Forging Zero by Sara King

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,