The Legend of ZERO: The Scientist, the Rat, and the Assassin

by Sara King

  “And you could have killed Jer’ait when you had him on Morinth,” Mekkval went on. “Instead, Jer’ait went to Earth and puts our entire project in jeopardy. You do realize that if we don’t get Zero out of the way, we lose the backing of the Trith.”

  “So Jer’ait is here,” the Huouyt in Tyson’s form snapped. “Don’t you feel that would have been good information for us to know before we split our forces to run your errands? Over half of our people are no longer responding on nightly comm checks.”

  “What if it was Jer’ait that killed our team of eight?” the Huouyt in Sam’s form demanded. “What if he’s already with Dobbs?”

  “Things are rapidly getting out of hand,” a Huouyt scout said. “First Keval, then Daviin, then Jer’ait… It appears that we are holding up our end, Mekkval. What are you doing to hold up yours? Even the slave you promised us slipped her collar.”

  Slave, Rat thought, her chest clenching in fury. He couldn’t have thought of me as a—

  “My slave is still yours, once your bargain is upheld and you get my experiments to my breeding pens on Tavukk. As to the rest, the Trith says Zero is key. Capture the furgling, kill him if you have to, just get him off Earth.”

  Rat felt herself gripping her rifle so hard the bones in her joints hurt. She had been to Mekkval’s breeding pens on Tavukk. She had seen the Humans there, bred in squalor and misery. It had made her so uncomfortable that she had offered to buy them from him, and Mekkval had, in return, promised to free them all and shut down the pens for good.

  He couldn’t have sided with the Trith. He couldn’t…

  The Huouyt glanced at each other again, and it was the one in Rat’s form that spoke. “There is…another…matter. The Human who ran Lab 13. You are aware he trained hundreds of experiments as soldiers, yes?”

  “They were the weakest in the lab, and are of no concern to us,” Mekkval said impatiently. “We only need the ones that Twelve-A absconded with.”

  “We had a run-in with him about a week ago,” the Huouyt went on. “Those experiments didn’t die in the lab, as we thought. The Human mobilized them before Judgement. They are now in full military convoy, capturing any Humans they come across, and they somehow figured out how to detect our plants—all of them were executed the same day, publicly. The Human leading them goes on at length about this prophecy about a speech…”

  “We don’t need him or his rejects,” Mekkval interrupted. “What the vermin do on their mudball is of no concern to us. What Jer’ait and the worm do doesn’t matter. Once we’ve removed the experiments we want, we will simply drop an ekhta on the planet and allow Humans to start over elsewhere, and all of this will be moot. Capture Keval and get my experiments. You have half a rotation before I destroy the planet.” Mekkval made a swiping gesture and the link suddenly went dead.

  “I can’t believe Rri’jan allied us with that furg,” the Huouyt in Sam’s pattern said. “It is like trying to converse with a nutrient-starved Jahul.”

  “All we have to do is get the experiments,” Rat-Huouyt said. “Once we get them to a place of our choosing, Mekkval loses his bargaining chips.”

  “It’s amusing that he thought he had any to begin with,” Sam-Huouyt snickered. “That he actually thinks this alliance was made because he offered us one of his slaves…”

  Unable to listen to any more, Rat brought the rifle up and fired. She took Sam-Huouyt’s head off at the shoulders, then followed that with two shots from her plasma pistol to the chest. She saw the red, womy zora appear just before it began to dissolve and the Huouyt started to scream.

  But Rat had dropped her rifle and was already moving on, activating her laser knife. She sliced another Huouyt—this one in her own pattern—open, from groin to sternum, and yanked the zora out by hand, cutting it free in a sharp gesture as the Huouyt’s mirror-like eyes went wide, then shot his partner with three plasma rounds to the head and torso. She moved on to Tyson, who was holding up his hands and saying, “Rat, Rat! I’m so glad it’s you! I evaded the bastard that tried to kill me and infiltrated these guys for you—”

  Rat shot him. She was swiveling to take out the last one when the cold barrel of a pistol muzzle touched the back of her skull. “There was cold fury in the Huouyt’s words when he said, “You just made a terrible—”

  A laser round sliced the Huouyt in half, then in half again. Rat didn’t even glance up at Tyson on his hill, instead shoving the dead body of the fourth Huouyt away from her and picking up the comm unit masquerading as a stone. She turned it away from the carnage, then found the little button on the side and switched it on, then waited as the link connected.

  “What?” Mekkval roared, his hologram appearing in lifelike size, looming over her. “I have to appear before the Regency in six tics.”

  “I’ll try not to keep you,” Rat said, rage and hurt so thoroughly claiming her that she found it difficult to speak. “I just wanted to know a couple things.”

  “For the love of the Mothers, what?!” Mekkval demanded.

  “Did you actually see your Baga’s body? How can you be sure this one plaguing us is not yours?”

  Mekkval made a sound of impatience. “They brought me her head. Genetics tests confirmed it was her. It’s someone else’s agent causing the problems. I’d suspect one of Jer’ait’s Peacemakers.”

  Rat nodded with outward calm, though inside, she was a seething pillar of rage. “And once we find Zero, what are we supposed to do with him?”

  “We discussed this, you furg creature,” Mekkval snapped. “I’ve already said this four times: The Trith Council say they need to cut him from all the dimensions at once to properly end his distortions. But don’t worry about that. Just send him to me, I’ll send him on to Trith.”

  Rat found it hard to breathe. She felt tears stinging her eyes when she said, “And your slave? Have you no care whatsoever what we do with her after we capture her?”

  Mekkval snorted. “She is disobedient meat. I would say breed her, but I never bothered to have that function replaced. Then again, you should probably breed her anyway. I owe her that much for humiliating me on Arghatt. Yet another female that doesn’t know her place.”

  “Ah,” Rat whispered.

  “Anything else?!” Mekkval demanded. “I have a meeting to attend to.”

  “Probably nothing of consequence,” Rat managed. “I just wanted to see your face when I told you your slave is dead.”

  “Oh, please,” Mekkval snorted. “Don’t think you can try to negate our bargain by capturing her and hauling her off the planet under the guise of killing her. I will find out. I have eyes everywhere.”

  “No,” Rat said. “She is now dead to you.” Rat turned the comm unit to show the carnage behind her, then returned it to face her.

  On the other end, Mekkval had gone still. “You realize you’re not going to live through this, don’t you?”

  “Perhaps you should come down here and we’ll see.”

  “Was that a challenge?!” Mekkval screamed. “You? A Human?”

  Her voice ice, Rat said, “I’ve killed more princes than you have, my lord.”

  Mekkval bristled, but Rat wasn’t finished. “First, I’m going to find Keval, then I’m going to help him. Then I’m going to find Zero, and I’m going to help him. Then I’m going to find you, you lying, honorless sack of meat. I will hunt you down. No matter how deep your den—”

  “Stop it,” Mekkval blurted, recoiling.

  “—how thick your slaves, how many your sons. I will fight my way to wherever you hide and spill your entrails at my feet. I will ensure your heirs denounce your name, and your wives line my den with their gold. I swear this oath—”

  “Don’t,” Mekkval warned.

  “—from the heart of a warrior, the soul of a prince. May my heirs record and remember this oath I make to you, for I will not end my hunt until—”

  “Stop!” Mekkval snapped.

  “—you are dead.”

  Mekkval went
very quiet on the other end. Then he made the cutting gesture and the comm unit went dark.

  “You know,” Sam said behind her, “if you were angling to get the world hit with an ekhta a couple weeks early, I think you just did it.”

  Rat spun and put her gun to Sam’s forehead. “Password,” she said, trembling. “Now.”

  Sam met her eyes, and apparently didn’t like what he saw there. “Mad scientist,” he whispered.

  Without another word, Rat lowered her gun and went looking for Keval.

  -END-

  About the Author

  My name is Sara King and I’m going to change the world.

  No, seriously. I am. And I need your help. My goal is simple. I want to champion, define, and spread character writing throughout the galaxy. (Okay, maybe we can just start with Planet Earth.) I want to take good writing out of the hands of the huge corporations who have had a stranglehold on the publishing industry for so long and reconnect it to the people (you) and what you really want. I want to democratize writing as an art form. Something that’s always been controlled by an elite few who have (in my opinion) a different idea of what is ‘good writing’ than the rest of the world, and have been feeding the sci-fi audience over 50% crap for the last 40 years.

  To assist me in my goals to take over the world (crap, did I say that out loud??), please leave a review for this book! It’s the first and easiest way for you guys to chip in and assist your friendly neighborhood writer-gal. And believe me, every review helps otherwise unknown books like mine stand up against the likes of the Big Boys on an impersonal site like Amazon.

  Also, I have an email! (Totally surprising, I know.) Use it! (Don’t you know that fanmail keeps writers going through those dark times when we run out of chocolate???) I love posting letters on Facebook—gives me something fulfilling to do with my time. ;) Shoot me a line! kingnovel@gmail.com

  You can also SIGN UP FOR MY MAILING LIST! Seriously, I give away free books, ask people to beta-read scenes and novels, and give updates on all the series I’m currently working on. Stay informed! 

  And, for those of you who do the Facebook thing, check me out: http://www.facebook.com/kingfiction (personal) or http://www.facebook.com/sknovel (my author page) or stay up to date on continuous new ZERO publications with The Legend of ZERO fan page: http://www.facebook.com/legendofzero

  Afterword

  This is one of many ZERO novellas (technically, this one was 85,000 words, so it’s actually considered a novel by a lot of folks) that will be coming out in the next few months as I try to work my way up to finishing ZERO4. About half of this story was cut directly from the next ZERO novel, and the rest I intended to put in Book 4, but my Muse was failing me because already, Book 4 was enormous (about 200k words on paper, with another 400k+ in my head to make it all work) and it was clogging up the works.

  As you probably noted, however, it was fun and important to the storyline, so I needed to find a way to get it to the readers. Thus, its current format as a novella. I’ll be doing that with a few others in order to finalize Book 4 and keep Joe at the forefront of the book where he should be, so keep your eyes out for the rest!

  Also, I know I’ve said this before (I repeat myself because few people actually believe me…but kick themselves afterwards) if you liked ZERO, you’d probably like Outer Bounds: Fortune’s Rising and Millennium Potion: Wings of Retribution. Like ZERO, they’re both character sci-fi novels that’ll rock your world, but for some reason they didn’t win the popularity lottery. (And we all know what a great indication of quality popularity is.)

  And guys? Thanks. You are freakin’ awesome.

  Other Titles by Sara King

  (Try ‘em… You might like ‘em!)

  Guardians of the First Realm: Alaskan Fire

  Guardians of the First Realm: Alaskan Fury

  Millennium Potion: Wings of Retribution

  Outer Bounds: Fortune’s Rising

  Outer Bounds: Fortune’s Folly (As soon as I can buy back the rights to the universe)

  Terms of Mercy: To the Princess Bound

  ZERO: Forging Zero

  ZERO: The Moldy Dead

  ZERO: Zero Recall

  ZERO: Zero’s Return

  ZERO: The Many Misadventures of Flea, Agent of Chaos

  ZERO: World Glimpses

  Sara Recommends

  If you’re looking for another great character novel by an independent author, try Changes by Charles Colyott. He’s one of the very best indie character writers I’ve ever read, and he’s woefully undiscovered by the masses. Here’s an excerpt of his Tai Chi sci-fi thriller:

  Changes

  By Charles Colyott

  Chapter 1

  Yu Bei: Preparation.

  I fell into the stance effortlessly and stood until my breath came slow, quiet, and easy. I focused on the feel of stale air on my skin, the flash of dust motes gleaming golden in the sunlight, and the stink of rotting fish from the dumpster down in the alley. Cardboard boxes still lined the walls of my apartment, stacked in random, leaning columns; I ignored them. Cobwebs caught the light and shone against the dingy ceiling; a wayward water beetle scrabbled along the floor, looking for a meal or, perhaps, a way back to its home. And through the open windows, guttural shouts in Cantonese, bits of conversation in lilting Mandarin, and heat: oppressive, humid, Midwestern heat. I pushed the distractions from my mind.

  Qi Shi: Begin.

  I start to move, searching for the stillness in motion, the motion in stillness. The postures shift from one to another without pausing, without breaking. ‘Grasp Sparrow’s Tail’ to ‘Single Whip,’ flowing into ‘Lift hands’. I moved through them, my mind quiet, almost peaceful. It was a refreshing change.

  If someone asked me why I still practiced Tai Chi, after everything, I’m not sure I could give them an answer. I would probably say that it was comforting or relaxing, or maybe I would quote some study about the health benefits of the practice, but none of that was it, not really. I just kept on doing it.

  The ringer was off on the phone, but I heard the answering machine whir to life in the kitchen. A voice, incoherent and low, muttered something gruff and clicked loudly as the caller hung up. I pushed it out of my head, something to handle later, after. By the time I began the first ‘Cloudy Hands’ set, my arms felt heavy, inflated, and numb. Sometime during the third section of the form, the damned machine started muttering again - more incoherent male voice, a bit more urgent and pissy-sounding this time. Whoever it was, they would just have to wait.

  After closing the form, I glanced at the clock. Fifty-five minutes from start to finish, and my muscles knew it. My thighs and calves burned and glistened with a layer of sweat. I went to the fridge, grabbed a beer, and took a long pull from the glass bottle, relishing the wave of chills that started in my throat and stomach and spread outward through my body.

  I listened to my messages. Both were from some cop, a Detective Knox, and he said he wanted to ask me a few questions. About what, he didn’t say. I called the station, spoke to the detective, and told him he could meet me in twenty minutes.

  I showered but didn’t bother to shave. After running a towel through my hair, I bunched it into a ponytail, and got dressed - loose, black drawstring pants and a white tank top. I slipped on my battered black Converse All-Stars, grabbed a cardboard box from the kitchen table, took another beer from the fridge, and left.

  A flight of steep, narrow stairs lead down to street level to my shop. As I emerged from the relatively cool, dim entryway, I shaded my eyes from the sun and once again cursed my particular migratory choice. I couldn't have picked someplace like San Francisco. No, it had to be St. Louis… The city with the shittiest excuse for a Chinatown I've ever seen. I like to call it China-street.

  I unlocked the front door of my shop and went in, greeted as ever by the familiar sour stink of herbs and the cloying, medicinal smell of antiseptics. A stack of bills littered the floor by the mail slot. I kicked them into the c
orner, halfway under a bookshelf, dropped the box on the counter, and went in the back room to start a pot of coffee. I don’t drink the stuff much myself, but I keep it around for clients. I’ve never known a cop to turn down a free cup of coffee.

  I was drinking my beer and checking my appointment book when the cop showed up. I knew him immediately from the bad suit; somebody needed to tell this kid Miami Vice was cancelled ages ago. He was a youngish guy, maybe mid-thirties, very yuppie. Very clean-shaven. Either that or his face hadn’t figured out how to grow hair yet. He walked in, looked around as I finished scribbling notes on the calendar, and finally said, "I’m looking for Mr. Lee?"

  "That’s me." I said.

  "You’re Randall Lee?"

  I nodded.

  "And this is your place." He said.

  It wasn’t really a question, but I answered it anyway.

  He frowned, probably thinking that there must’ve been some sort of mistake. I was used to the reaction.

  "I guess," he said, rubbing his bare chin, "I just figured you’d be more…"

  I raised an eyebrow.

  "…Oriental," he finished.

  I took the box from the counter, slid my fingers under the thick brown packing tape, and pulled.

  "Things are oriental, Detective. People are Asian. As you say, I am neither. Just another Gwailo like yourself."

  He put his hands on his hips, probably in an attempt to look powerful or intimidating. He just ended up looking pouty.

  "How long you been a cop?" I asked.

  "Why?"

  "Curious, that’s all."

  "Almost seven years." he said.

  I glanced at his shiny badge, prominently displayed, as it was, on his belt, and said, "And a detective?"