by Sara King
When Prime Commander Weriik stopped at Joe, the drooping-skinned Ooreiki took a long breath and said, “Joe, no one has lost battlemaster so many times, only to get it back a few weeks later. You are the most frustrating, yet uniquely talented recruit I’ve ever seen. Sometimes I think you should’ve been graduated a turn ago, and sometimes I think a hundred turns won’t be enough. You—”
A deep, gravelly Dhasha voice interrupted the Ooreiki. “I’ll graduate this recruit, if you don’t mind, Commander.”
Joe’s breath caught in his lungs. Prince Bagkhal was on the plaza, moving towards them. He was the first Dhasha they’d seen since the Training Committee had called him to Koliinaat to testify against the Huouyt, the testimony of which had officially removed the Huouyt from their Tribunal seat, ending the 1293rd Age of the Huouyt.
…And ushering in the 215th Age of the Dhasha.
While on Kophat, you will enter Congress into a new Age…
Fighting goosebumps, Joe forced himself to look straight ahead.
Prime Commander Weriik bowed low and moved to one side, allowing Bagkhal to step in front of Joe. He stopped several feet back, a courtesy so Joe didn’t have to stare at endless rows of triangular black teeth. “I see you made it.” His voice was like a liquid rumble that made the gravel at Joe’s feet shudder. “You have no idea how much that pleases me. Congratulations, Joe. I’m sorry I wasn’t here to see you train. I’m sure I missed quite a show. Rank him, if you will.”
Around him, Joe felt humans and Ooreiki alike openly staring. Prime Commander Weriik stepped between them and touched the ranking device to Joe’s chest. As soon as he lowered Joe’s jacket, the silver circle began to form around his four-pointed star.
“No one will ever take that away from you,” Bagkhal said. “You’ve earned it, Joe. More than anyone knows.” Then he nodded at Prime Commander Weriik to continue and removed himself to the sidelines to watch the rest of the ceremony. Joe could feel his eyes throughout, though he managed to keep from looking. He couldn’t wait to talk to him—so many unanswered questions milled through his mind.
“You are all now full soldiers in the Congressional Army,” Prime Commander Weriik said, once he’d finished with the last recruit battlemaster and returned to the front of the regiment. “Starting tomorrow, you will have thirty-three days of liberty and three turns worth of credits to your accounts. Your battlemasters will give you further instructions on how to access your funds once the ceremony is over. Commanders, you may dismiss your battalions.”
Before they did, the battalion commanders gave long speeches on how proud they were to see this day, and then allowed every battlemaster to do the same. Joe waited impatiently throughout, wishing they’d hurry so he could talk to Bagkhal. When it was finally over and Joe turned to find him, however, the Dhasha was gone.
“He came to see you graduate,” Gokli said, noticing his search. “After his testimony, Koliinaat sent him to patrol Eeloir. He had to go back—it’s almost open rebellion now that the Dhasha have the Huouyt Tribunal seat.”
Joe nodded numbly, though he still scanned the crowds with his eyes, hoping for a glimpse of the Dhasha’s rainbow reflection. He should’ve known Bagkhal had other things to do.
Though his entire platoon offered to buy him Earth food, Joe did not partake in the festivities afterwards. Thinking of Libby and his dead groundmates, he sought out a small alien restaurant specializing in exotic foods and used some of the credits he had earned over the past three turns to buy himself six Earth meals. The waiter gave him an odd look, but filled his order anyway and soon Joe was seated at a table with six hot meals steaming in front of him. As he sat there, the four-pointed star of Battlemaster felt cold against his chest.
All around him, newly-graduated grounders sat in groups, laughing, eating.
“Wish you guys could be here,” he whispered, locating each of the five empty chairs with his eyes. He planned the meal for weeks, trying his best to get the foods they liked, but it had been difficult to remember. That was the worst part, the part that meant they were slipping away.
I’d do anything to bring you back, he thought, tears welling in his eyes. I’m so sorry, guys.
“Sir?”
Joe glanced up. The Ooreiki waiter that had been eying him all night was standing beside him, a note in his hand.
“A Congie wanted me to give you this. Said it came from a Dhasha.” The waiter dropped the filmy slip of paper in Joe’s hand like it had been doused in fire. “This too.” The waiter tugged a small black box from the folds in his flowing, brightly-colored robes. Joe nodded his thanks and set it on the table in front of him. He returned his attention to the uneaten plates and sat there in silence, the food growing cold around him. My first groundteam and I failed them all.
After the juices had congealed around Maggie’s steak, he unfolded the strip.
In the neat handwriting of a scribe, it said, I was right about you, Joe.
Joe folded the strip of paper and lifted the top of the box. It was a simple construction, though more ornate than he was used to seeing. Still in Congie black, it had woven bands of black metal winding around the edges and sides, reminding him of something Irish. A second note covered what lay inside.
The politicians said you couldn’t have this until after you graduated. I see you still wear Kihgl’s. It would do you well to have one of your own.
Swallowing, Joe peered into the box. His breath caught. A kasja lay in a velvety cushion, golden bands knotting the outside. Gingerly, he lifted it.
For Bravery and Valor Despite All Odds. Joe Dobbs. Huouyt Rebellion. Kophat.
Joe’s chest ached as he tucked the kasja back into the box. He felt tears threaten, then break free. It was several minutes before he could fight them back down. Taking a slow, steady breath, he closed the lid and stared at it for several minutes, until a motion beside him reminded him of the waiter’s presence.
The Ooreiki was staring at him. “You’re Zero? The one that stopped Na’leen?”
“No,” Joe said, giving the uneaten meals one last look. His eyes lingered on Libby’s. “That’s someone else.”
He pushed the box across the table, until it rested between his friends’ uneaten plates. “This is for you guys.”
Then he paid the baffled Ooreiki and went to find a quiet place to wait out the celebrations.
A rotation later, after the other graduates had used up all their liberty and their credits, Joe boarded the shuttle to take him into space, where he would be assigned to his new unit. He was sorted into a battlemaster wing of the new station, where organizers were calling out roll and coordinating their departures to all ends of Congressional territory.
Joe was one of the few who got assigned to Torat for Planetary Ops training. It would be another two years of crawling in the dirt, getting bruised and screamed at by angry, merciless Jreet, but by the end he would be able to lead a special unit through the worst Hells in Congress without batting an eye.
Joe was looking forward to it.
And, since the Huouyt had long memories and were still disgruntled over the death of their influential Representative, the Army was expecting another war in the near future. His extra training would put him at the forefront of the fight, leading elite teams of grounders in life-or-death hunts in parts of the universe he’d only dreamed about.
Unfortunately, it was going to take him even further from Libby.
Torat was one of the first planets entered into the union, located in the very center of Congress, deep in the Old Territory. Earth, which had just recently been discovered with the expansion of the Outer Line, was many weeks in the opposite direction.
That disappointed Joe. Of anybody he knew, only Rat would be going with him. Once more, he was losing his groundteam. He wished he could have seen Libby again, just once before he left.
Joe strengthened his resolve. Libby would understand. She, of all people, would want him to stay with the Army.
Joe had his b
ags over his shoulder and was milling in the congested station waiting for his flight when he thought he recognized a face in the crowd.
“Maggie?!” He pushed his way through the other grounders. “Mag? That you?”
The soldier turned reluctantly.
Joe’s heart leapt. “Mag! God it’s you! Mag, how did you— Where were you?! Mag, I saw you die!”
“Hey Joe.”
“How—”
She gave him a cold look, and it gave him a full-body wash of goosebumps. “The Huouyt picked up one of the recruit rifles by mistake. Shot me with a training round.”
Joe’s jaw dropped open, his chest surging with joy. “How have you been?”
“Fine.”
“You got battlemaster!” Joe cried, forcefully rubbing away the goosebumps. “That’s great, Mag!”
“Yeah.” She peered up at him, her once innocent eyes dark.
“Mag, did you know Libby survived, too? She’s back on Earth, recruiting more people for the Army. They offered to let me go, but I told them I wanted to stay.”
“You should’ve gone.”
“I don’t belong there anymore. I mean, I grew up here. I wouldn’t know what to do on Earth. I mean, can you imagine us doing anything else? Just look at us. They’d probably treat us like we’re aliens. Jeez, it’s hard to believe Libby decided to go back. I thought she would’ve stayed.”
“She didn’t go back. She’s dead.”
“No, I talked to a guy who worked for the PR department. He said she’s back on Earth. They resuscitated her.”
“No they didn’t. They resuscitated me, after you left me to die with the Huouyt.”
Joe blinked. Her words were so cold, so hard—they felt icicles, aimed at his soul. Libby was dead? He’d sent her letters, video… After regaining his breath, he whispered, “Mag, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know—”
Maggie brushed the comment aside. “I hear you commanded the best recruit platoon in the Force. They’re sending you to Planetary Ops. That’s really something, Joe.”
“Thanks,” Joe said, feeling wary, now. Something about the way Maggie was acting wasn’t right. “What about you?”
“Going to Eeloir. Huouyt are causing trouble there now the Dhasha have their Tribunal seat.”
“Eeloir. That’s where Bagkhal is.” He felt a pang of jealousy.
Maggie wasn’t listening. She was peering up at him, weighing him with her eyes. “Was the Trith right, Joe?”
Joe’s heart hammered convulsively. “What?”
Laughing, excited graduates passed them on both sides and Maggie lowered her voice until only they could hear. She grew so close that Joe could smell her perfume. She carried the scent of roses, but there was something cruel in her face.
“Because I’ve been thinking,” Maggie said softly. “Planetary Ops is the last place I’d send somebody like you, if I was Congress.” She smiled, but her eyes bit like razors. “Don’t think I won’t tell them, Joe. Don’t think Bagkhal won’t come back to kill you, once he finds out you murdered Libby. Just like you murdered Scott and tried to murder me.”
He stared at her, confused and hurt. “I didn’t murder them.”
“Yes you did.” Maggie’s eyes burned with hatred. She clearly believed he’d killed their friends.
Anguished, Joe whispered, “Mag, I beat the prophecy. I don’t know what the Trith told you, but he was wrong.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “A Trith’s never wrong, Joe. Don’t you know that by now?” Then she turned her back to him and worked her way through the crowd of black-clad grounders, leaving him there alone.
But I beat the prophecy, Joe wanted to shout at her back. It’s over.
Yet the Trith’s nagging warning echoed once more in his skull. You will try to fight it, but invariably, your path will lead to the same end.
Unable to form a reply, Joe stood sweating in the congested terminal, watching Maggie go.
Only when an attendant began announcing the last call for his flight did he go search for his departure gate.
Two hours later, he was on a shuttle to Torat, with nothing to do for the next three weeks but pace his room, play simulated battle games, and check his messages. Within the first two hours, Joe got a note from his former groundteam, which had been given a new ground leader and was being shipped to Eeloir to fight the Huouyt. They wanted to know how his new Planetary Ops training was going—as if Joe had even reached Torat yet. Joe replied that he was doing fine and wished them luck.
The next three messages were much the same—old friends excited about their new assignments, bored like he was, trying to keep in touch. Joe responded to them as he had the first, pacing as he dictated the familiar reassurances.
Joe’s fifth message made him stop pacing.
It was Sam.
On a secure, Congie feed.
“Hi, uh, Joe.” Sam cleared his throat and made a nervous laugh. He was almost sixteen now. Older than Joe when Joe took his place. “I, uh, I bet you’re wondering how I got in the system. Well don’t freak out or anything. I didn’t join up—I just hacked it, is all. They wouldn’t let me talk to you otherwise. Mom’s actually trying to pretend you died. When she got that last message from you, she kinda cracked. Like, a serious case of denial. Goes around talking like I never even had a brother…” Sam paused, clearing his throat with acute, teenage embarrassment. “So I had to find out, you know? I had to go look, ‘cause there’s something I really need to tell you. Turns out, there’s this guy called Zero who saved some people on this planet you were going to. Ko-fat or something. Real smart, pissed a lot of people off, got time added to his enlistment for being a dumbass. Kind of sounded a lot like you.”
Joe stared at Sam’s image, his heart hammering. Put side-by-side, nobody would know they were brothers. Sam had grown taller than Joe, maybe six-seven, and he didn’t have the freakish Congie muscles. Further, Sam’s eyes were blue, not brown, and his hair was an unkempt near-black where Joe was utterly bald.
Yet, standing there in a tie-died T-shirt and khaki shorts, Sam looked so much like Dad. Joe felt himself gripping his chair so hard his knuckles hurt.
“So here goes: I’m not gonna forget you, Joe,” Sam went on. “I know what you did for me. And I wanted to say thanks.” Sam cleared his throat again and glanced nervously down at his hands. “Well, that’s all I really wanted to say. That, and I’m a sophomore in college. MIT’s paying my way. They didn’t really care if I finished high school. Funny, huh? But I’m not bragging. No way. I’d be dead if you hadn’t taken my place. I’m such a chickenshit when it comes to guns…I’m not like you or Dad at all.” Sam cleared his throat again. “Anyway, let me know if I found the right Joe Dobbs. If you wanna send me a message, I set myself up an alias under Slade Galvin Gardner in the Congie database. I’ll check it every week or so. Oh, and I think I can help you disappear off Congie radar if you wanna come back home. That’s it. Peace out.”
Joe was trembling by the time the message ended.
When he could finally make his stunned mind think long enough to reply, he said, “Hi Sam. MIT, huh? That’s awesome. Make some robots for me. No, I don’t wanna disappear. I know it sounds stupid, Sam, but I think this is what I’m supposed to be doing with my life.”
He added other stuff, too.
For the next week, Joe added to the letter, detailing all the interesting things that had happened to him over the six years since he had been kidnapped under the brilliant glow of professional-grade fireworks, all the friends he’d made, all the deaths, all the training.
But, once he finally had his letter composed, Joe hesitated in sending it.
Sam was going to MIT at fifteen. He had a bright future. He could do anything he wanted. He didn’t need to be weighed down by guilt for some Congie grounder who was never gonna see Earth again.
Mom’s right, Joe thought. He doesn’t need to know.
Joe opened the letter, held his breath, and pushed DELETE.
&nbs
p; He was a Congie now.
-END-
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About the Author
My name is Sara King and I’m going to change the world.
No, seriously. I am. And I need your help. My goal is simple. I want to champion, define, and spread character writing throughout the galaxy. (Okay, maybe we can just start with Planet Earth.) I want to take good writing out of the hands of the huge corporations who have had a stranglehold on the publishing industry for so long and reconnect it to the people (you) and what you really want. I want to democratize writing as an art form. Something that’s always been controlled by an elite few who have (in my opinion) a different idea of what is ‘good writing’ than the rest of the world, and have been feeding the sci-fi audience over 50% crap for the last 40 years. (To get my spiel on character writing and what it is, jump to the Meet Stuey section of this book.)
To assist me in my goals to take over the world (crap, did I say that out loud??), please leave a review for this book! It’s the first and easiest way for you guys to chip in and assist your friendly neighborhood writer-gal. And believe me, every review helps otherwise unknown books like mine stand up against the likes of the Big Boys on an impersonal site like Amazon.
Also, I have an email! (Totally surprising, I know.) Use it! (Don’t you know that fanmail keeps writers going through those dark times when we run out of chocolate???) I love posting letters on Facebook—gives me something fulfilling to do with my time. ;) Shoot me a line! [email protected]
And, for those of you who do the Facebook thing, check me out: http://www.facebook.com/kingfiction (personal) or http://www.facebook.com/sknovel (my author page) or stay up to date on continuous new ZERO publications with The Legend of ZERO fan page: http://www.facebook.com/legendofzero
Afterword
In case you hadn’t guessed, this is the first book in a (very) large, sprawling sci-fi world. More ZERO stories are coming out very soon, if they haven’t already, and I will very likely write more novels in this world, simply because I’ve been told to. Repeatedly. By people with that crazed, hungry look in their eyes. (Shudder.) While I’m working on them, be sure to check out these great books, short stories, and additional ZERO materials on Amazon: