Zero Recall

by Sara King

  “That’s some good stuff,” Joe said, once Daviin had extracted all seven rods of his length from around the body, “Didn’t even twitch.” The Human gave the ceiling a dubious glance. “Are you sure you can get it back up there?”

  Muscles quivering from the pressure he had exerted on the Dhasha, Daviin merely grunted. He wrapped the end of his body around the Dhasha’s neck and pushed his head through the hologram masking the hole in the ceiling. Above, the Ooreiki watched nervously, the Grekkon backed into the wall beside him.

  “He’s got it,” Galek said.

  Scarab pushed its body deeper into the wall, then up, then around, popping back into the tunnel six digs above where he had exited. In less than a tic, he had a niche for the Dhasha’s body.

  Daviin slid forward until he felt the first bit of strain from his grip on the Dhasha’s neck. “A little help,” he muttered.

  The Ooreiki jerked sheepishly and hurried to the center of the tunnel. There, he grabbed Daviin around the torso, seemingly oblivious to the tek’s sheath he hugged, and added his strength, giving Daviin a more stable basis with which to use his upper body as a fulcrum. With some effort, the Dhasha’s head appeared in the hole. Galek ran to grab the corpse behind its massive jaw, and together they levered its mass into their tunnel. The Human, who only stood to be crushed by the forces involved, stood out of the way to watch.

  Once they had the Dhasha entombed, Daviin pulled himself into a coil to rest. The dual load of forming his energy-shield and wrestling a Dhasha into submission was bringing on the familiar after-battle exhaustion that Daviin had experienced many times before. He would need a few hours to recuperate.

  “Everyone quiet,” their Prime said once the Ooreiki had helped him back in the Grekkon’s tunnel. “Flea says they heard us.”

  Not two seconds later, a group of Dhasha came barreling down the tunnel beneath them, their cold green eyes glittering with mad rage. They passed without slowing.

  “They’ll be back,” Joe whispered. “I just hope Jer’ait’s smart enough to—oh, ash.”

  “What?” Daviin swiveled around. Behind him, Joe and Galek looked petrified, staring into space as they listened to something Daviin couldn’t hear. The Human’s skin had paled, moisture beading on his forehead. The Ooreiki’s liquid brown eyes were wide, the slitted black pupils fully dilated.

  “They got Flea,” Galek cried. Even as Daviin turned to chastise the Ooreiki for being so loud, a flash of rainbow appeared in the opening behind him.

  “Found you,” the Dhasha said, its unholy emerald eyes glittering Death.

  #

  Jer’ait followed the Baga’s corpse at a distance, staying out of sight. A Dhasha’s purple-scaled slave was carrying it a pace in front of its master, the Takki’s cerulean, egg-shaped eyes downcast. Behind the Takki, the Dhasha strutted like a gem-studded tank. Its massive body and stubby legs made for an awkward shuffle behind the more elegant violet biped, who held the Baga’s corpse out before it with two scaly purple arms that resembled Joe’s.

  They were taking the pest back to the deep den, a prize to show their leader.

  Jer’ait ducked into a slave tunnel, deciding to take a less obvious route. He was halfway to the Takki living-quarters when the Grekkon’s voice said over the local channel, “They got the Ooreiki and the Prime. The Jreet escaped in a side tunnel after killing one of them, but I think he’s injured, possibly fatal. He’s raised his energy level—I have no idea where he went. What should I do?”

  Jer’ait hesitated, considering. “Did the Dhasha sever the Jreet’s head or separate its body in any way?”

  “No.”

  “Then it will live. Worry about yourself, for now. They’ll send Takki after you. Escape to the surface if you have to, but meet me back at our penetration point in two hours.”

  “Very well.” The Grekkon said nothing more.

  Now was an excellent time to abandon the Human. Jer’ait had suspected from the beginning that the Trith’s message had been a fake, and this was perfect proof. Three of their team dead, one incommunicado, the rest of the six battalions destroyed. Headquarters would welcome a retreat with open arms, considering the intelligence they had gained in the process.

  Yet, he had his orders. The Human was to survive until the Vahlin was dead.

  Jer’ait took a deep breath and moved deeper into the tunnels.

  When Jer’ait reached the deep den, the first thing he realized was that the Human was still fully conscious. The Ooreiki lay in a tentacled, fleshy heap on the floor, its biosuit closed over whatever wounds it had endured in its capture. If it was still alive, it was just barely.

  The Human, meanwhile, spat a continuous stream of invective intended to provoke his captors into killing him—a final attempt to protect the rest of his team. The prince seemed oblivious. He was listening to a report by one of his lieutenants.

  “It’s a five-part com system. That means there’s two more members out there.”

  “A Grekkon and a Huouyt.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Then who killed my heir?”

  “Our guess is the Grekkon, sir. He stayed behind to watch the tunnel. The Grekkon could have surprised him from above.”

  “Why would they send a five-member groundteam?” the prince demanded. “I was told it would be six. PlanOps always sends six.”

  Jer’ait dropped to his knees to aid another Takki in removing Dhasha waste from the floor as he listened. Beside him, the slave didn’t even look up. It simply continued dragging its scaly violet hands through the excrement—much of which contained the undigested bones of Takki—and kept its pupilless, gemlike blue eyes focused on the floor.

  When the lieutenants had no opinions to offer, the prince turned to the Human and casually batted him aside, cutting off his curses abruptly. Jer’ait watched the suit seal over the angry red wounds on the inside and wondered if the Human had been dealt a killing blow.

  He hadn’t. He groaned as the Dhasha prince flipped him over and pressed a stubby paw to his chest, razor black talons poised to sink into his organs. Into the Human’s face, the prince said, “What species is the sixth member of your groundteam? Which one are we missing?”

  Jer’ait tensed. The Jreet was their best hope of getting out alive. If the Human gave him away...

  “We’ve only got five,” the Human said.

  The Dhasha tensed the muscles in his foot, sinking the claws through the biosuit and into the Human’s chest. Joe let out a wretched scream.

  “Slave, scan him.” A Takki rushed forward and pressed a small metallic device to the Human’s head. “We know you’re lying. Tell me again how many were in your group.” He sank his talons deeper.

  “Five,” the Human screamed.

  The prince looked up. “Well?”

  “The truth, master,” a Takki said, pulling the scanner away from the Human’s head.

  “These Humans, have they the Huouyt’s ability to lie?”

  No, they don’t, Jer’ait thought, perplexed.

  The Takki checked the instrument’s database and said, “No, sire. Their mental energies are quite straightforward.”

  The prince grunted and returned his attention to the Human. “Why five? The Ground Force works in increments of six.”

  “Because the Prime told him to burn off.” Joe’s breaths were coming in small pants, his face twisted in pain. “He wouldn’t follow orders.”

  Jer’ait stood from his place beside the Takki cleaning the floor and wove his way through the congregated Dhasha. Without being told, he began to groom the prince.

  The prince ignored him completely. To his lieutenants, he said, “Nehi, Glahs, you stay here and guard the captives. The rest of you I want in the tunnels, figuring out where the hell the other two of them are.”

  Jer’ait felt a wave of frustration as the two largest Dhasha took positions near the entrances to the den. He had an entire array of poisons on his person, but unless he could get the prince alone, ther
e was no way he could use them without being torn to pieces afterward. As it was, if he wasn’t careful, the prince could kill him in his death throes. It would only take one stray talon to rip him open from throat to abdomen.

  “Harder, slave,” the prince barked at him. “Scratch, don’t rub.”

  Seething, Jer’ait reached under the golden sub-scales and began clawing away huge portions of stale, rancid-smelling flesh. Biting red parasites came off with the administration of his claws, falling to the ground and scuttling across the floor looking for another host. Around him, other Takki materialized to help, each taking a position on their master’s body seemingly at random. The prince gave a contented sigh and shuffled over to the pillows surrounding his brooding females and stretched out to give his slaves better access.

  Jer’ait got a good look at his groundmates as he worked and immediately felt a pang of worry. Joe was unconscious, now, and his breathing was shallow enough to suggest his biosuit had shut off his body functions to prolong death. The Ooreiki had been in that state for almost half an hour now.

  “Scratch harder!” the prince roared again.

  Jer’ait glanced again at the two unconscious bodies on the other side of the room. Leave them, his mind screamed at him. The Trith’s message was a hoax. He will not kill the Vahlin. They are no use to you now.

  Yet, every time Jer’ait considered getting up and leaving the den, he was haunted by an image of the Human standing over him, running off one of his brother’s agents while he lay drugged and helpless.

  Jer’ait gritted his borrowed Takki jaw, and scratched.

  #

  Daviin came to a halt when the slave tunnel widened enough for him to double back upon himself and check his wounds.

  They were bad. The Dhasha had sliced open a fluids circuit for his fifth segment. If he didn’t find a way to the surface in the next eight hours, he would have to choose between shedding half his length or bleeding to death.

  Daviin twisted back around to face the slave tunnel again. It had been sloping upwards for over an hour now, but now it had taken an abrupt downward turn, seemingly doubling back on itself.

  Undisciplined fools, Daviin cursed. The tunnels had no rhyme nor reason, and not for the first time, he wished he had the Ooreiki’s special instincts. The Jreet, much to Daviin’s chagrin, were often taunted by Dhasha for having trouble finding the door in a well-marked, one-room house with nothing to obstruct their view of all four walls. Directions, as much as he hated to admit it, were not Daviin’s strong suit.

  Praying the slave tunnel resumed its upward slant somewhere ahead, Daviin continued forward.

  Instead, the tunnel dipped even more steeply, making it an almost vertical drop. The slaves apparently had dug the tunnel to bypass another one, and wherever Daviin was headed, it wasn’t to the surface.

  He cursed himself again, though it was too late to turn around. His physiology made it impossible to back up, and he didn’t want to take the chance that he would get trapped if he doubled back on himself to change direction.

  At the end of the tunnel, Daviin found himself faced with a main shaft and no way to avoid it. Raising his energy level, he slid inside, keeping as tightly to the left wall as he could as he made his way up the slight incline that indicated the way out of the deep den.

  The tunnel ended at a pile of rubble a hundred rods later. Daviin realized with growing despair that the Takki had filled in the entrances and he was probably thoroughly trapped. He could never dig his way out, not before the Dhasha heard him and came to investigate. He had to find an open shaft, which meant he had to find the shaft the Grekkon had dug to penetrate the den.

  Daviin, however, was thoroughly and utterly lost. He didn’t know which of the twelve entrances he had found—he was even having trouble deciding just which way was up.

  Examining his fate, knowing he was bleeding to death, Daviin realized he had to make a decision. He was in a main shaft. He knew where it led, if he knew nothing else. He could go back and finish what his comrades had given their lives to do. What his ward had given his life to do.

  But Daviin hesitated.

  His ward was a slave. If the Welus found out a Voran prince had died extracting blood-price for a slave, Daviin’s family line would be forever shamed. The Welus would scream his name in battle for a thousand generations.

  Still, he had given his oath. The Human had been his ward. Daviin had made the choice himself, however much the Human had withheld from him. However faulty his decision, it had been his decision.

  Daviin had never felt so torn. He glanced down at his hands.

  Joe was my ward. We will meet again, beyond the ninety hells. Daviin hesitated, imagining the reunion. Then, What will I tell him if I didn’t do my duty?

  His family, Daviin decided, could fend for itself. Let the Welus scream. The oath of a Voran Sentinel was sacred, to whomever it was given.

  Daviin had already started back down the shaft when he heard the movement in the rubble behind him. He froze.

  The movement came again, the scraping of scales on rubble. Not Dhasha scales—something softer.

  A Takki.

  Daviin slid closer, so that he was straddling the pile of debris blocking the entrance. Sure enough, he heard a Takki breathing in a recess, hidden by dirt and rocks. The steady way its breath moved through its teeth told him the Takki had not heard him—it was merely hiding.

  Waiting for someone to attempt to break through so it could report it to its masters.

  Daviin slid forward and allowed himself one small echolocating ping to solidify in his mind the Takki’s position. He heard the Takki jerk with confusion. Then, lightning-fast, he plunged into the Takki’s hiding place, grabbed the creature by the arm, and tore it out into the tunnel. With a whiplike motion, he flipped around and slammed the Takki into the ground with all the force he could muster. He heard the rapid pops of bones breaking and a faint gurgling groan. Daviin repeated the process until he was sure the Takki was dead. He wanted to avoid using his tek as much as possible, to save his poison for his real enemies.

  After the Takki breathed its last, Daviin slid back down along the side of the tunnel, wedged tightly into the lower corner, pushing his way deeper into the den.

  He was going to die, but he would take as many Dhasha with him as he could.

  Tics later, Daviin heard a group of Dhasha racing up the shaft, no doubt to investigate why their spy had ceased to file reports. They passed him, oblivious to the seven rods of Jreet lying invisible along the wall. Daviin let them go, still clinging to the edge of the tunnel. His fight was elsewhere. Perhaps, if he was lucky, he could remove Joe’s corpse to the surface for an honorable burial.

  Daviin had descended almost a ferlii length into the bowels of Neskfaat and was beginning to hear sounds of life from the tunnels ahead when movement from above startled him. For a horrible moment, Daviin thought a Dhasha had been standing completely still in the hallway, listening for him. Then he realized it was a muffled scuffling sound, like something being pushed and dragged at the same time.

  He’d heard this sound before.

  “Scarab!”

  He said the word as loud as he dared, hoping it carried into whatever tunnel the Grekkon had dug. Daviin would have given anything to be able to ping the surrounding area, but he could hear at least a dozen Dhasha somewhere ahead of him, and every one of them would come running at the sound.

  The sounds above him stopped. After a moment, they resumed again, though they seemed to grow closer. Daviin reared up, preparing to strike if it wasn’t what he had thought.

  “Scarab,” Daviin repeated.

  The sounds stopped again. A trickle of dirt fell from the ceiling.

  “Jreet?”

  There was no mistaking the artificial voicebox of the Grekkon digger.

  “Why are you still here?” Daviin whispered. “Why did you not flee?”

  “Follow me. We talk somewhere safe.” The smooth, dragging-pulling sound
resumed, directly above his head. Daviin pushed up and felt for the opening with his snout. The Grekkon was already gone somewhere ahead, leaving Daviin to follow the sounds of his burrowing.

  Daviin slid into the perfectly-slick tunnel and followed for almost twenty tics, the Grekkon’s tunnel mimicking the Takki’s in its lack of logical straight lines, instead curving and swaying haphazardly, almost as if the Grekkon were inebriated. Daviin was growing irritated when the Grekkon finally stopped.

  “Lower your energy level, Jreet.”

  Daviin did.

  The Grekkon peered at him with its four black eyes. Instead of talking, the Grekkon burrowed back on the tunnel it had just created, rejoining the shaft precisely where Daviin’s body ended. Daviin felt a cold prickle, realizing how close he had come to losing one of his segments.

  “Stay right here. Don’t move. Don’t say a word. I have three Takki on my trail. I’ve shaken the rest, but these are being stubborn. Save your strength while I deal with them.”

  “Can I help?” Daviin asked, twisting around to look. He could see nothing past the black void of the Grekkon’s rear. Sudden panic washed over Daviin as he realized the Grekkon could back into him and dissolve his entire body—and Daviin could do nothing about it.

  “No,” the Grekkon said. “Vanish again and stay silent.”

  Daviin did so and held his breath, listening.

  Scarab turned around, then carefully backed himself into the tunnel he had just created in the wall.

  The first Takki came soon after he was situated. Daviin tensed, ready to lash out and deal with the Takki himself, but he never got the chance. As soon as the Takki passed before the Grekkon’s hidden entrance, the Grekkon lunged. Twin spears punctured the Takki’s chest and came out the other side. The Takki didn’t even have a chance to scream. The Grekkon began backing up again, dragging the Takki with it. What it did with the body, Daviin wasn’t sure, but it duplicated the procedure with the next two victims, not even giving Daviin the chance to assist.