Zero Recall

by Sara King

  Syuri remembered the endless rows of doors, the subterranean prison. Softly, he said, “Is he the only Geuji you haven’t trapped down there?”

  “Trapped?” The Huouyt snorted. “They chose that fate, when they committed treason against Congress.”

  Syuri looked up. “What?”

  “One and a half million turns ago. They tried to create their own government,” the Huouyt said. His vertical mouth-slit puckered. “Obviously they failed.”

  Syuri was appalled. “The Dhasha try every hundred turns.”

  “Yes, but the Geuji would have succeeded.”

  The Rhas Byuin slapped the table with a slim green hand. “You’re giving him too much. We’re interrogating him, Cha’vai, not the other way around.”

  “I’m not worried about getting the information I want out of him,” the Huouyt said, his eerie white-blue eyes staring fixedly at Syuri. “Like I said before you maimed him, I can do it with drugs.”

  “We want it to be legal, you stupid furg.”

  “Legalities become quite insignificant compared to what is at stake.” The Huouyt had not taken his eyes off of Syuri.

  The Rhas Byuin straightened angrily. “Jemria was not present at the meeting of Geuji. He hadn’t been spawned yet. If Congress does not apprehend him legally for the crimes he has committed, then we have no way to charge him. Our superiors want no chance that he’ll go on trial. If he does, he will not only talk hoops around our prosecutors, but he’ll have a chance to get the publicity he desires and those bleeding-heart conservationists will cry over his story and demand that all the Geuji go free.”

  “Then don’t give him a trial,” the Huouyt said, never taking his eyes off of Syuri. “I assure you our superiors have thought of that long before this. What is important right now is apprehending him. Let the politicians bicker over the technicalities.”

  “But we were given specific orders to—” The Rhas Byuin caught himself, realizing Syuri was in the room. “Do not drug him until you get approval, Cha’vai.”

  “We’ll see,” the Huouyt said. Syuri could feel the press of his gaze on his skin and felt his internal pressure rising. He’d heard horrible stories about Huouyt. They were assassins that used drugs like a freight captain used his ship. Even without his sivvet, Syuri knew that the Huouyt could do exactly as he said and elicit the truth from him through chemicals.

  The Huouyt leaned toward Syuri.

  “The prisoner is a Jahul,” the Rhas Byuin insisted, stepping toward them. “That puts him under Jahul authority. I’m going to have to ask you to leave, Huouyt.”

  “Ask all you want,” the Huouyt said, never moving. “As far as I’m concerned, you might be working with him.”

  The Rhas Byuin made an irritated sound and went to the door. “I’ll be back,” he said, then slammed the door behind him.

  “So,” the Huouyt said with an ominous flatness to his voice, “Do you want to tell me where I can find your employer or do you want me to make you tell me?”

  Syuri shuddered.

  The Huouyt leaned closer, his electric eyes making the skin on Syuri’s arms itch from their closeness. “I want you to think about something.” As the Huouyt stared at him with his enormous, terrifying, unblinking eyes, he said, “How many times have you known Jemria to be wrong?”

  Syuri dropped his gaze. “Never.” His whisper felt like a stake through his chest, puncturing his inner chambers.

  “You wanted to know why we keep them imprisoned down here? That is why, Jahul. Geuji are never wrong.”

  Syuri closed his eyes, knowing what was to come.

  “And he knew you would be captured here. Tell me I’m wrong.”

  Syuri said nothing.

  Cha’vai made an amused sound. “Forgotten’s agents are notorious for their loyalty to their employer, as misplaced as it is. Do you know how many of Forgotten’s agents are alive today?”

  Syuri didn’t want to hear it, but his hands were cuffed to the table and he could not leave.

  “One.” The Huouyt flicked his downy tentacle at Syuri. “You.” He leaned back. “Sure, he has contacts, people we’ll never hear of that aid in his criminal activities, and help him evade us time and time again, but he only has one agent. Do you know why that is, Jahul?” He leaned forward again, his electric eyes intense. “Because they turn on him. They always turn.”

  Syuri shook his head.

  The Huouyt gave him a flat, alien look that reeked of pity even without his sivvet. “You think a creature like that is actually capable of having a friend, Jahul?”

  Syuri shuddered, realizing Cha’vai was right. Forgotten was alone. He’d seen the proof. He’d felt it. Who could the Geuji afford to trust? It was much easier to get rid of his agents after they’d served their usefulness.

  No.

  The Geuji must have made a mistake in his timing, something that allowed the Huouyt to catch him. He wouldn’t have purposefully put Syuri into the hands of the enemy. He refused to believe it.

  “I ask again,” the Huouyt said, his eyes unreadable. “Will you give us the information we require willingly or will you do it with drugs? I must warn you that some of the substances we Huouyt use in our interrogations have permanent consequences.”

  Syuri took a deep breath. “So is that what Forgotten wants? To free his people?”

  The Huouyt gave him an electric stare. “One can assume.”

  “Drug me,” Syuri said. “You will not get what you desire, Huouyt.”

  The Huouyt stood with an unreadable look. His tentacle flicked outward and touched Syuri’s exposed arm. He felt a tiny sting and Syuri lost feeling almost instantly.

  “I already have,” the Huouyt said.

  #

  “Still wanted a claw,” Flea muttered as the six of them walked from the awards ceremony.

  A bit irritated, Jer’ait examined the Baga. Flea’s kasja was downsized to about the size of a Congressional credit, so as not to crush the Baga under its weight. An Ooreiki Overseer had affixed it to the back of his carapace, between the wings, right before the Ooreiki had given Flea a ceremonial note worth three million credits. Despite the kasja’s diminutive size, it still glowed with all the impressive beauty of a larger one. It made Jer’ait slightly jealous of the Baga’s good fortune, but only for a moment. Only imbecile furgs wanted glowing, rainbow-colored targets affixed to their backs. Not even the Human, who had six, wore his.

  “You’ll get a claw next time,” the Human said.

  The Baga grunted disgustedly. “I’d have one now, if Galek hadn’t been stupid and gotten himself caught.”

  “I’m sorry, Flea,” the Ooreiki said, looking sincere.

  “Think of it this way,” Daviin said. “Instead of a worthless prince’s shit-covered talon, now you’ve got a few million credits to lose to me, instead of a few thousand.”

  The Baga’s eyes lit up with obvious glee. “Is that a challenge?”

  “Not really,” Daviin said. “Taking money from a Baga is like taking meat from an Ayhi. They can neither use it, nor have the capacity to appreciate it properly.”

  Flea’s hackles went up, and for a moment, Jer’ait thought he would spit in the furgling Jreet’s face. Then the Baga laughed. “You’re on.”

  Jer’ait tried not to resent his groundmates for the casual way they spoke of losing such vast sums of money, but it was hard. Despite everything the rest of the Corps seemed to believe, a Peacemaker of the Eleventh Hjai did not live in luxury. Not a Peacemaker who abided by the law, anyway. Jer’ait could have made plenty of money on the side, as an assassin, but he took his Oath to Congress seriously, unlike many of his peers.

  Because of this, Jer’ait lived a bare existence. He nourished himself with standard Huouyt nuajan tubes or nutrient wafers. On Koliinaat, he slept in a tiny cubicle overlooking a Ueshi restaurant. On Levren, he maintained a small apartment in the industrial sector. His life savings amounted to two rotations’ wages. And, with all the political bickering that wen
t on in the Regency, high-ranked Peacemakers were almost always the first to feel the blow, since Jer’ait and most of his peers chose to forfeit their salaries during this time so that their apprentices could eat.

  It had been happening so often of late that Jer’ait considered himself lucky that debtors from Koliinaat hadn’t yet come to Jeelsiht looking for him. With Rri’jan back to his old tricks and Bev’kii aligning the Huouyt of Jeelsiht against him, Jer’ait would have been grateful for the aid. He had, after all, killed a Dhasha prince.

  Yet Life was not often kind, and while a royal Jreet and a newly-rich Baga bickered about their fortunes, Jer’ait was trying to figure out how to make his next domicile payment without getting either him or his landlord assassinated in the attempt.

  Or without the Human finding out about his troubles.

  “Save your dice for after dinner,” the Human ordered, giving the Jreet and the Baga hard looks with his small round eyes. “We all made it out without having to visit the hospital. A first for any team. This requires a celebration.”

  “A feast!” the Jreet roared. “In honor of our heroes!” Daviin bent, plucked the Baga from the air, and put him on his shoulder. When he reached for the Human, Joe backed away, holding his hands in front of him. “No, Daviin, don’t you da—”

  The Jreet easily brushed aside the Human’s arms, then lifted him and set him down on the other shoulder. Then, when Joe struggled to get down, Daviin forcefully held him there with a chest-sized hand and turned to scowl at him with his metallic gaze.

  Wisely, the Human relented and sat.

  “Melaa for everyone!” Daviin roared, not losing a beat.

  Jer’ait’s face twisted as he considered eating the Jreet’s fat, bloated cuisine-of-choice. The pattern-shift that would result from such a venture left him feeling physically ill. “I think I’ll pass.”

  “Me, too,” Joe said. “But you can eat all the melaa you want, Daviin. I’ll go for some steak.”

  Daviin’s face contorted in confusion. “Melaa has steak.”

  Jer’ait rolled his eyes. “I don’t think he understands. Jreet. Your food sucks.”

  “Have you tried it?” Daviin demanded, swiveling to face Jer’ait.

  “Thank the gods, no.”

  “You will try it,” the Jreet said firmly.

  “Maybe later,” Jer’ait said. “Right now, I have better things to do.”

  From Daviin’s shoulder, Joe’s voice was sharp. “Better than eating with your groundmates?”

  “Somebody wants me dead,” Jer’ait said. “I want to investigate in peace.”

  “Eat with us first.” There was no mistaking his Prime’s tone. It was an order.

  “I wish I could,” Jer’ait said sincerely. “But duty calls.”

  Daviin’s metallic gaze sharpened.

  Sensing the Jreet understood which duties he referred to, Jer’ait bowed and departed before the Human could order the Sentinel to stop him. He heard the Baga crack a joke after he’d left, and the others laughed. Jer’ait felt a rush of shame before he stumbled to a halt, stunned.

  You’re letting yourself get attached to your target. You fool!

  He glanced over his shoulder, watching the rest of his groundmates continue into the city without him. A part of him longed to be there with them.

  He’s bewitched me, he thought, watching the Human cling uncomfortably to the Jreet’s thick neck as Daviin continued his sideways slither toward the food court. He shook himself. If I don’t kill him, someone else will. At least I have the power to make it painless.

  Jer’ait turned back to his path. Overseer Bev’kii he could deal with. It was the Peacemaker spy approaching Joe while Jer’ait was incapacitated that worried him.

  Huouyt carry all of their poisons in their body. There’s only one reason he needed to have something under his arm.

  Jer’ait returned to his room and locked the door. He took out his personal reader, entered his code, and called Yua’nev.

  “Yes?”

  Jer’ait watched his superior’s eyes, frustrated that he could read nothing behind the glassy, electric surface.

  “You are troubled, Jer’ait.”

  Jer’ait cursed himself inwardly. Even though Yua’nev’s eyes were mirrors, his own was not. He struggled to regain his composure.

  “I spoke with one of Jemria’s agents today.”

  “Truly?” Yua’nev leaned toward his reader, interested. “Where?”

  “Here on Jeelsiht. I think the Geuji is helping us defeat the Dhasha. He’s keeping the Jreet heirs alive when they should be dead.”

  Yua’nev snorted. “The Geuji is only interested in freeing his people. We have the proof of that in the cellars of Levren. He sent another agent—a true agent, one we believe has had personal contact with him—to free the Geuji from the basement of the Academy.”

  “And?” Jer’ait asked.

  “He’s being interrogated at this moment.”

  Jer’ait cocked his head. “Ask him if he knows anything about Aez.”

  Yua’nev’s electric eyes remained impassive. “Why?”

  “The Geuji works under several layers of deception. I doubt his intention with Daviin is only to keep him alive. Further, the ekhta that blew up Aez was too hot to be one of ours. Who else to make one but a Geuji?”

  “So he blows up Aez, then proceeds to help us defeat the Vahlin?” Yua’nev made a dismissive gesture. “What’s the point of that?”

  Jer’ait frowned. “I don’t know.”

  Yua’nev grunted. “It will be taken into consideration. The Trith did prophesize—”

  “Are you sure it was the Trith?” Jer’ait interrupted.

  For a long moment, Yua’nev did not speak. Then, slowly, he said, “Who else could it have been, Jer’ait?”

  “You said there’s no supercomputer capable of replicating the Trith message. But what of a Geuji?”

  “Are you hearing yourself?” Yua’nev demanded. “Why would the Geuji send us a warning he was about to blow up Aez?”

  Jer’ait frowned. Because he wanted us to do something. He considered. Just what had they done differently since receiving the message?

  They sent me to kill Joe.

  Jer’ait felt his breath catch. “Yua’nev, I think he wants the Human dead.”

  “And that’s why he keeps his Sentinel alive.”

  Jer’ait opened his mouth, but hesitated. The fact that Yua’nev knew Daviin had chosen the Human as his ward bothered him. The Geuji’s involvement bothered him. The Trith and Aez bothered him.

  He could not produce any answers, so he remained silent.

  “It’s an interesting idea, Jer’ait,” Yua’nev said, once he did not respond, “but the Geuji is not a god. He’s not all-powerful. Despite the legends, he can’t predict the future.”

  Predict the future. The phrase tickled something in the back of his head. Who had been predicting the future? Who seemed to be the only one who knew what the hell was happening on Neskfaat?

  The Dhasha Vahlin.

  The truth slammed into Jer’ait like a runaway freighter.

  Looking into Yua’nev’s eyes, though, Jer’ait didn’t have to be able to read his thoughts to know his superior wasn’t going to believe him.

  They want me to kill an innocent man.

  CHAPTER 24: Ask

  “By this point, Jer’ait will have discovered my involvement, at least part of it. He will not understand why, but he will understand that his commitment to kill Zero is based on faulty information.”

  “That won’t keep him from killing the Human,” Rri’jan said. The Huouyt had unfolded a metal chair from the wall and made himself comfortable. “After accepting employment, a Va’gan kills who he’s told to kill. He won’t ask questions.”

  “That’s true. The bond of trust between a Va’gan and his employer is imperative, else Va’ga would have no business. Jer’ait is well aware of this.”

  “So we replace the Human,” Rri’jan s
aid. “With who?”

  “Rri’jan, as far as our plans are concerned, it would be better if you didn’t open your mouth. We’ll have more time if I don’t have to answer stupid questions.”

  The Representative’s face twitched with anger, though his eyes remained unreadable mirrors. “By all means, Forgotten. Go ahead and enlighten me.”

  “I think that’s beyond the realm of possibility.”

  “Try. I must understand how I am to get my Tribunal seat.”

  “Actually, things will run quite smoothly without you knowing anything at all,” Forgotten said. “The only reason I tell you is so you know who earned you your reward in the end and you don’t dismiss it as chance.”

  “It is hard to dismiss Mekkval’s assassination as chance.”

  “True. The third crawl will be harder for all the teams involved. Since about four hundred groundteams survive the second crawl, we will be left with about eighty after this one. My two chosen teams will have particular troubles with it.”

  “Why?”

  “Zero will wake up to find the mental barrier the medics on Kophat installed during his recruit training are beginning to fail. Too much time underground in too short a period. That, and the Dhasha will be using their own weapons against them.”

  “I’m confused.”

  “Of course you are. But consider this…Mekkval will not only have Takki in the tunnels with him. We must train our groundteam to handle all threats, not just Takki.”

  Rri’jan’s face furrowed in irritation. “Dhasha Representatives refuse to have Sentinels. The Jreet wouldn’t Sentinel for them, even if they were accepted. The two species hate each other.”

  “Why are you so concerned with the Jreet?”

  #

  “We soot this up, we’re screwed. Any questions?”

  “Why are we going back?” Galek cried. “I thought they gave us two weeks. Flea killed a prince!”

  He doesn’t understand, Jer’ait thought. Of all of them here, only the Human and I understand. They’re sending us back until we’re done being useful. Until we’re dead.