by Sara King
“No,” Jer’ait said abruptly. He stood.
Joe tried to help, but Jer’ait shook him off. The openness was gone, replaced with the same cold, hard indifference Joe had always seen. “Thanks for your assistance, Commander. I will see you at the next briefing.”
“You jackass,” Joe snapped. “I just saved your life, you know that?”
“No you didn’t,” Jer’ait said. Then, seeing Joe’s face, he amended, “He wouldn’t have killed me.”
“Well, he wasn’t there to chat war stories,” Joe snapped.
“Goodbye, Commander.” Jer’ait turned to leave.
“How about dinner?” Joe called after him. “You’ve missed every single team chow. The others would like to get to know you.”
“No they wouldn’t.” Jer’ait walked to the door and left.
Daviin stuck his head in immediately. Locating Joe, he immediately seemed to calm. “The Huouyt did not look happy. The surgery failed?”
“No,” Joe said. “I asked him to join us at chow. Anyway, you might as well show up for dinner tonight. No more point in pretending you won’t be going down the tunnels with us. He knows what you did.”
“You told him?!” Daviin roared.
“He saw the mark you carved into my chest, thank you very much.”
“You mean you didn’t cover it up? Vara’s tek, Human, I lied for you. That’s at least four levels of hell for every syllable.”
“Good,” Joe said. “So you won’t have any problems doing it again.”
Daviin stiffened. “No, that’s not what that means.”
“We had a visitor,” Joe said. “I think it was a Huouyt. The nasty kind.”
“Damn you, Joe!” Daviin roared. “I knew I shouldn’t have allowed you to ban me to the outer hall.”
“The Huouyt was here for Jer’ait, not for me.”
“But you stood in his way,” Daviin growled. “He would’ve killed you, too.”
“Probably.” Joe puzzled over Jer’ait a moment more, then sighed. “Be at dinner tonight. I want you to regale them with the tale of how you finally made me crack like a piji shell.”
Daviin wrinkled his scaly snout in distaste. “A lie.”
Joe winked. “How’d you guess?”
CHAPTER 13: Syuri
Syuri stormed onto the ship, all six legs working in barely contained fury. His internal pressure had been at critical levels for the last two weeks, ever since the Jreet had tortured him until he gave up his real name and identification numbers. Even now, the authorities could be looking for him. The knowledge had left him unable to sleep, a constant, nervous wreck all the way to his employer’s ship. The constant strain was going to give him a rupture.
As soon as he stepped into the dank room, the Geuji said, “You look unhealthy, Syuri.”
“That was stupid, Forgotten. That Jreet almost killed me. He thought I had delivered that bomb.”
“You did.”
Syuri’s internal pressure skyrocketed. He felt a slickening of his skin as his chambers voided themselves, then a sharp, blinding pain in his lower back.
“Careful,” Forgotten said. “You’re going to rupture your liquids exchange.”
“You had me…” Syuri was so stunned he could not think. “That was not a part of our bargain.” He had destroyed a planet?!
“If I had told you about it, you wouldn’t have been able to sound so convincing when the Jreet interrogated you.”
“He took my identification. He knows who I am!”
“He’ll do nothing with it. You assured him of your innocence.”
Remembering the horrible hours wrapped in the Jreet’s muscular body, the poisoned appendage almost touching him as the Jreet asked his questions, constricted within the Jreet’s coils until Syuri’s internal chambers threatened to burst… Syuri shuddered and fought down nausea. “I’ve never felt so helpless in my life.”
“Stands to reason. You’ve never been so helpless in your life.”
“Getting squeezed until I voided myself was not part of the bargain!”
“I told you it was dangerous,” Forgotten retorted. “You told me, and I quote, ‘Danger?! Gimme your worst, corpse-rot. I live for danger.’ You are, after all, a mercenary.”
“I’m a pirate,” Syuri muttered.
“Technically, you aren’t. You don’t ambush and murder innocent caravans for their goods. You steal, smuggle, and rent your services out to the highest bidder.”
“Last time I make that mistake,” Syuri snapped. “You’re going to get me killed.”
“You will not die in my service, Syuri,” Forgotten replied solemnly. “A loyal agent is worth more to me than a dead one.”
“Nice try,” Syuri snapped. “I’m done doing business with you, Geuji.”
“Then why are you here?”
Syuri opened his mouth, then closed it again. It was true. Forgotten had transferred the money into his account the moment Aez had exploded. He had no reason to be here, other than to vent, and both of them knew Syuri wouldn’t waste valuable ship fuel to vent. Muttering, he said, “Last time I was here, you mentioned another job. Eight mil if I succeed.”
“Yes,” the fungus replied. “I want you to visit the Space Academy.”
Syuri’s jaw fell open.
“No, Syuri,” Forgotten said, sounding amused, “I don’t want you to blow up Levren. This is a personal matter.”
Syuri’s attention sharpened. He was good at reading people—it was the talent that had kept him out of Peacemaker hands for over twenty turns of high-profile thievery. He never worked for someone unless he felt sure he could read them like an open book. Forgotten was the only exception, Syuri only gaining brief glimpses of the Geuji’s intentions before they were shut off again, but Forgotten’s money had been generous enough that Syuri had been able to overlook that inconvenience.
“How personal?” he asked carefully.
Syuri’s sivvet were hit with a startling rush of something that felt like…unhappiness…before it was shut away again. “I am currently involved in a scheme with creatures of very dubious integrity,” Forgotten replied. “I want you to ensure their side of the bargain is still intact.”
“What do they have in the Space Academy?” Syuri demanded. “That place is a fortress.”
“What interests me is kept in climate-controlled vaults in the basement,” Forgotten replied. “I want you to get in and verify they are what they are purported to be. I can give you the access codes to all the security points along the way, then the bypass codes to the vaults themselves. It will be a simple operation.”
It didn’t go unnoticed to Syuri that the Geuji hadn’t answered his question. “What’s in the vaults?”
Another startling wash of misery. And…loneliness? “Something very important to me.” The rush of truth was overwhelming, like cool water upon his sivvet. Syuri liked that in Forgotten—he was always truthful. In that sense, he even reminded him of the infernal, self-righteous bastard that had spent three hours threatening to turn him into a pincushion—and meaning every word of it.
This made Syuri hesitate. Forgotten had only paid Syuri two mil for Aez. If a planet was worth two mil to Forgotten, Syuri could not help but wonder what was worth eight.
Tentatively, he said, “So you want me to steal what’s in the vaults?”
“You can’t.” More misery hit his sivvet in a tide before the Geuji locked it away.
Feeling the sheer strength behind that raw emotion, Syuri actually found himself feeling a little bad for the fungus. Whatever it was, it hurt him. A lot. “There’s nothing I can’t steal,” Syuri offered gently. “Whatever they took from you, I can get it back.”
“You can’t steal them,” Forgotten repeated.
Syuri considered this. If he could put it in a ship, he could steal it. He supposed it was possible Forgotten was trying to convince him it was impossible so Syuri wouldn’t take them for himself.
“I do not lie, Jahul.”
“But you omit facts when it suits you,” Syuri retorted. Then, at Forgotten’s lack of an answer, he added, “Like, oh, say, exploding the planet of a clan of invisible, poisonous, strangulation-prone super-warriors that are irrationally blood-thirsty even for Jreet?” That still rankled him. Good thing there were no survivors, or he would be dead. Simply dead.
Forgotten said nothing.
Syuri knew he should leave right there, let the fool blow up his own planets, but something about the job fascinated him. It was Forgotten’s reaction more than anything else. What could be more important than a planet? It…tantalized him.
“So you’re telling me all I have to do is get into the Space Academy and check out the vaults in the basement and then come back? Do you want documentation? Photographs?”
“Visual confirmation is all I need.” Forgotten almost felt…tired. Old.
“And nothing will explode,” Syuri said pointedly. “No one will die. I don’t like it when things die, Geuji.”
“Nothing will die.” When Syuri’s gaze sharpened, the Geuji added, “Or explode.”
“I don’t get it. Why is it worth eight mil for me just to look? They find the Stone of Youth or something? There’s some sort of plans you want me to read? You might find this surprising, but a Jahul’s brain isn’t as sharp as yours. I can’t just look and take a picture in my head.”
“Just make the visual confirmation and you will have your money.” Again, Syuri’s sivvet caught the briefest glimpse of…sadness.
Syuri hesitated, frowning up at the black mass hung across the walls around him. “What the hell is wrong with you, Forgotten?”
Syuri got blasted with a brief flash of shock. The Geuji hesitated. Then, “You can feel my emotions? Even when I try to hide them from you?”
“You know of some other way I became the greatest pirate in this sector?” Syuri demanded.
“You’re a mercenary,” Forgotten replied. “Pirates kill people.” Then, belatedly, “Knowingly kill people.”
Syuri waved a hand dismissively. “Technicalities. Besides. Everyone knows the Aezi are self-righteous zealots. Now answer my question.”
“I have…a problem…that has bothered me for a while,” Forgotten admitted.
“And?” Syuri insisted.
“…and I’m working to rectify it,” Forgotten replied. “But I need your help.”
Syuri tapped his hard, callused fingers against his chin. “Is this some way to get rid of me, now I’ve suited your purposes?”
“If I’d wanted to get rid of you,” Forgotten said softly, “I’d have killed you as soon as you stepped aboard my ship, ejected your corpse into an uncharted area of space, and abandoned your ship in an area frequented by pirates.”
Syuri felt his internal chambers tighten and a new slick spread over his skin. “Is that what you’re going to do if I refuse?”
“No.” Around the room, Forgotten’s body seemed to ripple with a glossy black wave and Syuri felt another tang of misery before it went still.
“No, what?” Syuri prodded. “You’re gonna kill me somewhere else?”
“No, I’ll leave you free to live your life however you choose,” the great mold replied. “I do not kill my agents.”
Even though the Geuji emanated truth, Syuri snorted. “You won’t let me go my own way, not after telling me about the bomb. I could tell the authorities.”
“They’ll have worse things to accuse me of before I’m through.”
Syuri peered at the Geuji, realizing with a cold prickle that he was serious. “Worse than blowing up a planet?”
“Yes.” The Geuji sounded tired. That scared Syuri more than anything. What could exhaust a Geuji?
“Why are you doing it?” Syuri asked softly. “You don’t need the money—you bought me a new ship to take to Aez like it was nothing to you.”
“You’ll see soon enough.” Again, that wash of…exhaustion. Strong enough to make Syuri himself want to take a nap.
Syuri debated it. He knew that a normal employer would kill him as soon as he declined, regardless of what he said. Forgotten, however, was different. It seemed as if he truly did not care what the authorities knew about his activities.
Maybe he didn’t. Maybe he was too smart for them to catch him.
“Where are the rest of your kind?” Syuri finally asked. “You’d think with a brain like yours, I’d hear about you ruling planets and managing companies. You’d be better at regulating the economy than the Bajna, if you wanted to waste your time at it. Your arts would humble the Ooreiki. Your sciences would shame the Ueshi. I mean, if you weren’t focused on avoiding the Space Corps, you could bring our civilization into the next golden age all by yourself. You said you’re only three hundred and eleven turns old. So where’re the rest of you?”
Syuri could feel a sadness emanate from the Geuji, though Forgotten said nothing.
“They’re dead, aren’t they?” Syuri said softly. He felt genuine sympathy for the great creature.
Instead of answering, Forgotten said, “Syuri, answer me something truthfully.”
“I’ll try.”
“Does everyone think like you?”
Syuri laughed. “I break the law for a living, Geuji.”
“I’m serious.”
Syuri sobered.
“Would anyone else, stepping onto my ship and seeing me for what I am, see anything other than a way of getting what they want? Would they see anything other than something to fear? Something that would try to control them? Take over?”
Now Syuri understood. Tentatively, he said, “If you’re thinking about straightening out, I don’t think Congress’ll ever forgive you. I mean, you’ve been a major pain in Congressional ass for like, what, two hundred fifty turns?”
“Three hundred and four, if you believe their propaganda,” Forgotten said. “They didn’t know I existed until then.”
Syuri grimaced. “My point is Congress doesn’t screw around. They’d execute me if they found me, but you… I think they’d keep you alive.”
“I know.”
Syuri cocked his head at Forgotten’s answer. “Then I’ve got a question for you, Geuji.”
“What?”
“Would you go straight if you could?”
It took Forgotten several moments to respond.
Finally, he said, “Yes.”
CHAPTER 14: Neskfaat
“We’re uncoordinated, just as likely to blow holes in each other as in the enemy.” Joe took a deep breath and kept pacing, his father’s knife a smooth comfort as he rubbed it in his hand. His gut was not liking the situation at all. Something was wrong…very wrong, yet he couldn’t put his finger on it. “Unfortunately, I guess something about having a top-classed Va’gan and a Jreet the size of a Congressional tank—and no team casualties so far—gave them the idea we had our shit together.” He made a disgusted snort. “They’re treating us the same as a groundteam that’s been working together for six turns. Our first assignment is a prince’s den.”
Daviin broke into an immediate, fearsome Jreet grin, but Jer’ait simply waited, silently holding Joe’s gaze. He had still not bothered to hide his defective eye, which, Joe knew, meant something important. He was still trying to figure out what it was.
“Once we get down there, we’re gonna be doubly blind,” Joe continued, setting the mystery of the Huouyt’s eye aside for more consideration later. “The rock surrounding us on Neskfaat has just the right striations of minerals in it to make imaging difficult. They can only see down the first twenty, thirty rods. From there, we’ll have to rely on our PPU’s to get us around.” He glanced at the Ooreiki. “That, and Galek.”
Though the Ooreiki outweighed Joe by about a hundred and twenty lobes, the youngster glanced at his feet in embarrassment, his dark skin sticky and splotched with orange.
Jer’ait, however, was watching the knife. Damn. Joe hated Huouyt.
As casually as he could, Joe stuffed the worn-smooth knife back into his
pocket. Then he sighed. “It’s hard to believe, but I think Maggie actually wanted me to survive this.”
“Of course she did,” Jer’ait said, his creepy gaze lifting back to Joe’s face. There was no mistake—his Second had seen his weakness. And the knowledge had left him smug. Damn.
“Then you don’t know Maggie,” Joe said, willing the Huouyt a thousand deaths by a thousand Jreet. “She’s hated me since basic.”
“Whether she hates you or not is not the issue,” Jer’ait replied. “Whichever PlanOps Overseer puts together the team to take out the Vahlin will be rewarded with a multi-species Corps Directorship. Of course she wants you to survive.”
Joe’s jaw went slack. “No.”
“Why else would she put a Jreet royal, a Va’ga assassin, a Grekkon, and an Ooreiki with tunnel instinct on your team?”
“Don’t forget me,” Flea said, from Joe’s shoulder.
Looking directly at the Baga, the Huouyt said, “A Jreet royal, a Va’gan assassin, a Grekkon, and an Ooreiki with tunnel instinct.”
On his shoulder, the Baga bristled, but Joe quieted him by touching his carapace, its once-iridescent beetle-green shine now painted pitch black. To the Huouyt, he said, “You have a very poor sense of humor, Huouyt.”
“I’m not laughing,” Jer’ait said. “In fact, I find it slightly irritating that while Phoenix gets a Corps Directorship, we will only get kasjas, maybe a pat on the back and a few rotations’ leave. Doesn’t seem fair, does it?”
“Daviin, is he telling the truth?” Joe whispered.
The Jreet shrugged. “I thought you knew.”
Joe hurled the info-unit against the wall. “Son of a bitch!”
“I don’t understand…” the Ooreiki said, blinking at the equipment that had clattered to the floor. Like all Congressional gear, it was sturdy enough to take whatever beatings all three thousand, two hundred and forty-four species of heavy-handed Congie grounders could dish out.
Joe broke into a string of invectives and shoved the Baga off of his shoulder. He began pacing the room, throwing and kicking anything he could reach. Maps, equipment, supplies…he was so enraged he saw only Maggie’s face. Once again, she was going to get the last laugh. No matter how well he did, she would always outrank him. Always.
