never twitched, his gaze never wavering from Joe the entire time. Joe, meanwhile, became more and more uncomfortable. He was standing bare-chested in front of a gigantic killing machine that was frozen only a few feet away, staring at him with all the intensity of a predator.
After the second hour, the group of smaller Dhasha and their Takki caretakers got bored and wandered back to the Prime Commander’s tower. Everyone else had already left the plaza, leaving only Joe and the Dhasha. Staring at each other.
Joe, you idiot, his mind ranted at him. You just declared a staring contest with something that doesn’t blink.
Indeed, the hard, green, crystalline eyes showed neither pupil nor flicker of movement. Joe wasn’t even sure they did move, looking more a feature of the Dhasha’s skull than anything with mobility.
Later that day, several battalions formed up on the plaza and began to run through drills, marching around Joe and his opponent as if they were simply immobile physical obstacles in the terrain. As they passed, Joe caught several curious looks from recruits and Ooreiki alike.
Prince Bagkhal’s complete focus never wavered, giving Joe the unnerving feeling of being a rabbit having the full attention of a tiger.
When Joe’s head turned to watch a battalion enter the chow hall for dinner, however, feeling the ache of hunger like a knife in his gut, Bagkhal said, “Generally, looking away is a symbol of submission, Human. Are you submitting?”
Joe snapped his attention back to Prince Bagkhal immediately. “No,” he blurted, his face flushing with fear and embarrassment.
“Then ka-par,” the Dhasha told him, as utterly motionless as a sphinx.
Another hour passed. The nagging discomfort of being the sole focus of a deadly predator was beginning to wear at him. Joe had to concentrate on the scales on the Dhasha’s nose to keep from looking at the unending rows of triangular black teeth. His feet hurt. His legs itched to move. He was hungry. He could feel the coolness coming off the Dhasha’s scales, just a few feet away. Shirtless, the spore-breeze was giving him goosebumps. His back itched. His acne had gotten worse, and it was even then covering his arms, legs, and chest.
The unlucky platoon that had been given the task of raking the plaza that night approached them warily. Their curious stares made Joe’s shoulder-blades itch as they tentatively raked all around them, keeping a twenty-foot swath around the Dhasha. Feeling their eyes on him, it was all Joe could do not to turn and look at them.
Prince Bagkhal, for his part, hadn’t so much as twitched since their contest had started.
He could do this all day, Joe realized, with a pang of terror. Oh burn me, I’m going to lose.
Then, I’m never going back. Never. I’ll make him kill me first.
“I’m not your slave,” Joe growled.
“Then I’d say it’s in your best interest not to lose the ka-par,” Prince Bagkhal replied. Throughout the exchange, Bagkhal never stirred. He just…watched.
After the twelfth hour, when everyone else was asleep, Joe was beginning to nod off on his feet, but he forced himself to stay where he was, staring into the Dhasha’s cold green eyes. Joe remembered how Knaaren had claimed the Mexican kid, and how he’d led him off the plaza. His hackles lifted. That wouldn’t happen to him.
“I’m not gonna be your slave, you stubborn asher,” he growled, peering back up at the beast.
If anything, he thought he saw amusement flash across his
opponent’s emerald eyes. “It is custom not to speak during a ka-par,” Bagkhal said. “Speaking is a sign of fear. Only Takki and children try to talk their way out of ka-par, once it’s started.”
“I’m not trying to talk my way out of it,” Joe growled, his pride prickling. “I’m just stating a fact.”
“Then don’t lose,” Prince Bagkhal replied, utterly motionless.
Joe’s hunger became a dull ache in his gut. He grew dizzy with exhaustion. Pinned under the Dhasha’s predatory stare, he fought down the urge to fidget. It was becoming more and more uncomfortable, feeling as if his vulnerabilities were rising to the surface, evaluated and analyzed by this creature that could kill him with a casual swipe of his paw.
I can’t lose, he thought, in anguish. I can’t lose…
Joe had to start distracting himself from the uncomfortable itch of Bagkhal’s attention. The Dhasha’s scales seemed to be a baseline color of silver, he noted, with the odd, shimmering colors moving across his body like motor oil across the surface of water. Even with the time to examine it, he still wasn’t sure if it was tiny movements on the Dhasha’s part that made the colors swirl, or if they just randomly shifted on their own.
As the hours went on, Joe noticed that the Dhasha prince didn’t stink. Not like Knaaren. While Joe did occasionally catch the stale smell of old skin on the breeze—much like a combo of sweaty feet and used jock-strap—Bagkhal didn’t have the pervasive reek of rotten flesh.
And, when Joe looked, he couldn’t see any pieces of corpses clinging to his rows of teeth.
What if Dhasha don’t need to eat? Joe thought, on a flush of panic. Just how long could he stand there, without food or sustenance? How long could he go without sleep? Already, Joe was weaving on his feet, light-headed with exhaustion. He could barely hold his head up, whereas Prince Bagkhal had shown absolutely no change whatsoever.
And, now that Joe had thought about it, could he really expect a Dhasha prince to serve him, when it was so much easier to bat him in half?
I can’t win, Joe thought. Soot soot soot, I can’t win this…
With the thought, Joe felt his palms slicken and his heart start to pound. His every instinct started to scream at him to back away, to retreat from this monster’s striking-distance. In that moment, Joe realized he was cracking.
