by Sara King
Collecting himself, Jer’ait said, “But right now, I am trying to figure out how to get my ground leader back to headquarters without anyone realizing that their fabled Commander Zero was actually drinking himself blind these last two weeks, instead of exchanging loyalty vows with his Second.”
In his inebriated state, it took the Human a moment to realize what Jer’ait had said. When he did, he squinted at Jer’ait and began blinking hard.
“So you’re not a Huouyt?” he said finally. “Ash, I thought you were a Huouyt.”
Jer’ait rankled at the Human’s simple statement—as if it were like recognizing a Jahul in a herd of melaa. “I was not aware Va’ga trained Humans,” he gritted.
“But…” For the first time, the Human looked truly unnerved. “Multi-species units always fail. They end up killing each other. They were outlawed a million turns ago.”
Jer’ait tipped his glass at Joe and smiled. “Desperate times. The Corps Director was not about to let Aez go unpunished. You do know what happened to Aez, don’t you?”
“Not really. All they’ve been covering on the news is my brother’s fat ass.”
“The Dhasha Vahlin blew it up.”
The Human laughed. “Good for him. Jreet are ashers.”
“You don’t believe me.”
“Look…”
“Be’shaar.”
“Be’shaar. No offense, but your kind are a bunch of lying spawn of Takki. You’ll tell me anything to get me back to Headquarters so they can try me and you can get back on with your life.”
“No offense taken, Commander,” Jer’ait replied. “Normally, you are correct.”
“Just cut the furgsoot,” Joe snapped. “There’s no way in the ninety Jreet hells a Va’gan assassin would get drafted for my groundteam. Maggie doesn’t have the pull in PlanOps, as much as she’d like to think she does.” The Human looked like he was getting irritated. Jer’ait wished it were fear, instead, but irritation was a start.
“I wasn’t drafted, Human. I volunteered for your team.”
Joe snorted. “Right. Just kill me, okay? I know that’s what you came here to do. It’s all over your face.”
Jer’ait had to fight down a brief moment of panic, telling himself that there was no way the Human could read his intentions, none. “I’ll be truthful with you, Human,” Jer’ait said. “I’m not here to kill you. I am here to help you destroy the Dhasha Vahlin.”
The Human stared at him.
Jer’ait decided to use the Human’s confusion to catch him off-guard. “This was my first Human pattern,” he lied. “It was a difficult pattern to get used to—it took me an entire week to learn all of the intricacies of Human interaction. I am pretty confident, however, that it was not my smile that tipped you off. Who is working for you at headquarters, Commander?”
“Huh?”
“Who told you I was coming? Last night. With the stool.”
“Are you kidding?” Joe snorted. “I haven’t spoken to anyone but Jim Beam since some prick broke my nose in Nevada.”
“Who is—”
“Tell me what drug you used on me.”
Jer’ait felt himself growing irritated. “Trade secret.”
“Oh, huh. Guess you’ll just be left wondering why I was able to pin you, then.”
Jer’ait held the Human’s flat stare for almost five tics. Then, grudgingly, he said, “It was jasanbic-4.”
“Really? I thought you guys used vembiridol.”
“Vembiridol is a novice’s drug. After Eeloir, PlanOps have built up their grounders’ resistances to it. A good dose barely lasts five tics anymore.” Jer’ait looked the Human up and down, trying to figure out what it was about this creature that had allowed him to be one of only two Human survivors in that miserable war. Reluctantly, he said, “Considering your history, I didn’t want to take the chance.” When the Human offered nothing, Jer’ait leaned closer to his target. “Now tell me about this Jim Beam you’ve been speaking to.”
“Ask the bartender. He’ll know.”
Frowning, expecting some sort of trick, Jer’ait said nothing. When it was obvious Joe would say nothing more, however, he motioned the bartender over. “Excuse me. What can you tell me about Jim Beam?”
The bartender broke into a toothy grin and took another bottle of poison down from the rack.
“No,” Jer’ait said. “I don’t want any more.”
“Jim Beam,” the bartender said, thumbing the bottle. “Not much there is to know you can’t figure out for yourself.”
“Where can I find him?”
The bartender’s face changed into a glare. “Funny. Every guy who comes in here thinks he’s a real comedian. As if I ain’t heard it all before. Sheesh.” The bartender put the bottle back and left to help another patron, giving Jer’ait an irritated look as he passed.
Jer’ait realized Joe was watching him very closely. “You can’t read English.”
Jer’ait stiffened. There were things he did not like about this Human. Things that reminded him of him.
“What kind of signal did I just give your friend behind the bar?” Jer’ait began to stand, glancing around them for an attack.
“Relax. The bottle reads Jim Beam. It’s a type of whiskey. I’ve been drinking a lot of whiskey.”
Jer’ait stared at him. “You’re trying to tell me you have no spy with the Peacemakers?”
“That’s right.”
Meeting the Human’s flat stare, Jer’ait did not know which was more disturbing—the fact that the Human was either lying and he couldn’t see it, or that he was telling the truth.
Jer’ait reached out to give the Human another injection.
“How about you kill me and say I resisted?” the Human interrupted. “That’d be kinder than turning me in to PlanOps, though you pricks don’t have a conscience, so I guess you wouldn’t care either way.”
Jer’ait frowned. “I’m not turning you in.”
“Right. You think I believed that multi-species groundteam soot?”
“You will.” Jer’ait put the Human to sleep and carried him from the bar. Outside, once he had deposited Joe in his haauk, he opened his reader and called Yua’nev.
“I really think we should kill him now.”
“Why?” Yua’nev lowered the orange nutrient wafer back to the plate and waited.
Jer’ait glanced at the Human’s sleeping form. He knew the Peacemaster would ask, but he had no answers. Just a feeling. It was a tugging in his zora, an urge to kill the Human right now, and deal with the repercussions later.
“Jer’ait,” Yua’nev said, when he didn’t respond, “you kill him and we’d be risking billions of lives.”
“You are making a mistake if you don’t,” Jer’ait said. “Believe me in this. I would put my reputation on it.”
For a long moment, Yua’nev remained silent, and only static crossed over the feed as his superior considered it. Eventually, Yua’nev said, “We have been given a rare opportunity to pick our future, Jer’ait. And the future that I prefer does not contain a Dhasha Vahlin carving out an empire within our boundaries. Understand?”
Jer’ait smoothed his features. “Perfectly.” Moron.
“Good. I heard he ran off. You brought him back?”
“In the process now.”
“Don’t let them see you do it. I want as little suspicion as possible concerning his whereabouts the last two weeks.”
“Phoenix filed a complaint that he was AWOL.”
“Her complaints are nothing new,” Yua’nev said. “I’ll make sure her superiors ignore it.”
“But it’s her team. She’s following us to Neskfaat and will be in charge of picking our assignments for us. It would be best if I killed her before she can make things difficult.”
“I doubt he’s going to kill the Vahlin because it’s easy,” Yua’nev said, sounding amused.
“Very well.” Frustrated, Jer’ait ended the transmission and glanced at the Human crumpled in
the seat of his haauk. “Merciful dead. What is it about you that makes people stupid?”
The Human, drooling against his seat, said nothing.
#
“If you’re my Second,” Joe growled, “where’s our Battlemaster?”
“He’s coming.”
Be’shaar turned to the door and began entering a code into the wall, each number preceded by a distinct, toned beep. A personal access code. Then he stepped away and they were locked in. Waiting for backup.
Joe sank into the bunk in the corner of the room, ignoring the way the assassin was standing guard by the door. His head hurt too much to notice anything other than his immediate surroundings.
Somehow, under the dark of night—and while Joe was unconscious—the Huouyt had snuck him back into the military barracks, despite the fact he was missing an identifying tag. Now, rubbing his throbbing skull as the aftereffects of the antidote hit him like a sledgehammer, Joe could not help but feel rising irritation toward the heavy-handedness of this creature that claimed to be his Second.
That, and a tiny bit of apprehension. He hated Huouyt. Eeloir had given him a healthy appreciation of why the slippery, psychotic ashsouls all needed to die. To even think about working with one was making him ill.
“You didn’t need to drug me,” Joe said. “I could’ve walked here.”
“You wouldn’t have.” The Huouyt stepped back and leaned against the now-locked door to watch him, crossing his arms over his chest in a perfect imitation of Human irritation.
Joe lifted his head to peer out from underneath his hand. “Are you really my Second?”
“I have that dubious pleasure, yes.” The Huouyt continued to watch him over his crossed arms.
“Why?”
“You hit me with a stool.”
Joe sighed. “You gonna stay in that pattern forever? If you’re my Second, I’d like to know what you really look like.”
“You mean you’d like for me to leave so you can escape again, and this time go into hiding with me and my talents in mind.” The Huouyt gave him a flat look.
Joe waved his hand at the industrial metal door. “My tag is busted, my head hurts too bad to see straight, this place is on lockdown at this time of night, and you’ve got a personal access code set on that door—I wouldn’t get far.”
“Yes you would.” The Huouyt continued to watch him, tapping his fingers on his borrowed bicep.
Joe grinned, despite himself. “I think I’m starting to like you.”
The Huouyt gave him a long, utterly unamused look. “Let me make something clear to you, Commander. You are due to depart for Neskfaat tomorrow at noon. I intend to see you get on the ship as planned. No amount of cajoling, sweet-talking, or bribing will convince me to do otherwise.”
Joe grimaced. “I was serious.”
“And so am I.”
“Scratch that,” Joe growled. “I don’t like you. You’re a real pain in the ass.”
“As are you,” the Huouyt responded. “If you didn’t have the drinking habits of a Cu’it slave, I don’t think I ever would’ve found you.”
Joe cocked his head at Be’shaar, who was still leaning against the door, barricading it. “Was that a compliment?”
The Huouyt twitched, but only momentarily. “Why did you run, Commander?”
“Why didn’t you tell them I ran?”
“I enjoy lying to people.”
Joe laughed. “Now that I believe. Was it the only reason?”
“Yes.”
“You’re lying.”
“Perhaps. You’ll never know.”
Joe dropped his hand from his temple with a sigh. “Listen to me, Be’shaar. I know why you saved my ass. It was a challenge. You wanted to bring back the legendary Joe Dobbs so you could whip it out and throw it in my face whenever I got uppity as your Prime. That’s fine. I deserve that much.” He stood up and stumbled toward the Huouyt, his head on fire. “But if we’re going to work together, you and I are going to have to come to an understanding. We’re going to have to start trusting each other.”
The Huouyt looked him up and down. Be’shaar’s voice was laden with disdain when he said, “Huouyt trust no one.”
“Good.”
Joe rammed the blade of his knife into the Huouyt’s lower leg and yanked up hard, severing the large artery that led from the thigh to the heart in several places. The Huouyt’s eyes flashed open wide and he began to collapse, forced to focus his attention on mending his pattern before he bled to death.
Joe stepped over the body of the assassin and punched in the sound combination he had heard the Huouyt enter to lock them inside. The door slid open with a high-pitched beep, then slid shut again when Joe activated it on the outside. Then he changed the Huouyt’s passcode to a code of his choice and hit LOCK. He heard Be’shaar struggle to reach the door just as the door made another high-pitched beeping sound and sealed the Huouyt inside.
Joe opened the intercom. “You all right?”
“No,” Be’shaar said, panting. His voice sounded strained. “I’m bleeding bad.”
Joe laughed. “I thought Huouyt were better liars than that.”
“I’m not lying. The artery you cut was too large—there was too much internal pressure to stem the flow of—”
“Can it.”
The Huouyt waited in silence.
“Look,” Joe said, “I know you aren’t here to be my Second. You’re some poor bastard Phoenix sent to hunt me down so she could make an example out of me. That’s fine. I don’t hold it against a soldier for doing his job.”
“Commander, listen to me,” the Huouyt growled, dropping the act completely. “They’re not trying to kill you, but they will hunt you down.”
“No they won’t,” Joe laughed. “They don’t give a rat’s ass about some retired grounder Prime who went AWOL. Not when they’ve got bigger fish to fry. I disappear, they’ll let me go without a fuss and we both know it.”
“I’m your Second,” the Huouyt snapped. “Look it up.”
Joe laughed. “Nice try. I’d have to come back inside to do that.”
“Here, I’ll read it to you.”
“Don’t bother. You’re a Peacemaker, not my groundmate. I’d recognize your kind of nasty anywhere. You were pretty convincing, though. I was actually picturing a multi-species groundteam before you put me out. I gotta give you credit—you’re good. Better than most Huouyt I’ve seen, that’s for sure. Hell, maybe you did have a little Va’ga training, who knows. Fact remains, you intend to take me to Levren. I’ve got more important things to do than sit around answering questions while one of your friends carves on me. Sorry.”
“I can help you free your brother.”
Joe laughed. “Would that be before or after I open this door and you drug me and stuff me on a shuttle bound for Levren?”
“I’m not sending you to Levren,” the Huouyt said. “You have my word.”
Joe snorted. “The word of a Huouyt is ash to me.”
“Then you’re truly one of the wisest people in the Army, Commander, but it makes it no less true. I’m to fight with you on Neskfaat.”
Joe sighed, almost believing him. “Sorry. I’m retired, Huouyt. The only reason they called me up in the first place was because one of my old groundmates has a small mind and a big grudge.”
“And which old groundmate might that be, Commander?”
Joe got a rush of icy, skin-crawling goosebumps at the glacial feminine voice in the hall. Fists tightening, he turned.
Maggie was walking towards him, the silver eight-pointed star and four inner circles of a Prime Overseer stark against her crisp black Congie uniform. Joe gave a startled twitch as their eyes met. Dancing over her pupils and irises, slow-moving orange flames flickered and twisted like twin glimpses into an inferno.
Specialized contacts, but unnerving nonetheless.
When she made no move to call security forces, Joe cleared his throat. “I like what you did with your eyes. Real sexy.
Bet the Jreet eat that right up.”
Her unnatural eyes scanned Joe’s body lazily. “Why are you not in uniform, Commander?”
“Be’shaar and I were just chumming it up at the bar.”
“And your Battlemaster?”
“Working out some things with Supply.”
“Like what?”
“Like finding me a cool set of contacts like yours.”
Maggie watched him from behind her glowing flames, her face expressionless. “Come with me.”
“I’m a little busy.”
“Now.”
Joe had to withstand the urge to tell her to go hump a karwiq bulb, knowing that the easiest way to get back out of the barracks did not include being locked in the brig for the night. He followed her. They wound through the corridors of the barracks, and after a moment, Joe realized they were entering the Overseers’ quarters.
“Shouldn’t you have gotten me drunk before taking me home? It would be kinder.”
Maggie gave him an irritated look and opened the door to her chambers. “There’s something you need to know about Neskfaat.”
Joe gave the security scanner on the door a wary glance. Untagged, it would go into lockdown the moment it registered him. “Tell me here. I don’t plan on hanging around.”
“Come inside.”
“I’d rather not.”
“I’m not giving you a choice.”
Joe glanced at her Overseer’s star, gauged just how much trouble she could get him into if he disobeyed, and reluctantly did as he was told.
Immediately, the sensors recognized that Joe no longer carried a working chip and alarms in the room began screeching. An artificial Ooreiki voice said, “Unknown intruder. No identifying tag. Containment steps taken. Please advise.”
All around Joe, a blue-black field popped into being, giving him approximately six ninths in any direction before it began cutting off body parts. Joe held as still as possible as Maggie walked up and shut the door behind him, but made no move to free him from the field.
“So,” Maggie said, coming to stand back in front of him. “How did you lose your tag, Joe?” At full height, she was only five digs, same height as the average Ooreiki. Even stretching, her nose was at about the same height as Joe’s left nipple. She was stretching now. It didn’t make much difference. Joe still towered over her.