Forging Zero (69 page)

Joe
hesitated at the word ‘offer.’  He stood there for several moments, staring up
at the barracks, feeling the Dhasha’s piercing green stare at his back.

Knaaren
had never
offered
him anything.

With
that thought nagging at him, Joe turned back slowly, suspicion heavy in his
soul.  “What do you mean?” he muttered.

“Ka-par,”
Bagkhal said, cocking his huge head, “is a contest of wills.  Instead of using
tooth or talon, which, with Dhasha, rapidly depletes the fighting force, the
two warriors duel with their eyes until one backs down.  The first one to
surrender submits completely to the victor.  Much more important than physical
brawls—it is how princes are made.”

Joe
narrowed his eyes, still fighting the urge to walk away.  “And if I lose?”

“You
will do whatever I tell you to do, without question, from now until your
training is complete,” Prince Bagkhal told him.

Yeah,
that
wasn’t going to happen.  Still, Joe was curious.  “What if I win?”

“Like I
said,” Prince Bagkhal said, cocking his shark-like head, “Congress recognizes
the results of ka-par.  If you win, you would find yourself in command the Eighty-Seventh
Regiment of the Fourteenth Human Ground Force, and I would serve you, if that
was your wish.” 

Joe’s
heart stuttered at that.  Warily, thinking it had to be some sort of trick, he
looked the Dhasha up and down.  “A staring contest.”

“A
ka-par
,”
Bagkhal replied. 

“You
want me to beat you in a
staring
contest.”

“I
don’t
want
you to beat me,” Bagkhal said, clicking his teeth together in
a Dhasha chuckle.  “I want your service, after all.”

Joe’s
pulse was beginning to hammer in his ears.  “You’re serious, aren’t you?  I’d
command the
regiment
?”

“If you
accept my ka-par, and win, you would command the regiment, yes.” 

Licking
his lips, Joe said, “How?”

“You
watch your opponent with the intensity of a hunter.  You cannot back up or
lower your gaze.  The goal is to make him nervous enough to break his
concentration and make him back down.  It is the test of a warrior.”

Feeling
a rush of suspicion, Joe growled, “And you’ll, what, jump at me?  Snarl at me? 
Shove me over?  What?”

“I will
wait,” Bagkhal replied.  “And watch.  It is not about sudden movements or
distractions.  It is about spirit.  A Human has the capability of winning.  It
is why it is a duel, not a slaughter.”

Joe
could not believe it. 
A staring contest.  He wants me to duel him in a burning
staring contest.
  Nervously, he glanced up at the barracks, wondering if
his groundmates were watching.  Turning back, he scowled at the Dhasha.  “I
won’t be your burning slave.”

“So,”
Bagkhal said, tilting his great head, “ka-par?”

Joe
narrowed his eyes.  Though the stubborn part of him was screaming at him to
back down, to stalk back to the barracks or get eaten for insubordination, it
was the rash and reckless part of him that had gotten him captured by aliens
that said, “You’re on.”

Bagkhal
made a satisfied grunt, and Joe felt a little spasm of panic, realizing he
couldn’t take it back.  “Ka-par rak’tal.  I accept.”  Immediately, the Dhasha
prince took three steps towards him, until they were little over an
arm’s-length apart, then settled a comfortable position and leveled him with a
bone-deep emerald stare, focusing on Joe with complete predatory intensity.  “Mahid
ka-par,” Prince Bagkhal said.  “May it begin.”

After
the first hour passed, Joe realized Bagkhal was utterly serious.  The Dhasha
never twitched, his gaze never wavering from Joe the entire time.  Joe,
meanwhile, became more and more uncomfortable.  He was standing bare-chested in
front of a gigantic killing machine that was frozen only a few feet away,
staring at him with all the intensity of a predator.

After
the second hour, the group of smaller Dhasha and their Takki caretakers got
bored and wandered back to the Prime Commander’s tower.  Everyone else had
already left the plaza, leaving only Joe and the Dhasha.  Staring at each
other.

Joe,
you idiot,
his mind ranted at him. 
You just
declared a staring contest with something that doesn’t
blink
.

Indeed,
the hard, green, crystalline eyes showed neither pupil nor flicker of
movement.  Joe wasn’t even sure they
did
move, looking more a feature of
the Dhasha’s skull than anything with mobility.

Later
that day, several battalions formed up on the plaza and began to run through
drills, marching around Joe and his opponent as if they were simply immobile
physical obstacles in the terrain.  As they passed, Joe caught several curious
looks from recruits and Ooreiki alike.

Prince
Bagkhal’s complete focus never wavered, giving Joe the unnerving feeling of being
a rabbit having the full attention of a tiger.

When
Joe’s head turned to watch a battalion enter the chow hall for dinner, however,
feeling the ache of hunger like a knife in his gut, Bagkhal said, “Generally,
looking away is a symbol of submission, Human.  Are you submitting?”

Joe
snapped his attention back to Prince Bagkhal immediately.  “No,” he blurted,
his face flushing with fear and embarrassment.

“Then
ka-par,” the Dhasha told him, as utterly motionless as a sphinx. 

Another
hour passed.  The nagging discomfort of being the sole focus of a deadly
predator was beginning to wear at him.  Joe had to concentrate on the scales on
the Dhasha’s nose to keep from looking at the unending rows of triangular black
teeth.  His feet hurt.  His legs itched to move.  He was hungry.  He could
feel
the coolness coming off the Dhasha’s scales, just a few feet away.  Shirtless,
the spore-breeze was giving him goosebumps.  His back itched.  His acne had
gotten worse, and it was even then covering his arms, legs, and chest. 

The
unlucky platoon that had been given the task of raking the plaza that night approached
them warily.  Their curious stares made Joe’s shoulder-blades itch as they
tentatively raked all around them, keeping a twenty-foot swath around the Dhasha. 
Feeling their eyes on him, it was all Joe could do not to turn and look at
them.

Prince
Bagkhal, for his part, hadn’t so much as twitched since their contest had
started.

He
could do this all day,
Joe realized, with a pang
of terror. 
Oh burn me, I’m going to lose.

Then,
I’m
never going back.  Never.  I’ll make him kill me first.

“I’m
not your slave,” Joe growled.

“Then
I’d say it’s in your best interest not to lose the ka-par,” Prince Bagkhal
replied.  Throughout the exchange, Bagkhal never stirred.  He just…watched.

After
the twelfth hour, when everyone else was asleep, Joe was beginning to nod off
on his feet, but he forced himself to stay where he was, staring into the
Dhasha’s cold green eyes.  Joe remembered how Knaaren had claimed the Mexican
kid, and how he’d led him off the plaza.  His hackles lifted.  That wouldn’t
happen to him.

“I’m
not
gonna be your slave, you stubborn asher,” he growled, peering back up at the
beast. 

If
anything, he thought he saw amusement flash across his opponent’s emerald eyes. 
“It is custom not to speak during a ka-par,” Bagkhal said.  “Speaking is a sign
of fear.  Only Takki and children try to talk their way out of ka-par, once
it’s started.”

“I’m
not trying to talk my way out of it,” Joe growled, his pride prickling.  “I’m
just stating a fact.”

“Then
don’t lose,” Prince Bagkhal replied, utterly motionless.

Joe’s
hunger became a dull ache in his gut.  He grew dizzy with exhaustion.  Pinned
under the Dhasha’s predatory stare, he fought down the urge to fidget.  It was
becoming more and more uncomfortable, feeling as if his vulnerabilities were
rising to the surface, evaluated and analyzed by this creature that could kill
him with a casual swipe of his paw.

I
can’t lose,
he thought, in anguish. 
I can’t
lose…

Joe had
to start distracting himself from the uncomfortable itch of Bagkhal’s
attention.  The Dhasha’s scales seemed to be a baseline color of silver, he
noted, with the odd, shimmering colors moving across his body like motor oil
across the surface of water.  Even with the time to examine it, he still wasn’t
sure if it was tiny movements on the Dhasha’s part that made the colors swirl,
or if they just randomly shifted on their own. 

As the
hours went on, Joe noticed that the Dhasha prince didn’t stink.  Not like Knaaren.
 While Joe did occasionally catch the stale smell of old skin on the
breeze—much like a combo of sweaty feet and used jock-strap—Bagkhal didn’t have
the pervasive reek of rotten flesh.

And,
when Joe looked, he couldn’t see any pieces of corpses clinging to his rows of
teeth.

What
if Dhasha don’t need to
eat
?
Joe thought,
on a flush of panic.  Just how long
could
he stand there, without food
or sustenance?  How long could he go without sleep?  Already, Joe was weaving
on his feet, light-headed with exhaustion.  He could barely hold his head up,
whereas Prince Bagkhal had shown absolutely no change whatsoever.

And,
now that Joe had thought about it, could he
really
expect a Dhasha
prince to serve him, when it was so much easier to bat him in half?

I can’t
win
, Joe thought. 
Soot soot soot, I can’t win
this…

With
the thought, Joe felt his palms slicken and his heart start to pound.  His
every instinct started to scream at him to back away, to retreat from this
monster’s striking-distance.  In that moment, Joe realized he was cracking.

“I’m
not your slave,” Joe managed, sweating.  What would Bagkhal do with him, if he
won?  Eat him? 
Breed
him? 

I
can’t lose,
Joe thought. 
I can’t…

Prince
Bagkhal said nothing, as inert as a statue.

Breakfast
came and went, and Joe’s knees started trembling with the effort of holding him
up.  Battalions arranged themselves on the plaza for morning formation, and it
was all Joe could do not to return their curious looks.

Not
your slave
, Joe thought, lifting his chin and meeting
the creature’s eyes stubbornly. 
Not your slave, goddamn it.

The
Dhasha remained utterly stone-still, waiting.

It was
as battlemasters began leading their platoons to the chow hall for lunch the next
afternoon that Joe finally buckled.  He bit his lip and looked away from the
monster in front of him, trying to ignore the shame in his soul.  “Fine. 
Whatever.  I’ll just find a way to kill myself later.”

“Good,”
Bagkhal said, his huge body suddenly coming alive again.  “By the rules of
ka-par, I accept your surrender.  Come with me.”  He turned and started
stalking across the plaza as if nothing had ever happened.

Bristling,
Joe did as he was told.  As soon as the Ooreiki manning the elevator began its
ascent, the battalion commanders began shouting orders on the plaza below,
organizing the morning inspection.  Joe felt an ache of resentment as he
watched.  That should have been
him
down there.  Except Nebil had
betrayed him.  Given him to the Dhasha.  As a
slave
.

“You’ll
return to your Battalion as soon as I’m finished discussing your new post with
you,” Bagkhal said.  At least twice the size of Knaaren, he took up so much
room in the cramped elevator that his jaw brushed Joe when he talked.  Joe
flinched back, revulsion drawing bile into the back of his throat.

Then
his words registered and Joe glanced up.  “Wait…I
will
?”

“Of
course.  Contrary to what Knaaren believed, the fact that you Humans make good
pets does not give him license to claim slaves.  You’ll have to forgive his
indiscretion,” Bagkhal said.  “This always happens during a species’ first
Draft, especially if that species is as dexterous as yours.  Therefore, I’ll be
subtracting twelve turns from your contract for the wrongs you suffered under
Knaaren.  If you choose to add the duties of my assistant to your training for
the next three turns, then I will subtract another six.”

Joe
blinked at him.  All he could manage was, “But…you won.”

“Winning
the ka-par means only that I get to choose what to do with you.  I choose to
subtract twelve turns from your enlistment and offer you a place as my
assistant.”

Joe felt a brief welling of
gratitude, which he quickly squashed.  “You’re lying.”

“I will do it as soon as I get to
a terminal.”

Joe wanted to believe him, but he
shook his head and stared out over the plaza. 
I’ll never trust a Dhasha.

“You don’t believe me,” Bagkhal
noted.  He didn’t sound surprised.  Just…curious.