Zero's Return (53 page)

Tyson’s lip curled. 
“Maybe I’ll pass, after all.”  Tyson, strangely, had a weird prejudice when it
came to eating women, which Slade, of course, knew.

Like reading a book
,
Slade thought with a sigh.  Realizing he hadn’t solved his minions’ hunger
issues, he said, “If you look around, maybe there’ll be some onions or
something.”  He waved a hand at the ruined farm distractedly.

Tyson scrunched his
face.  “Onions?”

“Yeah, you fry them and
they’re not so bad,” Slade replied.  He put down his book.  “Had them on steak
all the time before Judgement.”

Tyson glanced at the
packet of Watermelon Bubble Manium sticking out of Slade’s custom leather
jacket.  “Can I have some?”

Slade felt his fingers
spasm on the book, thinking about that hundred and seventy-eight days and
seventeen headache-free hours.  “No.”

Tyson sighed and plucked
a piece of grass from the overgrown field, then stuck it in his mouth in an
imitation of one of the old-style farmers that had worked their crops with
their bare hands.  With his dirty face and ripped jeans, Tyson almost looked
the part.  Almost.  The sleek, black, Global Police laser rifle slung over his
shoulder kind of ruined the effect.

“Should we get them
moving, then?” Tyson asked around the grass.

“I don’t care,” Slade
replied.  “Nevada’s gonna be a bitch regardless of when we cross it.”

Grunting, Tyson
unshouldered his laser rifle and walked off toward the quiet clusters of
people.  Slade went back to his book and distractedly blew a bubble as Tyson
started shouting orders.  Despite the fact that his survival was on the line,
he couldn’t concentrate on the ancient diagrams and photographs.  He was once
more thinking about his ever-dwindling supply of Bubble Manium.

CHAPTER 20 – The Making of a Warrior

It was another beautiful,
sunny southern Californian day, and the experiments, despite Joe’s urging to
move faster, had settled into a warm meadow and were doing more or less
precisely nothing.  Watching them pick dirt from between their toes, then
immediately use the same fingers to pick their noses, Joe decided he could
afford a nap.  He’d fallen into a sentry routine, getting less than four hours
of sleep a day, and it—combined with the deliciously warm, relaxing
sunlight—was finally catching up with him.  He’d been weaving on his feet for
several days in a row, now, and the strain of keeping the camp safe while
Twelve-A slept was starting to wear on him.

“I need a nap,” Joe told
the telepath, who was picking up stones down by the creek.  “Can you take care
of things while I sleep?”

Sure,
Twelve-A
told him.  He picked a rock out of the stream, squinted at it, then licked it. 
And, after a wide-eyed jerk, kept licking it.

Joe narrowed his eyes. 
“No kreenit nearby?” he insisted.  “No gangs?”

Twelve-A paused in
licking his rock and his brow crinkled in a tiny line of concentration.  Then,
Nope. 
Nobody.
  Lick.  Lick.

But Joe wasn’t
satisfied.  He closed the distance and poked the minder in the chest.  “That’s your
job
, you understand?  My job is security. 
Your
job is keeping
the furgs with guns away from our friends.”

Twelve-A raised his
eyebrow down at Joe’s finger in his chest. 
That sounds to me like you’ve
got me doing your job.

“I’m determining the best
allocation of our resources,” Joe retorted.  “And you’re only useful when
you’re—” he reached out, snagged the rock from the telepath’s mouth, and tossed
it back into the stream, “—keeping an eye out for bad guys.  Stop licking
things.  It’s going to make you sick.”

Twelve-A gave him an
irritated glance.  “It was cold.”

“Get Eleven-C to make you
some ice-cream, then,” Joe growled.  “I couldn’t possibly explain it to you,
but there’s things out there like amoebas and bacteria—”

Joe felt the colossal
sledge of the telepath’s mind grab him in a mighty fist and begin rooting
through his mind for amoebas and bacteria.  And, because it was actually easier
than trying to explain to him what they
did
, Joe didn’t shoot him in the
face.  Immediately, Twelve-A frowned, then twisted to look at the water.  He
started wiping his tongue on his arm.

Which, of course,
probably had a thousand times more bacteria on it, considering the People had
not yet bathed as long as Joe had known them.  Immediately, Twelve-A hesitated,
looking at his arm, then swallowed.  
I will get them to bathe.

“You do that,” Joe said. 
Some of the guys—Twelve-A included—were really beginning to stink. 
Joe
,
not being a total naked-assed barbarian, had been at least washing his pits
daily, when he had access to water.

You should have told
me about this bacteria earlier,
Twelve-A told him, looking pleasingly
pale. 
It could
kill
us.

“Sure could,” Joe agreed
solemnly.  “And there’s
billions
of them out there,” he added, gesturing
to their surroundings.  “Probably trillions in this clearing alone.”  Then he
slapped Twelve-A on the shoulder and said, “You go deal with that while I take
a nap, okay?”  His body, tired as he was, was having trouble keeping itself
upright.

Twelve-A nodded quickly
and wandered off toward Eleven-C, who was sleeping in Nine-G’s arms again.

Yawning, Joe found a
particularly sunny, soft-looking patch of grass on the slope and flopped down
onto it, facing the group.  Most of the experiments were in various states of
slumber, sprawled in the shade wherever they had decided to sit down.  At least
that was
one
thing the telepath had done well.  Once Joe had explained
to him that it was the
sun
causing their blisters, Twelve-A had been
diligent in keeping the rest of the furgs out of direct sunlight. 

Joe yawned again, the
black of his Congie clothes soaking in some much-appreciated heat.  As Joe was
relaxing in the warmth, he spotted Shael frowning at him from across the
clearing, but he was too tired to try and figure out what bug had crawled up
her ass this time, and just pulled a fold of his bandana over his eyes and
allowed the delicious heat of the planet’s weak star to lull him into a
much-needed sleep.

It seemed he’d only been
asleep
tics
before he was woken again.

“Get up, Voran.  We move
in six tics.”  With the brusque words came a slosh of icy water, dousing Joe
from head to toe.  Jolted from a deep sleep, Joe surged to his feet and had
Jane’s lips pressed to Shael’s forehead before he realized what he’d done.

Shael seemed utterly
unconcerned by the sizzling plasma pistol between her eyes.  Instead, she gave
his wet clothes a derisive snort, shouldered the cracked five-gallon bucket she
had scavenged from someone’s backyard, and simply walked off.

Dripping, Joe returned
Jane to her holster and scowled after the tiny woman, water still running down
his legs, into his boots.  A few rods away, the telepath sat placidly against a
tree in the shade, watching the exchange.

“Was that your idea,
sootling?” Joe growled.  Now completely sodden, shivering in the coolness of
morning, he was fully willing to return the favor.

It was her idea,
Twelve-A said. 
She decided to take your place when you were sleeping.  She
says she’s war-leader now, and we’re all going to be moving out in six tics. 
It
appeared, however, that Twelve-A wasn’t the least bit concerned about their
‘move-out’ deadline. When Joe looked closely, the telepath seemed to be sorting
out piles of grass.  Beside him, Alice, Nine-G, Eleven-C, and a bunch of the
peons were all doing the same.

Then Joe realized what
the telepath had said and he groaned.    That was the
last
thing they
needed…Shael thinking Shael was in charge.  Even then, Shael was grabbing
another bucket of water from the stream and heading towards a sleeping group of
experiments, obviously intending to repeat the process on the naked dogpiles
scattered about the clearing.  Joe watched, academically curious to see which
of them would win in a mind-brawl.

A quarter of them are
makers,
Twelve-A warned. 
If she startles them enough, they’ll just turn
her head into mashed potatoes or something.  Most of them like mashed potatoes.

Joe felt a rush of panic,
realizing the petite woman could, with her nice bucket of icy creek water,
indeed get herself some fun new alterations for her efforts.  He cursed and
broke into a jog to catch up with her before she could empty her payload. 

Shael stopped a pace away
from the group of sleeping experiments and awkwardly lifted the half-full
bucket into her arms.  “Get up, you lazy Takki skulkers!” Shael shouted,
heaving the bucket back.  “We leave in six tics!  Those who aren’t in formation
on time get staked for your insolence!”

Just before she could
launch her payload, Joe grabbed the rim of Shael’s bucket and twisted it around
just in time to slop the contents all over himself, rather than the sleeping
experiments, icy water drenching him a second time.  Several of Shael’s
intended victims opened their eyes at her scream and blinked up at the two of
them, then went back to sleep.

Dripping, cold, Joe
yanked the bucket out of Shael’s hands and turned to face her.

Immediately, Shael’s chin
came up in challenge.  “You slept through roll-call and your duties passed to
the next qualified warrior.  I accepted the nomination.”

Irritated now, Joe threw
the bucket aside—being sure to spatter Twelve-A and his little grass-party with
the remnants—and crossed his arms to glare down at her.  “Nomination, huh?  Who
nominated you?  No one here can even speak your language.”

Shael flushed.  Then,
like a queen, she straightened her spine and said, “I nominated myself.”

“Oh really.”  Joe
continued to scowl down at her, wondering how he got saddled with this
particular pain in the ass.  “Who backed you?”  He knew enough of the Jreet
clan system to know that, unless at least five sixths of the ‘clan’ had backed
her, her claim on the title of war-leader was null and void.

Apparently, Shael knew
this, too, because she blushed.  “I was the only able-bodied alternative.”

Peering down at her over
as much muscle as he could flex without popping an artery, Joe growled, “I take
it you’re ready for that rematch, then.”

Shael froze.  He saw the
flash of trepidation in her brilliant green eyes as she reflexively looked him
up and down, then he grinned inside as she swallowed.  He watched her consider,
watched her contemplate
losing
, and let her stew on that a little bit.

“
Ooor
,” Joe
offered, as she started straightening to tell him some furgsoot about how a
Welu could beat a Voran any day of the rotation, “I could thank you—
profusely
—for
keeping order for me while I slept and I could go back to my normal duties and
you to yours.”  Joe lowered his voice to a near whisper.  “Even as we stand
here, exchanging pleasantries, Eleven-C goes
completely unguarded
.”

Shael winced and glanced
at Twelve-A’s little haymaking social-hour.  “Nine-G guards her.”

“Nine-G,” Joe said
solemnly, “is not Jreet.” 

“True,” Shael mourned, in
utter seriousness.

Joe took a deep breath
and reached out to lay a hand on Shael’s petite shoulder.  In an utter somber
tone, he said, “I think, as you must, that it is in these weaklings’ best
interest to have
two
Jreet watching their backs, rather than one. 
You’ve
seen
how lazy they are.  Earthlings are liable to attack at any
time, and our charges are scattered and disorganized, completely unprepared to
defend themselves.  These furgs here—” he gestured at the sleeping dogpile
“—need
my
guiding hand, just as Twelve-A and his comrades need yours.”

Twelve-A’s head jerked up
to look at him with a frown. 
That is extremely uncool.

Bite me, Wingnut,
Joe retorted, still giving Shael a sober look. 
Next time, don’t let her
douse me in my sleep.
  To the woman, he said, “What do you say?  You take
charge of guarding Twelve-A, Eleven-C, Alice, and Nine-G—the
important
ones—and I’ll watch the rest of them.  Those four are certainly more worth your
time than these imbeciles, no?”  He gestured at the sleeping experiments that
were even then drooling in the shade.

Really
uncool,
Twelve-A repeated, scowling.

You’re the mind-freak
,
Joe said. 
Persuade her not to be unreasonable and everybody will be happy.

You’d be better at
that,
Twelve-A retorted. 
She respects you.

Joe was so shocked he
choked.  “She…
what
?”

Shael gave him a
suspicious look.  “
Who
what?”

Realizing she’d caught
his meaning, Joe backpedaled.  “Alice,” Joe quickly said.  “She…”  He struggled
to come up with something fast enough to avoid another ‘fight’ to see who the
female-to-be
really
was.

“Alice what?” Shael
barked, intelligence sharpening in her emerald eyes.

Joe, pinned by that gaze,
acutely aware that
someone
needed to tell Shael the truth, and yet remembering
what had happened to one machete-slinging jenfurgling on a lonely stretch of
highway, stuttered.  “Uh, I, uh…”

Alice wants to learn
the art of a warrior, but she is too shy to admit it,
Twelve-A supplied. 
She
wants to study under you.

On a rush of gratitude,
Joe repeated what the telepath had given him. 
Thanks
, he said, once he
was done.

As amusing as the last
time was,
Twelve-A told him,
she’s going to hurt herself.