Zero Recall

by Sara King

  “Galek, what’s happening?” Joe asked. “Flea and I are coming to help.”

  “No,” Jer’ait said. “I’m already in the tunnel after him. You won’t get here in time.”

  Joe blinked. “I thought you said the temperature would kill you, Jer’ait.”

  “They’re backtracking towards the surface. I might be able to reach cooler temperatures before my zora overheats.”

  Joe cursed. “We’ll be there soon.” He glanced at the Baga. “Drop those. They’ll slow you down.”

  Flea gave him an irritated look and tossed his trophies onto the floor of the den. Then, before Joe could say anything else, he sank into the water. Joe followed at a wary distance. He’d dealt with too many Baga not to expect something psychotic.

  He was still crawling through the body-fitting waste tunnel when Flea reported, “Found your gun, Galek. They tried to hide it under some rocks about twenty rods into the tunnel going up.”

  “Leave it out for him,” Jer’ait said. “We’re killing the Takki that captured him as we speak.”

  “You need help?” Joe asked.

  “No,” Jer’ait said, “Just guard the way back. Galek won’t be armed.”

  “What about you?”

  “I won’t be going back that way. I’m almost overheated as it is.”

  By the time Joe made it to the Trosska mining shaft and reached the upper slave tunnel, Flea and Galek were already on their way back. He met them at the entrance and they left the Baga hidden in a crevice in the ceiling as he and the Ooreiki climbed back towards the Grekkon.

  “Jer’ait, how you doing?”

  “I’ll let you know in a couple tics,” the Huouyt responded.

  “Hang in there.”

  Joe received no response.

  “Now what?” Flea asked when he met up with them at Scarab’s tunnel, a note of petulance to his transmission.

  “Daviin, Jer’ait, we’re back at the exit tunnel. Where are you?”

  “Lost,” Daviin said.

  “Jer’ait?” Joe asked.

  Jer’ait did not respond.

  Chapter 23: Can’t Take the Heat

  Jer’ait felt the heat creeping into his body like a sedative drug. It was taking too long. His zora was close to overheating. The team was somewhere behind him, killing the Takki Jer’ait had passed in his desperate quest for cooler grounds.

  “Jer’ait, how you doing?” the Human asked.

  “I’ll let you know in a couple tics.” He’d been following an upward shaft for two tics now. The air was cooling slightly, but he was sure it wasn’t enough.

  “Hang in there.”

  Jer’ait said nothing, knowing that their sentimental Prime would make a mistake and send someone back for him, which would be a disaster. Jer’ait could not return to the heat of the lower tunnels without sinking into a coma. He was already facing certain unconsciousness—he could feel his zora straining against the Takki pattern, seeking escape from the heat. Jer’ait tried to breathe as shallowly as possible, knowing that drawing the heated air into his lungs only hastened the reaction.

  He ducked into another sloped side-tunnel, hoping it continued on its upward climb. He felt numb and dazed, like he’d accidentally poisoned himself. It was hard to keep a level head as he continued his climb—the urge to lie down and go to sleep was almost overpowering. He gripped a forearm and dug the blunted claws into his skin hard enough to puncture the flesh. The pain grounded him somewhat, though the drowsiness was still there, on the edge of his awareness, growing stronger with every second. He continued on in a daze, blindly taking the path leading to the surface.

  Because of this, he did not realize he’d mistakenly taken a downward-sloping tunnel until he felt the heat increase against his face.

  It was then that Jer’ait’s zora failed and he passed out.

  #

  Daviin hesitated at the entrance to the larger corridor. Somewhere far below, he heard several heavy Dhasha retreating at a jog. The cavalry returning home. But did that mean he was near his original penetration point? He could have sworn it was on the other side of the tunnel.

  Damn the Takki and their mindless burrowing! There was no scheme to their digging, no logic to their creations. And, unlike the tunnels of his home on Va’ga, there were no signs, no maps, no hallmarks of civilization whatsoever.

  They were so utterly irrational that Daviin was beginning to believe the haphazard layout was intentional, that it was calculated to trap fools like him.

  “Daviin?” the Human interrupted. “It’s been three hours.”

  “And I’m still lost,” Daviin said. “I told you, Commander, I got a sense of direction like a Takki’s got courage.”

  “Maybe you could capture a Takki and make it tell you where to go,” Galek suggested.

  Daviin snorted at the Ooreiki’s innocence. “Takki will not betray their masters.”

  “But everyone says they have no honor,” Galek said.

  “That is not honor, kid,” Joe interrupted. “That’s fear. They’re more terrified of the Dhasha than they are of a giant Jreet with his tek in their face. Forced to choose between the two, they choose the Jreet every time.”

  Daviin grinned at Joe’s interpretation. Then he realized that Joe knew of such things firsthand. He grimaced.

  “But—”

  Daviin interrupted the Ooreiki. “Take the survivors and go, Human. Jer’ait is dead or captured. I’m only exhausting myself. Four returning tonight is better than none.”

  “Screw that,” Flea said. “You’ve still got two thousand credits that belong to me, Jreet.”

  “I left them in my locker at the barracks,” Daviin said. “They’re hidden under the shea I brought from Vora.”

  “Ha!” Flea cried. “You think I didn’t watch where you hid them? If I’d wanted to steal them, I’d’ve done it as soon as you left your room. I’ll take them back fairly, Jreet.”

  Daviin chuckled. “If I didn’t know better, little Baga, I’d say you liked losing at dice.”

  “I’m not losing. I’m gaining your confidence.”

  “Of course you are,” Daviin said. “That’s why I had to pay for your meal this morning.”

  Daviin could feel the tiny creature bristle. “I overjudged the amount of money in my accounts,” Flea said. “It was nothing but a calculation error.”

  And it could have been, too. The Baga had no sense for numbers whatsoever. At the last meal, Daviin had watched the poor creature count its six legs in order to assure itself that everyone in the team was present.

  The Human said, “Daviin, my PPU says you’re two hundred digs under the surface. If you could hold still long enough, maybe Scarab could burrow down to you.”

  “A few hours is not long enough to recover those kind of excretions,” Scarab said. “Besides. The prince is dead. The mission is over. We go back.”

  Daviin heard a long pause over the communications line and he had a feeling that their Prime was having a private discussion with the Scarab. After a moment, the Human came back over the common band to say, “Daviin, hold tight. Scarab’s going to burrow to you.”

  The Grekkon sounded much more subdued when it said, “I will re-open the entrance to a main shaft.”

  “And you’d have to fight hundreds of armed Takki to get to it,” Daviin said. “No, just leave. I’ll find my own way eventually.”

  “You’ll find your own way into the grave, you stubborn Jreet. We’re coming for you. Climb up the main shaft you’re in. Get to the surface and we’ll meet you there.”

  “Weren’t you listening, Human?” Daviin snarled. “Four survivors is better than none. Without me and the Huouyt, you’ll get killed if you engage them up there.”

  “Let us worry about that. You just get to the surface.” The Human’s tone of voice let Daviin know that to disobey would be to break his oath. Grimacing, Daviin began the slow, tedious process of feeling his way up the corridor.

  #

  The pat
h to the tunnel entrance had been abandoned. The Takki had either been called back to defend the main den or had fled after hearing their master was dead.

  The lack of resistance was almost eerie. Joe and Galek took opposite sides of the entrance while the Baga perched in the dense foliage above, watching for intruders.

  “Nothing coming, Commander.”

  Joe lowered his weapon and sought out his PPU. Orienting it toward the entrance of the tunnels, he punched in the eleven-digit local frequency their chips and headcoms were using, then frowned at the five hard green dots that appeared on his screen. Three were clustered around himself, the last was marked as negative twenty-six rods on the Z axis, twenty rods on the Y and fifteen rods on the X, using the PPU as the point of reference.

  One other, dangerously flickering green dot was marked negative one hundred rods Z, a thousand rods Y, and negative three hundred rods X. Its blinking had been increasing in urgency over the last six hours. Joe activated biometric stats for the sixth point.

  “Ghost-bones,” Joe whispered.

  “What?” Galek asked. The Ooreiki’s sticky brown eyes were watching the foliage in twitchy jerks, his rifle pointed at the alien forest.

  “Jer’ait’s still alive,” Joe said.

  “What is this?” Daviin demanded, pushing his head through the hole the Grekkon had made in the collapsed rubble.

  “The Huouyt is still alive,” Joe said. “He’s not moving, but his body rhythms are pretty steady.”

  “How long does he have?” Galek asked, liquid brown eyes staring at the puncture they had just made in the den.

  “According to this?” Joe tapped the small black device. “Ninety-nine tics.” Then he thrust it disgustedly back into his cargo belt. “But we all know just how accurate this soot is. It could be two tics. Or hell, he could just be taking a nap. Who knows.”

  Galek glanced at Joe’s PPU, then at the tunnel entrance. “I’ll go get him.”

  “No,” Joe said. “There’s no way you can get down there fast enough.”

  “Then I’ll bring him back anyway,” Galek said stubbornly.

  “There’s no way you can find him, even with the PPU,” Joe said, irritated. The last thing he wanted to do was let the kid get himself killed. “The place is a maze.”

  “He’s got the tunnel instinct, Joe,” Daviin said.

  Joe opened his mouth to argue, but the pleading look in the Ooreiki’s sticky brown eyes forestalled him. He cursed. “Galek, can you use a Human PPU?”

  “I can use mine,” Galek, said, a flash of hope in his eyes. He held up an Ooreiki PPU in his tentacles, though it failed to show the location of the other members in the group. Joe’s PPU was the only one authorized to do that.

  Joe glanced down at his PPU. It was a Human version, which meant it had smaller buttons than other species could comfortably handle, and therefore more of them. Aside from their linguistic skills, Humans had proven to have a digital dexterity that allowed for more detailed and complex tools, which—sometimes—meant more effective tools.

  Of anyone on the team, the Ooreiki was the only other one who carried a PPU with him. The others carried no equipment whatsoever.

  “Here,” Joe said, handing the Ooreiki his PPU. “But you get into a fight and you clear it before you do anything else. Get me?”

  “Yes, Commander,” Galek said, offering Joe his PPU in return. “I’ll make it fast.”

  “We’ll make it fast,” Daviin corrected. “You aren’t going down there without protection, Ooreiki.”

  Galek blinked at the Jreet. “But—”

  “You both go,” Joe interrupted. “And take as long as you need, just don’t let that thing get in the wrong hands with our positions lit up like bulls-eyes.”

  Galek flinched like he’d hit him. “I won’t, sir.”

  “Good. Get out of here.”

  The Ooreiki disappeared after the Jreet. Seconds ticked by like hours, and Joe began to fidget, feeling a sheen of sweat springing up on his forehead before the biosuit ate it. That distance was more than the depth of a normal deep den. It could take hours, even days, to find their teammate in the maze of tunnels. He fretted, wondering if he had given an order that would get them all killed.

  “How’s it going down there?” he finally asked.

  “This is twice I’ll have had to carry the Huouyt to safety. He will not be happy.”

  “You found Jer’ait?”

  “The Ooreiki found him. I merely followed his lead like a lost melaa.”

  “That was fast,” Joe said.

  “You’d be amazed at what this Ooreiki can do. He took the first slave tunnel he saw, and it was going in the wrong direction, I would have sworn it. Then, after a few dozen intersections, I was staring down at our Huouyt and I thought my jaw was going to fall off.”

  “He exaggerates,” Galek said, though Joe could tell the youngster was beaming.

  “Get back here,” Joe said. “You guys can brag over chow.”

  “It’s a little harder going with the Huouyt in tow. The slave tunnels are not as large or as smooth as a Grekkon’s, so Galek and I are having to take turns pushing and pulling him between us.”

  “How is Jer’ait?”

  “Still breathing.”

  Tics later, Galek emerged from the darkness, dragging Jer’ait behind him. The Jreet followed, still invisible, the only trace he gave was a dislodged pebble and a few depressed gelatinous leaves.

  The Baga dropped from his roost in the sticky alien treetops and gave the entrance to the den a wistful look. “All that treasure down there and we’re just gonna let the Space Corps bury it.”

  “Three mil and kasja makes it easy to forget about it,” Joe reminded Flea. “Now let’s get out of here.”

  #

  “I’ll ask you again, Jahul. What is the name of your employer?”

  “I have no employer,” Syuri whispered, horrified of the truth in his own words.

  The Huouyt gave him an amused look and moved away from the table to take up a position along the back wall. The Jahul interrogator took his place.

  “Listen, child,” the elder said with a touch of Rhas Byuin accent, “We know who you’re working for. We just want you to say it.” He sounded almost kindly, his darker green-yellow skin dry, lacking any of the wastes Syuri had shamefully expelled all over himself during the last four days of interrogation. They had refused to allow him a shower, instead leaving him stinking of his own excrement. It was for this reason that Syuri knew that beyond the other Jahul’s kindly manner, he was in truth just as dangerous as the Huouyt.

  “We know you didn’t come up with those codes on your own,” the Rhas Byuin Overseer said, his voice still kind. “You and I both know our kind aren’t capable of those calculations.”

  Syuri lowered his head. He could feel nothing from them—they had removed his sivvet the first day they had found him. The resulting blindness to the creatures around him had left Syuri in a state of shock and terror for days afterwards. His meager whisper to the Huouyt only moments before had been the first thing he had said since they had maimed him.

  “The longer you sit there, Jahul, the longer your sivvet shrivel on ice. You know they can’t be replaced. Why do you continue to provoke us?”

  Syuri looked up at the Huouyt, feeling nothing behind the mask of his glacial eyes. “You destroyed them as soon as you removed them,” he said, miserable. “You never planned on giving them back.”

  “Oh?” The Huouyt left the room and came back with three bloody lumps of twisted gray flesh pressed between two transparent plates. “Then what are these, friend?”

  Syuri felt his internal pressure skyrocket, in part because his hope of regaining his sixth sense had returned, but also because the sheer brutality of the scene was the stuff of every Jahul’s nightmares. They had taken his most important sensory organs and put them on display, taunting him, promising to return them to him if he cooperated.

  The Rhas Byuin Jahul smiled at him as
he watched his reaction. Syuri banished his thoughts of longing, but not quickly enough. His fellow Jahul could read him like an open book. “We know you want them back. We know how blind you feel without your sivvet.”

  “So why’d you take them?” Syuri whispered, peering up into the Rhas Byuin’s kind eyes. Even without his sivvet, he could feel the lie. Staring up into his tormentor’s false kindness, Syuri suddenly felt an overpowering rage. The Rhas Byuin expected him to crumble. He expected him to grovel, spilling his every sin before them before he executed him with the same, kindly smile on his face. He cared nothing about Syuri, only about destroying him.

  He may have been a Jahul, but he was just like the Huouyt.

  “I’ll just set these down here while we talk,” the Huouyt said, lowering the transparent plates to the table across from him. Syuri felt his pressure spike, realizing that the Huouyt was going to allow his sivvet to warm, hastening their deterioration. The Huouyt sat down and patiently pressed his flat, paddle-like tentacles together as he looked at Syuri. His eerie white-blue eyes were emotionless. The normally writhing, hair-like cilia upon his skin was unnaturally still. Staring at the Huouyt, not being able to sense whether he wanted to help him or tear off his legs one by one, hopelessness overwhelmed Syuri.

  “Nobody is coming to help you,” the Rhas Byuin Jahul said, echoing his own feelings back at him. Syuri shot him a tired, angry look, then lowered his gaze back to the tabletop.

  “You said having the doctors remove his sivvet would make him cooperate,” the Huouyt said, never taking his eyes off of Syuri. “I’m beginning to think you were wrong.”

  For the first time, Syuri saw a sheen of liquid on the other Jahul’s skin. The Rhas Byuin Jahul stood, his face clouding with anger as he glared at Syuri. “Look. We know it was Jemria who sent you. No one else would give a furgling fart about the prisoners. We know you’re one of his agents. Now tell us how you contact him.”