Zero Recall

by Sara King

Immediately, the hub door dripped shut behind him and there was a slight discomfort at the equalization of pressure, then the door to the ship opened on the other side, revealing a brightly-lit corridor leading into the Geuji’s ship.

  Very carefully, Jer’ait stepped out of the darkened airlock and into the light. He jumped when the alien door slid shut behind him, trapping him on the ship with the Geuji. The sterile hall was brightly lit and eerily silent.

  “Hello,” the Geuji said, seemingly from the ship itself. It was a voice that Jer’ait couldn’t quite pinpoint as being from one species, but more a mix of several.

  Jer’ait waited in a wary silence.

  When he did not reply with similar courtesies, the Geuji prodded, “I assume you have questions.”

  Jer’ait said nothing, quietly wondering what in the ninety Jreet hells he had been thinking, stepping on a Geuji ship alone. The hall was unlike anything he had ever seen before, its construction familiar, yet at the same time, nerve-wrackingly different. He found himself fighting the urge to back up to the exit as he eyed the surrounding hall, trying not to let his unease show.

  “I’ve been looking forward to this meeting with you for several turns,” Forgotten said. “And I’ll admit that it’s been with a disconcerting combination of fear, excitement, and anxiety.”

  Forgotten was obviously trying to put him at ease. There was nothing for the Geuji to fear, and they both knew it. Jer’ait had simply been stupid. Merciful dead, he’d been stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid…

  “I’m not going to hurt you,” Forgotten said softly.

  Jer’ait felt his breja ripple in a rush of relief before he got it back under control. “I appreciate that,” he said warily, still backed carefully against the airlock.

  “It is rare to meet a Huouyt with a conscience,” Forgotten offered.

  “And you still haven’t,” Jer’ait snorted. He eyed the empty corridor, half expecting a rush of robots to emerge and carve out his zora. “What do you want, Geuji?”

  “Why were you in the hub, waiting for me, alone and unarmed?”

  “I asked first.”

  “To talk.”

  “My desires were similar,” Jer’ait admitted. He surreptitiously glanced at the control panel of the airlock and was unsurprised to find that the controls were in no language he had ever encountered.

  “Relax, Jer’ait,” the Geuji’s ship urged. “I see no reason why we can’t humor each other.”

  “A Va’gan does not relax.” Jer’ait nonetheless stopped trying to puzzle out the airlock controls and returned his attention to the empty corridor itself.

  “Here, on my ship, you have no reason not to,” Forgotten told him. “We both know that, should my intentions have been nefarious, you would be dead now. Vigilance or no.”

  Jer’ait knew as much, of course, but to be reminded of it rankled.

  “But, if it would make you feel better,” Forgotten said, “I’ll invite you into my chambers for the duration of our discussion.”

  Jer’ait’s curiosity was piqued, despite himself. He had always wanted to see a Geuji close up. The containment systems that Aliphei had in place on Levren were so strict that the paperwork to achieve clearance had never been worth it for him. “Very well,” he said warily.

  “Third hall on the right, sixth door down,” the Geuji told him.

  Jer’ait took three steps down the alien hallway before a little eight-legged robot seemingly unfolded from the wall itself and began skittering ahead of him as a guide. Clearly distinguishable from the robot’s carapace were unmistakable gun turrets. So much for the Geuji being peaceful, Jer’ait thought, despite himself. He hesitated, once again wondering what the hell he was thinking.

  “I will not hurt you,” the Geuji said again.

  “Is that what you told my brother, when you embroiled him in this mess?” Jer’ait demanded.

  “Your brother requested this mess,” Forgotten said. “And, as you will see in our taped conversation, I never made him any promises. You, I will not harm.”

  Jer’ait’s interest piqued at mention of documented proof of Rri’jan’s wrongdoing. “Will you let me take the recording with me, when I leave?”

  “Of course.”

  That, alone, was worth braving the dangers of this visit. Reluctantly, Jer’ait stepped deeper into the corridor and took the third hall on the right. Then he counted doors until he arrived at the one suggested by the Geuji. He waited several moments, but nothing happened.

  “I’m here,” he finally muttered, feeling stupid.

  “I know,” Forgotten said. “I’m trying to work up the courage to let you in.”

  Which, despite its ludicrousness, rang with truth. Jer’ait waited curiously. Tics passed.

  “This is very hard for me,” Forgotten whispered.

  Jer’ait cocked his head. “If I didn’t know better, Geuji, I would almost say you’re telling the truth.”

  “I am,” Forgotten replied. “Just hold on a moment, please.” The black, alien portal before him remained closed.

  Jer’ait examined the door, both complimented by the Geuji’s fear and concerned by its ridiculousness. “What makes you afraid of me?”

  “Aside from the fact that you can kill me with a touch?”

  “You could most likely kill me with a thought,” Jer’ait said. “If I were an outsider wagering on this meeting, I would place my bet with you, Geuji.”

  “Is it a contest?” Forgotten asked softly.

  “No,” Jer’ait said. Then, when the door continued to remain shut, Jer’ait said tentatively, “I won’t hurt you, Geuji. There’s been enough of that.”

  Several seconds later, the door slid open, though hesitantly, as if the ship itself shared the Geuji’s reluctance.

  On the other side of the portal, a bedroom-sized chamber was hung, floor-to-ceiling, with living black flesh. It moved and glistened in the light, with no identifiable features, a formless ebony mold that was continuing its glacially slow march across the intentionally rough walls. The ceiling itself was a display of ever-changing images…sometimes sky and clouds, sometimes forests, sometimes mountainscapes, sometimes sunrises. The soft sound of breeze, the chatter of fauna, and the crash of waves set a smooth ambiance in the background. Even with the sounds and color, however, the place looked depressingly…lonely.

  “Highly accurate,” Jer’ait offered, recognizing the scenery of Neskfaat. Then he checked himself and gave a wan smile. “Well, until PlanOps covered it with bodies.”

  “Thank you.” The words were tight. Highly controlled.

  Jer’ait realized, startled, that the Geuji was telling the truth. He was terrified. “You think I’m going to kill you,” he said. Which he found odd, because he had no intention of doing so whatsoever.

  “Not exactly,” Forgotten said softly.

  “What, then?” Jer’ait demanded. “You quiver like a frightened Ueshi, Geuji.” He gestured at the way the room itself seemed to glisten and shift with the Geuji’s thoughts.

  “You know that my plans with Mekkval did not go awry,” Forgotten hedged.

  “Of course,” Jer’ait snorted. “That’s why I’m here right now, listening to you prattle, instead of quarantining your ship with a specialized ship-storming crew.”

  Forgotten hesitated. “May I ask how you knew?”

  “The Watcher told me.”

  “…oh.” The room was silent for almost a tic. Jer’ait could sense the Geuji’s desperation to know more, yet also his fear of letting his desires known.

  “I’ll spare you the guessing,” Jer’ait said. “He told me that your plan from the beginning was to give Mekkval a team that could kill Dhasha princes quietly and effectively, that you intended to meet me, and that all I would have had to do to foil your plans would be to give the assignment to hunt my brother to an Eleventh Hjai.”

  “And you’ve guessed the rest.”

  Jer’ait laughed. “I have no misconceptions about being able to guess the
‘rest,’ no. But I anticipate some of it, I’m sure.”

  Though the physical cues were subtle, the Geuji seemed to relax somewhat. “It does not bother you, what I plan for the Huouyt?”

  “I can’t say I’m very impressed with my own people,” Jer’ait said.

  “But they are your people,” Forgotten insisted. On the screen above them, the view shifted to the ancient stone cityscape of Morinth’s capital, something that Jer’ait had not seen in almost four hundred turns.

  Seeing it, Jer’ait’s eyes narrowed in irritation. “They sterilized me in public and slated me for execution the next day. They can rot.”

  Forgotten was silent a long moment. Then, “I can remedy that.”

  Jer’ait stiffened. “If this is some way to ingratiate yourself to me—”

  “No,” Forgotten said. “I’d expect nothing. I’d simply be righting a wrong.”

  “By drugging me and having your way with my body.”

  “When you put it that way, Huouyt, it almost sounds entertaining.”

  For the first time since stepping aboard the ship, Jer’ait was truly shaken. “You’d simply do it. No favors requested. No future tasks to be fulfilled.”

  “Yes.”

  Jer’ait narrowed his eyes. “No implants left behind.”

  “Again, Jer’ait, if I’d wanted to do as much, I could do so without even your knowledge. I only offer because, for me, it would be a simple thing. I have a feeling, though, that for you, it would mean much more.”

  “And my eye?” Jer’ait asked. “Can you fix that, as well?”

  Forgotten hesitated. Around him, the room rippled. Then, “I will not alter your eye.”

  “But you could,” Jer’ait insisted.

  “I won’t.”

  “Then the rumors are true,” Jer’ait muttered. “The eye…changes…things.”

  “It does.”

  Jer’ait took a deep breath and looked away, his deformity once more weighing on his soul. Finally, he said, “Like I said, Geuji, I am not impressed by my people. I have little interest in breeding more of them.”

  “The offer remains open, should I survive this,” Forgotten said softly.

  Jer’ait’s attention sharpened and he glanced back at the Geuji. “Survive what?”

  Forgotten hesitated a moment. Then, quietly, he said, “Whatever happens, I want you to know, personally, that this is my attempt to go on the straight and level. No tricks. If they deal with me honorably, then I will return the favor. I…wish to test a theory.”

  “Forgive me if I am confused,” Jer’ait said, frowning. “If who deals with you honorably?”

  The Geuji’s silence seemed to go on forever. “Any of them.” Then, heedless of Jer’ait’s confusion, Forgotten went on, “From here onward, Huouyt, the rest of our meeting is going to be recorded.”

  As Jer’ait frowned at that, but before he could comment, Forgotten went on in a formal, ringing voice, “Jer’ait Ze’laa vehn Morinth, seventeenth of his name, rightful heir to the Morinthian throne, Peacemaster of Congress, brother of Rri’jan Ze’laa, Va’gan specialist with highest honors…” Forgotten hesitated for several moments. Then, “I have a confession to make.”

  #

  Rri’jan shifted boredly in his Regency seat, awaiting the arrival of the Tribunal. It was a closed session, probably because the Dhasha coward didn’t want the rest of Congress to know how close he had come to dying in his own den. That, alone, was amusing enough to have been worth the hassle with Neskfaat.

  When his three peers arrived, it was as Rri’jan expected. They each sat down without files or any other references in front of them. They had built their case on the dying wind of a tortured Human. They had no case.

  “I see your evidence is rather slim,” Rri’jan said. He yawned. “Can we get on with this? I have a vetun game with Gervin this afternoon. I wouldn’t want to be late.”

  “Consider it cancelled,” the Jreet Representative said. “Permanently.”

  Rri’jan sat up, his breja attempting to twist in agitation. “That almost sounded like a threat, worm.” He cocked his head. “Was that a threat?”

  “Rri’jan Ze’laa vehn Morinth,” the First Citizen intoned, before the fool Jreet could respond, “you are hereby charged with violating the First Law of Congress. This is the second time in fifty-four turns that a Huouyt Representative has been accused of this heinous crime. In fact, the last accused was your predecessor, Representative Na’leen. That the violations were back-to-back does not go unnoticed by this body, and, as such, your punishment will be more severe.”

  “Alleged violations,” Rri’jan said, amused.

  “We’ll see,” the Jreet replied. He almost sounded…smug.

  Rri’jan wondered idly what kind of ‘evidence’ they could have cobbled together from his complete lack of involvement. Aside from that two and a half hour conversation with the Geuji, Rri’jan had done nothing. There were no links to trace back to him, no clandestine check-ins, no furtive messages, no bank withdrawals. He had seen to it himself that all who had accompanied him on the trip to hunt down the Geuji a turn before were dead. And the Human, pawn that she was, had never met him, nor any of his people, nor had she received any payments from his accounts. There simply was nothing to trace back to him.

  This time, it was Mekkval—his accuser—who spoke. “As we speak, evidence of your crimes is being broadcast to every member of the Regency.”

  That made Rri’jan sit up. “What evidence?”

  Immediately, a recording of himself, discussing the plan to kill Mekkval with Forgotten, began playing over his podium. Rri’jan immediately dismissed it. “A fake.” He snorted. “Is that all you have to level against me, esteemed Representatives?”

  Mekkval and the First Citizen glanced at each other. Aliphei nodded.

  “We have a confession,” Mekkval began.

  “You’ll need better than that,” Rri’jan laughed. “Words gathered in the heat of torture are useless in trial.”

  “How about words given freely, under no duress or mental impairment?” a Morinthian Huouyt said nearby. The nearest closed booth opened inward to reveal the glistening ebony form of a Geuji.

  Rri’jan was so stunned he could only stare. Forgotten? Here?

  “Speechless, for once,” Mekkval commented wryly.

  “I admit it has its appeal,” the First Citizen said.

  “Let’s see the stupid furg dance words now,” Prazeil added.

  “As we agreed in the terms of my surrender,” the Geuji continued, “I shall receive a full pardon by the Tribunal for all of my crimes to date. Further, you will give my people access to all incoming news and entertainment channels and install reliable and consistent means of conversation between each other, permanently, to be monitored by an independent species preservation society, or my confession ends here.”

  “It will be done,” Mekkval said solemnly. “You have my word.”

  “Very well, then,” Forgotten went on. “I am uploading all corresponding documentation, records, receipts, and transaction reports that involve this case to your podiums now. They are clearly labeled and can be cross-referenced with the report I am also submitting with them. As each piece of evidence is addressed in my testimony, I will highlight it for your records. My confession will begin just over a turn ago. On the 3rd Turn of the 860th Age of the Jreet, Rri’jan approached me with a fleet of fifty-seven—”

  “This is a hoax,” Rri’jan shrieked. “We all know the damn Geuji would never surrender. He’s been a thorn in Congress’s side for three hundred turns.”

  “Be silent,” Mekkval said coolly, “or I will silence you.”

  “—personally-acquired warships. See Items A1 through A-44, detailing purchase, outfitting, and types of ships he used. I will pause to allow you time to examine the evidence.”

  “We’ve already previewed it,” the First Citizen said. “You may continue.”

  “Once his forces surrounded me,” Forgot
ten said, “Rri’jan let it be known that he came to me requesting my help to gain a seat on the Tribunal, video and audioclips of which can be accessed as B1 through B7 in your evidence packets…”

  Rri’jan listened, disgusted, as Forgotten once again repeated his plan, this time with the added details of Rri’jan’s exact words and reactions to each proposed twist. Rri’jan dropped to his seat in impotent rage. He stopped listening by the fourth hour.

  “If you will notice,” Forgotten finished, after the Watcher had made them take several food-breaks to keep from starving during his endless monologue, “as each stage of this plan came to fruition—most visibly the destruction of Aez, the accumulation of Dhasha princes on Neskfaat, and Planetary Ops’ debilitating losses—your good Representative did absolutely nothing to voice his concerns to the Regency.”

  “Proof of my innocence!” Rri’jan snapped, unable to take the sham any longer.

  “What I want to know,” Prazeil snarled, “is why you destroyed my home.”

  For a moment, Rri’jan felt a surge of triumph, thinking that the Jreet’s wrath was focused on Forgotten. Then, with a rush of startlement, he realized Prazeil was looking at him.

  “Aez was a target of opportunity,” Forgotten said. “It would have been too dangerous to leave a planet of fervent, impassioned, dedicated warriors as skilled and determined as the Aezi alive during a period of political unrest and instability as crucial for the Huouyt’s eventual ascension to a secure and stable throne as was the last turn, and after a long, thorough examination of the facts at hand, it was decided that their neutralization could not wait until after the Regency’s power-structure was reorganized to Huouyt liking, and had to be attended to before the Dhasha created a very visible and powerful distraction in the heart of Congress, lest our plan leave much of the Old Territory embroiled in a bitter war that would engulf dozens of innocent planets and undermine the very structure Rri’jan wished to rule.”

  “You can’t even understand what he’s saying,” Rri’jan snapped. “I move to dismiss his entire, twisted testimony as unclear and indecipherable gibberish.”

  “Paraphrase,” Aliphei commanded of the Geuji.