Authors: Sara King
Maggie’s
stubby toddler legs were already lengthening and losing their baby fat. She
was probably about the size of a normal five-year-old now. Scott was approaching
five and a half feet, and he was beginning to show signs of maturity—a widening
jaw and more defined muscles. Libby, two years younger, was quickly catching
up with Scott. Her long legs were growing longer and her limbs were beginning
to sport pronounced muscle. She looked like a natural athlete. Joe wondered
if it was the aliens’ freakish drugs or good genetics from her parents, then
decided it was probably a bit of both.
Elf was
catching up to Monk, though it was obvious his growth spurt wouldn’t last much
longer. He had a small frame, the kind that lent itself to music or math. Sam
had looked like that.
Monk
was the enigma. She hadn’t showed signs of growth like the others, not even a
millimeter. Joe had panicked once he realized she wasn’t growing, thinking she
wasn’t eating. Then she ate both her bowl and then his in front of him to
prove she was, grinning all the while.
Joe had
pretty much stopped growing after the first week. As far as he could tell, he
was about six-three or six-four, a little taller than his dad. He was taking
after his mom in body-type, though. Where his dad’s family was filled with
long-boned musicians and mathematicians, his mom’s whole family was populated
with squat, trollish athletes that took pride in pummeling little kids in touch
football.
Joe
eyed his arm. He would have given a front tooth to have access to a mirror.
He was pretty sure he was gaining some muscle. He flexed a little to make the
bicep stand out under Kihgl’s
kasja,
trying to gauge how it compared to
his father’s. He was almost positive it was the same size, maybe even a little
bigger.
Joe
realized Libby was watching him from the cluster of little kids that made up
his groundteam. Blushing, Joe dropped his arm and went over to her, trying to
pretend he hadn’t been flexing like a moron.
“Why
can I see their writing?” Libby asked when he approached. She was frowning at
the beautiful Ooreiki markings on the walls. “Was that there before?” she
demanded.
“Beats
the hell out of me,” Joe said, relieved she hadn’t noticed his preening. He
followed her gaze back to the walls. “I don’t think so. But we can use it to
get away from here.”
Libby
immediately frowned at him. “I don’t want to get away from here. I like it
here.”
“Yeah,
well, you’ll like it better on Earth,” Joe said. “Whenever I get a chance, I’m
gonna start exploring. Maybe find us a ship.” Joe realized Elf was awake and he
smiled, motioning at the walls. “See? We can read their writing now. Soon
we’ll be getting out of here.”
“We
can’t read their writing until they teach us how,” Libby said. “And you’re
being stupid, Joe. We’re not going back home.”
“I’ll
teach myself,” Joe said. “I’m
going
to get us home.”
Libby
rolled her eyes, but Elf stared at him, enthralled. Joe winked at Elf, but
immediately his enthusiasm began to ebb. Deep down, he knew Libby was right.
Sure, he could see their writing, but he couldn’t read it. And even if he
could read it, it took pilots years to learn how to fly an airplane on Earth.
How long would it take him to learn to fly a
spaceship?
Sometimes,
Joe, you’re a real idiot. What’s Elf gonna say when you don’t take him home
like you promised?
Grimacing,
Joe sat down beside the nearest door and began trying to figure out how the
Ooreiki thought. It baffled him that, with their sophisticated technology,
they could present their words in such an unorganized manner. He felt a little
smug, knowing that in at least one way, humans were more advanced than the
aliens. He touched the blocky squiggles again, trying to memorize the shapes.
“They
write in circles,” Monk said behind him. Her voice was still groggy from just
waking up.
“I
know,” Joe said, turning back to the blotch of alien symbols. “It looks like
they threw darts at the wall and put a word wherever they landed.”
“No,”
Monk said, brushing past him to place her finger at the center of the jumble.
“They write in circles.” She traced a spiral over the symbols, her finger
following the curve of the words perfectly. Joe’s jaw dropped.
“My
parents are teachers,” Monk said with a shrug. “My mom knows Chinese and
German and my dad teaches gym.”
“I
thought your mom taught music,” Joe said.
“She
does,” Monk replied. “And Chinese and German.”
“What
kind of elementary school teaches Chinese and German?”
Monk
frowned at him. “She’s a professor.” Her look added,
Stupid.
Joe
blushed. “I just thought maybe she’d teach kids your age, since you’re her kid
and I thought teachers would teach their kids when they—”
“She
makes more money at the university. My dad’s the one who’s gotta smell boys’
stinky locker-rooms when she gets to listen to Chopin.”
Joe
frowned. “What’s your last name?”
Monk
frowned at him. “Grimsley-Biggs. My dad’s name comes first only because he
won the coin toss.”
“You’re
Coach Grimsley’s
daughter?!
But you’re so small!”
“My mom
was four-foot-ten.”
“Oh.
Guess that explains it.”
“My
mom’s smarter than you, Joe.”
He
grinned.
“She
is. You’re too big to be smart. My dad’s big like you and he only makes half
what my mom does and
he
didn’t have to stop working for a year to have a
baby.” She paused long enough to stick her tongue out at Scott, who was
sitting up in a daze. “See, Scott? Girls
are
better than guys.”
“Huh?”
Scott said. “No they’re not.”
“Yes
they
are.
They’re better ‘cause they’re smarter. My dad has an IQ of
one-thirty-six. Know what my mom’s IQ is?”
Scott
rolled his eyes and went to use the latrine.
“One
sixty-two,” Monk said, as if she were a magician revealing an awe-inspiring
trick.
Libby
scoffed. “You’re just saying that. You don’t even know what an IQ is.”
“Do
too!” Monk cried, suddenly defensive. “If you have an IQ it means you’re not
gonna end up on TV.”
Libby’s
face went blank. “What?”
“You
won’t end up on TV,” Monk insisted. “Mom and Dad say the people on TV don’t
have enough IQ to figure out how to use toilet paper. That’s why they’re on
TV.”
“That
doesn’t make any sense,” Libby said.
“Does
too. My mom’s got a lot of IQ and she’s never been on TV. My dad has,
though. He has to be on TV every time his team wins.”
“That’s
stupid.”
“It’s
what my mom said.”
“Then
your mom’s a dumb bimbo who doesn’t know her ass from her head.”
Joe’s
head shot up and he gave Libby an irritated look. Libby, unabashed that she
had copied his words, merely shrugged and yawned.
Monk
got up and kicked Libby in the shin. “My mom’s
not
a dumb bimbo! She’s
smart. You’re
the dumb bimbo, you stupidhead! You don’t have any IQ at
all. You’re gonna be on TV and then everybody will know you can’t use toilet
paper, just like all those really tall supermodels who are so dumb they
want
to be on TV!”
Libby
got up and, with a cold look at Monk, snapped a leg around and kicked her in
the head with a perfect, powerful roundhouse. Monk’s neck snapped back and she
let out a small, startled sound. Joe felt his heart stop as he watched her
crumple to the floor.
“Libby!”
Joe shouted, in shock. “What the
hell
?!”
Then
Monk began to scream.
Joe
rushed over to her and dropped to his knees. Wailing, Monk climbed into his
lap, holding the side of her head. Gently, Joe pried her fingers from her skull
long enough to make sure she wasn’t dying, then took a relieved breath. Her
ear was bleeding where Libby’s boot had cut it, but she was still moving her
arms and legs, which meant she hadn’t been paralyzed. Monk, meanwhile,
shrieked like a banshee, her lungs gaining capacity with every breath.
“She
kicked me!” Monk screamed. “
Joooe,
Libby
kiiiiiiiicked
me!”
“I saw
that,” Joe said, scowling. Libby had sat back down and was nonchalantly picking
at the bruise Monk had given her. “Looks like she was in karate.”
“Taekwondo,”
Libby said, unconcernedly.
Joe
felt his anger growing. “Then you should know you don’t beat up on smaller
kids. Apologize, Libby.”
“Don’t
feel like it.”
“Stay
here.” Joe set Monk aside, who was now sniffling quietly, watching Libby with
a malicious anticipation. He walked over to stand over Libby and her eyes
burned with challenge when she looked up at him.
“Apologize,”
Joe said softly.
“I
didn’t see you apologize when you beat up that kid who stole food at lunch,”
Libby said. “And he didn’t even hurt you. You hit him first.”
“I
didn’t beat him up,” Joe said, prickling.
“You
made him pee himself,” Libby retorted. “That’s worse.”
Joe
felt his knuckles cracking from the pressure in his fists. “Libby, you hurt
one of your friends and you’re going to apologize.”
“She’s
not my friend,” Libby said.
“You
thought she was yesterday,” Joe said. “That’s why you don’t want to go home.
You want to stay with your friends.”
“She
hadn’t kicked me yesterday.”
“And
you hadn’t called her mom a dumb bimbo,” Joe said.
Libby
turned back to scowl at him. “You called
my
mom a dumb bimbo.”
Joe
could feel his jaw muscles work in frustration. “Fine. I’ll apologize if you
apologize for hurting Monk.”
Reluctantly,
Libby glanced at Monk, who now had little drops of blood crawling out from
beneath her fingers where she was holding her ear. Her face softened and she
guiltily glanced at the floor. “Sorry, Monk,” she muttered. “I didn’t mean to
hit you so hard.” Joe supposed it was better than nothing. He glanced at
Monk, who was still sniffling, but looked somewhat mollified, if shaken.
Joe
squatted in front of Libby. “I’m sorry for calling your mom a dumb bimbo.”
Libby
bunched her nose as if she smelled something bad, but still wouldn’t look at
him. “No problem, Joe,” she whispered, her voice cracking.
Joe
frowned, watching tears trickle down Libby’s black cheeks. He turned to Monk.
“Don’t kick her again.”
Monk’s
eyes got a little wide, like the very idea of kicking Libby was enough to evoke
nightmares. She shook her head vigorously, still holding her bleeding ear.
“You
okay, Libby?” Joe asked softly.
Libby
bit her lip and shook her head, but didn’t elaborate. Joe considered sitting
down beside her, but when he scooted closer, Libby just got up abruptly and
walked away.
Giving
Libby one last, worried look, Joe went and sat down against the far wall,
disturbed. It was the first time Libby had given any of them so much as a
love-tap, and she had done it with such force she had almost taken Monk’s head
off. He had no doubts that Monk was lucky to be alive.
They’re
growing up too fast,
he thought, watching them.
They’re
only learning what the Congies want them to learn.
Which
meant they were learning to kill.
CHAPTER
14:
Gracious Lord Knaaren
As soon
as the rest of the recruits were awake, a dozen medics with varying sized
golden circles emblazoned inside the silver borders of their rank insignias rounded
them up and herded them outside. Their battlemasters met them at the door.
The tense way the Ooreiki held their barrel-shaped bodies was Joe’s first clue
that something was wrong.
“Fourth
platoon, get over here!”
Battlemaster Nebil
snapped.
“Chins, line them up!”
‘Chins’ was Nebil’s nickname for
Sasha, in honor of her jutting lower jaw. Nebil’s voice was sharper than usual
and Sasha rushed to do as she was told, her usual superior look gone, her face
anxious.
Apparently
sometimes she can shut up and do what she’s told,
Joe
thought. He was still frustrated that Battlemaster Nebil had not so much as
even looked in his direction after giving him squad leader. No matter how well
Joe did—and even an idiot could see he was
much
better than Sasha—Sasha
remained Battlemaster.
It’s
not fair. It was supposed to be me.
Once
Sasha had them lined up,
without
screwing up, for once, Battlemaster
Nebil came to stand in front of them and fell into one of his long silences as
he scanned their faces.