Authors: Sara King
Zero Recall (74 page)
“Please turn it up,”
Forgotten said. “I think the microphone is aimed at the ground.”
Syuri obliged, cranking
up the sound on the speaker system until it was reverberating through the very
floor of the ship. “That Voran fighting the Aezi Representative on the floor
of the Regency right now is the one who escaped Aez with me,” Syuri said. “Daviin
ga Vora. I’d recognize that name anywhere.”
After a moment, “Has this
been going on long?”
“Only like eight hours,”
Syuri said, disgusted.
“And the news services
are covering the fight?” Forgotten asked.
“Like it’s the only thing
happening in the universe,” Syuri muttered. “You can’t even get race results
right now. Everyone’s betting on the two Jreet.”
“Daviin is going to win.”
Syuri gave the screen a
dubious look. “I don’t know, Jemria. The white Aezi’s like twice his size.”
“Listen to their war
cries,” Forgotten said. “The Aezi has taken enough of Daviin’s poison that
he’s starting to slur.”
Syuri cocked his head at
the screen and tried to distinguish the two engine-like shee-
whomph
Jreet war cries, but try as he might, he couldn’t tell the difference between
them.
Forgotten listened for a
few more tics, then said, “You can turn it down, now. It will be over in sixteen
tics.”
“You know,” Syuri said,
unhappily, “You’d be a killer in the Jahul gambling dens.” He had bet millions
on the Aezi, mostly because he really wanted to see the Voran get some sort of
comeuppance.
Forgotten paused a
moment. “Syuri, were you placing petty wagers on the Jreet when I was lying
here for hours, dehydrating and helpless?”
Syuri swallowed in a
spasm. “No.”
Forgotten seemed to
digest that. Almost gently, he said, “You should go place another one. Fifty
million on the Voran. Cause of death will be strangulation.”
“Strangulation?” Syuri said,
frowning. “They don’t strangle each other. Only everybody else.”
“They strangle a few,”
Forgotten said. “In matters of severe dishonor. You should place the bet.
Fifteen tics.”
“I’m good,” Syuri
managed. In truth, he had been hoping that Forgotten wouldn’t find out about
his nasty gambling habit. Just in coming to Koliinaat, he had lost almost half
a billion of Forgotten’s money in frivolous wagers.
“No, do it,” Forgotten
said. “I want to test a theory.”
Syuri raised an eyebrow,
but he reluctantly turned back to the com, brought up his favorite high-roller gambling
feed, and entered in Forgotten’s information. “Done,” he said, nervously
closing the account. “What kind of theory?”
“A personal one.”
“Um,” Syuri said,
fidgeting. He had the weird feeling the theory was about
him
, and he
felt very much like a cornered vaghi in a scientist’s cage. “Can you at least
give me an idea what kind of theory?”
“You’re about to win a
lot of money,” Forgotten said. “I want to see what happens.”
Syuri frowned at the
screen. The odds were 5 to 1, in favor of the Aezi, plus modifiers for time of
death. “I could make two hundred and fifty million. A lot more if the time of
death is correct.”
“In sixteen tics. With
absolutely no effort on your part.”
By the way the Geuji said
it, Syuri was sure there was something he
should
be getting, but
wasn’t. Not uncommonly when around the Geuji, Syuri felt stupid. “I’m not understanding.”
“Patience.”
So Syuri watched. He
watched the Jreet continue hurling chairs and podiums at each other as other
Jreet crowded around in a wide ring, chanting war cries. Then he saw the Aezi
stumble, saw the smaller Jreet lunge in and wrap his lithe body around the
bigger Jreet’s neck, cinching it down until the bigger Jreet’s mouth hung open,
tiny blue eyes bulging in a death-grimace. He checked the clock. Sixteen
tics. He’d made close to half a billion credits in the space of the time it took
to shower.
“Wow,” Syuri said. “No
wonder you’re rich.”
Forgotten said nothing.
Syuri shut down the wall
unit. “So what was the theory?”
“I’m sure you’ll figure
it out.”
Syuri laughed. “That’s
not very nice, picking on an old Jahul. You know I pissed out all my last
nutrient infusions when I ran from the Jreet. My brain isn’t working at its
prime. I missed something.”
Forgotten hesitated a
moment, then said, “Syuri, how hard was it for you to make that money?”
“Easiest money I ever
made in my life,” Syuri said, warily. “Did you have it flagged somehow?”
“Do you want to make
more
money like that, Syuri?” the Geuji prodded.
“Sure,” Syuri said, not
following.
Damn
the Jreet for making him stupid. He itched to go get
his supplements, but refrained, knowing that he could pack himself so full of
nutrients a chamber ruptured and he still wouldn’t have the brainpower to
follow the Geuji along one of his ‘plans.’ When Forgotten offered nothing
else, he said, “Um, forgive me for being dense, but how?”
“You have access to the
humidity controls.”
Syuri glanced at the
panel on the wall. “I’m still not following.”
His sivvet got hit with a
sudden, brief crash of joy before the Geuji stifled it.
Nervous, now, Syuri said,
“What’s going on, Forgotten? What did I do wrong? You want me to change the
setting? Too wet?”
“I can’t move,” Forgotten
said.
Syuri peered at the
quivering ball of tissue. “You want me to slide your box closer to the
humidifiers?”
“I’m very smart.”
Now he
knew
he was
missing something. “Obviously not smart enough. What in the ninety Jreet
hells are you trying to say?”
“I’m also afraid to die.”
At that point, it dawned
on him. Forgotten was offering him the chance to have his own personal Geuji
at his service. Forever. All he had to do was just ‘forget’ to take him to
the Jakun system and its awaiting robotics. Syuri just blinked at him.
“You’re not smart. You’re a Jreet-kissing jenfurgling. I swear on the Ooreiki
ghosts, Forgotten, someone needs to buy you a dictionary. Friends don’t do
that, you miserable corpse-rot. Friends help each other when they need it.”
He glared, irritated the Geuji would have thought he could stoop to something
like that. “It’s almost like you never knew your mother or something,” he
muttered. “Oozing mold.”
A sudden, overwhelming
rush of joy flooded his sivvet, this one completely uncontrolled. The intense
pleasure of another’s happiness overpowered all other senses in an unstoppable
hurricane of emotion and Syuri staggered, then fell, holding his head as his
body responded automatically to the bliss. He moaned as his chambers began
releasing like a teenager witnessing his first orgy. Shuddering, Syuri found
himself too wrapped up in the experience to tell the Geuji to stop.
“You’re not saying much,”
Forgotten finally said, once the joy had ebbed. “Reconsidering?”
“Sweet Hagra,” he
muttered, once he’d picked himself back up from the floor. “You just made me
ooze sexual lubricants all over myself, you slippery corpse-rot.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Syuri
muttered grudgingly. He looked down at himself and winced. “But for the love
of the Ooreiki ghosts, don’t tell anyone, either.”
“I won’t.”
Grimacing, Syuri tried to
slough off some of the slime. It formed a translucent, jiggling puddle on the
floor. “And what,” he muttered, flicking long strands of it from his fingers
in disgust, “was so great just now that you had to return me to my
carefully-buried teenage turns?”
“You want me to spell it
out for you?”
Syuri pointed a
slime-dripping finger at the Geuji. “You are this close to getting stepped
on.” As he spoke, a long dribble of lubricant slid from his finger to plop
against the floor. He flicked off the remnants in distaste.
Forgotten took a moment
to consider before he said, “The last time I gave someone a winning bet, it was
in complete innocence, trying to make her life easier. She kept me in a
headcom for the next six turns and forced me to come up with winning bets for
her or she would do unpleasant things.”
Syuri felt his gut clench
at the wave of fear and hopelessness that rolled off Forgotten at ‘unpleasant
things’ before the Geuji contained it.
“Well,” Syuri said,
grabbing a mechanic’s rag from the rack beside him, “sorry to tell you this,
Forgotten, but you don’t quite fit in a headcom anymore.” He gestured at the
Geuji’s mass with his towel.
“You have a ship,”
Forgotten replied. “And I’m not going anywhere.”
Syuri cocked his head at
the mold as he began wiping himself down. “Are you
asking
me to keep
you here and use you for your lovely brain cells?”
“My brain doesn’t have
cells and no.”
“Then what the hell is
your point?” Syuri demanded, going after his legs, now.
The rush of joy, this
time, knocked him out.
When he came to with a
moan, the first thing Syuri heard was a guilty-sounding, “Sorry.”
“You know what?” Syuri
managed, pulling himself out of the puddle of slime, “From now on, we talk
about depressing things.” He shakily got back to his feet, but had to grab the
rack beside him to steady his wobbly legs.
“What if I told you I wasn’t
really expecting you to try and save me?” Forgotten asked.
Syuri laughed. “I’d call
you a bad liar.” Trembling, he bent to retrieve the rag. “Really, Geuji, you
need to work on that.”
“You want me to lie to
you?”
Syuri grimaced. “On the
other hand, no, ignore that. Just a jabbering Jahul without his nutrients.”
He started carefully running the rag over his over-sensitized abdomen. “Most
of the universe is filled with lying, backstabbing Huouyt. I like the fact you
don’t lie. It’s refreshing.” He grimaced as he peeled more layers of slime
from his body, squeegeeing it to the floor in embarrassing plops.
Forgotten listened to him
for a couple tics in silence before he said, “What if I told you I really went
to Koliinaat to die?”
Syuri frowned, hesitating
in his cleaning. “Did you?”
There was a long,
horrible pause. Then, “Someone I respect once told me that God hates a
coward. He lived a good life, and was very brave. As I’ve never been
particularly brave, and my life has been more miserable than I could possibly
explain, I took it to heart.”
“You went there to die.”
“Yes.”
Syuri blinked. “The Baga
said you sent him a note about thirty-two planets that had been stolen from
Bagans, and to come help me today and you’d let him crash some Huouyt
spaceships, once they were forced to abandon them on the planet. Gave him a
date and location and everything.”
Forgotten was silent for
whole tics.
“Forgotten?”
“I never sent a note,”
Forgotten replied softly.
“Oh come on,” Syuri
snorted.
“I told him to distract
the Jreet so Daviin would have the money to challenge Prazeil.”
Syuri recoiled. “It was
a Trith?”
Forgotten said nothing
for some time. Then, reluctantly, “I know who it was.”
“Oh?”
“It’s not important,”
Forgotten said. “What’s important is that I never meant for you to save me,
but you did it anyway. Why?”
“Huouyt tear out my
eyelids, not this again.” Syuri made a disgusted sigh and tossed the sopping
rag aside. It hit the far wall with a wet, sucking sound, then slid slowly
down to the floor. “Why do you
think
, you oozing Geuji?”
“You
take…special…pleasure in my presence?”
Syuri’s eyes narrowed.
“I need a shower.” At that, he turned his back to the Geuji and headed back
into the living area of the ship. He felt another surge of happiness behind
him before he ducked into the main hall and sought out his bathing chamber.
Jer’ait had gone to look
for the Human when Joe suddenly appeared in the hallway, his small brown eyes
looking haggard. Blinking, Jer’ait cocked his head at the wall, then at Joe.
“The Watcher took you to see Forgotten?” he asked, stunned.
The Human nodded grimly
and walked past him, back into the bar. This time, he ordered a full bottle of
the piss-tinted poison. He had just sat back down at the booth and had begun
to raise the bottle to his lips when Jer’ait snagged it out of his hands.
“A friend would not allow
you to return to poisoning yourself because you just did something incredibly
stupid,” Jer’ait said, when the Human glowered at him. He set the bottle out
of reach and sat down across from the Prime Commander. For a long time, they
just looked at each other. Then Jer’ait said, “So. Did you kill him?”
“No,” the Human croaked.
“Probably should have. But I didn’t.”
Jer’ait found himself
surprised at that. He would have bet anything the Human would have killed the
Geuji, given the opportunity. “Did the Watcher not allow you to get close
enough?” he hedged.
“Nope,” Joe snorted. “I
had my finger on the button. Could’ve crushed him with my goddamn boot—” The
Human hesitated, frowning. “Wait a tic.” Frowning, the Human started patting
at his pockets and yanked a docking slip from his jacket. “Got a pen?”
Jer’ait, who always
carried several various tranquilizers with him in the form of common writing
instruments, calmly tugged one from his vest and handed it to Joe. “Be careful
you don’t squeeze the grip too tightly.”
Joe, who had immediately
taken up the pen and started writing, hesitated. He looked at the pen, then
looked suspiciously at Jer’ait.
“It’s non-lethal,”
Jer’ait said. Then he grimaced. “Well, for an Ooreiki. Humans have less
mass.”