Zero Recall (32 page)

“We render them
powerless,” Forgotten replied.  “The moment Congress found us and gave us ships
and mobility, the Trith have been trying to get rid of us.  Aliphei used us
long enough to create the technologies he wanted, then, with the Trith’s help,
locked us away.”

“Ah.  Interesting.”  The
Huouyt cocked his cylindrical head at him.  “I always wondered how they caught
you.  I suppose it would have been much more difficult to subdue the Geuji
without the Trith’s help.”

It would have been
impossible,
Forgotten thought bitterly.  For that, alone, the Trith
deserved to die, the entire species eradicated.  Instead of dwelling on things
he couldn’t yet change, however, Forgotten said, “What will be even more
interesting to me is to see what they do when they realize I’ve chosen another
vortex to assist me in this.”

“Zero.”

“Yes.”

Rri’jan’s eyes narrowed
and tapped the com unit in his hand.  “You know, he was prophesized to help
Na’leen and refused, many turns ago on Kophat.  He’s why I am here with you
today.”

“Na’leen’s revolt was
doomed to fail,” Forgotten replied.  “Even if Na’leen had survived, Zero would
not have tipped the scales either way.  He was just a recruit.  Your malice
should be laid at the feet of the Trith, who painstakingly guided that little blunder
into being because it nudged their chosen future back onto a course they
approved of.”

“Still, it’d please me
greatly if he died along the way.”

“No doubt.”

Rri’jan held up the com
unit he had used to give the order to kill Forgotten’s brethren.  Jiggling it,
he said, “Do I need to use this again, Forgotten?”

Forgotten suppressed a
rush of irritation at the Huouyt’s threats.  “No.  I understand your grudge for
the Human.  However unfounded.”

“He was prophesized to
lead the Huouyt to independence.”

“Not at all,” Forgotten
said.  “The Trith left the prophecy they gave to Na’leen about Zero
intentionally vague.  They never gave a time period, nor a method.  Nor, if you
examine it carefully, does it specifically say he will lead the
Huouyt
to independence, just that he will shatter Congress.”

Rri’jan immediately grew
alert.  “Then it has truth to it?”

“Trith always tell the
truth in their prophecies.  If they didn’t, they would change the future, and
would therefore destroy themselves.”  Forgotten paused, allowing the Huouyt to
contemplate that.  “However, because Zero is a vortex, any claims they make on his
future are simply guesses, images cobbled together into a picture of what they
would
like
for him to do.”

“So if he won’t be their
puppet, why haven’t they killed him?” Rri’jan demanded.

“They tried.  As they’ve
done with me, they contacted his companions.  They convinced one of them she
needed to kill him, and the other hates him to this day.  As soon as they
realize I’ve enlisted his help, they’ll make another attempt.  That’s why it’s
of the utmost importance you do not interfere with Jer’ait.  His group is
already poised to splinter at the slightest provocation.  It has the most
potential, but at the same time, the most discord.  Even the slightest
interference on your part will tip the balance and ruin our plans.”

“Jer’ait will not die by
my hand, Forgotten.”

“How many times have you
tried to have him assassinated, Rri’jan?  Six?  You must be pleased to know his
chances of surviving this endeavor are infinitesimal.”

“It pleases me greatly.”

Forgotten was disgusted
with the Huouyt’s single-mindedness.  “I want your oath you’ll not interfere
with your brother.  If I don’t get it, my involvement ends here.”

Rri’jan made a disgusted
motion with his free hand.  “Why should I care what the filth does, as long as
it gets me my position?”

Immediately, Forgotten
said, “Because it burns you to know you might owe your Tribunal seat to the
deformed sibling who bested you at everything you’ve ever done except looking
pretty.”

The Huouyt’s body tensed
with anger, then he said, “I do not care who helps me get the seat.  If Jer’ait
survives, I’ll simply kill him afterwards.”

Forgotten found himself
liking the Huouyt less and less, but the struggles between Huouyt royalty were
not on his agenda.  At least Rri’jan’s greed was enough to keep him from
meddling.

“If you already know
which two groups will survive, I don’t understand why we can’t just select the
team of your choice and send them against Mekkval tomorrow.”

“We can’t send them
against Mekkval until they’ve veteraned themselves on Neskfaat.  Besides, I
don’t know.  I’ve guessed.”

“Your guesses are as good
as a Trith’s predictions, Geuji.” 

“Still.  They are just
guesses.”

“I dislike waiting,”
Rri’jan said, tapping the com unit again with a cilia-covered tentacle,
obviously considering whether another display of power was necessary, “and your
plans grow more time-intensive with every twist.”

“I’ve told you before,”
Forgotten said.  “From beginning to end, it will only take one turn.  If you
cannot wait that long, then you are not suited for the Tribunal.”

“I can wait,” Rri’jan
said coldly.  “But if you don’t produce, your life is forfeit.”

Forgotten laughed and the
Huouyt’s white-blue eyes sharpened. 

“You do not believe me?”

“Rri’jan, if this fails,
you will never find me again.  If we meet, it will be because I’ve sought you
out, not the other way around.”

“I found you once,
Geuji.”

“Because I wanted you
to.  I’ve been waiting for you to make me this offer ever since Na’leen died on
Kophat.  Oh, and you can stop making an imbecile out of yourself by threatening
me with that com unit.  I scrambled it the moment it came aboard my ship and your
messages go nowhere.  The confirmations you received were my own words,
disguised from samples I maintain on over two and a half trillion different
individuals in this sector of space alone.  In case you don’t believe me,
believe this:  Had you really killed a member of my family, you would be back
on your flagship right now, and I would be sending out a signal to fry onboard
computers on all nearby ships and annihilating your escort down to the last
quivering Ueshi mechanic.  Then I would seek out every major Ze’laa holding and
heir and annihilate them, as well. 
When
I came to kill you, you would
be impoverished and enslaved for your family’s debts, probably to a Dhasha. 
Mekkval generally has a soft spot for rehabilitation cases, and would probably
buy your contract and have your zora removed in order to help you properly
serve penance, probably with the sentimental conviction that he might be able
to, over a few hundred turns, teach one of your kind to have a conscience. 
Don’t test me, Rri’jan.  You have no idea who you are dealing with.”

For once, the Huouyt’s
only response was silence.

#

Joe opened his eyes to
the biggest headache of his life.  It pounded his skull like a Dhasha-powered
sledgehammer, raking the backs of his eyeballs, drawing streaks of agony just
under his scalp, making his head burn like it was about to catch fire.

He needed a drink.

Joe sat up, shaking, his hand
automatically reaching into his vest and retrieving his father’s knife for its
comforting feel between his fingers as he tried to steady himself.  His entire
body felt sweaty, feverish.  His muscles felt limp and strained at the same
time, leaving him on the verge of exhaustion.

Nearby, a bluish shape
lunged up and hurried from the room.  Joe peered after it.  As his vision
focused, he realized the blackness of the place was not a Dhasha tunnel, but
the black-on-black of a Congie operating chamber.

“What...?”

Speaking hurt.  Joe
groaned and held his head as he tried to figure out what the hell had happened
to him.  The horrible feeling of lying helpless, crushed by a thousand lobes of
muscle as the Dhasha prince sank its claws into his lungs still burned like
acid in his mind, seeming more vivid than the black room around him.

Joe wasn’t sentimental
enough to think he was dead.  He was, however, confused.  Someone had
penetrated the deep den and gotten him out alive.  Who the hell could even
do
that?

Then he knew.  Daviin. 

“Commander Zero?”  A
woman stepped into the room, looking pale and lovely despite the triangular
grouping of four circles inside an eight-pointed star that symbolized a Prime
Overseer.  Her nametag read Daiyu Hong.  Though she, like the rest of the Force,
had no hair to disrupt her biosuit, her eyes were narrow and a deep, luxurious
brown.  He guessed she was Chinese.

“Did the Jreet live?”

“Yes, Prime Commander. 
He’s in surgery as we speak.”

Though he hated it when
superior officers spoke to him like they were addressing a deity, Joe felt a
stab of relief.  “The others?”

“They all survived.”

They survived. 
All
of them.  Joe could only manage, “How?”

“We’re not sure.”  She
hesitated, looking puzzled and anxious.  The look in her eyes clearly said,
I
was hoping you could tell me.
  Instead of questions, though, she said, “The
Jreet’s still in surgery and the Grekkon’s not talking.”

“What about the Huouyt?”

“He’s undergoing water
therapy.  His last pattern almost killed him.  The Huouyt medical team wants him
to stay submerged for another day or two while his body recovers.”

“Huh.”  Joe groaned and
rubbed his temple with one folded end of his knife.  “The Baga lived, too?”

The woman made a face.  “Yes,
but as soon as he was restored, he disappeared.”  She looked particularly
agitated at that.  “Gave him a direct order to be ready for a debriefing this
afternoon and he just vanished.  We’re still looking for him.”

“He’s probably doing
reconnaissance.”

The woman’s bald face
wrinkled in worry.  She had pretty eyes, Joe thought.  Brown, like his, but
softer.  Softly, she said, “You think the Baga went back to Neskfaat?”

Joe grunted.  “He’s
around here somewhere.  What about the prince?”

“The prince and his five
oldest heirs are confirmed dead.  We buried the rest of them.”

Looking up sharply, Joe
said, “We got all the princes, then?”

“We got twenty-two of
them.”

Joe closed his eyes.  He
knew there were more than twenty-two.  “How many are left?”

“A hundred and twelve, as
far as we can tell.”

“Ghosts.”  Joe took a deep
breath.  “How many people we lose?”

“It’s looking like two
and a half million teams.”

Joe swiveled to stare at
Commander Daiyu, unsure he had heard correctly.  “That’s all we took in.”

“Two thousand groundteams
survived.  Twelve thousand soldiers.”

Joe felt something strain
in his chest.  “That’s
all?
”

“Your team, on the other
hand, was quite successful,” Daiyu said.  “Even without help, you took out the
top six Dhasha of the den you were assigned.  We replayed your unit recordings
and it looks as if the Jreet killed three on his own, the Huouyt killed the
prince, and the Grekkon killed two more, one with the Jreet’s assistance.”

Joe frowned as he
listened to the litany.  “The Grekkon killed one?  Alone?”

“Increased his extrusion
rate and dropped down on him from above.  Fell straight through him.”

“Damn.”

Joe felt the woman’s eyes
wander over his body and he gave her a chance to look. 

The Overseer cleared her
throat.  “Commander, we were hoping you could give us some idea of how you made
your group work together.  What did you do to make them function as a unit? 
We’ve had psychologists looking at your file, working on a solution, but I was
hoping I could hear it from you.”

Joe squeezed his eyes
shut and wished he had a drink.  Carefully, he put his dad’s knife away.  “Overseer…”
he peered again at her uniform, “Daiyu.  You need to go back and look at my
file again.  Out of anyone on that team, I did the least.  They could have done
just as well if I’d stayed behind.”

Daiyu looked taken
aback.  “You’re saying the Human counterpart means nothing?”

“Yeah.”

She blinked at him.  “But
that’s not possible.”

Joe peered at her
tiredly.  More bureaucratic crap, Overseers trying to take more credit than
their species deserved.  “And why’s that?” he asked, tiredly.

“Because of the two
thousand teams that survived, a quarter of them were led by Humans.”

#

Joe went to see Jer’ait
first.  The Huouyt Overseer of that sector had personally taken charge of his
recovery, however, and six armed guards turned Joe away at the door. 

“I don’t give a bag of
soot if it’s off limits,” Joe snarled, standing two good arms’-distance from
the poison-loving bastards.  “I’m his Prime.”

The six Huouyt at the
door regarded him like condescending, electric-eyed statues.  “Ko-Jer’ait Ze’laa
vehn Morinth is still unconscious,” one of them said with complete disdain.

“Bullshit.  He’s awake. 
I want to talk to him.”

“You’ll talk to him
later,” the Huouyt replied, musical voice dripping with contempt.  “The
Overseer is speaking with him now.”

Joe narrowed his eyes at
the casual way the Battlemaster had lied to him.  “I want someone to come get
me as soon as the Overseer is done with him,” Joe said.

“Of course.”

Joe knew the Huouyt had
no intention of doing so.

Discouraged and
frustrated, Joe sought out the Jreet.

Unlike the other
grounders to have survived the attack, Daviin did not have an honor guard.  In
fact, since the Jreet did not partake in the Draft, he did not even have an
Overseer to congratulate him on his survival.  Daviin was alone in his surgery room,
the door unlocked, not a single guard posted outside.