Zero Recall

by Sara King

  He hid for days, killing the Aezi searchers if they were alone, avoiding them if they were in groups. He got no sleep—he spent his time slipping from tunnel to tunnel, relying on his sense of touch, knowing the Aezi were waiting for him to try echolocation.

  Sometime later, Daviin had allowed himself a brief few tics of visibility to feed on a gladiatorial pit-beast when the Jahul found him.

  Their eyes met, and a mix of horror and fear swept across the Jahul’s face. Daviin raised his energy level to leave the visible spectrum, but not before the Jahul filled the room with the stench of his excretions.

  Daviin listened to the six-legged creature back from the room. He could hear the Jahul’s internal pressure stretch his inner chambers, threatening to burst them over its sticky skin in a fragrant display of filth. In instants, the Jahul would be out of reach, the first witness that Daviin was indeed alive.

  Yet Daviin’s honor refused to allow him to kill the Jahul. He was obviously a trader of some sort, a delivery boy. He had nothing to do with this war between the Vorans and the Aezi. To kill him would be almost as dishonorable as killing a slave. Still…

  Daviin lowered his energy level again, whipped forward, and dragged the Jahul back into the room with him. He wrapped a ruby coil of his tail around the Jahul’s midsection and shut the door of the dead beast’s stall behind them, leaving them alone in the beast section of the gladiator pits.

  Trapped in his coils, the Jahul soiled himself again, making Daviin’s scales crawl where he touched the filthy creature.

  “Do you know who I am?” Daviin demanded, wrapping himself further around his prey.

  “No,” the Jahul whimpered. “I came to deliver a few crates of food for your exotics.”

  “They’re not my exotics,” Daviin snapped, disgusted the Jahul would mistake him for an Aezi. Couldn’t he see his scales were red, not a disgusting, pitiful white?

  “They said this was the storeroom,” the Jahul whimpered. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know—” A new wave of filth flushed out through the Jahul’s pores, over his quivering green skin.

  Daviin released the Jahul disgustedly, intending to rid himself of the sniveling creature before he spread his reek all over Daviin’s body, possibly lock him in the beast’s old cell. Then he stopped, his brain only then registering what the sticky, revolting creature had said. “You are a trader?”

  “Exotic feeds, sir,” the Jahul said. He nodded at the box of food he’d placed outside the dead beast’s stall. “I’ve got more in my cargo bay.”

  Daviin eyed the wooden box, which smelled strongly of some sort of alien meat. And metal. Daviin briefly wondered why a box of food would be filled with metal, then he cocked his head at the Jahul. “You have a ship?”

  The Jahul seemed to sense something was wrong, for his beady black eyes went wide. “No, sir. I mean, yes, sir, I own a ship, but part of my agreement with the Aezi is I won’t help runaways…”

  “Do you know what it is like to dance on a tek, Jahul?”

  The alien’s black eyes went wide in horror.

  “Unless you want to learn,” Daviin warned, “you will help me. Understand?”

  “But the other Jreet…” The Jahul started to back away, towards the door, and Daviin lashed out again, easily dragging him back with a single arm.

  “I will kill the other Jreet if they try to stop us,” Daviin said, only ninths from the Jahul’s huge, bulging, wet black eyes. The eyes, like everything about the Jahul, disgusted him. He could not imagine having to eat the rank, dripping creatures, as were once their fate as a prey species before the formation of Congress.

  “But I risk my livelihood,” the Jahul babbled, soiling itself yet again. Daviin had to fight the instinctive urge to release the disgusting thing and wipe his hand. Which was, of course, the mechanism’s purpose—make them too disgusting to touch, and therefore to eat. “It’s all I have.”

  “Your livelihood or your life, Jahul,” Daviin snapped, lifting the Jahul half a rod off the ground, until they were eye-to-eye. “Decide now.”

  The Jahul’s bald, leathery, yellow-green skin grew splotchy and dark. It trembled in his grasp, its six spindly legs twitching for purchase. “I’ll help.”

  Daviin twisted his head and neck until he was peering at the Jahul from the side. “You say that lightly, you betray me in any way, and I swear by Beda’s bones I shall kill you before I die. I am a Voran, and my word is my bond. You have my oath on that, understand?”

  “I understand,” the Jahul whimpered.

  Daviin lowered him to the ground and released him, shamed at how he had bullied the lesser creature. He would certainly serve penance in an extra hell for his crimes. “You will not be impoverished for helping me,” he added, feeling somewhat guilty. “I am the heir of a great family. I will see you find trade with my clan.”

  The Jahul’s small black eyes went wide and flickered to the diamond of white scales that marked the center of Daviin’s scarlet forehead. “You are Daviin ga Vora.”

  Daviin watched him, saying nothing.

  “They think you fled the pit…they’re looking for you in the city.” The Jahul’s voice caught. “You have a two million credit bounty on your head.”

  “So little?” Daviin snorted.

  The Jahul swallowed, then seemingly made a decision. He glanced behind them, at the closed door. “Come. Disappear. I will lead you to my ship.”

  “I warn you, Jahul, if you are misleading me—”

  “You’ll kill me, yes,” the Jahul said. “You said as much already. Please, hurry. I can get you off Aez before they realize you’re gone.”

  Daviin watched the Jahul’s demeanor change with a pang of irritation. The Jahul would not willingly risk his life to help another in need, but as soon as credits were mentioned, he wanted nothing more than to serve. There was a reason why the immoral little monsters were often strung up by their legs to die of exposure upon the Voran homeworld.

  However, Daviin was in no position to be choosy about those who helped him. The Jahul would serve his purpose, and once he had, Daviin would pay him and send him on his way, with all the blessings of the ninety gods. Anyone who helped Daviin achieve his revenge would forever have his gratitude.

  And, as the Jahul led him through the underground prison, Daviin’s body tingled with anticipation. His revenge would be soon in coming. In less than a turn, he would return with an entire armada of Voran elite and crush this honorless planet to dust. Getting his coils on Prazeil would be tougher, but Daviin might be able to take out enough loans with his brethren to see the disgraceful Aezi worm skewered, segments of his ten-rod body staked to fortresses all over Vora.

  The Jahul got him safely through the gladiatorial tunnels and helped him onto the ship without even seeing another Jreet. Once their ship had left atmosphere and Daviin was sure the Jahul did not mean to sell him back to the Aezi, he allowed himself some rest.

  Something slammed into the ship almost as soon as Daviin closed his eyes.

  Daviin instantly hunched into a defensive position. If there was one thing that unnerved him, it was the idea of war in space. Bombs and ships, especially, were unnatural. Cowards’ weapons. That he had to use ships at all was distasteful to him. “Were we caught?” he demanded.

  “No,” the Jahul whispered. He was staring at the controls. “Aez. It’s…”

  Daviin heard something strike the ship and he flinched. “Aez is firing at us?” He hated technology—so many things could go wrong with it. Even then, he could see the next missile puncture the hull and squeeze them all out into space.

  “No,” the Jahul said. “It’s gone.”

  Something else struck the ship, making the entire vessel shudder. Daviin fought down panic and said, “Then who is shooting at us? The Aezi won’t follow once we leave their space.”

  The Jahul’s hand was shaking, and for the first time, Daviin noticed the thin sheen of excrement on the alien’s skin. He was terrified.

  Dav
iin snapped an arm out and dragged the Jahul closer, until he writhed under Daviin’s sharp stare. “Tell me what is going on,” Daviin ordered. “Who is shooting at us?”

  “No one. That’s pieces of…” The Jahul’s skin slickened again.

  “Pieces of what?” Daviin roared, shaking the little creature as something jostled the ship yet again. “Answer me, or I will fly the ship myself!”

  “Aez!” the Jahul said in a strangled garble of terror. “It’s pieces of Aez!”

  “Pieces of…” Daviin frowned, wondering if it was some form of Jahul colloquialism he did not understand. “Beda’s bones! What are you talking about, furg?”

  “Aez is gone,” the Jahul said, staring open-mouthed at the ship’s viewscreen, where a debris field was now spreading in all directions, chunks of rock slamming into their ship as they passed. “Somebody just blew it up.”

  CHAPTER 4: Jer’ait Ze’laa

  “Ah, my friend, come in. Shall I summon servants to file your feet?”

  “No, Caus,” Jer’ait replied. “The journey was not that long. How is business?”

  The old Jahul allowed his inner gas chamber to ooze bubbles over his skin and moved to the other side of the room, four hind feet pattering the packed earth like some sort of unsavory pest. It reminded Jer’ait of the fact that he shared a similar body, a fact that Jer’ait despised him for. Of all the patterns to take, the Jahul was the most revolting.

  “Business has been poor, my friend. Very poor.” He eyed Jer’ait. “Are you hungry?”

  “Thirsty, perhaps,” Jer’ait said. Anything to get the old bastard drunk.

  “Come,” Caus said, heading to the door. “It is not safe to speak here. If they haven’t bugged my house yet, they will.”

  Jer’ait cursed inwardly. He’d been told to keep the Jahul within the house for monitoring at all times.

  “You are anxious about something,” Caus said, eying him.

  Damn the Jahul and their freak abilities. Jer’ait had been schooled to keep his emotions from his face and body, but such was not good enough with a Jahul. They could peer inside his very soul, and if he did not say what he meant, they could sense it. Empaths, it was said. And when they used their talents to, say, create a ring of murdering slaver thieves specializing in sales of Congressional citizens to Dhasha and assassinating Peacemaker spies, it made infiltration of their network all but impossible.

  That’s why Jer’ait had been called in.

  “I feel sorry for you, old man,” Jer’ait said.

  Caus oozed some more in pleasure. “Don’t. They can monitor me all they want. Congress will never stop me.”

  “Not legally, anyway,” Jer’ait said. “You’re too good.”

  This seemed to amuse the old Jahul. “Their assassins cannot touch me. I can sense a Huouyt six marches away.”

  Jer’ait cocked his head at him. “Truly? I’ve been told no species in Congress has the ability to sense a Huouyt in pattern.”

  “I can. Like night and day,” Caus motioned a stubby, three-fingered hand toward the door. “Huouyt are…missing…something, my friend. Come with me to my haauk and I’ll tell you of it.”

  Though the proposition of figuring out the Jahul’s very irritating secret for ousting his species in pattern piqued Jer’ait’s curiosity, he said, “You have nothing to drink here?”

  “I told you,” Caus said, waving dismissively. “I have something I must tell you and this house may be bugged.”

  Jer’ait calmly got up and followed Caus out the door and across the swampy, alien yard. Even wealth did nothing to clean a Jahul of their filthy habits. Jer’ait tried to ignore the way the globular alien plants squished between his toes as they walked. It was supposedly a treat, something only the richest could afford. To Jer’ait, it was simply disgusting.

  Caus led Jer’ait onto a ruvmestin-plated haauk and Jer’ait silently noted the ten haauk of mixed-species bodyguards that surreptitiously took up positions around them. No Jreet. At least Caus’ corruption hadn’t reached the halls of Koliinaat yet. Or, if it had, the Representatives were not confident enough to lend the criminal their Jreet.

  Such was their own misfortune. Had Caus been guarded by Jreet and not a mishmash of former PlanOps survivors, Congress would never have been able to insert an assassin into the crime lord’s ranks.

  “This looks good,” Caus said. “You in the mood for Ueshi cuisine?”

  Jer’ait twisted to look down at the restaurant. “Never was a fan of that poison.”

  “You’ll like this place,” Caus assured him. “They make delectable ooma.”

  Jer’ait grimaced. “Won’t that kill you if they prepare it wrong?”

  Caus wrinkled the thin, splotchy green skin around his eyes—the Jahul version of a smile. “They won’t.”

  They waited as Caus’ men cleared the restaurant of its startled patrons and then seated themselves in a hidden corner. The Ueshi landlord who approached their table showed no sign at all that he was disturbed by the sudden visit from the most dangerous crime boss on Bolan. They ordered, then he calmly walked out of their booth.

  “That one is good at hiding his fear,” Caus said with appreciation at the Ueshi’s retreating blue-green head. “I could use a man like him.”

  “For what?”

  “A spy.”

  “He looks like he does well enough for himself here,” Jer’ait noted, glancing at the lavish furnishings of the place. The restaurant even had what appeared to be a ruvmestin-plated chandelier—at least a fifty thousand credit item, if not more. “Doesn’t strike me as a man who would devote his life to crime.”

  “I never said I’d give him a choice,” Caus said, looking as if he found the idea quaint.

  Jer’ait grunted and sipped the glass of water that appeared through the table’s trap door. It, like all Jahul items, was small to compensate for a Jahul’s short fingers.

  “So tell me of this trouble you’re having,” Jer’ait said.

  Caus quickly flicked the switch that closed their booth off from the rest of the restaurant. Once they were alone, he said, “It’s bad.” The old Jahul watched him and Jer’ait made sure to keep his emotions strictly under check. It wasn’t very hard. Training at Va’ga had left him able to do almost anything with his body or mind. Now, he portrayed worry and pity.

  “How bad?”

  “This latest thing with the border planets.” Caus made a disgusted gesture at the restaurant. “The foodstuffs. Congress was unappreciative of my involvement, to say the least.”

  Jer’ait glanced up at the vent in the ceiling. Caus followed his gaze.

  “This place is not bugged,” Caus said. “I’ve never been here before. Read about it.”

  “Ah,” Jer’ait said. He motioned for Caus to continue. “So you stole some food from the colonies. Weren’t they having bad times with the military overdraft?”

  Caus snorted. “If the supplies were important to them, they would have spent more on guards.”

  “So several million citizens starved to death due to the shortages.”

  Caus blinked his inky black eyes. “Whose side are you on, Dagi?” He sighed. “We both know they all would have lived if it weren’t for the military conscripting too many of our citizens and therefore consuming more than their share.”

  Jer’ait bowed his head in concession. “And now Congress wants you dead.”

  Caus snorted. “They’ve tried. Ever since I orchestrated that freighter of Nansaba colonists to go to the Dhasha.”

  Jer’ait schooled his features to show surprise. “You sold colonists to the Dhasha? Aren’t the Nansaba rare? It takes them hundreds of turns to spawn a child, yes?”

  Caus waved a disgusted hand. “They’re worth almost a lobe of ruvmestin apiece and the freighter was completely unarmed. Eight hundred thousand of them. When I see a karwiq bulb, I pluck it.”

  “And it has made you very rich.”

  Caus snorted. “Oh, you have no idea.”

&nb
sp; Yes I do, you disgusting bastard, Jer’ait thought, but he didn’t say it.

  Caus mistook his rush of anger and laughed. “Why, my friend,” he cried, slapping a filthy hand against Jer’ait’s shoulder. “I do believe you are jealous!”

  “I just fear for your safety,” Jer’ait replied. “Something like that is considered a war crime. As is the stolen food, come to think of it. Will Congress not come after you?”

  Caus made a sound of complete disdain. “Let them. Congress has tried before. Sixteen times. I killed every one of the Huouyt scum myself.”

  Which was untrue. Usually Caus huddled in a corner while his cronies did the dirty work, but Jer’ait wasn’t about to remind him of the fact. “So how do you spot these assassins, Caus?” Jer’ait asked, knowing he was putting himself in danger with every tic he prolonged the conversation, but curiosity ate at him. He hated things that did not make sense. “I’ve always wondered. Your abilities are legendary, in that respect. As far as I know, there are only a couple creatures in all of Congress that are rumored to do the same.”

  His target snorted. “Between you and me?”

  “Of course,” Jer’ait said.

  The Jahul leaned across the table and lowered his voice. “I think the Huouyt are without soul, my friend. Either that, or their damn eyes… Something about their damn eyes shields it. Cuts it away. Covers it like a casket, you understand?”

  Jer’ait immediately grimaced. That was something he would be cutting from the recording before handing it over to the Twelfth Hjai.

  But Caus misunderstood his discomfort and lifted a hand to continue. “Now hear me out, my friend, hear me out. I’m not suggesting they’re not sentient. Gods, no. Huouyt are smart. Smarter than you, smarter than me, smarter than those extinct slime-mold Geuji.”