Zero Recall (71 page)

He couldn’t follow me
,
Syuri thought, trying to get his chambers back under control. 
Calm down. 
Jreet aren’t that fast.
 
You were running for hours.
  Indeed, when
he found the courage to look behind him, there were no massive, sinuous ruby
coils sweeping through the halls after him.  No enraged Jreet, seeking to skewer
him on a glistening tek.

Somehow, Syuri got his
legs to stop shaking.  Once he’d panicked, he’d simply discharged everything,
covering his skin in a humiliating slime that reeked like the eighth Jreet
hell.  Even then, travelers were making a wide berth around him, disgust clearly
written on their alien faces. 

Embarrassed, Syuri went
to the nearest bathroom and began cleaning himself as best he could.  The
aliens that had been using the sinks and mirrors to freshen-up between trips
quickly vacated the area, leaving him humiliatingly alone as he ran woefully
inadequate Congressional hand-towels down his back and belly, repeatedly paying
the two-credit charge each time he needed a new batch from the dispenser.

Once he had removed what
filth he could and disposed of his clothes in the wastes recycler, Syuri ducked
back into the hall, naked.  He still stank, but not as bad.  His legs weren’t
trembling as horribly, but he had lost all of his means of carrying implements
and tools necessary to crack the piji shell that was the Geuji’s containment.

Standing there amidst the
flow of curious passengers—many of whom crushed his sivvet with smug disdain for
his lack of attire—Syuri felt an overwhelming rush of shame and hopelessness. 
What was he, a humble, shit-covered Jahul, going to do against the likes of
Aliphei and the Tribunal?  He was a small-time smuggler who’d attracted the
attention of a big fish…

…a big fish that was now
entombed in a massive Congressional battlecrusier, waiting for the Geuji’s
long, drawn-out trial to finally come to an end. 

The fact that it was a blatantly
fake trial pressurized his chambers every time he thought of it.  It had been
spread across the news for weeks.  They portrayed the Geuji as a huge, green,
blubbering wad of mucous who couldn’t even hold his own when pitted against
soul-sucking Congressional lawyers with mountains—
mountains—
of evidence
to level upon him.  And, brandishing said documentation, the fools caught him
in ‘lie’ after ‘lie,’ to which the imposter recanted his words and wove them a
story that was nothing at all like what Syuri knew to be truth.

Little by little, they
were portraying the Geuji to be a heartless, malicious career criminal whose
only purpose had been to bring about the destruction of Congress so that his
‘people’ could be safe.  Billions of them.  In some distant galaxy many
hundreds of turns away.

How
the
Congressional lawyers got hold of Forgotten’s bank records, trading contracts,
private communications, and vessel documentation was still a mystery to Syuri. 
As far as he knew, not even a Bajna could track his funds if he didn’t want
them tracked.  Which meant the Bajna had been
given
the records, by the
real
Geuji.

They’re torturing him,
Syuri thought, in despair.

The interrogators had
gotten everything from Forgotten.  Every transaction that the Geuji had made in
the last turn and a half, all of it was right there.

With, of course, the
glaring exception of Syuri’s payment for Aez, and his subsequent payment for
infiltrating the Space Academy.  Forgotten, it seemed, was going to be true to
his word and leave him his entire estate.

He’s protecting me to
the death
, Syuri realized, miserable. 
Just as I did.  He was testing
me.
  Standing there in the crowded hall, naked and covered in his own wastes,
Syuri had an overwhelming rush of anger.  He knew he couldn’t leave Forgotten
to die, as the damnable corpse-rot planned.  Come Jreet, Huouyt interrogators,
or automated laser cannon, Syuri was going to save him.

He was, after all, a
pirate.

#

Flea watched the Jahul
clean himself, then scuttle off to a forgotten corner of the hub and order an
elevator to the shipping area.  Flea followed him inside the chute when it
came, crawling across the ceiling where he would go unnoticed. 
Commander,
he said,
I just entered Elevator 1442K.

Yeah, we’re coming. 
Gotta find a way around for Daviin.  Jer’ait?

Waiting on the other
side of the elevator shaft in an Ooreiki pattern.  The Watcher was nice enough
to transport me to my chambers to make the shift before returning me to the
outgoing shaft.

Must be nice to be a
Peacemaster,
Joe grumbled. 
Walking sucks.  This place is huge.

So why do we follow
this shit-stinking Jahul?
Daviin demanded. 
I have an Aezi to kill.

Gut feeling,
Joe
said.

Ditto,
Flea
replied, climbing up the wall of the chute and over to hide behind the light
fixture.

As soon as the doors
closed, the Jahul glanced up at him.  “Good afternoon,” he said cheerfully. 
“Sorry about the smell.”  He glanced down at his reeking body.  “I had a bit of
a scare earlier.” 

Flea was surprised, and
not only because the Jahul had so easily located him.  Most creatures—even
Jahul—saw him and immediately thought non-sent.  “The smell doesn’t bother me,”
Flea said, truthfully.  He crawled down the wall a bit to get a better look. 
Seeing the crusted slime still caking those hard-to-reach places along the
Jahul’s back and sides, he gave a buzz of commiseration.  “It must suck to be
Jahul.”

The Jahul laughed as he
pulled sanitary wipes from the elevator wall and began to clean himself.  “Not
so much as…” he cocked his head up at Flea.  “What
are
you, anyway?  You
look like something that would lay eggs on the underside of a Dhasha.”

Flea snickered, amused. 
“How do you know I’m not?”

The Jahul threw wads of
sticky green crap-covered napkins into the disposal.  “I’m more talented than
most.  Your emotions are much too refined for something like a flea or
parasite.”

“You might be surprised,”
Flea said.  “I’m Baga.  My hive called me Traxxalihania but my groundteam calls
me Flea.”

The Jahul hesitated. 

“So you want to free
Forgotten?” Flea asked.

Very slowly, the Jahul
looked up, gripping the wad of rags. 

“I can get you in,” Flea offered. 
“If you can get us out.”

Over the link, Jer’ait
said,
Flea, Elevator 1442K had nothing but a group of Ueshi come out of it. 
Where are you?

Flea did not answer,
watching the Jahul carefully.  “Well?” Flea demanded.  “You wanna save him or
not?”  He cocked his head, waiting.

“Of course I want to save
him,” the Jahul whispered.  “Are you one of his agents?”

Flea buzzed his wings in
amusement.  “He sent me a note about the wet-eyed Huouyt and Ooreiki taking
thirty-two planets from the Baga.  Is that a lot?”

The Jahul nodded, slowly.

“Thought so,” Flea said. 
“That’s not really fair, is it?”

The Jahul gave his head a
slight shake, his huge, glistening black eyes wary.

“I didn’t think so,
either,” Flea said. 

“You’re willing to…
help
…the
Geuji?”

“Sure,” Flea said.  “I
like him.  He’s interesting.”

“Didn’t he try to kill
you?”

“I don’t think so,” Flea
said.  “You know where they’re keeping him?”

Glancing nervously at the
elevator door, the Jahul said, “On the battlecruiser
Koliinaat Defender
.”

Flea snorted.  “That’s
the decoy.  The real Geuji’s in the main incinerator room.  They’re gonna kill
him in like twenty tics.”

The Jahul seemed to
stiffen with distrust.  “And you know this
how
?” 

“I watch,” Flea said. 

Chapter 36:  With Great Power…

Jer’ait scowled at the
empty elevator.  He had scoured it for signs of a struggle, but there was
neither Baga glue nor Jahul excretions covering the interior. 
Flea,
he
said again,
if this is a joke, it is not amusing.

He received nothing but
silence.

“All right,” the Human
panted as he came jogging up, “what the hell’s going on?”

“I’m not sure,” Jer’ait
said warily.  “Give me a moment.”  He cocked his head and looked at the wall. 
“Watcher, where is Flea?”

“Who is Flea?”
the
Watcher asked.

Jer’ait narrowed his
eyes.  “You know who Flea is.”

“There is no
registered Flea on Koliinaat,”
the Watcher said. 
“Perhaps you can
supply me with a registered name?  Koliinaati privacy laws of the 533,500
^th
Standard turn require confirmed association or legitimate potential business with
the subject of a database search before I can legally provide you with any more
information.”

Irritated, Jer’ait
glanced at the Human.  “Privacy laws.  What’s his name?”

“Burned if I know,” Joe
muttered.  “Something long.  Think it started with T.  Or X.”  The Human cocked
his bulbous head.  “Or R?”

Jer’ait glanced up at
Daviin as he wound up between them.  “What’s the Bagan furg’s name?”

At his query, the Jreet
shrugged.  “I have trouble remembering the name of the planet I’m on,” the
Jreet replied.

Frustrated, Jer’ait
turned back to the wall.  “He is my groundmate,” Jer’ait said.  “The Baga.”

There was no response.

Jer’ait realized he had
not used the formal activation code to acknowledge speaking directly to the
Watcher.  Bristling, he said, “Watcher, he is my groundmate.”

“According to my
records, Jer’ait, you are not part of a groundteam.”

“
Former
groundteam,” Jer’ait said, balling his boneless Ooreiki fingers to keep his
irritation in check.

“There are two members
of your former groundteam in the hub with you, Peacemaster.”

“Where is my former
Bagan
groundmate?” Jer’ait asked calmly.

“In a hallway,
Peacemaster.”

“Where is this hallway?”
Jer’ait snapped, finally losing his temper.

The Watcher replied by
giving him a string of precise coordinates based off of the ever-expanding
space around them, using Tordakian finger-lengths as measurement units and the
black hole in the Ganut sector as a reference point.

For a long moment,
Jer’ait stared at the wall.  Then, calmly, he turned to Joe and said, “Flea is
helping Forgotten.”

Daviin cocked his head,
confusion straining his eye-ridges.  “You got that from Tordakian
finger-lengths?”  He looked impressed.  “You are smarter than I thought,
Huouyt.”

Jer’ait gave the Jreet an
irritated look.  “Anyone else have any damn ideas?”

“Uh…Watcher?” Joe said,
giving the walls around them a nervous look.

“Yes, Prime Commander
Zero?”
the Watcher asked immediately

Jer’ait narrowed his
eyes.  “His
registered name
is ‘Joe Dobbs.’”

The Watcher said nothing.

“Uh…” Daviin said,
glancing at the walls nervously.  “Great Watcher of Koliinaat.  How long until
the Geuji’s trial is over?  I have a…wager…I’d like to make.”

“Why wait until the
trial is over?”
the Watcher asked pleasantly. 
“Do you have the funds
available for a full Representative’s Challenge, Daviin ga Vora?”

Daviin flinched, then glanced
at the others, confusion in his small golden eyes.  “They are in my accounts on
Faelor as we speak,” Daviin replied, frowning.  “But I was told by a
jenfurgling Ueshi running the Aezi’s office that I could not challenge while
the Aezi worm was in a Tribunal session.”

“I don’t see why you
couldn’t,” the Watcher said pleasantly.  “It’s a mere courtesy.  There is no
law that says you have to wait.  Would you like to submit your application now,
Daviin?”

“I can’t,” the Jreet
muttered.  “I was told by the Exchange Commission that I can’t move that much
funding without permits.  I’m waiting on permits.  They said six weeks.”

“I think it’s safe to
say your permits will clear.  As a matter of fact, I just received
confirmation.  The funds have been transferred.  Congratulations, Daviin.  You
are now authorized to challenge.”

Daviin looked flustered. 
“But they told me
that
paperwork would take several weeks, once my funds
had cleared and I’d placed my security deposit.”

“Not surprisingly, it
appears the person you spoke to was wrong.  On what grounds would you like to
issue your challenge?”

“Now just hold on!” the
Human snapped, stepping between the Voran and the wall.  At the same time
Daviin straightened in a rigid coil of indignant fury that they had been
witnessing so often in the last weeks of travel to Koliinaat and said, “The
Aezi is a fat, lying, dishonorable
vaghi
who falsifies crimes and
flagrantly breaks his oaths in front of billions, knowingly trying a forgery
instead of a real Geuji.  He is a disgrace to Jreet everywhere, a coward who
has allowed the luxury of Koliinaat to corrupt the Aezis’ already weak moral
code, and he shall dance on my tek for his misdeeds.”

“Your application was
accepted.  Congratulations, Daviin.  And good luck.”

An instant later, the
Jreet disappeared, leaving Joe and Jer’ait staring at each other in an empty
hub.  Silence reigned.  On the far wall, an elevator pinged and a group of
Ooreiki in grounders’ black stepped out and wandered off down a hall, grunting
and laughing in a harsh Ooreiki dialect.  Then they were gone again, leaving
Jer’ait and Joe alone.

“You know,” the Human
muttered in the silence that followed, “I get the idea this was a setup.”