by Sara King
Rri’jan checked his watch again. “But only two and a half hours? You don’t need more time? Perhaps, if I gave you a few rotations to think about it, you could come up with a better plan.”
“No,” Forgotten said. “There is no better plan.”
“Less than three hours? Surely you don’t expect me to risk my seat on a plan that you began telling me before you’d even finished it.”
“No,” Forgotten said, “I’d finished it before I began speaking.”
Rri’jan’s horizontal slit of a mouth opened, then closed again. “You were speaking within ten tics of my arrival.”
“Correct.”
Rri’jan was silent for some time. “And this will only take a turn.”
“Less than, to produce a prince-killing groundteam.”
“And I’ll have my Tribunal seat afterwards,” Rri’jan said. “You realize, if you’re deceiving me, Forgotten, I will hunt you down and make you feel pain even you have never thought possible.”
“Deceiving you? When you hold my entire species for ransom?” Forgotten snorted.
“Very well,” Rri’jan said, standing. He wrapped his cloth-of-silver cape around his shoulders, obviously a bit disconcerted. “I planned on being here much longer than this.”
“You’re dealing with a Geuji, Rri’jan. Please remember that.”
Rri’jan looked up at him, his electric eyes unable to disguise the fact he was impressed. “And the plan? What do I need to do to set it into motion?”
“Just as I said. Nothing. I’ll take care of all the details. I’ve already sent messages to my contacts. The wheels are in motion. All you must do is sit back and watch.”
Rri’jan glanced out the window, eying the armada that floated around them. He looked back, satisfaction on his face. “This has been a very productive meeting, Geuji.”
“I am happy with the outcome,” Forgotten replied.
“Indeed.” Rri’jan made a respectful bow. “I’ll see you in one turn.”
“You won’t find me,” Forgotten said.
Rri’jan hesitated, his face showing his irritation. “You’ll have no need to hide if I order the Geuji freed.”
“Nonetheless,” Forgotten said, “You won’t find me.”
Rri’jan gave him a disgusted look, then departed.
“So who was that?” the smuggler asked, when Forgotten unlocked the chamber that hid him.
“A business associate,” Forgotten said. “I was expecting him.”
“Is that why you just locked me in a room for two hours after luring me here with the promise of riches?” Syuri snapped.
“Actually, it was more like three. And yes. The last thing you want is for him to see your face.”
The Jahul grunted. “Fine. Self-righteous slime-mold. So what happened to this job you offered me? Two mil? Or’d you just give it away to that jackass who couldn’t see my face?”
Forgotten found the Jahul’s spunkiness amusing. The self-proclaimed pirate also had the strongest innate empathy Forgotten had ever seen in a Jahul. Syuri had sensed the visitor despite Forgotten’s every effort to mask it. Forgotten had the unnerving feeling the Jahul could also sense some of his own emotions, even shielded. That’s why he needed him.
“I want you to deliver some exotic foods to Aez.”
The Jahul stared at him. “You have got to be kidding me. Food? You want me to deliver food?”
“It will be to the Aezi gladiator halls, so there will be some risk involved. Especially since their Voran captive recently freed himself and is probably lurking in the very halls where you will need to make your deliveries.”
Syuri scrunched his sticky Jahul face. “How about you give me another assignment, one on some Ueshi pleasure planet or something. I’d rather deal with an entire Ueshi syndicate than a lone Voran Jreet. I hate Jreet, especially those Jreet. Vorans are so pig-headed.”
“The Voran will not hurt you.”
“Hurt me?” Syuri scoffed. “I’m doing business with his enemies. Who, by the way, are self-righteous, out-of-control zealots. I’ve been listening to the rumors going around. I’ve got sources, Forgotten. They’re gonna kill everyone in the Old Territory, you know that? Have you ever been to Aez? They’re all insane. Violent furgs, all as crazy as that Tribunal member leading them.”
“Are you done ranting, now?” Forgotten asked, amused.
“No,” the Jahul said, making a cutting motion with his horny front limb. “They’re sending out raiding armadas, catching outsiders and dragging them home, just like the old days, Forgotten. Back before Congress. They’re stringing up disbelievers in the main square of every Aezi city and letting them die of the elements. Everyone they can get hold of. And if they’re Jreet—they’re throwing them in the gladiatorial ring with kreenit. Just to watch them die! And last rotation, they pulled all their people out of the Sentinels. You know what that means, you ignorant corpse-rot?”
“Enlighten me.”
“It means Prazeil’s about to declare war. On Vora and Welu. And probably the rest of the planets in that sector. Do you have any idea of the kind of bloodbath that would be?”
“I’m sure you’ll be happy to tell me.”
“They’d take out Poen,” Syuri snapped. “All those Ooreiki souls…poof! They do that…the whole Old Territory would explode on itself, you get me?”
“I think so.”
“Faelor would go down,” Syuri insisted. “The Bajna can’t fight Jreet, not even with their war machines. Then where would Congress be?”
“I could probably make a guess,” Forgotten said.
“Gone, that’s where!” Syuri waved a disgusted hand. “Eighty percent of our banking goes through that planet, you ignorant slime-mold. Sweet Hagra, you ask me, we should be moving this whole operation to the other side of the galaxy. The Old Territory is unstable.”
“But I have a delivery to make to Aez.”
“Monsters,” the Jahul went on, oblivious. “Aez is filled with monsters. And you want me to help feed them? That Voran catches me feeding them and he’ll tear off my limbs and use my inner chambers for canteens. He’d think I was working for them!”
Forgotten said, “I’m sure you’ll be fine.”
#
When the top five highest-ranking Peacemakers died in five separate accidents, leaving Jer’ait to inherit the Peacemaster’s position, everyone knew foul play had been involved, but no one had the zora to accuse him.
The first thing Jer’ait did upon gaining his Peacemaster position was to erase all vestiges of the Geuji’s prediction of Joe’s future. There were surprisingly few references—Yua’nev had wanted to keep the Peacemaker’s prior knowledge of Aez as far from the media as possible, lest he be implicated as a possible conspirator.
The second thing that Jer’ait did was replace the open positions of the Eleventh Hjai with Peacemakers that deserved them, regardless of species. The same day, he sent missives to every Huouyt family head explaining his decision and what would happen if it was not respected.
Then he began researching the Geuji. Everything he could find on Jemria, the only Geuji to have escaped from the basement of the Space Academy. Not, he found, because he had planned some grand scheme, but because his spore had wound up on the inside of an Ueshi Space Academy recruit’s headcom. The Ueshi had done exceedingly well in her flight and war-games, and once she realized what she had on her hands, she testified that she had blackmailed the Geuji to help her complete training and win in Jahul gaming dens.
Yet the Geuji, against all odds, without any mobility whatsoever, had turned the tables and convinced the Ueshi to free him of his servitude and install him in his first ship, thus beginning three centuries of life on the run. Peacemakers had been hunting him since the very night the Ueshi freed him. Though his species had never been entered into Congress, though he broke no laws, though he had done nothing wrong, his file had been marked ‘Dead or Alive’ for over three centuries.
He was never given a chance, Jer’a
it thought, troubled.
An instant later, his secretary, Orbil, hit the CALL button. “Peacemaster?” the Ooreiki Sixth Hjai asked nervously. “They’re requesting your presence in the Regency.”
Jer’ait felt his breja ripple at mention of the Regency. “Why?”
“There was an attack on Representative Mekkval on his home planet of Jakun 5. A representative of the Peacemakers is being requested by the Tribunal.”
Jer’ait froze, the next step in the Geuji’s plan suddenly clicking into focus. Mekkval maintained a deep den on Jakun, perceived by Congress to be impenetrable. He had retreated to it once the hostilities had started, to keep his own heirs from joining the rebellion. “Was Representative Mekkval killed?” he demanded.
His secretary hesitated as he collected the information. “No, sir. Wounded.”
Jer’ait, who had been fearing the worst, hesitated. Cocking his head, he said, “Wounded, Orbil?” Then that would mean…
…the Geuji had failed.
“Yes, sir. By a Jreet, sir.”
Jer’ait narrowed his eyes, remembering Rat’s team. “Was it a Welu Jreet, Orbil?”
Another pause. “Yes sir. A group of six renegade Congies. Survivors from Neskfaat. They’re saying it was war-trauma.”
Jer’ait considered for several long moments.
The fact it was Rat’s team left no doubt in his mind that the Geuji had been involved. Yet, if the Geuji had intended Mekkval to die, Mekkval would be dead. He had seen that much on Neskfaat.
“Would you like me to transfer them to an Eleventh Hjai to take the summons instead, sir?” Orbil asked, after Jer’ait did not respond for some time.
As long as Jer’ait stayed within the Peacemaker Sanctuary of Koliinaat, the Watcher could not transport him anywhere. Thus, the politicians actually had to ask for his attendance. It was one of the balances of power that the Geuji had worked into the original design of Koliinaat, when Aliphei and the Regency commissioned it in the 100th Age of the Ooreiki.
The design of Koliinaat was one of many things the Geuji had done before they were captured that left Jer’ait discomfited. Upon ascending the seat of the Peacemaster, he had spent long hours researching the Space Academy basement’s long-term guests. As it turned out, most of Congress’s greatest advancements had been instigated by the Geuji: Nanos—everything that Congress now used in its ships, medicine, and weaponry. Ruvmestin generators—continuous, clean, essentially unlimited energy. Faster than light travel—something so advanced that not even present-day technicians could decipher the why of it; they just built all ships to ancient Geuji design and trusted it worked. Teleportation—which only remained possible on Koliinaat because all other technology was lost. Ekhtas—the greatest weapon known to the universe. And, of course, the ultimate Geuji creation—Koliinaat and its Watcher. A completely artificial planet with omnipotent, omnipresent, sentient artificial intelligence that directed billions of individual affairs per second.
The Geuji had only been given six hundred turns before they were locked away on Levren. Six hundred turns and they had created what Congress considered the pinnacles of its two and a half million turn existence.
Knowing that, Jer’ait found his breja writhing at the very fact that he was sitting deep within one of their creations, run by a creature of their own design. The only artificial life form that was, unquestionably, sentient.
Where do his loyalties lie? Jer’ait wondered of the Watcher. Such things bothered him, now that he had the Peacemaster’s seat. The fact that every power-player in Congress placed his life in the Watcher’s hands every second of every day did not escape his notice.
And yet, none of the Geuji’s creations had initially been for the purpose of war. They had, until Forgotten, never been accused of murder or war. Biosuits had been created to protect its users on space walks and high-danger jobs. Nanos had been created for medicine and safer, more versatile, life-saving ships, using the Geuji’s own bodies as inspiration. And ekhtas had been created for mining difficult-to-penetrate, mineral-rich asteroids and planetoids.
“Sir?” Orbil asked again, hesitantly.
“Tell them I will meet their summons,” Jer’ait said, “but I will have no answers for them.”
Because the Watcher had no direct access to the Peacemaker Sanctuary on Koliinaat, Jer’ait had to leave his office, walk through the interrogation suite, past the cell block, down the long maze of corridors to the outer foyer, then summon the Watcher to take him to the Tribunal.
The moment the Watcher arrived in the room with him, it was as if the mental density of the air itself seemed to thicken. Instead of immediately teleporting him, however, the Watcher asked, “Are you sure about this, Jer’ait?”
Jer’ait froze, thinking he had misheard. Was he…sure? Jer’ait, who in a hundred turns of working between Koliinaat and Levren had never had to give the Watcher a command more than once, felt his breja twist upon his skin in sudden, acute unease. Knowing what he knew about the Geuji, and his research of the Geuji’s betrayal by the Trith and Congress, he could not be sure if he were speaking to a friend or foe. Carefully, though the Watcher maintained no image or face, he stared straight at the far wall and said, “Why would I not be sure?”
“The journey will be long, and you might not like what you find,” the Watcher replied. “Sending an Eleventh Hjai would give you more rest at night.”
Every breja across his entire body flexed into rigidity at those words. Knowing that the Watcher held Jer’ait’s life in his hands—the same hands that held every Representative of Congress—Jer’ait asked, “Are you working with Forgotten?”
The Watcher scoffed. “My primary duty is to protect the Regency.”
“Are you?” Jer’ait asked.
“Could you stop me, if I was?”
The cold threat in the room left Jer’ait silent for several moments. Then, “Are you?”
The room around him seemed to chuckle. “Jemria has not contacted me, but his workings are easy enough to see. Shall I transport you, Jer’ait, or will you find someone else? Keep in mind, the Geuji’s plans hinge on your involvement.”
Jer’ait felt his attention sharpen. “Then they are not yet complete.”
“Oh, not by far,” the Watcher said, sounding amused.
“And what is his goal?” Jer’ait demanded.
The Watcher laughed. “For now? Entertainment. Later? Freedom, I’m sure.”
Jer’ait eyes narrowed at ‘entertainment,’ realizing that the Watcher was, in essence, an artificial Geuji. “You’re sure or you know?”
“I know that Jemria just set off a series of events that will not see their completion until over five hundred turns from now,” the Watcher said. “And he wants you to be part of it.”
“That much,” Jer’ait said bitterly, “is obvious.”
“Isn’t it, though. Shall I transport you, Jer’ait? Being forewarned, of course, that all you must do to bring his entire plan to a crashing halt is to tell one of your underlings to take this call for you?”
Jer’ait stiffened. “Don’t toy with me.”
“I merely state a fact. Jemria expects you to help him. He did not expect me to tell you as much. This gives you an unforeseen advantage. I thought it only fair.”
Jer’ait cocked his head. “You can out-think him.”
His reply was an amused, “Of course.”
“How do I end his destruction?” Jer’ait said. “Geuji were never meant to do violence. He’s gone rogue. Tell me how to stop him.”
“I already did,” the Watcher replied. Then, “What makes you think Jemria’s gone rogue?”
Jer’ait frowned. “Then he didn’t try to kill Mekkval.”
He could feel the Watcher’s amusement all around him, like a yeeri scholar watching the antics of a particularly bright toddler. “Mekkval,” the Watcher said, “recently hired six new staff members. One of them eats a melaa a day. He’s sent the six of them on a diplomatic mission to Mijor last wee
k. Before that, it was Kiji’banu.”
Jer’ait blinked. Mijor and Kiji’banu were two Outer Line planets that had each become home to a Dhasha prince whose loyalties to Congress were on the dangerous side of questionable. Each had been stockpiling weapons and slaves and rebuffing Congressional probes for several turns. Yet resistance, as of last he’d heard, had inexplicably ended on Mijor last week. A couple weeks before that, Kiji’banu had gone silent.
“And now,” the Watcher said, “I really do need an answer, Peacemaster. Aliphei grows impatient.”
Jer’ait glanced at the entrance back into the Sanctuary and considered. “And all I have to do to crush his plans is walk away and let someone else handle this?”
“That would be correct.”
Jer’ait considered, thinking of a bomb made for the ease of mining, twisted into something else entirely once the Geuji were safely entombed in darkness. “Take me to the Regency,” he said. “I look forward to meeting him.”
The Watcher chuckled. “You are perceptive, for your capabilities.”
The room vanished around him and Jer’ait endured the instant of cold, prickly numbed-limb sensation before he found himself standing in the private Tribunal chambers. Mekkval, Prazeil, and Aliphei were all in attendance.
“Have you grown so accustomed to your station already that you ignore a direct summons from the Tribunal, Huouyt?” Prazeil demanded, the moment he arrived. The enormous Aezi lifted his head high in rage, his creamy, thirteen-rod body coiled beneath him.
“I am Peacemaster,” Jer’ait replied. “I have things to attend to.” He cocked his head at the Jreet. “I will also remind you, Jreet, that I do not answer to the Tribunal. For, if one of you were to ever be charged, it would be I who would stand in your place to try you.”
The engine-like battlecry began to form in the Jreet’s chest, but Aliphei interrupted dismissively with, “Mekkval was attacked on his home of Jakun 5. Six Congies. Before they died, he extracted confessions from them indicating Rri’jan Ze’laa vehn Morinth was behind the war on Neskfaat.
Jer’ait turned to give Mekkval a long look. “Did he.”
