by Sara King
Only the youngest two moved. The older three glared at him.
Joe sighed and positioned himself closer, so he could see them all. “My name’s Joe,” he said, surveying them. “Look, we’re in some pretty heavy crap, but I’m gonna do everything I can to get us out of here.”
This got their attention.
The sniffling five-year-old shuffled forward and said, “I want Mom.”
“We got the smallest kid in the whole room!” the oldest boy complained. He had a shock of red hair bright enough to make a leprechaun jealous.
“You also got the biggest,” Joe said. He smiled at the little girl. “What’s your name?”
“Maggie,” the girl whimpered.
“You the one who wanted to draw me a Zero, Mag?”
She nodded, wiping snot from her nose with her sleeve.
Joe ruffled her hair. “I’d like that. Just as soon as we find something to write with okay?”
Maggie sniffled and nodded.
Joe turned to the oldest boy. The redhead was skinny—more Celtic than Nordic—and didn’t even come up to Joe’s chest. The kid looked like he had spent much of his life laughing before the Draft. Now his big, expressive face was strained with worry and the dimples were almost unnoticeable. He, like everybody else in the room, was gaunt and hungry-looking.
“I’m Scott,” the redheaded kid said, his body tense, blue eyes wary.
“How old are you, Scott?” Joe said, looking him up and down.
“Ten.”
Joe looked at the other groups in exasperation. Some had three, even four kids ten and older. Some of those didn’t have anyone under eight.
“What about you?” he asked a skinny, freckled girl with big eyelashes.
“I’m Carol and I’m six.”
Joe nodded and glanced at the older girl with a puff of curly African hair and bright brown eyes. “What about you?” he asked.
She stared at the floor, twining her fingers shyly. “Libby. I’m eight.”
“That’s some hair you got there, Libby.”
Libby looked up and gave a tentative smile, displaying an unfortunate array of twisted front teeth. Feeling a pang of sympathy for her, Joe grinned back.
“And you?” he asked the last kid, who was somewhere in size between Libby and Carol.
The hazel-eyed boy grinned, making his big ears stick out even further. “Eric. But everybody calls me Elf.” He had curly black hair that, coupled with the ears, made Joe immediately think of something he would’ve seen in Santa’s Workshop.
“I can see why,” Joe said. “How old are you, Elf?”
“Eight.”
Carol held up her hand.
“You don’t have to raise your hand,” Joe said. “What is it?”
“If he gets to be called Elf, I want to be Monk.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s what my dad calls me.”
“He calls you Monk?”
“Yeah, it’s short for Chipmunk.”
“Huh. Okay. Monk. I’m Joe.”
Monk gave him a long look, peering up at him like an entomologist studying a funny-looking insect. “Are you really twelve, Joe?”
Joe blushed, feeling the others’ attention immediately sharpen. “No,” he admitted. “I’m fourteen.”
Scott’s eyes widened. “Then how—”
“He’s bad,” Monk interrupted. “Dad told me bad kids get sent to the Congies.”
Immediately, Maggie’s tiny chin began to quiver. Joe shot Monk an irritated look, then squatted and grabbed Maggie by the shoulders. “Look Mag, you weren’t bad. It didn’t have anything to do with that. They needed kids a certain age for their army, that’s all.”
“So why are you here?” Monk insisted. “You’re too old.”
Oh God, just shut up, Joe wished her, watching Maggie grow ever-closer to an all-out bawling session. He certainly recognized the look—he’d seen it on Sam enough times. “I was stupid,” he muttered, hoping Monk would leave it at that.
“You mean you were bad?”
“No, I was stupid,” Joe said, irritated. “Just drop it, all right?”
“I saw you try to beat up that alien,” Elf said. “They kicked your butt.” He grinned, flexing his ears with the force of his smile.
“That was him?” Scott’s eyes widened. “I thought they killed that kid.”
Joe glanced at the glossy black ceiling, willing himself patience. “Look, they’re not gonna kill us. They’ll just patch us up and put more time on our enlistments.”
“What’s an enlistment?” Maggie and Monk asked, at the same time, blinking up at him in innocent curiosity.
Oh crap, I can’t do this, Joe thought, trying to figure out how to tell five little kids that they were about to spend half their lives as indentured servants to aliens who wanted to throw them into a meat grinder just to see what came out the other end. “Uh,” he began, wincing, “it means time you owe to the army. I just owe a little bit more time for that fight earlier. No biggie.”
“So that was you?” Scott asked, in awe.
Before Joe could answer, Commander Tril barked, “Time’s up. Get back in line!”
Joe stood up and went back to the front of the group. Tril had taken up the head of the formation, with Battlemaster Nebil standing to one side, tentacles twisted in front of him in a formal posture, his bleached brown eyes betraying nothing of his thoughts.
Scott tugged on Joe’s sleeve. “Maggie’s not in line.”
Joe turned around and cursed under his breath. Maggie was clutching Libby’s skinny black leg, tears leaking down her cheeks. Her thumb was back in her mouth. Joe got out of line and ushered Maggie to the back. She refused to stay put.
He was pleading with her when Commander Tril snapped, “Zero! Get up here!”
Joe flinched and reluctantly turned to face Tril. Swallowing hard, he straightened and walked up to the squat orange-streaked alien, steeling himself. As expected, Tril slammed a heavy, boneless tentacle into Joe’s gut, doubling him over.
“That’s for taking too long. Now get back in line,” Tril said. He waited, clearly wanting Joe to disobey. And, for a moment, Joe almost did. Fighting the urge to dismantle the Ooreiki’s face, Joe straightened and limped back to his group. All five of the others were staring at him, wide-eyed. He winked at them.
“There are thirty-seven blue spheres behind me,” Tril said once Joe was back in place. “Approximately one for every two groundteams. Each groundteam that has a sphere in their possession nine tics from now will eat lunch this afternoon. Starting now.”
Joe frowned. One for every two… He froze, realizing Tril’s intent. “Stay here!” Joe cried to his groundteam. He bolted forward for a ball and snatched it up as quickly as he could. A few others of the bigger kids moved with him, but most of the company just stared at the alien dumbly.
“Did I say stand there and stare?!” Tril demanded. “I said fight, you miserable Takki. Go get a ball!”
By the time Joe jogged back to his team, genuine panic was spreading throughout the room and mini battles began breaking out over the balls.
Joe hefted Maggie onto his shoulders and hurriedly gathered the others around him and backed them into a corner. With Joe holding the ball, no one challenged them, though others were not so lucky. In the end, one of the groups with a majority of twelve-year-olds had two balls and there were thirty-nine groups with none.
“Those of you who turned in balls may go to the chow hall,” Tril said. “The rest of you will run until they come back.”
He’s going to starve them, Joe realized, disgusted. That must have occurred to the other kids, too, because their hungry faces were beginning to scrunch in sobs of loss and defeat. Seeing some of the less fortunate groups with a majority of toddlers, Joe almost felt sorry enough to toss them a ball.
Then he thought of Maggie, Monk, Scott, Elf, and Libby, and realized he had to worry about them, now. “Come on, guys,” Joe said tiredly. “Let’s
go eat.” He turned and led them after the flow of sphere-bearing teams, leaving the losers behind with Tril. An Ooreiki collected their balls as they exited, then funneled them down a corridor like cattle through a slaughter-chute.
Joe carried Maggie on his shoulders, her tiny fingers gripping tufts of his hair to hold herself steady as he bent low to keep from slamming her head into the low cafeteria doorframe.
The cafeteria itself was filled with rows of long ebony tables made of the same glossy black material as the rest of the ship. Ahead, dozens of kids stood in line to receive big white bowls of food an alien took from the nozzle of a humming metal box. The food machine was the first piece of furniture Joe had seen that wasn’t made of the strange black stuff, but it was creepy in its own right. The blue metal had an iridescent sheen to it, making it shimmer and glow like ice. It reminded him of the thing around his ankle.
“Everybody here?” Joe asked, glancing behind him.
Scott made a face. “Might as well not be. This stuff is gross.”
Joe eyed the alien serving the recruits their food. “I haven’t tasted it yet.” Too busy racking up extra time on my enlistment.
“It’s green,” Maggie said, atop his shoulders. “And it tastes like the dog bowl.”
Elf wrinkled his nose. “Ewwww.”
“Maggie drinks from the dog bowl!” Monk laughed.
“No she doesn’t,” Joe said, as they continued to shuffle slowly down the line towards the humming food-machine. He cocked his head up at her. “Do you, Mag?”
He could feel Maggie’s pout when she said, “It tastes better than the fish bowl.”
“Ewwww!” Elf screeched.
“Quiet!” Joe said, catching the eye of one of the aliens. “They’re watching us.”
That silenced the others immediately.
“Still think it’s gross,” Scott muttered under his breath.
When they reached the machine doling out their allotted meals, Joe realized the ‘food’ the aliens were trying to feed them was, to all appearances, pond scum. Nevertheless, Joe was at the point he would have eaten worms, had worms been offered to him. He accepted a bowl for himself and another for Maggie, then led the group over to an empty table.
“Where are the spoons for this stuff?” Joe asked, lowering Maggie to the bench.
“They don’t give us spoons,” Libby said. “We’ve got to use our hands.”
The bastards. Joe looked at the pudding-like green slime for a moment, then scooped up a glob of the stuff with a finger and tasted it. Immediately, his stomach recoiled. It tasted like pond scum.
“Not that good, is it?” Elf asked, his green-brown eyes watching his expression. The other kids, too, were watching him, obviously waiting to take their cue from the big kid.
Joe smoothed his features and forced himself to eat some more. “It’s good. Kind of tastes like sushi.”
“Sushi’s gross!” Monk cried.
“Then you haven’t been eating the right sushi.” Joe scooped a handful into his mouth and forced himself to swallow. It was like forcing liquid slime down his throat, and it was everything Joe could do not to gag in front of the kiddies. Struggling with every mouthful, Joe finished his bowl, then tried to get Maggie to eat. She stoutly refused. Instead, she began to cry, and no amount of soothing words would get her to stop.
Eventually, Commander Tril noticed. “Silence that recruit, Zero.” The Ooreiki strode over to their table and hovered over him, anticipation in his sticky brown eyes.
Joe stiffened. The bastard had followed him to the cafeteria and was looking for reasons to punish him. Joe felt like tossing Maggie’s bowl of scum into the alien’s face. But that wouldn’t be fair to Maggie. “I’m working on it,” Joe said, as evenly as he could.
Tril hit him, a soft blow compared to what Joe had already endured, but it almost knocked him off the bench nonetheless. The alien actually looked pleased as he said, “You will address me as Commander Tril or sir, Takki scum.”
Sir Takki Scum. Got it.
In Joe’s arms, Maggie began to cry louder. Commander Tril drew back to hit her, too, but Joe pulled her out of the way, putting his body between her and the alien. He stood up so he could stare down at his aggressor. “Leave her alone—she’s just hungry.”
Tril glanced at the uneaten bowl of food, then at Maggie. “She’s not eating?”
Seeing the eager look on Tril’s face, Joe felt a lump of dread pool in his gut. “She’ll eat it,” he said quickly, not trusting his tone.
“See that she does,” Commander Tril said. “If she doesn’t, she will be force-fed.” The bastard would probably enjoy it, too. Joe’s heart began to pound as he wondered how he would get Maggie to eat.
Giving Maggie a last, parting look, the alien left them for another victim across the cafeteria.
Joe swiveled and tugged Maggie against his chest, patting her back as he watched the alien leave. After Tril was out of sight, Joe held Maggie out in front of him. “Mag. Listen to me. You’ve got to eat.”
“I don’t want to eat!” Maggie cried. “I want my Mooooommmmm!” She was hyperventilating, tears streaming down her face in force.
“That alien’s looking at us again,” Scott whispered.
Immediately, Joe switched tactics. “So you had a dog, Maggie? Was it yours?”
“It’s my brotheeeeeerrrr’s!” she wailed.
“You said you had a fishbowl. You have fish?”
She perked up a little. Sniffling, she said, “I’ve got guppies.”
“Oooh! Guppies!” Joe cried. “They’re pretty, aren’t they?”
Maggie’s teary gray eyes widened and she nodded. “Jabber’s got spots.”
“I always wanted guppies,” Joe said. “What about you, Scott? Did you ever have guppies?”
Scott shot a glance at Commander Tril and shook his head.
“See? Not even Scott had guppies,” Joe cried. “How many guppies did you have, Mag?”
“Five!” she said immediately, obviously having been drilled by her parents.
“Five, wow,” Joe said. “Did you feed them?”
Maggie grinned, nodding. “One pinch.” She put her tiny thumb and forefinger together and held it up to his face.
“Good,” Joe said, grinning. “When I get guppies, I’ll make sure to give them a pinch. I’ve got some food I keep at home, just for when I get guppies. You know what fish food tastes like, Mag?”
Maggie shook her head, enthralled.
“Sure you do. It’s really good.”
“Ew—” Elf began. Joe shot him a glare and he shut his mouth with a snap.
“Mom didn’t let me eat the fish food,” Maggie bemoaned.
“She didn’t?! Well, that’s too bad. You mind if I eat your fish food, Mag?”
Maggie frowned. “I don’t have any fish food anymore.”
“Then what’s that right there?” Joe pointed to the uneaten glop in her bowl.
Maggie followed his gaze and her frown deepened. “That’s yuck.”
“No, that’s fish food. They dry it out so it can fit in the canisters better. Sometimes they even dye it different colors so the guppies will have prettier spots.”
Maggie’s eyes widened and she looked back at the slop in her bowl. Monk rolled her eyes and Scott elbowed her in the side.
“But,” Joe said, “When it’s green like that, that’s the special stuff. You ever heard of Popeye, Mag?”
Maggie’s eyes lit up. “Popeye eats fish food?”
Joe couldn’t have been more relieved. “Yeah. Loves it. It’s just concentrated spinach. Makes you grow big and strong. So can I have your fish food, Mag?” He said the last and held his breath, knowing that everything was going to hinge on Maggie’s answer.
Teary-eyed, Maggie glanced at him, then to her bowl, then back at him. Her little brow furrowed. “You don’t need any more,” she said, pulling her bowl away from him. “You’re big enough.”
“So you wanna give it to Elf, instea
d?” Joe demanded.
Maggie frowned at Elf, who grinned back at her. Possessively, she pulled the bowl away from Elf, too. “It’s mine,” Maggie said. She stuck a tiny finger into the slime and sampled it. Immediately, she wrinkled her nose. “Tastes bad,” she muttered.
“That’s all the good stuff they put in it,” Joe said quickly. “For the guppies.”
“And Popeye?” Maggie asked.
“And Popeye,” Joe agreed.
Maggie gave the green goo an uncertain look, and for a moment, Joe thought she would shove it away again. Then, tears still glistening on her cheeks, she took a deep breath, visibly steadied herself, and proceeded to eat everything in her bowl. “I guess it’s not so bad,” she said, when she finished. Then she glanced down at herself. “I think I’m getting bigger already!” she cried, holding up her arm for Joe.
Monk snorted, but Joe obligingly pinched Maggie’s bicep between thumb and forefinger. “What do you think, Scott?” he demanded, giving the little girl’s arm a squeeze. “Show him your Popeye muscle, Mag.”
Maggie flexed, looking up at Scott expectantly. Over her head, Joe shot him a warning glance.
Dimples looking like they were about to burst, Scott managed, “Soon you’ll be picking fights like a pro, Maggie.”
“I don’t like to fight,” Maggie said, deflating.
“Then you’re in the wrong place, stupid,” Monk said. “We’re gonna be soldiers.”
Looking at her excited face, Joe doubted Monk knew what a soldier was. None of them did. Because they were kids and they should be playing jacks and chasing butterflies and building tree-forts, not trapped on an alien ship, learning about war.
Once again, as one of the only ones in the whole room who truly understood what the aliens had in store for them, Joe felt the weight of responsibility suffocating him.
As his five groundmates argued the merits of soldiering, Joe suddenly felt ancient—an old man in a room full of children. This wasn’t fair. They were just kids. He wanted to run up to someone who would listen and scream at them that this wasn’t supposed to happen to kids.
A few minutes later, everyone’s heads snapped around when Commander Tril suddenly shouted, “Now you’ve eaten, get out! Head back to the gym! Run!”