Zero Recall

by Sara King

  The miga shifted on the branch. Flea watched in terror as its long, glistening black tail swung down and wrapped around the branch only ninths from where Flea was hiding.

  Maybe I can reason with him, Flea thought. Jer’ait won’t kill me.

  But, remembering the wet-eyed stare of the miga as it was getting ready to launch itself after him, Flea knew he would. He remained silent, terrified and trembling.

  The miga launched itself into the air again, the thundering crack of its wings making Flea’s carapace thump. The Huouyt gained altitude, then thundered across the sky for several tics, backtracking and zigzagging, before it finally gave up and retreated.

  Flea stayed where he was for a full twenty tics before he dared to move. He peeked from under the branch, eying the sky.

  No glistening black shapes with luminous red eyes.

  That didn’t mean it wasn’t there.

  Afraid to take to the air due to the sound it would make, Flea climbed the tree to the top and glanced around.

  The miga was gone.

  Tentatively, he hovered.

  No thunderous wingbeats. Just the sound of his buzzing.

  Flea glanced up. Sometimes, miga would dive-bomb their prey to avoid using their wings.

  Clear sky.

  Flea was stunned. He really gave up.

  Which meant he was back with Joe, dragging him toward the Dhasha lair.

  Furious, looking for a way to distract him, Flea jeered, “That all you got, you runny Takki crap! Come get me!”

  Still, he was a little shocked when Jer’ait said, “Flea? Where are you?”

  “Why don’t you come find out, prick?”

  Jer’ait hesitated a moment, then said, “Flea, what’s happened?”

  “I got away, that’s what. Now I’m gonna go back and get Scarab and we’re gonna make you disappear, just the two of us.”

  “Flea, I’m back in the clearing. Nobody’s here except Scarab, and he’s not answering me. Where’s Daviin and Joe? Where are you?”

  “Oh, right. Like I’m gonna tell you where to find me,” Flea snapped.

  “Flea, listen to me. There’s a Huouyt somewhere nearby. He came up to me in Galek’s pattern. Knocked me out cold. Would’ve killed me, if I hadn’t managed to contain as much of the poison as I had.”

  “You’re in the pit?”

  “Yes.”

  “Stay there.”

  Flea gained some altitude and went to check on Joe. The miga was gone, the Huouyt back in its natural form. It had almost reached the Dhasha den with Joe.

  Flea frowned and sped toward the clearing. He dropped into the trees to mask his approach, then, twenty rods out, he crawled on the ground the rest of the way.

  Jer’ait was standing in the pit, watching the sky.

  Flea jumped into the air and buzzed toward him. “Jer’ait, somebody took Joe. He’s wearing your pattern…” He landed on the edge of the pit facing the Huouyt, out of reach, still not quite sure it wasn’t a trick.

  Jer’ait’s face contorted. “What of the Ooreiki?”

  “I haven’t seen him.”

  “And Daviin?”

  Flea took to the air. “This way.”

  Jer’ait followed him to the place where Daviin sprawled in the underbrush, a mass of scarlet against the deeper red of the alien foliage.

  Jer’ait cursed as soon as he saw him, then crouched beside the Jreet’s bulk. As Flea watched, Jer’ait’s hand shifted shape, becoming a hard, scythelike claw. He pried up a cream-colored underbelly scale.

  “What are you doing?” Flea asked, wary.

  “I need to sample his flesh,” Jer’ait said. He proceeded to jam the claw into the skin and twist, using a sawing motion to carve out a piece of flesh almost as big as Flea’s head. Blue Jreet fluids ran out from the wound, dripping from the scales and spattering the ground below.

  “He still bleeds,” Jer’ait said, letting the belly scale flop back into place. “A good sign.”

  “So he’s not dead?” Flea asked.

  “You can never tell with a Jreet. They’re almost entirely immune to poison. Only a very few work on them, and I’m praying the fool who’s pretending to be me doesn’t know which ones work the best.” Jer’ait glanced up at Flea, his violet eye serious. “Listen to me, Flea. I’ve got to taste his flesh to determine which poisons were used, but the moment I place it upon my zora, I will have to struggle to stay whole. There are very few creatures in the universe a Huouyt can’t use as a pattern, but a Jreet is one of them. If I lose my concentration, I could die. Do you understand?”

  “Sit down, shut up,” Flea said. He landed on a branch and capped his wings.

  “Exactly.” Jer’ait returned his attention to the dripping piece of flesh he held in his hands. He visibly steeled himself, then pushed his zora out to touch it.

  Flea held perfectly still, watching in morbid fascination as the Huouyt’s body began folding in on itself, like its skin was just a thin membrane containing several live creatures trying to get out.

  After several moments of struggle, the Jer’ait relaxed. He tossed the flesh aside and crouched beside Daviin again. He slid his tentacle under a scale near Daviin’s head. Then, after only an instant of contact, the Huouyt stood up and pried open one of the Jreet’s enormous yellow eyes.

  Flea watched, fascinated, as the Jreet blinked. Then blinked again. Then his massive golden eye rolled, found the Huouyt, and his entire body stiffened. He lunged, and no sooner had Jer’ait opened his mouth to explain was he pinned to the ground, the claws of the Jreet’s right hand buried in his chest, the claws of the left buried in his face.

  “Wait!” Flea shrieked. “That’s the real one!”

  “Where’s Joe?” Daviin demanded.

  “The other Huouyt is dragging him to the Dhasha den.”

  Daviin glanced up at him. “Other Huouyt?”

  “That’s Jer’ait. Use your chip. The other one can’t hear us. That one can.”

  “Besides,” Jer’ait said, “Even if I had been trying to get on your good side by administering an antidote only tics before you went permanently comatose, I could easily poison you with something more deadly as you hold me here.”

  “You didn’t kill him?” Daviin demanded.

  “Joe’s not dead,” Flea said. “The other Huouyt is dragging him. He’s curled up, protecting his face.”

  “Probably protecting his nose and mouth,” Jer’ait said. “He must’ve known he was being poisoned.”

  The big Jreet released Jer’ait reluctantly. He glanced up at Flea. “Where’s Joe? Take me to him!”

  “Let’s get Scarab first,” Flea said. “One of you needs to talk to him. He wouldn’t listen to me.”

  “He’s not going to listen to any of us,” Jer’ait said as his face and torso mended. “Grekkon don’t have emotions. He won’t care.”

  “You can order him,” Flea insisted.

  “I already did,” Jer’ait said. “Back when I realized there was a Huouyt stalking us. He ignored me.”

  “Enough talk!” Daviin snapped. “Take me to my ward!”

  “It’s a deep den,” Flea warned, climbing into the air. “What are we gonna do?”

  “We’re going in,” Jer’ait said. His voice was cold. Deadly. “And we’re going to get him back.”

  CHAPTER 30: Claustrophobia

  Joe opened his eyes to utter darkness.

  He tried to stand, but immediately, his head hit something hard. He’d barely lifted his chest off the floor.

  “Anyone there?” he thought.

  No one answered. Reluctantly, Joe lifted his hand to touch his head, already knowing what he would find.

  Jer’ait had stripped off his headcom.

  Further, he had no pack, no rifle, no gear whatsoever.

  Without his helmet and the contact it offered to his group, without his PPU to guide him from the tunnels, without his gear, Joe felt that instinctive pang of terror that he had to immediately force back down.
He could make out the dim outline of a small tunnel continuing at an upward angle in front of him. Without his visor to collect and amplify the images, however, he might as well have been seeing nothing at all.

  Joe ran his fingers along the wall as he considered his situation. The size of the tunnel and its jaggedness suggested he was in a slave passage inside a Dhasha den. He pushed forward, feeling with his hands. He crested a small rise, then realized with a sinking feeling the tunnel was now taking him down.

  I don’t know which way’s out, he realized with increasing panic.

  Joe fought to stay calm. Why had Jer’ait dragged him underground? Why—

  The scratching sound up ahead answered his question with cold, hard certainty. He couldn’t kill him in his biosuit, so he was going to have the Dhasha do it for him.

  Joe tensed, expecting a Takki. Thus, when the tiny Dhasha rounded the corner, its green eyes luminous in the black, Joe could only stare.

  #

  “Come on!” Flea shouted from up ahead. “The Dhasha are going nuts. I think they know we’re here.”

  “Impossible,” Daviin snapped. “Even if all the Takki were chipped, which they aren’t, we haven’t given them time to scream, let alone call for help.”

  “Still, I think… Oh crack.”

  “What?” the Jreet snapped.

  “Guys…I found Joe.”

  #

  Joe felt the muscles in his right arm separate as the teeth continued to yank on him, splitting his biosuit, grinding against his bones. He’d been screaming for twenty tics, dragged by his arm through the tiny tunnels, feeling his bones threaten to crack when his body wedged in a tight space.

  The tiny Dhasha was dragging him home.

  Joe struggled to push himself forward, trying to keep the monster from ripping off his right arm. He knew it was pointless. It was only half there, anyway. The Dhasha had eaten everything past the wrist, biosuit and all.

  Joe finally gave up trying to keep the Dhasha from ripping off his arm. He allowed the Dhasha’s jaws to take the full weight of his body, then reached back and pulled the knife from his belt with his left. For a tunnel-crawling Congie, it was a tool, not a weapon. A knife would never kill a Dhasha.

  Hell, it probably wouldn’t even kill a Takki.

  Still, when Joe slammed the knife blade up under the Dhasha’s scales, it was surprised.

  It also tore off the rest of his arm.

  Blood spurted from the stump, painting the sand red.

  Joe screamed and hacked into the Dhasha again. This time, his knife slipped across scales with the smoothness of perfectly hard, smooth glass. In response, the Dhasha simply grabbed him by the left arm and continued dragging him. Dizzily, Joe felt his body roll over the severed limb and keep going. His biosuit began forming over the wound to seal it, but it wasn’t working fast enough.

  I’m losing too much blood, Joe realized, watching the trail of darkness oozing from his wounds. Joe could do nothing but stare into the empty green eyes as the Dhasha continued to pull him backwards, deeper into the den.

  All the while, it watched him, its frigid emerald gaze promising death.

  Joe had just begun to lose consciousness when they hit a main tunnel. Immediately, a second, much larger Dhasha slammed its paw down upon Joe’s back, preventing him from getting up. Joe let out another scream as the claws pierced his suit and began to carve a slow trail down his back.

  “He’s mine!” the smaller Dhasha said, releasing Joe’s arm.

  “Where are the others?” the bigger Dhasha asked, ignoring the small one. “Where’s the rest of your team?”

  “I’m alone,” Joe gasped.

  The Dhasha chuckled and dug its claws in deeper. Joe felt them scrape against his ribs and spine. Around him, several other Dhasha laughed with him. “For some reason, we don’t believe you.” Then, using nothing but its talons where they dug into his back, the Dhasha threw him down the tunnel, making him roll several times before he came to a stop against another Dhasha’s feet. When he came to a halt, Joe saw his father’s knife lying in a pool of his blood on the cavern floor, much like it had been when he first found it.

  Dad…

  Insanely, Joe didn’t care if he died down here, or if he was eaten and became bone-studded Dhasha shit. He cared about his father’s knife, ending up in the hands of Takki. Or buried forever when the Space Force launched an ekhta. Or sliced in half by some prince’s talons. No, Dad…

  “Oh, look how your pretty suit seals,” the Dhasha above him said as the other padded up to him. “We’ll have plenty of time to play with you, I think.” He batted him again, slicing open Joe’s chest and rolling him back toward the first Dhasha. Joe saw several pieces of himself remain on the ground with the knife, biosuit still writhing over them, trying to swallow them.

  I’m dying, he realized, though he felt none of the detachment he had heard he would feel. He still felt every bit of the pain, and as the Dhasha continued to toy with him, batting him around as a cat played with a mouse it had no intention of eating, Joe found himself screaming over and over again.

  He screamed until his throat was raw, until his lungs were punctured by Dhasha claws and no longer worked.

  It wasn’t long before his biosuit could not keep up with his wounds. He felt it fail, but all Joe could think about was the pool of blood that was becoming a dark red slick along the sandy tunnel floor. And the knife. His father’s knife. Centered in the blood the same way it had been in the streets of San Diego. In Manny’s hand.

  No, Joe realized with a start. Not Manny’s hand. Dad’s.

  The scene that had always been so fuzzy in his mind was suddenly crystal clear, like he was seeing it anew. His father, slumped over a twisted parking meter, blood pooling around him, the knife clutched in his limp fingers. It had been Dad all along.

  And he’d refused to see it. All this time, he’d seen Manny’s face, Manny’s body. Anything to keep from seeing those familiar features, bloody and slack in death. But it was Dad. Dad died to protect Sam, when the aliens came. Dad had died with the knife Joe had given him fisted in his hand. The Swiss Army knife Joe had gotten him because he couldn’t afford the Leatherman he’d asked for. The realization was shattering. Dad had never given it away to Manny, as Joe had always believed. He’d held it as he died.

  This time, when Joe saw his own pool of blood slickening the floor, he recognized it. He’d seen it before, in his worst moments of terror underground. A premonition. A moment of truth. The knowledge that his dad hadn’t abandoned him, not really. Not even in death.

  Once his mind made the connection, it became easier for him. Joe began to lose interest in his own death, and began to wonder if he would see his father again.

  I’m dying, Dad, was his last thought. The Trith was wrong. I was never going to destroy Congress.

  He felt a flash of relief, then nothing.

  #

  Daviin had raised his energy level, so the Dhasha facing them could only see Jer’ait. He was in Jikaln form, fast, maneuverable, and hard to see in the shadows. He darted around the Dhasha, who just watched him with shock, until they were turned the opposite direction, facing Jer’ait instead of facing the Jreet. The Dhasha had just moved far enough away from Joe not to cause him any more damage when Flea began spitting.

  The two Dhasha unfortunate enough to be touching each other roared and began tearing at the walls, the floor, the other Dhasha, and each other in their efforts to free themselves. As the six Dhasha that were left were forced to turn their attention to the greater of the two threats, Jer’ait leapt in and poisoned one, then another, then slipped away again before they realized he wasn’t what he appeared.

  By the time they were beginning to understand two of their fellows were not simply falling asleep, the Jreet struck.

  When Daviin descended upon the pack of Dhasha, Jer’ait felt a little tingle of awe as the predators clashed. His own heritage as a prey species left him with the instinctive urge to run as
the very walls vibrated with the strength of their bodies and claws tearing at the earth.

  It took a great act of will for Jer’ait to leap back into the fray. Flea kept spitting, locking more Dhasha together, gluing their feet to the floor, plugging their nostrils.

  It was over in less than a tic. Eight Dhasha lay dead.

  Not one of the grounders had been hurt.

  Flea, Daviin, and Jer’ait all recognized that, and the fact left them in quiet awe.

  It was Daviin that dragged them out of their shock. “We must get Joe back to the surface.”

  “He’s going to die,” Jer’ait said, looking at the mangled body. It lay in several parts, and red Human blood slicked the floor. “There’s nothing that could bring someone back after that.”

  “Nonetheless,” Daviin said stubbornly, “I’ll carry him. You call for a pickup.” Daviin scooped the bloody mess from the floor and vanished again, headed for the exit. The way Joe floated along the tunnel, Jer’ait could almost believe he was the Human’s spirit, come to avenge his death.

  “This is Commander Zero’s Second requesting immediate pickup,” Jer’ait said. “We have injured parties needing medical attention.”

  “Who?” a Human voice asked.

  It was Phoenix.

  She continued, “Aside from the Ooreiki that died in that bar fight yesterday, you only have one member down, the rest at full health. Wait for a pickup.”

  The Ooreiki that died? So that was why Galek was so damned nervous about the PPU. It had been a Peacemaker, another Eleventh Hjai. Galek had died in some anonymous alley so Jer’ait’s coworker could chip himself and have access to their Prime. It came as a blow to Jer’ait, and with it, he felt a wash of fury, knowing which of his brothers it had been. They’re killing an innocent man.

  “Zero’s not dead yet,” Jer’ait snapped.

  “Oh, but he will be. Injuries that bad… No way to stop it.” The dismissive way the Human said it, Jer’ait had no doubt in his mind she was going to leave them there until it was true.