Zero Recall (65 page)

Forgotten was obviously
trying to put him at ease.  There was nothing for the Geuji to fear, and they
both knew it.  Jer’ait had simply been stupid.  Merciful dead, he’d been
stupid.  Stupid, stupid, stupid…

“I’m not going to hurt
you,” Forgotten said softly.

Jer’ait felt his breja
ripple in a rush of relief before he got it back under control.  “I appreciate
that,” he said warily, still backed carefully against the airlock.

“It is rare to meet a
Huouyt with a conscience,” Forgotten offered.

“And you still haven’t,”
Jer’ait snorted.  He eyed the empty corridor, half expecting a rush of robots
to emerge and carve out his zora.  “What do you want, Geuji?”

“Why were you in the hub,
waiting for me, alone and unarmed?”

“I asked first.”

“To talk.”

“My desires were similar,”
Jer’ait admitted.  He surreptitiously glanced at the control panel of the
airlock and was unsurprised to find that the controls were in no language he
had ever encountered.

“Relax, Jer’ait,” the
Geuji’s ship urged.  “I see no reason why we can’t humor each other.”

“A Va’gan does not
relax.”  Jer’ait nonetheless stopped trying to puzzle out the airlock controls
and returned his attention to the empty corridor itself.

“Here, on my ship, you
have no reason not to,” Forgotten told him.  “We both know that, should my
intentions have been nefarious, you would be dead now.  Vigilance or no.”

Jer’ait knew as much, of
course, but to be reminded of it rankled. 

“But, if it would make
you feel better,” Forgotten said, “I’ll invite you into my chambers for the
duration of our discussion.”

Jer’ait’s curiosity was
piqued, despite himself.  He had always wanted to see a Geuji close up.  The
containment systems that Aliphei had in place on Levren were so strict that the
paperwork to achieve clearance had never been worth it for him.  “Very well,”
he said warily.

“Third hall on the right,
sixth door down,” the Geuji told him.

Jer’ait took three steps
down the alien hallway before a little eight-legged robot seemingly unfolded
from the wall itself and began skittering ahead of him as a guide.  Clearly
distinguishable from the robot’s carapace were unmistakable gun turrets. 
So
much for the Geuji being peaceful,
Jer’ait thought, despite himself.  He
hesitated, once again wondering what the hell he was thinking.

“I will not hurt you,”
the Geuji said again.

“Is that what you told my
brother, when you embroiled him in this mess?” Jer’ait demanded.

“Your brother requested
this mess,” Forgotten said.  “And, as you will see in our taped conversation, I
never made him any promises.  You, I will not harm.”

Jer’ait’s interest piqued
at mention of documented proof of Rri’jan’s wrongdoing.  “Will you let me take the
recording with me, when I leave?”

“Of course.”

That, alone, was worth
braving the dangers of this visit.  Reluctantly, Jer’ait stepped deeper into
the corridor and took the third hall on the right.  Then he counted doors until
he arrived at the one suggested by the Geuji.  He waited several moments, but
nothing happened.

“I’m here,” he finally
muttered, feeling stupid.

“I know,” Forgotten
said.  “I’m trying to work up the courage to let you in.”

Which, despite its
ludicrousness, rang with truth.  Jer’ait waited curiously.  Tics passed.

“This is very hard for
me,” Forgotten whispered.

Jer’ait cocked his head. 
“If I didn’t know better, Geuji, I would almost say you’re telling the truth.” 

“I am,” Forgotten
replied.  “Just hold on a moment, please.”  The black, alien portal before him
remained closed.

Jer’ait examined the door,
both complimented by the Geuji’s fear and concerned by its ridiculousness.  “What
makes
you
afraid of
me
?”

“Aside from the fact that
you can kill me with a touch?”

“You could most likely
kill me with a thought,” Jer’ait said.  “If I were an outsider wagering on this
meeting, I would place my bet with you, Geuji.”

“Is it a contest?” Forgotten
asked softly.

“No,” Jer’ait said.  Then,
when the door continued to remain shut, Jer’ait said tentatively, “I won’t hurt
you, Geuji.  There’s been enough of that.”

Several seconds later,
the door slid open, though hesitantly, as if the ship itself shared the Geuji’s
reluctance.

On the other side of the
portal, a bedroom-sized chamber was hung, floor-to-ceiling, with living black
flesh.  It moved and glistened in the light, with no identifiable features, a
formless ebony mold that was continuing its glacially slow march across the intentionally
rough walls.  The ceiling itself was a display of ever-changing
images…sometimes sky and clouds, sometimes forests, sometimes mountainscapes,
sometimes sunrises.  The soft sound of breeze, the chatter of fauna, and the
crash of waves set a smooth ambiance in the background.  Even with the sounds
and color, however, the place looked depressingly…lonely.

“Highly accurate,”
Jer’ait offered, recognizing the scenery of Neskfaat.  Then he checked himself
and gave a wan smile.  “Well, until PlanOps covered it with bodies.”

“Thank you.”  The words
were tight.  Highly controlled.

Jer’ait realized,
startled, that the Geuji was telling the truth.  He was
terrified
.  “You
think I’m going to kill you,” he said.  Which he found odd, because he had no
intention of doing so whatsoever.

“Not exactly,” Forgotten
said softly.

“What, then?” Jer’ait
demanded.  “You quiver like a frightened Ueshi, Geuji.”  He gestured at the way
the room itself seemed to glisten and shift with the Geuji’s thoughts.

“You know that my plans
with Mekkval did not go awry,” Forgotten hedged.

“Of course,” Jer’ait
snorted.  “That’s why I’m here right now, listening to you prattle, instead of
quarantining your ship with a specialized ship-storming crew.”

Forgotten hesitated. 
“May I ask how you knew?”

“The Watcher told me.”

“…oh.”  The room was
silent for almost a tic.  Jer’ait could sense the Geuji’s desperation to know
more, yet also his fear of letting his desires known.

“I’ll spare you the
guessing,” Jer’ait said.  “He told me that your plan from the beginning was to
give Mekkval a team that could kill Dhasha princes quietly and effectively,
that you intended to meet me, and that all I would have had to do to foil your
plans would be to give the assignment to hunt my brother to an Eleventh Hjai.”

“And you’ve guessed the
rest.”

Jer’ait laughed.  “I have
no misconceptions about being able to guess the ‘rest,’ no.  But I anticipate
some of it, I’m sure.”

Though the physical cues
were subtle, the Geuji seemed to relax somewhat.  “It does not bother you, what
I plan for the Huouyt?”

“I can’t say I’m very
impressed with my own people,” Jer’ait said. 

“But they
are
your
people,” Forgotten insisted.  On the screen above them, the view shifted to the
ancient stone cityscape of Morinth’s capital, something that Jer’ait had not
seen in almost four hundred turns.

Seeing it, Jer’ait’s eyes
narrowed in irritation.  “They sterilized me in public and slated me for
execution the next day.  They can rot.”

Forgotten was silent a
long moment.  Then, “I can remedy that.”

Jer’ait stiffened.  “If
this is some way to ingratiate yourself to me—”

“No,” Forgotten said. 
“I’d expect nothing.  I’d simply be righting a wrong.”

“By drugging me and
having your way with my body.”

“When you put it that
way, Huouyt, it almost sounds entertaining.”

For the first time since
stepping aboard the ship, Jer’ait was truly shaken.  “You’d simply
do
it.  No favors requested.  No future tasks to be fulfilled.”

“Yes.”

Jer’ait narrowed his
eyes.  “No implants left behind.”

“Again, Jer’ait, if I’d
wanted to do as much, I could do so without even your knowledge.  I only offer
because, for me, it would be a simple thing.  I have a feeling, though, that
for you, it would mean much more.”

“And my eye?” Jer’ait asked. 
“Can you fix that, as well?”

Forgotten hesitated.  Around
him, the room rippled.  Then, “I will not alter your eye.”

“But you
could
,”
Jer’ait insisted.

“I won’t.”

“Then the rumors are
true,” Jer’ait muttered.  “The eye…changes…things.”

“It does.”

Jer’ait took a deep
breath and looked away, his deformity once more weighing on his soul.  Finally,
he said, “Like I said, Geuji, I am not impressed by my people.  I have little
interest in breeding more of them.” 

“The offer remains open,
should I survive this,” Forgotten said softly.

Jer’ait’s attention
sharpened and he glanced back at the Geuji.  “Survive what?”

Forgotten hesitated a
moment.  Then, quietly, he said, “Whatever happens, I want you to know,
personally, that this is my attempt to go on the straight and level.  No
tricks.  If they deal with me honorably, then I will return the favor.  I…wish
to test a theory.”

“Forgive me if I am
confused,” Jer’ait said, frowning.  “If
who
deals with you honorably?”

The Geuji’s silence
seemed to go on forever.  “Any of them.”  Then, heedless of Jer’ait’s
confusion, Forgotten went on, “From here onward, Huouyt, the rest of our
meeting is going to be recorded.”

As Jer’ait frowned at
that, but before he could comment, Forgotten went on in a formal, ringing voice,
“Jer’ait Ze’laa vehn Morinth, seventeenth of his name, rightful heir to the
Morinthian throne, Peacemaster of Congress, brother of Rri’jan Ze’laa, Va’gan
specialist with highest honors…”  Forgotten hesitated for several moments.  Then,
“I have a confession to make.”

#

Rri’jan shifted boredly
in his Regency seat, awaiting the arrival of the Tribunal.  It was a closed
session, probably because the Dhasha coward didn’t want the rest of Congress to
know how close he had come to dying in his own den.  That, alone, was amusing
enough to have been worth the hassle with Neskfaat.

When his three peers
arrived, it was as Rri’jan expected.  They each sat down without files or any
other references in front of them.  They had built their case on the dying wind
of a tortured Human.  They
had
no case.

“I see your evidence is
rather slim,” Rri’jan said.  He yawned.  “Can we get on with this?  I have a
vetun game with Gervin this afternoon.  I wouldn’t want to be late.”

“Consider it cancelled,”
the Jreet Representative said.  “Permanently.”

Rri’jan sat up, his breja
attempting to twist in agitation.  “That almost sounded like a threat, worm.” 
He cocked his head.  “
Was
that a threat?”

“Rri’jan Ze’laa vehn
Morinth,” the First Citizen intoned, before the fool Jreet could respond, “you
are hereby charged with violating the First Law of Congress.  This is the
second time in fifty-four turns that a Huouyt Representative has been accused
of this heinous crime.  In fact, the last accused was your predecessor,
Representative Na’leen.  That the violations were back-to-back does not go
unnoticed by this body, and, as such, your punishment will be more severe.”

“
Alleged
violations,” Rri’jan said, amused.

“We’ll see,” the Jreet
replied.  He almost sounded…smug.

Rri’jan wondered idly
what kind of ‘evidence’ they could have cobbled together from his complete lack
of involvement.  Aside from that two and a half hour conversation with the
Geuji, Rri’jan had done nothing.  There were no links to trace back to him, no
clandestine check-ins, no furtive messages, no bank withdrawals.  He had seen
to it himself that all who had accompanied him on the trip to hunt down the
Geuji a turn before were dead.  And the Human, pawn that she was, had never met
him, nor any of his people, nor had she received any payments from his
accounts.  There simply
was
nothing to trace back to him.

This time, it was
Mekkval—his accuser—who spoke.  “As we speak, evidence of your crimes is being broadcast
to every member of the Regency.”

That made Rri’jan sit
up.  “
What
evidence?”

Immediately, a recording of
himself, discussing the plan to kill Mekkval with Forgotten, began playing over
his podium.  Rri’jan immediately dismissed it.  “A fake.”  He snorted.  “Is
that all you have to level against me,
esteemed
Representatives?”

Mekkval and the First
Citizen glanced at each other.  Aliphei nodded. 

“We have a confession,”
Mekkval began.

“You’ll need better than
that,” Rri’jan laughed.  “Words gathered in the heat of torture are useless in
trial.”

“How about words given
freely, under no duress or mental impairment?” a Morinthian Huouyt said
nearby.  The nearest closed booth opened inward to reveal the glistening ebony
form of a Geuji.

Rri’jan was so stunned he
could only stare.  Forgotten? 
Here
?

“Speechless, for once,”
Mekkval commented wryly.

“I admit it has its
appeal,” the First Citizen said. 

“Let’s see the stupid
furg dance words now,” Prazeil added.

“As we agreed in the
terms of my surrender,” the Geuji continued, “I shall receive a full pardon by
the Tribunal for all of my crimes to date.  Further, you will give my people
access to all incoming news and entertainment channels and install reliable and
consistent means of conversation between each other, permanently, to be
monitored by an independent species preservation society, or my confession ends
here.”

“It will be done,”
Mekkval said solemnly.  “You have my word.”

“Very well, then,”
Forgotten went on.  “I am uploading all corresponding documentation, records,
receipts, and transaction reports that involve this case to your podiums now. 
They are clearly labeled and can be cross-referenced with the report I am also
submitting with them.  As each piece of evidence is addressed in my testimony,
I will highlight it for your records.  My confession will begin just over a turn
ago.  On the 3
^rd
Turn of the 860
^th
Age of the Jreet,
Rri’jan approached me with a fleet of fifty-seven—”