Authors: Sara King
“I was
stupid.”
“Enough.
You won’t change anything by begging.”
“Give
me a second chance.”
“It’s
too late.”
Joe was
panicking, now. “Let me talk to Tril. I’ll apologize. I’m one of the best
runners in the regiment. I can carry more gear than most. I led the only
platoon to get its hands on a flag. I’ll convince him.”
“Are
you going to whine all the way up?”
Joe
slumped against the railing, all of his fight suddenly leaving him. He caught
a look of satisfied amusement on the Takki’s reptilian face before turning to
slump over the banister and stare out at the huge, winding stair wrapping
around the honeycombed tower.
The
elevator passed over several badly-scarred Takki on the switchbacked stairs,
each with unreadable sapphire eyes. They never looked up from their tasks.
The humans were worse. The ones he saw had dead eyes, their bodies riddled
with half-healed gouges that had ripped their skin into wrinkled valleys of
scars. Only their hands were unscarred—beautiful, working hands that showed
not a single scab.
Joe
glanced over the railing at the ground below. They were at least a thousand
feet in the air. Nobody could survive a fall that far.
Briefly,
Joe thought of the skydivers he had read about whose parachutes never deployed
and they ended up alive on some parking lot somewhere, with only a few broken
bones to show for their mile-high plunge. He felt sick as he thought about
it. Maybe if he jumped head-first…
Battlemaster
Nebil lashed a tentacle around Joe’s throat and dragged him away from the
edge. “Don’t even think about it.” Joe endured the Ooreiki’s painful grip for
the rest of the ride. When the elevator stopped, Nebil dragged him onto the
roof and into a tank-sized opening cut into the ebony stone.
On the
other side, the hallway widened into the balcony of an enormous amphitheater.
In its center, a handful of humans were gathered around Lord Knaaren, whose
iridescent body twitched in time to his sleepy groans. The humans tending the
Dhasha were prying up scales and using blue metal sticks to dig out huge flakes
of skin from underneath. These they were piling in baskets, which a Takki was
collecting.
“Stay
here.” Without another word, Nebil descended into the Dhasha’s chambers. All
of the children looked up as he entered, then glanced up at Joe as soon as he
spoke. Slowly, haltingly, one of the boys stepped away from the rest. With a
start, Joe recognized Elf.
The
Ooreiki led Elf back to the top of the stairs, where the battlemaster paused
for a moment to look Joe up and down. Finally, he said, “Good luck, Zero.” At
that, Nebil turned and walked out the door, gesturing for Elf to follow him. Elf
stayed for several long heartbeats, looking at Joe with an anguished look of
pity and relief. Then, like he was afraid to lose the opportunity, Elf turned
and hurried after the Ooreiki, leaving Joe alone.
At
least I saved Elf.
Joe felt a ridiculous laugh
forming in his chest. Turning, he stared down at the pathetic figures scraping
filth from under the Dhasha’s scales. He watched the meek, scuttling slaves
for several moments before, out of nowhere, a Takki grabbed him roughly by the
shoulder and spun him around. If an Ooreiki was solid muscle, a Takki was
solid steel. As easily as lifting a doll, the Takki threw Joe against the
stone railing overlooking the sleeping Dhasha. His six armored fingers were
tipped with blunted purple talons that dug into Joe’s skin as he held him.
“Why
were you standing here?” the Takki demanded. “Humans are not allowed beyond
the den.” He pulled Joe down the stairs, until he was only feet from the
twitching Dhasha. There, it shoved a blue metal scratching stick into Joe’s
hands, then pushed him toward Knaaren. When Joe did not immediately squat and
begin cleaning with the rest, the Takki casually raked purple talons along his
back, opening up the hide there and shoved him to his knees.
Joe
stared down at the basket of stinking skin flakes beside his thigh. He saw tiny,
red alien insects crawling through the mess, four sets of mandibles ripping at
the dead skin, each the size of a large water-beetle. They snapped at the
humans when they came too close. He saw a kid flinch when he was bitten by one
of the invertebrates, a welling of blood beading on his wrist. Then the Takki ruthlessly
grabbed Joe by the back of his head, its wrought-iron arms shoving his face
towards the Dhasha’s sleeping body.
Joe
whipped around and slammed the metal stick over the Takki’s glistening purple
muzzle.
The
Takki’s pained howl woke Knaaren. The Dhasha was on his feet instantly,
bowling his attendants aside as he sought to locate the source of the noise.
As soon as his eyes found the whimpering Takki, he knocked the creature to the
ground and ripped off its head. Then it turned to Joe.
Joe
dropped the crowbar.
CHAPTER
27:
The Trouble with Takki
“I
recognize you,” Knaaren said, purple scales stuck between his rows of black
teeth. “You’re the big one who claimed he wasn’t a bully.” The Prime
Commander glanced up at the railing where Nebil had disappeared. “Looks like
you lied, doesn’t it?”
Joe
made a split-second decision. Standing before the monster, all Joe’s
self-righteous thoughts about death before slavery fled him and, in that
instant, faced with those razor-filled jaws, all he wanted to do was live. He
lowered his head and waited.
Knaaren
gnashed his teeth together, grinding bits of purple flesh and scales between
them.
Chewing
, Joe thought, disgusted. He heard the sharp crunch of
bones as the Dhasha crushed the Takki’s skull in his jaws. Then, swallowing,
Knaaren said, “Why are you here?”
Joe
felt all his courage drain out his feet. “I questioned Commander Tril in front
of his battalion,” he managed.
The
Dhasha snorted, filling the place with a blast of fetid breath. “Really.
That’s unsurprising. What did you say?”
“I
think I said he was a sad dancing monkey that didn’t deserve to lead the
Sixth,” Joe said.
Lord
Knaaren bared his rainbow lips and clacked his inky black teeth together, then snatched
up the rest of the dead Takki and swallowed it. Joe endured several minutes of
the sick crunching of bones only a few handswidths from his neck before the
Dhasha languidly returned to his place amongst the brightly colored pillows,
apparently not in the mood to kill Joe after all. “Tell me of Human females.
What’s the best way to get them to breed?”
Joe
stared. “What?”
Knaaren
watched his reaction like a hungry cat. “Every Human I’ve asked so far has
clearly not known what I was talking about. Somehow, I think you might.”
Joe
cleared his throat, face reddening. “Well, uh, I hear they like flowers.
Candles. Dinner and a movie. My friend told me a poem worked for him.”
“Dinner?”
Knaaren’s attendants moved forward and began picking purple scales and flesh
from between his teeth. “I’ve not been withholding their food.”
“They…uh…”
Joe didn’t know how to say what followed without inciting the Dhasha’s wrath.
“I think the Ooreiki made them all sterile anyway.”
“Do you
think I’m stupid?!” the Dhasha snarled. “Of course I’m not using former
recruits. I ate those useless creatures immediately.”
Joe
glanced at the other human slaves. For the first time, he realized all of them
were boys. He felt a fearful twisting in his gut.
He ate all the girls.
“I paid
for a shipment from Earth,” Knaaren continued. “Nine females. I tried to vary
the colors, to create more interesting stock, but most are your dull pink.”
Joe
felt a sick feeling rising in his stomach.
Knaaren
eased backwards on his pillows, still watching him. “The recruit I put into
their stable has done nothing more than eat and sleep.”
Immediately,
Joe understood the problem. Most of the recruits had been far too immature
when they were Drafted to know anything about sex. Whoever Knaaren had chosen,
he was probably more interested in bedtime stories than reproduction.
“So
what must I do?” Knaaren insisted. “Must I buy these things you speak of and
bring them here for the male to use?”
“Yeah,
probably,” Joe said.
The
Dhasha snorted. “Useless creatures. How is it your species survived, if the
male cannot impregnate the female without help?”
“We’ve
always had it, I guess,” Joe said, flushing.
“That
will mean another two rotations before I can start breeding them, even if I
send my fastest ship,” Knaaren growled. “You Humans are turning out to be more
trouble than you’re worth.”
Joe
kept silent, not sure what the Dhasha wanted him to say.
“You
taste good, though,” Knaaren continued. “No scales at all. Very tender.
You’re even better than farmed Takki. At the farms, they de-scale them and
keep them in one spot until their muscles grow soft and they can’t even hold
themselves upright and still they are tougher than a Human could ever be.
Humans are much more palatable, even with their bitter aftertaste. That’s why
I bought those nine from Earth. I want to start a farm.” He gave Joe an
interested look. “You’re larger than most Humans, aren’t you?”
Joe
felt his gorge rising. “No,” he lied. “About average.”
“Pity.
I need a good stud. This one I have is useless.”
Joe
kept his mouth shut.
The
Dhasha closed his double-lidded eyes. Joe waited for him to say something
else, but the Prime Commander had fallen asleep.
When he
no longer had Knaaren’s attention, several Takki came forward and dragged Joe
away to receive his first beating upon arriving in the dens. He quickly
realized that, despite the terrible force behind an Ooreiki thrashing, their
punishment did not hold a candle to the cruel efficiency of a Takki slave.
#
“Nebil,
why do you continue to allow your recruits to disfigure their uniforms? Zero
is gone, and your entire platoon is dangerously close to following in his
footsteps.”
Battlemaster
Nebil had barely said a word to Tril since he had included him in the
perceptual punishment. Curtly, Tril’s battlemaster said, “Commander, my
platoon is my business. As long as it performs well in the hunts, I expect you
to leave it alone.”
Tril
felt his sudah give a quick flutter at the word ‘expect.’ No one under his
command had ever dared to speak to him like that. An array of punishments for
Nebil drifted through his mind, immediate demotion and transfer topping the
list. He quickly had second thoughts about both of those, however, because
Nebil’s platoon far outstripped the others in efficiency and hunting skill.
Tril didn’t like to admit it, but Nebil was one of the best battlemasters he’d
ever seen, and he knew that when Sixth Battalion finally brought Second to
heel, it would be Nebil’s platoon that led the charge.
Still,
Nebil’s disrespect had to be dealt with. With all the dignity he could muster,
Tril said, “I’ve ignored your disobedience until now, Battlemaster, and every
day I see more of your recruits with their arms bared. That did not concern me
overly much—if you wish to distinguish your platoon from the others as a sort
of friendly competition, that is fine. However, this morning I saw three
recruits from another platoon with their arms likewise bared.”
Nebil
looked amused. “Perhaps you should transfer them to Fourth.”
“I had
their battlemaster withhold two days’ worth of food for the infraction.”
Nebil’s
face hardened.
“So,
Battlemaster, tell me. How should I run Sixth Battalion? You’re only one of
ten battlemasters I have to deal with each day, each of whom wants something
different for his platoon. If I allow Fourth Platoon to make its own dress
code, how do I make it fair for the other nine platoons in my battalion?
Should I allow Second to paint their jackets orange? Should I let Seventh go
without boots?”
“Do
what you want,” Nebil said coldly. “All I know is that when Fourth marches
through the plaza, people turn their heads to watch. When we come after
another platoon in the hunts, they know who we are. Fourth is the only platoon
in the regiment that has its own table at the chow hall. When it goes to sit
down, everybody else moves out of the way.”
Tril’s
sudah were whipping in irritation. “I’ve heard about that, Nebil. You
purposefully left Fourth Platoon’s time slot and now go to eat whenever you
please. The other commanders are furious.”
Battlemaster
Nebil looked completely unruffled. “Those Takki pussies are trying to make
Sixth choose between food and sleep. A battalion can’t function long that way
before it cracks. I’m not letting them push my recruits around. You
shouldn’t, either.”
At
that, Nebil turned and left without another word.