Forging Zero (10 page)

Holding
his gaze, Kihgl gave him a long, cold glance.  “I defied no one, Commander.  I
claimed a child slated for execution, as was my right.  Commander Lagrah
himself backed me.”

Tril
switched tactics.  “He’s a troublemaker—we knew that when Lagrah took him
aboard.  Next time he creates problems for us, we should get rid of him.  It
would give us back the respect we lost when we didn’t kill him.”

“He’s a
recruit
now, Commander Tril,” Battlemaster Nebil barked.  “Protected by
Congressional
law
.  He was
entrusted to our care
.”  He looked him up and down, his
pale brown eyes raking over him in pure disdain.  “You would break the founding
principles of our society to
save face
?”

A
couple Ooreiki in the hall snickered and Tril felt his sudah flutter.  “The
Human lost all fear of us when I didn’t shoot him,” he retorted.  “I saw it
this afternoon, when I confronted one of his recruits who wasn’t eating.”

“Technically,
making his recruits eat is his responsibility, Tril,” Kihgl reminded him.  “It
is not your place to interfere.”

Frustrated,
Tril slapped a hand to the table.  “Give me control of the modifier, sir.  He
will not respect us until—”

“Speaking
of respect, Tril,” Kihgl interrupted calmly, “I hear you took over the class after
I specifically gave it to Nebil.  Did you not respect my decision?  Or was it
Lagrah’s personal order, commissioning me as Second Brigade’s secondary commander,
you did not respect?  Or perhaps you simply have no respect for my authority as
your commanding officer.  What is it, exactly, that you failed to respect?”

Tril’s
eyes dropped to the seven-pointed star on Kihgl’s chest and he could feel the
heavy silence that followed suffocate the room like it had been stuffed with
sand, the only sounds the whispers of his sudah as they fluttered in his neck. 
Sputtering, he said, “Of course I respect your decisions.  Battlemaster Nebil
was rambling.  We were under a time constraint, and I decided I needed to cut
him off before another battalion arrived to train.”

“Battlemaster
Nebil, were you rambling?”

“Not
that I was aware of, sir,” Battlemaster Nebil replied, the ancient Ooreiki’s
sudah absolutely still.  Tril scowled at him. 

Turning
back to face him, Kihgl said, “He says he wasn’t rambling.”

Faced
with the cold disapproval of his secondary commander, Tril swallowed.  “Perhaps
my…perceptions…were off.  I do respect your decisions, sir.”

“Then
you will respect my decision to keep the modifier.”

Frustration
tightened Tril’s every inner fiber.  Never before had he experienced a vkala
who did not bow to a yeeri’s greater station when it came to decisions of
politics.  Glaring, he growled, “You had the bad grace to put him in my
company.  The least you can do is give me adequate means of controlling him.”

“Nebil did
not seem to have a problem controlling him,” Kihgl noted.

Tril’s
sudah took off in his shame, becoming whirring blurs in his neck.  “But
I
was the one with the gun, Kihgl,” he insisted.  “
I
was the one who
failed to shoot him at the ceremony.  Our scientists have consistently reported
that the Human psyche is extremely primitive.  If I don’t reassert my
authority, he will create more trouble within my company.  Commander, you
must
allow me the tools I need to control my troops.”

From
across the table, Battlemaster Nebil gave him a flat look.  “I was under the
impression that the essence of becoming a small commander was demonstrating a
marked ability to lead.” 

Tril
bristled.  “Careful, Nebil, or I shall have you thrown to the Dhasha for
insubordination.”

Battlemaster
Nebil laughed.  “Oh, you can try it, boy.”

Tril’s
mouth fell open at his subordinate’s blatant disregard for his station.  Not
only was Nebil a
battlemaster
, not even a commander—which should’ve
meant he wasn’t even technically supposed to be at the damn table—but he was
wriit
. 
A
worker
caste.  That he dared to speak to Tril in such a manner without
even the military ranking system to back him left Tril stunned.

In the
long silence that followed, none of the others coming to Tril’s defense,
Battlemaster Nebil—the only battlemaster in the officer’s hall—looked him up
and down lazily.  “You make me wonder if you gained those points on your star
through your role as a Corps Director’s interpreter and not by proving your
merits in battle.”

Tril had
to contain his fury.  “I fought for every rank.  I did not have the advantage
of being a
vkala
.”  He cast a disgusted look at Kihgl.

Battlemaster
Nebil’s eyes hardened.  “Tril, you are blind.”

Tril
ignored the wriit, speaking to Kihgl, now.  “You were recruit battlemaster in
training.  Two turns later, you were sent to Planetary Ops after only five
turns in service.  Should I question your ties to Commander Lagrah back then? 
He was an Overseer then, wasn’t he?  Two vkala must find each other companionable
in a world filled with higher castes.” 

Kihgl’s
pupils tightened in anger.  “Take a lesson from Battlemaster Nebil,” he said. 
“Learn to control your company with approved means or I’ll be forced to find
you a less challenging task.”

Outraged,
Tril stood, feeling the eyes of every Ooreiki in the room.  Their sudah were
fluttering too quickly—they laughed at him. 

A
vkala
,
in front of
everyone
, had dared to threaten him.  A
yeeri
.  At
first, Tril wanted to come across the table and grab Kihgl by the throat.

Putting
every ounce of willpower into controlling his fury, Tril said, “This will be
your
mistake, Commander.  Not mine.”  Then, before Kihgl had a chance to respond, he
turned and stalked from the room. 

Loudly
at his back, Kihgl called, “Be sure you are prepared for your first class at
02:30.”  As if Tril were still a niish that needed to be reminded such things. 
His sudah fluttered madly as he strode from the room.

Fuming,
Tril returned to his quarters to prepare for his lecture.  He should have known
they would favor Kihgl.  After all, out of all twenty-one of the Ooreiki
overseeing the training of Sixth Battalion, only Tril himself had not served
with Kihgl sometime in the past.  Of course they would side with Kihgl.  He was
much loved.  Despite however much truth Tril’s arguments held, he would always
be an unknown to them.

#

After
forcing the recruits to shower in a noxious chamber that reeked of alcohol
fumes, Battlemaster Nebil sent them to a dark, amphitheater-style classroom.

A
dark-skinned, orangish Ooreiki greeted them once they were settled.  Joe felt a
queasiness in his gut when he realized which alien it was.

“Hello. 
Oonnai. 
I am Small Commander Tril, two ranks under Secondary Commander
Kihgl.”  He touched the five-pointed silver star on his chest with a tentacle. 
“You can tell our rank by these symbols.  Ground leaders have a stripe, squad
leaders have a triangle, battlemasters have a four-pointed star, small commanders
a five-pointed star, and so on, all the way to Prime Commander Lagrah, whose
star has eight points.  From there, we get into Overseers and Directors, who
you will not see until you get out of training.  Soon we will give ground
leaders their recruit rankings.  Each ground leader will get a stripe, but
recruits do not get the circle surrounding it until you graduate.  The circle
signifies your acceptance into the Army, and until you earn it, even the ten
recruits we choose as recruit battlemasters will be outranked by the youngest
grounder one day out of graduation.  Do you all understand?” 

Joe
stiffened, realizing that Tril’s translator had been turned off and the alien
had somehow been able to form perfect English from his big, tongueless mouth. 
Hearing the utterly clean,
human-sounding
voice come out of the alien’s
fat face gave Joe goosebumps.  It made him wonder how long the aliens had been
in space before their attack, studying them.

“I’m a
linguist with the Ooreiki Ground Force, Seventh Galactic Unit,” Tril
continued.  “Usually I work as an interrogator, but right now I have the
pleasure of teaching you youngsters to speak the Universal Language of
Congress, affectionately called Congie.”  Commander Tril’s eyes caught on Joe
and an unmistakable look of irritation crossed his wrinkled alien face before
he looked away again. 

“Take
this, for instance.”  An image of a wingless dragon flashed on the screen
behind Commander Tril.  It was breathtaking, with rainbow scales that shone
like gems and black talons jutting from its stubby feet like polished scythes. 
It was in the process of ripping a spaceship to pieces.  “This,” Tril said,
turning from Joe and jabbing a tentacle at the picture, “is a kreenit.  If
there’s any word you’ll need to know to save your life, it will be this one. 
Everyone please repeat after me.  
Kree-nit.
”

Everyone
repeated the word immediately, since Tril had beaten four children bloody that
afternoon for being slow.  When they were done, Joe raised his arm.

Tril
ignored him. 

Another
kid on the other end of the room raised his hand.

“Yes?”
Tril asked.  “
Kkee?
” 

Joe
lowered his hand, glaring.

“Are
you trying to say that dragon’s
real?
” the kid asked.

“Very
real.  You’ll learn more about them in your Species Recognition classes.”

“It’s
tearing apart a
spaceship?
” another kid blurted.

“They’re
notorious for that,” Tril said, wrinkling the skin over his head in what Joe
recognized as his first look at an Ooreiki smile.  “Sometimes they manage to
shatter their collars, and when they do, even the Dhasha fear them.” 

Shatter
their collars?
  Joe frowned down at the blue band
of metal, wondering how much force it would take.  Probably enough to pulverize
his leg afterwards.

Tril
was still answering questions, looking amused.  Joe watched him closely, a
little envious.  He didn’t seem to hate the other kids.  Just Joe.

“What
are Dhasha?” someone asked.

Commander
Tril turned to glance at her.  “Commander Linin will teach you more about
different species.  It is my job to teach you to speak Congie.”  Tril switched
the image on the screen to a chart.  “You Humans are uniquely talented in that
you’re natural linguists.  If you look at the chart, you’ll see how the
different language sounds break down according to ability.  Whereas most
Congressional species can only physically pronounce seventy-five percent of the
Universal language, you Humans can learn to pronounce all of it.  Thus, I have
a feeling many of you will be joining me as interpreters instead of scrambling
down tunnels.” 

Tunnels?
 Joe’s heart palpitated uncertainly. 
Did he say tunnels?
 
Immediately, his skin grew clammy and his
palms started to sweat.  Joe hated tunnels.  He couldn’t even crawl through a
culvert without utterly freaking out halfway and Sam having to go get Dad to
pull him out.

Oblivious,
Commander Tril changed the image to a group of nine pictures, each with a
blocky scribble underneath.

“These
are the first nine words I want you to learn.  This one is food. 
Nuajan.
” 
He pointed his blue laser-light on the upper left picture of green slime.  “It
is fortified with everything your bodies need, and should increase your rate of
growth by more than twenty times, so you’ll all reach adult size in a few rotations. 
Months
, to you ignorant ashy furgs.  Or the closest approximate.”

Joe
froze. 
Great,
Joe thought, glancing at the
little kids around him,
Just freaking great.

Maggie,
however, was staring at the picture of goop in awe, mouthing
nuajan
to
herself over and over.

Tril
scanned them as he continued.  “You’ll quickly figure out basic measurements,
but I’ll give you a brief overview:  A standard turn is 1.23 Earth years.  There
are six standard days to a standard week and thirty-six standard days to a
rotation.  Similarly, there are thirty-six hours to a standard day, and
seventy-two standard tics to a standard hour.  We measure distance in digs,
rods, lengths, and marches.  Digs are about the size of a large adult human
foot.  Rods are nine of those.  Lengths are based off the height of ferlii on
Poen, and are about four hundred and forty rods.  Marches are nine thousand,
nine hundred, and ninety-nine rods.  I could try and explain that, but I have
the feeling most of you are too young to understand, so you’ll just have to
learn along the way.”

Indeed,
most of the kids were staring at the alien in complete confusion.

Sighing,
Commander Tril went on, talking about everything from aliens to Congressional
politics, lapsing into Congie whenever it pleased him.  Joe was finally
beginning to relax when Tril’s sticky brown eyes found him.  “Zero.  Recite for
the class the nine words we learned today.”