by Sara King
They give us one day, Joe thought, disgusted. One ashing day. Didn’t even bother to give Jer’ait a kasja. Remembering the way the Huouyt Overseer had given Jer’ait a disgusted look when he found out Jer’ait had made the kill, he bristled. He was angry, but as of yet had said nothing to his friends. They were indignant Jer’ait had not received his fair reward, but Joe was pretty sure no one other than Jer’ait had put together what was really going on.
That afternoon, under the watchful eyes of Daviin and the Baga both, Jer’ait had administered a drug that had taken away Joe’s shakes as if they never existed. For that alone, Jer’ait deserved a kasja.
They’re not even bothering to hide it anymore, Joe thought, disgusted. They don’t expect us to live. He glanced at his friends.
Instead of dicing, Flea and Daviin were sitting across from each other, scowling at each other as if somebody had been caught cheating, each intensely focused on his opponent. They’d been sitting that way for the last two hours, and the four hours before that, back in the barracks. Flea had flown backwards to get on the shuttle in order to continue staring the Jreet down.
“Guys,” Joe warned.
“Shh!” Flea snapped. “Ka-par.”
Joe narrowed his eyes. “You’re burning me, right?”
“The Baga will bow to me,” Daviin said, continuing to give Flea his full predatory attention. “Once and for all.”
“He’s just trying to get that last batch of credits back,” Flea retorted, faceted eyes still locked on Daviin’s face. “I won big last night, Joe. Billions.”
Joe groaned and glanced over at Galek, a little unnerved at the way Jer’ait’s drugs seemed to have made him…more relaxed. Even when a gun had gone off in the staging area before getting on a shuttle, Joe hadn’t even gotten a tingle of alarm. On one hand, it was good to be without fear. On the other hand, he hated feeling like his survival instincts were being blunted.
Which is more important? Joe wondered. Instincts or a lack of fear? Remembering the way he’d almost gotten them all killed in that last damn crawl, he decided it was a lack of fear…at least until he could find some way to permanently rewire that part of his brain.
Under his prolonged stare, Galek gave him a nervous grin and went back to the reader on his lap. The Ooreiki was the only other one on the ship who wore a biosuit besides Joe. Despite the Baga’s attempts to get Galek to dice with him the night before, however, the Ooreiki had ignored him completely, and had been quietly studying the map of their landing zone for hours.
Across the shuttle, the Huouyt was naked, as was necessary for him to take a new pattern. The Grekkon had to keep the glands upon his bulbous rear free of obstruction, the Baga couldn’t fly while wearing one, and Daviin didn’t need one, and wouldn’t wear it if he did.
“All right,” Joe said. “We make this fast. I want us down that tunnel within a tic, got me?”
The armored doors of the shuttle hissed open and Joe tensed, expecting sniper fire. Nothing.
“Flea, get up on one of those trees. I want to know if anything moves. Jer’ait, you go check out our insertion point. Scarab, stay between me and Galek. We’ll try to draw the fire away from you.”
It took Joe a moment to realize that everyone but the Jreet and the Baga had gotten off the ship. Daviin and Flea, on the other hand, continued to scowl at each other across the shuttle bay, motionless.
“Would you burning get your asses out here?!” Joe snapped. “Ka-par later! We have Dhasha to kill.”
“Sure,” Flea said, still utterly still. “But the Jreet goes first.”
“Not gonna happen, Baga,” Daviin growled. “Your body is mine.”
Joe marched back on the ship, grabbed Daviin by the ear-crest and Flea by the spitter, and ignored their startled grunts as he ripped them out of their staring-contest and shoved them out the shuttle door. “Later!” he snapped.
“Saved by the Prime,” Flea jeered.
“You were about to crack like a piji shell,” Daviin retorted. “Next time we ka-par, we’ll leave the meddling Human—”
“Kill Dhasha!” Joe snapped. “Or the next ka-par you have will be with your reaper. Ghosts!”
“That would be fun,” Flea replied. “I wonder if he’d be any good.”
“Probably,” Daviin said, as he slithered out into the alien foliage. “He doesn’t have to eat.”
“So how would the rules for that work?” Flea said. “I mean, if you have to be my slave when I win here, what would happen if I beat Death? Think Death would be my slave after that?”
“Depends on the honor of Death,” Daviin replied.
Joe narrowed his eyes and followed.
They took cover in a laser-shredded section of red alien undergrowth while their scouts took their positions. As they waited, Joe could not help but notice the bodies.
They lay strewn across the landscape like they’d fallen from the sky. Bloated. Stinking. Weeks old. One of the first peacekeeping forces, before PlanOps realized Neskfaat was a full-scale rebellion. Several corpses—or what was left of corpses—were clinging to the branches of alien trees like gruesome holiday ornaments.
“Stay focused,” Joe told the Ooreiki, who was staring up at them with his sticky brown eyes wide. “Jer’ait, how’s it looking? Can we come out?”
“Entrance is open,” the Huouyt responded after a moment. “No guards.”
“Then we’re in trouble,” Joe said. “Everyone haul ass. We’re finding another entrance. Now!”
Flea remained stationed in the tree until Jer’ait and Daviin rejoined them, slipping through the heavy foliage like wraiths. Daviin stayed with the group while Jer’ait rushed ahead to scout for enemies. In a few moments, Flea sped past overhead, assisting Jer’ait.
“Nothing,” Flea said.
“This is really starting to creep me out,” Joe said. He glanced at the sky. “Flea, just how high can you go?”
“He leaves the treetops and he’s a target for anything with a gun,” Jer’ait said.
“Yeah, but he won’t be long. Flea, go see what you can find.”
In reply, the Baga soared out of the foliage and into the sky. It was enviable, how fast he could leave them all in the dust.
“Nothing, Joe,” Flea said. “No Takki, no Dhasha.”
“For how far?”
“Anywhere.”
“Why wouldn’t they meet us on the surface?” Joe asked.
“Maybe they think it’s safer to wait underground,” Jer’ait replied.
Joe didn’t like the sound of that. “Okay, everyone get over here. Scarab, dig us a way in. Main den is a quarter length south-southwest of here.”
“I haven’t had enough time to recover those kinds of secretions, Commander.”
Joe blinked. “What?”
“I have ten, maybe twenty rods at my disposal. No more.”
For a moment, Joe could only stare. “Mothers’ ghosts!” he blurted, when he realized the Grekkon was serious. “Why didn’t you say something earlier?”
“I was given a mission.”
“You…” Joe closed his eyes. “All right. Dig us a fighting hole. Daviin, Flea, we’re gonna need a little recon.”
“Where?”
“Go south. Find us a tunnel close to our original penetration point, but different.”
“And I?” Jer’ait asked.
“You stay here and help me guard our Ooreiki. We’re gonna need him this run.”
In front of him, Galek seemed to stiffen. “You’ll do fine,” Joe told him privately. “Just use those killer instincts of yours, kid.”
“So what do you wanna know?” Flea asked after a moment. “Tunnel looks deserted. Big, though.”
“Look around. We want a small one.”
“We have been,” Flea said. “They all start out small, but twenty rods down, they widen up. Haven’t found a single slave tunnel yet.”
Joe felt his heart begin to pound in his ears. “Bones. Stay where you are. Jer’ait, go
check them out.”
Jer’ait nodded and went. “It’s as he says,” he said after a few tics. “They’re decoys. Made to look like slave tunnels until about twenty rods down. Then they’re big enough for three full-size Dhasha to maul us at once.”
“All right,” Joe said. “They want us to go down the tunnels. What do we do?”
“We stay on the surface?” Flea offered.
“Wrong. We go down the tunnels.”
Daviin’s mental voice was tentative. “Forgive me, Joe, but I think it’s a trap.”
“I know it is,” Joe said. “This is what happened to all those other groundteams that got slaughtered.”
“Jer’ait and I could try our luck down below,” Daviin said. “No need for the rest of you to come along.”
“Killing the Dhasha won’t do us any good if you get lost down there doing it,” Joe said, “And they’ll kill Jer’ait on sight. They’re gonna tear up anything that comes down those tunnels.”
“All the more reason for us not to go down the tunnels, Commander,” Scarab said.
“So what would you rather do?” Joe demanded. “You want me to call up Headquarters and tell them we’re declining the mission and oh, by the way, please come pick us up? They’ll tell us to rot. We’ve got a better fighting chance in the tunnels. If they realize we’re not coming in, they’ll just come out and slaughter us. They’ll—” Joe hesitated.
“Joe?” Daviin demanded immediately.
“I’m still here. I’m thinking maybe you guys are right. Maybe we should make them come get us.”
#
This is insane, Jer’ait thought as he strode into the tunnels alone. He had shed his pattern and now he felt naked and vulnerable.
When the first Takki rose from the rubble two rods ahead, a plasma rifle aimed at his heart, Jer’ait stayed where he was. Slowly, he raised his tentacles. “I have a message from the Vahlin.”
The Takki said nothing, but did not shoot, either.
Consulting his superiors, Jer’ait thought, relieved.
A Dhasha appeared within moments, strutting from the den with a retinue of slaves.
Don’t look him in the eye, Jer’ait reminded himself. He stared at the ground.
The Dhasha came to a stop in front of him. He was big, but Jer’ait doubted he was the prince. He sniffed Jer’ait’s body, then clacked its endless rows of triangular black teeth together. “The Vahlin told us we’d be fighting a Huouyt with an odd-colored eye today.”
“And you are,” Jer’ait said. “I took his pattern when I disabled his crew.”
The Dhasha hesitated. “What?”
“I come from the den of a prince called Lavik. He was killed two days ago, by the same team that is assigned to your den today. I followed them here, took the Huouyt’s pattern, and disabled three of the team. They’re outside now, drugged.”
He could feel the Dhasha’s egg-shaped emerald eyes boring into him. “Drugged. Why didn’t you kill them, if you are who you say you are?”
“I killed the Huouyt,” Jer’ait said. “Couldn’t let that one live. Two others, the Human and the Ooreiki, are unconscious.”
“Check,” the Dhasha said.
Six Takki scurried past and Jer’ait knew his life now hung in the balance.
They returned dragging Jer’ait’s groundmates.
The Dhasha scanned the bodies in silence. “I see a Jikaln, a Human, and an Ooreiki. Where’s the Huouyt?”
“He took the body of the Jikaln for scouting purposes, sir.”
He could feel the Dhasha watching him. “Check.”
A Takki immediately sliced open the Jikaln’s body that Flea had found for them in the carnage, revealing a motionless red zora buried inside its chest, the only part that remained after it had taken Jikaln form.
“The other two are drugged, are they?” The Dhasha walked over and sank his talons into Galek’s chest. The Ooreiki never flinched. He couldn’t flinch. Jer’ait had seen to that.
“Huh,” the Dhasha grunted, removing his talons. He watched the biosuit close around the wounds, then glanced at Jer’ait, clearly surprised. “I see the Huouyt was killed with plasma. I was under the impression your kind killed with poison.”
“We do, sire. He was my first kill. Had to do it fast, from a distance, so the others wouldn’t know.”
“I see. So, if I were to scan you for incoming frequencies, what would I find?”
“Nothing, sire. The Huouyt do not get chips.”
The Dhasha slammed him aside with the back of his paw, stunning him against the wall. “Check.”
Several Takki swarmed him, pinning him in place. A Takki with a gash across one cheek, cutting his lip in half, came over and raised a specialized reader to his head. Jer’ait stiffened. If anyone so much as had a stray thought…
“Nothing, sire,” the scarred Takki replied. “No incomings.”
“I see three,” the Dhasha said. “Where are the others?”
The Takki released him and backed away from him.
Jer’ait straightened. “The Baga flew off before I could hit him and the Jreet is somewhere down one of the eastern tunnels, seeking the prince. As soon as I showed myself, the Grekkon burrowed out of sight.”
The Dhasha’s gaze hardened. “Show my Takki where the Grekkon disappeared.”
Though it was painful to leave his two groundmates unconscious at the Dhasha’s feet, Jer’ait turned and hurried outside. He took them to a secluded area with a stream running nearby. “There,” he said, pointing at the Grekkon’s burrow.
“You first,” the closest Takki growled. “You may have fooled the Master, but you haven’t fooled us.”
Jer’ait stiffened. Six pairs of cold blue eyes stared back at him.
“Oh, well,” Jer’ait said. “I got what I came for.” He reached out. Even as the startled Takki with the split lip glanced up, Jer’ait tore one of its arm-scales free. Then he dove into the steeply-sloping tunnel feet-first, at a slide.
“Stop him!”
The walls around him were unnaturally smooth stone, allowing Jer’ait to use his arms to push himself faster as he slid deeper into the Grekkon’s trap. Behind him, he heard the six Takki enter the tunnel with him.
Jer’ait prepared himself, knowing the entire mission would hinge upon what happened next, knowing what would happen if he failed. Up ahead, he saw the hole the Grekkon had made for him.
“Now!” Jer’ait cried. He slammed his legs outward, slowing his descent, and swung out of the tunnel, into the smaller hole, pressing his body as far into the depression as he could, balling his tentacle around the scale. As the Takki slid to a halt and were trying to understand that, the Grekkon completed the circuit and backed into the tunnel behind them, cutting the six Takki from the surface. As they stared, Scarab backed into them. The Takki disappeared as easily as the rock had.
Jer’ait shuddered as the black void passed only ninths from where he pressed into his depression.
“That’s it,” the Grekkon said. “I’m out of secretions.”
“What about you, Daviin?”
“The Dhasha is dead, Joe and the Ooreiki are stashed and safe. They need the antidote.”
“Get out of the tunnel,” Jer’ait said. He pushed his zora into the open and gave it the Takki scale. After his body had shifted, he tore off a scale from his front arm in approximately the same place he had taken one from the other Takki. He made a few localized shifts to give himself a few scars and a split lip, then went to Joe’s bag in its crevice, found a patch, and placed it over the top of the Grekkon’s lair.
“Billions of Dhasha coming,” Flea said. “Trillions of Takki. Look pretty pissed.”
Jer’ait ran to meet them.
“Slave!” the nearest Dhasha roared, upon seeing him. “Which way did he go?”
“The Grekkon killed them all,” Jer’ait babbled. “The Huouyt was working with him. Took my scale and ran.”
“Which way?!” the Dhasha snapped, batting hi
m hard.
The Dhasha had used the back of his paw, but Jer’ait still felt like he’d been hit by a Congressional tank. He fell to his hands and knees on the ground. Gritting his Takki’s sharp, predator teeth against the pain, he got back to his feet as quickly as he could. “This way,” he whimpered, not having to fake it. He turned away and began hobbling through the forest. He’d taken no more than three steps when Flea, who had been watching from the branches dropped directly in front of the Dhasha. He spat in his face, then fled.
With a roar, the Dhasha gave chase.
Jer’ait followed for a while, then, when he’d drifted to the back of the group, fell out and circled back. Joe and the Ooreiki still needed an antidote.
#
They regrouped two days later. Flea had given them a merry chase, and while he’d done it, the rest of the group descended into the tunnels and killed the females while Daviin took out the prince.
Daviin was a bit surprised he was still alive—had just one of his groundmates failed to uphold their role, their entire plan would have disintegrated and everyone would have died. At that point, Daviin was even feeling generous toward the Huouyt, who was positioned on the bluff above them, his borrowed Jikaln body blending in with the rocks and scrub as he kept watch for the rest of them.
“Everybody did well,” the Human said as they waited for their pickup. They sat on an unoccupied hill, twenty marches from the dead prince and his lair. “Hell. Everybody kicked ass. Flea, you should come up with plans more often.”
“I am a criminal mastermind,” Flea said, his carapace puffing up until he was about the size of the Human’s head.
Joe laughed. “You are at that. You would’ve given my brother a run for his money.”
“I still can’t believe we used you as bait,” Daviin muttered. He was still upset about the fact. Every instinct as a Sentinel had cried out against it, but once the Baga had made his suggestion, the stubborn Human had refused to change his plans.
“I still can’t believe you guys didn’t check for ruvmestin,” Flea said. “That’s four princes we’ve killed and nobody’s bothered to check for ruvmestin. I told you guys to check for ruvmestin.”