by Sara King
Half an hour later, after their Prime Commander still hadn’t reappeared, even the battlemasters began to get impatient. In the battalion beside his, Joe heard two commanders discussing whether they should stay or go.
Almost an hour after that, a lone Takki waddled out from the Dhasha’s tower and handed an electronic note to the nearest tertiary commander before hurrying away. The Ooreiki stepped forward and activated it.
Immediately, Prime Commander Knaaren’s voice boomed out over the plaza, but his tone was hushed and calculating. “…seen them train. They can’t fool me. They try to hide him, but I see his taint. I see everything. They rot inside just like Congress. I must root out his evil.”
The tertiary commander of First Battalion continued to hold the device above his head for another two minutes, until it was obvious nothing else was forthcoming. He lowered it with a puzzled grimace.
“He’s lost his mind,” Nebil muttered.
“Ghost sickness,” Prime Commander Lagrah agreed.
Just then, Knaaren came barreling from the base of his tower, sharkish mouth wide and gasping, head swinging in all directions at once. Without warning, he leapt forward and bit down on one of Third Battalion’s battlemasters. Brown fluid gushed out from between the rainbow lips and spread in a pool in the diamond dust. Knaaren viciously shook the Ooreiki between his powerful jaws until the lower half of his body went flying off into Third Battalion. Then Knaaren spat the rest of the carcass aside, half-eaten, and stared blindly around the ranks.
“Who else?!” Knaaren screamed in Congie. “Who else holds the taint?!”
The Dhasha’s eyes caught suddenly on one of the recruits in First Battalion and stayed there, riveted. He spent the next three minutes like that, absolutely motionless. Then he threw himself backwards, landing in a sprawl, howling like a possessed thing. The recruit he’d been staring at made a miserable, confused whimper.
“I see him!” Knaaren screamed, clawing his way back to his feet, casting chips of diamond in all directions. “I can see into your heads! All of you! He’s in you! I can see his corruption! I know he’s…” The Dhasha shuddered and backed up three steps. “You!”
He was staring at the air above his head.
“Leave me alone!” Knaaren screamed. “No! No…” His last words degenerated into an alien roar as he tore at the air with his talons then crumpled in a panting, twitching heap on the plaza in front of them. His Takki slaves calmly knelt and began grooming him as if it were the most natural thing in the world for their master to have thrown a tantrum and collapsed in front of his entire regiment.
“Get the recruits out of here,” Lagrah said, watching the Dhasha. “It’s oorei sickness. It’s only going to get worse from here.”
Nebil and the other battlemasters were quick to comply. Joe and the rest of the recruits spent the next five hours doing weapons drills on the other side of the city while Knaaren terrorized the plaza, stalking back and forth and talking to thin air. The battlemasters only allowed them to return to the barracks to sleep when a black-clad Congie brought word that Lord Knaaren was once again ensconced in his high tower.
Over the next several days, Nebil kept them locked in the barracks, having Takki deliver food to them at the appropriate times. Through brief visits by their battlemaster, Joe learned that Knaaren was currently eating his way through his slaves—all of them. The Training Committee had ordered all Ooreiki and human personnel to stay indoors until they could send a replacement. Because of this, the recruits had hereto unknown hours of free time, which most of them spent giggling under the covers.
Joe, however, made sure to sit over by the chamber pots, pretending to clean his rifle, until Libby went to sleep. Only then would he go to bed.
As he was starting to undress, Monk grinned at him and whispered “Takki.”
Irritated, Joe left his clothes on and retreated to the baths.
“Jacking off isn’t gonna help!” Monk called after him.
Joe’s ears burned. Behind him, many recruits laughed.
Slowly, rigidly, he returned to the bed and grabbed Monk by the wrist. Even as her eyes widened and she tried to resist, he jerked her out of the bed and dragged her with him to the baths. Inside, he slammed the door shut and blocked it with his body.
Monk made a nervous giggle and gave him an apprehensive look.
“This,” Joe said, “has got to stop.”
Behind him, Sasha banged on the door. “Zero?! Open the door!” Sasha shouted. “I’m your battlemaster and Nebil said you can’t shut the door! You leave her alone and open the door. Now!”
Joe crossed his arms, his eyes never leaving Monk.
“Come on, Joe,” Monk said. “Everybody knows you want each other. Libby beat some girl senseless when she said you had a nice back.”
Joe’s arms unfolded in astonishment. “She did?” On the other side of the door, Sasha’s shouts were getting angrier, the pounding more violent.
“You’re the two best soldiers in Sixth,” Monk said. “You’re perfect for each other. Everybody sees it.”
“She’s eight, for ashes’ sake!” Joe said. “And what are you? Six?!”
“I’m as big as either of my parents,” Monk said.
Before she could flinch away, he reached out and tapped her bald skull. “You’re still a kid in here, though. Just because you shoot guns and swear doesn’t make you an adult.”
Monk pouted. “You think we’re all still babies, but we’re not. We’ve seen stuff that would make our parents piss themselves, and we’re still here.”
She had a point. Joe sighed. “All right. Fine. What’s it gonna take for you to stop pushing it?”
Monk shrugged. “Just do something about her,” she said. “Yesterday, she asked Nebil to transfer her to another platoon.”
Joe’s mouth fell open in shock.
“Nebil told her to deal with her own burning problems,” Monk said, “But Joe, she’s really determined. I think she might go talk to Commander Tril.” She paused, eying him narrowly. “Did you say something to her?”
Joe flushed and blurted, “She tried to kiss me. I told her I just wanted to sharpen my knife.”
Monk pursed her lips. “Wow. Here I thought neither of you had the balls to make the first move… No wonder she hates you. She must think you didn’t kiss her because she has no tongue.”
Oh soot. Joe swallowed, hard.
“Now you have to do it,” Monk said.
“Huh?” he said, unable to hear over his pounding heart.
“Now you have to make the first move. It’s the only way she’ll stop hating you.”
“Monk,” Joe managed, “sorry to say this, but I don’t need relationship counseling from a six-year-old. Besides, I never said I wanted a relationship in the first place.”
“Yeah you do, otherwise you wouldn’t spend all your free time staring at her.”
Joe’s blush deepened. “I don’t stare.”
“Sure you do,” Monk retorted. “You look at her like she’s the centerfold of a sex mag.”
Joe’s brow creased. “Do you even know what that is?”
Monk shrugged. “Scott told me. He’s the one who said it first.”
Joe groaned. “Fine. Okay? I’ll go apologize. Will that get you off my ass?”
“Sure,” Monk said. “Now maybe you should open the door. I think Sasha went to get the battlemaster.”
The thought of Nebil catching them with the door closed made Joe wrench it open immediately. Sasha was poised outside, one fist hovering over the metal, the other fist gripping her knife. She gave Joe a look that could have scorched stone, then peered behind him at Monk, who grinned and gave a cheerful wave.
“A hundred pushups,” Sasha ordered. “Both of you.”
“Burn you,” Monk said, pushing past Joe. “Do your own burning pushups.”
Sasha’s face reddened. “I’ll tell the battlemaster you didn’t listen to me.”
“Good. Maybe when he sees how
you complain about everything like a spoiled brat, he’ll give Joe his job back.” Monk returned to her bed, ignoring Sasha completely.
Sasha was shaking as she turned back to Joe, her eyes glittering with outright hatred. “Go make her do pushups. Five hundred of them.”
Joe snorted. “I don’t think so.”
“Three hundred, then.” Sasha almost looked desperate, and soon Joe understood why. By now, their commotion had woken everyone in the barracks, and she had an audience. The entire platoon was watching. If she didn’t make them accept some sort of punishment, she would look incompetent.
When Joe didn’t move, Sasha turned to two other ground leaders. “Grab them. Help me punish them.”
Carl and Sherri hesitated.
From the bed, Monk laughed. “The only person they’re ever gonna listen to is Joe. You’re just a crazy bitch with a knife.”
In that instant, Sasha lunged at Monk and landed on top of her, trapping her under the cover. Then, almost like in a dream, she drew her knife across Monk’s throat, the blade biting deep. Even as Monk’s eyes widened in a scream, blood gushed out over the metal and onto the silvery covers, more blood than Joe ever thought possible.
Libby wrenched Sasha off of Monk immediately, but it was too late. Monk’s eyes were already dulling, her life spilling out over the blanket.
Libby tore her eyes from Monk and turned to Sasha, who suddenly looked scared. Taking three purposeful steps forward, Libby ripped the knife from Sasha’s hand and stabbed her in the neck. Sasha collapsed with a strangled gurgle.
Then she stood there, staring pitilessly down into Sasha’s white face as she collapsed on the floor.
It all happened in a matter of seconds.
“Scott!” Joe roared, suddenly breaking out of his paralysis, “Get the medics! Maggie, press down on Monk’s neck! Carl, go get Nebil. Does anyone have nanos?!”
That night they found that, despite their great advances, Congress still couldn’t bring somebody back from the dead.
CHAPTER 32: Ka-par
Libby, for her part in Sasha’s death, received the Eighth Degree. Commander Tril had actually ordered the Ninth Degree, but when Battlemaster Nebil returned to his platoon to mete out his punishment, Joe saw that he used the setting one notch below.
Not that it mattered much for Libby.
This time, Joe could not keep his eyes free from tears as her low, unintelligible wail pierced the barracks. They all stood lined up at the ends of their groundteam bunks, Libby’s naked form struggling against invisible agony on the floor in front of them.
When it was over, Nebil put the black device away and stood silently for long minutes, sudah fluttering. Finally, he said, “Zero, take care of your groundmate. She’ll be dazed for the next week or so. She might have trouble eating.”
“Shouldn’t we take her to medical?” Joe asked.
Nebil’s gaze remained on Libby’s body. “Perceptual punishment is not an ailment Congress allows its doctors to treat. If they did, it wouldn’t be a punishment.” Nebil turned to go, but stopped. “Zero, get your platoon under control. Anything else happens and I’ll hold you responsible.”
“I thought you couldn’t give me battlemaster,” Joe said, stiffening.
“No ash like this happened on your watch,” Nebil barked. “You’re it. Tril can go complain to the Training Committee if he doesn’t like it.”
“I don’t want it.”
Nebil’s snakelike pupils narrowed. “What?”
“I don’t want it,” Joe repeated. “I don’t want ground leader, I don’t want squad leader, I don’t want anything to do with your burning Army. My friends are dead!” The last came out as a scream.
“You don’t have a choice.” Nebil’s voice was almost a whisper. “None of us do.” He rounded and left them gathered around Libby’s body.
Joe was gritting his jaw so hard that it hurt. Very slowly, he turned to the other recruits. “What the ashes are you standing around for?! You heard him. Get some rags and clean her up. I want the smell of shit out of this place in the next thirty seconds or you’re all doing jumping-jacks until you puke.”
Joe went to the far wall and sat down in a brooding silence. Once Libby was clean, Scott and Maggie wrapped her in a blanket and carried her to the bed—the same bed that was still crusted with Monk’s dried blood. He averted his eyes back to the spot where Libby had struggled ineffectually moments before. He was still staring at the same place when Maggie sat down beside him.
Neither of them said a word.
They sat like that for hours, until Maggie finally got up and went to join Scott and Libby in bed. None of them slept.
The next morning, Nebil came back early. “Grab everything and get to the plaza. We’re getting inspected. Our new Prime wants to see you.”
Indifferent, Joe gathered his equipment with the others and halfheartedly marched them to the plaza, where an enormous Dhasha sat alone at one end, easily twice as big as Knaaren. His gut clenched reflexively and he swallowed down a spasm of instinctive fear. Along the other side of the clearing, twenty much smaller Dhasha sat amidst a swarm of Takki, their emerald eyes alert and curious. A huge pile of black bricks sat beside them.
“Eyes forward!” Nebil snapped.
Once they were all in formation, the plaza was utterly silent except for the thwapping of the other battalions’ standards. After a few moments, Joe heard the clicking scrape of Dhasha talons on diamond chips. Soon a blur of color filled the corner of his vision and he felt the inevitable surge of rage.
“Commander,” the massive Dhasha said in a precise, yet heavily-accented Congie, “Why does your battalion not bear its own standards?”
“Lord Knaaren withheld them from us, Prince Bagkhal.”
“Oh? Why?”
“He decided we were not worthy.”
“Then he was a furg.” He turned to one of Sixth’s battlemasters. “Go retrieve them from the armory. If the clerks refuse, tell them I’ll get them myself.” As the Ooreiki bowed and hurried off, the Dhasha paused, huge egg-shaped emerald eyes scanning the gathered recruits of Sixth Battalion. “Did Knaaren also force you wear your uniforms differently?”
“It is our choice, my lord,” Tril said, bowing low.
“I see. What else has been withheld from you?” Prince Bagkhal asked, pacing. He seemed almost naked without an entourage of slaves, but aside from the mass grooming the younger Dhasha off to one side, Joe could see no Takki in sight.
“Their bio suits,” Lagrah said. “They were supposed to get them after the first rotation of training.”
“As you can see, I have already remedied that problem,” the Dhasha said, gesturing with his huge head towards the piles of black bricks. “What else?”
Tril stepped forward. “He took forty-seven of my recruits as slaves. Several of them were squad leaders.”
“That cannot be helped.”
“Some must still be alive.”
“No. They are not.”
“Then perhaps you might consider giving me some recruits from another battalion?” Tril insisted. “We are undermanned.”
“No, Commander.”
Tril lowered his appendages in acquiescence.
Prince Bagkhal clicked his teeth together and went to the next battalion. He circled the plaza, stopping at every other battalion to speak with its commander, then returned to the Sixth.
“Commander Tril, I have need of a personal assistant. I was called too quickly to bring my own with me. You are not obligated, but I thought I’d give you the honor before offering it to someone else.”
Tril’s sudah began fluttering. “The…honor, sir?” All around them, the Ooreiki were stiffening, as if Bagkhal had deeply insulted them.
“Not you,” Bagkhal snorted. “One of your recruits. Lagrah tells me you have several that are quite talented.”
Tril relaxed. “We had one, but she killed another recruit in a fight yesterday. I gave her the Ninth Degree.”
&nbs
p; Prince Bagkhal spun. “You killed a recruit?”
Tril looked baffled. “No. I only gave her the Ninth—”
“You stupid ashsoul!” Bagkhal raged. “How did you manage to become a secondary commander?”
The entire regiment was so silent they could hear the wind in the ferlii branches. Tril’s sudah began fluttering rapidly. “She’s alive. My battlemaster reported so to me earlier this morning.”
“That’s because I only used the Eighth,” Nebil said.
Both Tril and Prince Bagkhal turned to look at Nebil.
“What is your name, Battlemaster?” the big Dhasha said.
“Nebil, my lord.”
“You disobeyed an order from your secondary commander?”
“I wasn’t about to kill my best recruit for avenging her groundmate,” Nebil replied calmly.
The Dhasha pulled back and began to pace, his great weight crunching the diamonds under him. “I am not liking this, Commander Tril. If you don’t command the respect of your battlemasters, why should your recruits take their training seriously?”
“They do,” Tril said quickly. “Even with nearly a tenth of its recruits missing, my battalion has kept up with Second Battalion throughout training. One of my squads managed to capture a flag.”
Prince Bagkhal turned. “Really? Who was the battlemaster of that squad?”
Tril flinched as if he had been struck. “Nebil, my lord.”
“The same one who ignored your command to kill a recruit.”
“I didn’t order him to kill a—”
“Battlemaster Nebil, you are the new head of Sixth Battalion.”
Tril stumbled forward. “He’s just a battlemaster! The Training Committee—”
“From what I’ve been told,” Bagkhal interrupted, “There are plenty of things going on around here the Training Committee would not approve of.” As Tril recoiled, he continued, “I already scheduled your departure, Commander Tril. Go pack.”
For a long time, the Ooreiki did not move. Prince Bagkhal cocked his huge, sharklike head at him, watching. Then, stiffly, Tril turned.