by Sara King
But then Daviin amended, “But, seeing how Jer’ait’s probably dead, it’s our duty to give him the benefit of the doubt.” Daviin turned to Joe. “So what do we do? The Huouyt’s dead. Our enemies know our position, and they might have other Huouyt they can use against us.”
“Headquarters might find information about this guy more valuable than the prince’s death,” Flea suggested, gesturing at the mangled corpse. “They’re really serious about intel, now that almost everybody’s dead.”
Joe glanced down at his fist. His hand had gotten better for a while, but ever since he had shot the Huouyt, it had been shaking uncontrollably. He tried not to look at the dirt on either side of him, tried not to think about what would happen if the planet suffered an earthquake. He could feel the old fear, straining at the back of his mind, clawing for release. The last thing he wanted to do was stay down here until the dam burst and he began crying like a little baby.
He opened his mouth to tell them they were going home.
“Our mission was to kill the prince,” the Grekkon said to Flea, before Joe could speak. “The prince is not dead.”
Joe took a deep breath and tried not to gag on the stale, underground air. The Grekkon was right. He couldn’t let his fear make his decisions for him. That was the quickest way for a grounder to meet his grave. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to force his mind into some semblance of clarity. “Let’s suppose this guy only tagged Daviin. We could use that.”
“How?” Flea asked, clearly interested.
“Scarab, how much juice you got left?”
“I could tunnel back to the surface if I had to. Not much further.”
“All right,” Joe said. “Time to use a little reverse psychology.”
CHAPTER 25: A Lifetime of Loneliness
Lavik twitched. “Of course I’m being used. I’m a soldier for the Vahlin to do with as he will. Not even a captain or a general. That doesn’t bother me. I understand I’m giving my life for my people. If I must die, so be it. The Vahlin will not fail.”
The Huouyt cocked its penis-shaped head at him. “If the Vahlin didn’t want to fail, why’d he combine all his best forces onto one planet?” his prisoner demanded. “You’re completely blockaded. He must know they’re going to use an ekhta eventually.”
Lavik snorted. “You said yourself the cowards of the Regency won’t use an ekhta.”
“They won’t use one now,” the prisoner agreed. “But what will they do when they find out the Huouyt and the Dhasha are working together? They won’t have a choice.”
“We’re not working together,” Lavik spat. “The Vahlin sent me the Huouyt as a gift. Said your team was a special case.” He glanced over his shoulder at the empty tunnels with growing irritation. “Which seems to be true so far, since they’re still not dead.”
“You’re being used,” the Huouyt repeated.
“How?”
“Whoever he is, the Vahlin doesn’t want you to live.”
“How do you figure?” Lavik snorted.
“If he had accurate enough information to predict where we would land, why didn’t he take that one step further? Why didn’t he tell you the tunnel we would penetrate? Why wouldn’t he tell you how to ambush us? Why leave you to your own devices?”
“The Vahlin cannot be bothered with small details,” Lavik said.
“Truly? Then why’d he warn the first prince there was a Huouyt in our team and then fail to mention the Jreet entirely? He mentioned every species that posed a danger to him…except the most obvious.”
“He didn’t know of the Jreet,” Lavik said, though the Huouyt’s words were disturbing him.
“Really.” The Huouyt’s purple eye was flat. “After seeing his accuracy today, ten days in advance, you truly believe that?”
“It’s not about what I believe, Huouyt,” Lavik said. “If the Vahlin sees fit that I die to further his cause, I’ll gladly die for my race. We’ve endured Congressional subjugation too long. The Dhasha will be free.”
“The Vahlin wants you to die down here,” the Huouyt repeated.
Lavik laughed. “Then why send me a Huouyt to do battle with you?”
“Did he give you grenades?”
Lavik blinked. “Who would use grenades underground?”
“Someone who truly wanted you to survive.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I find it odd he arms you against one threat, only to leave another go completely unchecked.”
Lavik was pacing, now, unnerved. What the Huouyt said was true. Things were not making sense.
At that moment, a Takki rushed into the room, head bowed low. “Master,” it whispered, drawing close, “The enemy is retreating.”
Lavik stiffened. “Retreating to where?”
“The surface, master.” The Takki stared demurely at the ground, offering nothing more.
“They flee?” Lavik demanded.
“Yes, master,” the Takki replied quietly.
“Curse it!” Lavik snapped. “What of my heirs? Where are they?”
“They cannot follow, master. The tunnel they used is too small.”
“Then have them regroup on the surface! They will not get away, you understand?”
The Takki began to bow, but its expression broke into fear with a suddenness to make Lavik’s scales tighten. He turned—
And the assassin’s paddle-like tentacle slid under Lavik’s scales. Lavik felt a sting, then his body went numb beneath him. He fell to the ground, unable to control it.
The Takki’s voice raised in a fear-shriek and it turned to run.
The Huouyt caught it before it had moved more than two digs. The poor creature died instantly.
And yet for some reason, Lavik was still breathing. He realized, horrified, that the assassin might mean to extract him to the surface…alive.
Insane. And yet, with his heirs diverted to the surface, the assassin had no one to stop him.
The assassin squatted in Lavik’s field of vision and placed a hand on his snout, oblivious to Lavik’s deadly jaws only ninths from his body. While his natural eye was as utterly unreadable as all other Huouyt, his one purple eye was almost…compassionate. “I think you know the choice I’m about to give you.”
Lavik somehow found his voice. Apparently, the drug was selective in its paralyzation. That frightened him more than anything. “Are you really Va’ga trained, Huouyt?”
The assassin’s odd purple eye seemed to pity him. “The best.”
“Then you have drugs that can make me utterly suggestible, that will bend me to your will. Make me follow you like a whipped Takki.”
The assassin nodded.
“And my choice is life or death.”
“Yes.”
Lavik laughed. “Do you truly believe the Vahlin wants me dead or was that a bluff?”
The Huouyt watched him a moment before replying. “I think the Vahlin is not what he seems.”
Lavik sighed. “You already know what I am going to choose and you’re trying to ease my mind before I die. You believe he wanted me to die all along.”
“I’m sure of it.”
Lavik locked gazes with the Huouyt. “When you see the Vahlin, ask him for me.”
The Huouyt cocked his head at him, giving him an odd look. “What makes you think I’ll see the Vahlin, Dhasha?”
“You’ve survived three deep dens,” Lavik said. “He obviously wants you alive.”
The assassin blinked at him.
“Just hurry up and finish it,” Lavik said tiredly. “Before a Takki sees me like this.”
The Huouyt nodded and slid his tentacle into Lavik’s mouth, touching the sensitive flesh of his tongue.
Lavik felt the sting, then embraced oblivion.
#
Joe followed close behind as the Ooreiki led himself and Flea unerringly downward through the maze of tunnels. For the sake of speed, they had found a large, main shaft and descended at a run. The extra space had give
n Joe a reprieve from the gnawing fear of the smaller tunnels, allowing him more freedom of thought. His fingers continued to shake, but as long as he wasn’t seeing blood that wasn’t there, he could bear it.
“Deep den’s ten rods up ahead,” Galek said.
Joe could sense no change in the tunnel ahead of him, but he took it as truth. “Okay, Flea, go. Get out of reach and give that furg an eyeful, got me? I don’t want him getting his claws on you.”
Flea said nothing and disappeared down the tunnel at the speed of a cruising haauk. No sooner had Flea disappeared than a Takki emerged from a slave tunnel adjoining theirs and Joe felt every nerve in his body tingle with alarm. Instead of running as a normal Takki, it lunged, grabbed the Ooreiki by the neck, and dragged its bulk around until Galek blocked his attacker from view.
Joe raised his gun, too late.
Galek, looking as stunned as Joe felt, began to twist under the Takki’s grip. The Takki’s disposition didn’t change, but the Takki’s fingers slipped past the Ooreiki’s lips, into his mouth, and Galek suddenly went limp.
“I’m a Huouyt,” the Takki snapped. “Identify yourself or I’ll kill him.”
Joe had his gun up and aimed at the Huouyt in an instant. He made a mental communication with the Ooreiki’s chip. “You all right?”
“I’m alive,” the Ooreiki responded, its pupils wide with terror. “I think it poisoned me. I can’t move.”
“You kill him,” Joe said over his weapon, his voice cold as death, “and you’ll be dead before he hits the ground.”
The Huouyt watched him, an utter lack of fear in its Takki face. “Identify yourself,” the Huouyt repeated.
Joe realized that they probably had them surrounded and were going to use their names and appearances to take out the last three members of their team. The single Huouyt was just a diversion. As soon as they gave their information, both of them would die.
“Flea, can you hear me?”
Flea said nothing.
Anger flashed in the Huouyt’s eyes. He gave the Ooreiki a shake, making Galek give a mental whimper. “Your names!”
“And if you’re the enemy, you’ll kill him as soon as I give my name.”
The Huouyt scowled at him through his borrowed sapphire eyes. “I’ll kill him if you don’t give your name, Human.”
“Why aren’t you giving him our names, Joe?” the Ooreiki babbled in terror.
“Just hold on,” Joe said. “Flea and I will figure something out.” “You still alive, Flea?”
“Busy,” Flea said.
“How busy?!” Joe cried.
“Really busy.”
“Do you need help, Joe?” His Sentinel’s mental voice was thick with concern.
“No!” Joe cried. “Stay where you damn well are.”
“Hurry,” the Huouyt said, still utterly calm, “or he dies. You have five, four, three—”
“Give us your name, then,” Joe said quickly. “If you are who you’re pretending to be, you’d know that much.”
The Huouyt gave him a cool look. “I will not betray my friends.”
“Very funny,” Joe snapped, watching the Huouyt down the barrel of his rifle. “I know what you’re doing. You have until the count of three before I start shooting.”
Galek gave another mental whimper, but Joe ignored him.
The Takki watched him a moment, unmoving, then said, “Show me your left hand.”
Joe stiffened. “What?”
“Your left hand,” the Huouyt said. “Hold it up.”
“Listen, asher, I’m not going to drop my gun so you can—”
“You want your companion to live?” the Huouyt asked coldly. At Joe’s hesitation, he said, “Then you are in no position to barter. Your hand. Now.”
Joe glanced at Galek, who hung limply in the Huouyt’s arms, terrified. “Ghosts,” he muttered. Slowly, he lowered his weapon and lifted his fist for the other’s perusal.
“Open it.”
Suddenly, Joe understood. He’d caught Jer’ait eying his hand on the shuttle, watching it tremble. Shame tightened his insides, making him feel near to choking. “I get it.” He dropped his fist. “I’m Joe. That’s Galek.”
The Huouyt’s eyes never left his face. “Open it, Joe.”
“You know damn well it’s me,” Joe snapped.
The Huouyt continued to watch him.
“You asher,” Joe whispered. Galek was watching him curiously, now, obviously wondering what it was about.
Angrily, Joe opened his fist and spread his fingers. As much as he willed them to steady, they trembled like leaves, betraying his cowardice for what it was.
With a grunt, the Huouyt released Galek and said, “My name is Jer’ait Ze’laa vehn Morinth. I am four hundred and fifty-two turns old. I was born in the city of Kha’seol in the eighty-second turn of the 1292nd Age of the Huouyt, the first child of the royal family of Ze’laa. Sixteen turns later I was sterilized and slated for execution for a birth defect of my left eye. I am a Class One Va’gan assassin with eight hundred and thirty-three kills to my name. My last kill was not twenty tics ago, a Dhasha prince by the name of Lavik, the second prince of my career. I was recently attacked by a Huouyt in Joe’s pattern, whom I can only assume took my pattern and fried my chip. I woke in the Dhasha’s deep den to the sound of silence.”
Joe stared down at his clenched fist, ignoring the Ooreiki’s confused stare. “The prince is dead?”
“Yes.”
“Show me.”
Jer’ait nodded once and led them down into the deep den.
There, they saw the prince’s body laid out in the center of the room, alone and unguarded.
“So what the hell happened to Flea?” Joe growled, lifting his rifle again.
The Dhasha’s body jerked and all of them, even Jer’ait, flinched. It jerked again, and Joe rushed forward, ready to plant a plasma blast down its throat before it woke completely.
He didn’t have to. Flea was on the other side of the Dhasha, snipping off toes and gathering the enormous, razor-sharp talons in a pile.
“You asher,” Joe said.
Flea ignored him.
“Leave those,” Joe commanded. “We’re going.”
“You go,” Flea retorted. “I’ll meet up with you on the surface.” Flea continued to snip off toes.
The Huouyt rounded the Dhasha’s body and said, “What is—” His words choked off as soon as he saw the Baga and what he was doing. His sapphire Takki eyes went cold. Without a word, he stalked up and slammed the back of his fist into the Baga’s torso. The smaller alien hit the other side of the room and dazedly tried to get to his feet.
Jer’ait stalked over to him and grabbed him by the wings, lifting him until they were face-to-face. “The dead,” he whispered, “are not trophies.” He slammed the Baga into the wall and Joe heard snapping sounds as the Baga’s delicate frame collapsed.
“Someone else will carry this scum to the surface. If it were me, I’d leave him here to rot.” Jer’ait cast the Baga aside and stalked from the room.
#
Syuri opened his eyes. Immediately, he felt a tingle of relief. It seemed to come from the air around him, almost as if—
They gave me back my sivvet!
“How are you feeling?”
Syuri stiffened. He knew that voice anywhere. It was refined, yet pleasant; crisp, yet completely without mechanical clunkiness; artificial, and yet so filled with emotion it could have come from another Jahul. It was the voice of a Geuji.
Warily, Syuri sat up, at first thinking the Peacemakers had locked him into one of the cells with Forgotten’s people, maybe as a form of high-nutrient food when he starved to death and his body started to decompose. Yet, when he lifted his head to examine the Geuji draped around the room, it was impossible to overlook the dozens of beeping electronics, devices, wirings, sensors, machines, monitors, and other high-tech paraphernalia hooked up to the Geuji’s body.
Forgotten.
�
��You came for me!” Syuri cried, so overwhelmed with relief he oozed sexual fluids over his skin. “Sweet Hagra, Geuji,” he babbled, “as soon as your plans went sour, I thought I was dead for sure.” He knew he was weeping, but he was beyond trying to salvage his pride. “Thank you, Forgotten,” he whispered, touching the rippling black mass gently. “Thank you so much for coming for me.”
“My plans didn’t go sour.” A flush of deep, overpowering shame hit his sivvet, a yearning for forgiveness.
Syuri froze at the feelings of remorse. Very slowly, he crawled to his feet, fear once more hitting him in a surge. “You meant for me to get captured?”
“Yes.” More shame. Anguish so powerful it almost knocked him down. Either the Geuji had replaced Syuri’s sivvet with something eight times the sensitivity, or Forgotten was no longer trying to shield his emotions from him.
Syuri swallowed, afraid to guess what that meant. “And for my sivvet to be extracted?”
“They weren’t actually extracted,” Forgotten said, his voice filled with apology. Shame pounded at Syuri’s sivvet in an almost too-powerful wave, staggering him with its force. “I developed a drug for the Huouyt to use that would incapacitate your empathy-related abilities.”
He…drugged me. But why? “But I saw them, Forgotten,” Syuri began. “The Huouyt held them out on a piece of glass.”
“Those belonged to the last Jahul I sent there.”
Syuri felt his internal pressure rising.
“I’m sorry, Syuri,” Forgotten whispered. “I didn’t want to scare you, but I had to know. I’m so very sorry.” The guilt was overwhelming, pounding at him from all sides, a thousand times stronger than anything Syuri had ever felt before. He groaned and slid back to the tiled floor.
“Jreet gods,” Syuri moaned, feeling his chambers losing their hold on his wastes under the pressure of the Geuji’s assault. “Shut it off, you miserable corpse-rot!”
Instantly, the Geuji’s emotions stopped assaulting his sivvet, leaving a low ebb in their wake. Syuri gasped and blinked, feeling like a drowning man suddenly given air.
“Better?” Forgotten asked softly.
