by Wesley Chu
Roen ripped the envelope and took out a crinkled piece of paper hastily folded. Tao translated the words. It was a standing order for all Bamboo Union members to avoid the large Genjix port operation in Kaohsiung harbor.
Southern tip of the island. Largest port city in Taiwan. That is the most solid lead we have received so far.
“At least it wasn’t a complete waste of time.”
A few minutes later, Roen and Hutch found themselves standing outside the old circuit board warehouse on the northeastern fringe of the industrial district of Hsinchu county. It was a balmy sitting-in-a-steam-bath night that drenched them both within minutes. Roen had never missed air conditioning as much as he did being here in Taiwan. The only other times he felt more suffocated by the heat was when the Prophus had attacked the Genjix thermal plant at the basin of the Erta Ale Volcano in Ethiopia, and the time he went to Disney World in Orlando in July.
Three minutes into their walk down several rows of darkened warehouses, Roen whispered to Hutch. “Tail to our five. Next intersection, continue north and east. If I don’t find you within twenty minutes, rendezvous at the secondary site. Do not report back to the safe house. Oh, and walk slower.” He waited until they turned left at the next intersection before splitting off.
Now, Roen wasn’t worth much in the field of espionage. He couldn’t turn the charm on like Edward could or become a chameleon like Sonya did when it suited her. These were just skills he had never developed. Tao often called him a Phillips screwdriver, a single-purpose tool that did one job well. That suited Roen fine because what he was talented at, he was now very good at.
Within steps of leaving Hutch, Roen had disappeared into the shadows and was soon perched on top of the low-hanging roof of one of the warehouses, watching the dark shadow that followed Hutch. He had a few seconds to position himself to set up the tail. Whoever it was would soon realize that he was only following one person now. If the guy was smart, he would back off. And when he did, Roen could follow him to something useful, hopefully.
He waited just outside the shadow’s range of vision, skulking along the ledge. Roen saw Hutch strolling down the dark streets and cursed. With the way Hutch overplayed his part, any self-respecting spy would be able to tell something was amiss. However, whoever this tail was was not smart or self-respecting. He continued to follow Hutch.
Roen cursed again. “He didn’t even notice he lost a guy. Damn amateur hour.”
Well, so much for that. What is plan B?
“We wait. I want to see what he does once Hutch stops moving.”
What if he kills Hutch?
“Hutch is not going to die at the hands of a two-bit punk who doesn’t know when to abort a tailing mission. Besides, Hutch knows the guy is coming.”
Roen continued tracking the shadow, moving from rooftop to rooftop. He didn’t worry too much about being noticed. Whatever this guy’s day job was better be stable, because he wasn’t cut out for covert work. Roen had his doubts that Hutch, who was a smash-first-think-later kind of guy, wouldn’t have eventually noticed him himself.
He did take the time to study the shadow though. He was a young man with an upper body disproportionate to his legs and was obviously military. It was evident not just by his build but by the way he carried himself. The casualness was too forced and the man’s hands strayed far too often to his ribs, a sign of someone armed and trigger-happy.
Roen wondered if he was dealing with an especially inquisitive syndicate member tracking them or if it was the Genjix.
Hutch was now sitting on a bench at the intersection pretending to wait for the bus. Not exactly the brightest alibi considering the next bus wouldn’t stop by in this remote area for eight or so hours, but the man was trying at least.
Remember your first tailing assignments?
“Hey, we all start somewhere, right?”
Some people’s somewhere are much different from others’.
And then the espionage version of musical chairs – a game Roen detested – began. For the next fifteen minutes, Roen sat in the sweltering heat waiting for the tail waiting on Hutch to make a move. Hutch ended up waiting nearly thirty minutes for Roen. When Roen never showed, he stood up and walked along the river, the direction opposite of the secondary site.
Roen couldn’t believe it; he wanted to tear his hair out. The dumbest thing Hutch could do was to lead a tail directly back to their safe house. The second dumbest thing he could do was be too obvious, and wandering in such a roundabout way, where he would eventually need to double back, fit that category.
For the better part of the next two hours, Roen tailed the tail who tailed Hutch as they made a merry scenic tour of the city, going from the warehouse district to the red light district to the downtown area. Twice, Hutch stopped to get something to eat; the first time at a noodle shop and the second for shaved ice. Roen’s stomach grumbled both times as he sweated the night away, waiting for something to happen. Finally, at 2am, Hutch got to the secondary site. In a minute, he would go in, take the back room to the sewers, and hole up at a hostel across town before reporting back to Wuehler.
Roen followed the tail until dawn. By this time, he was so tired he didn’t care where this damn guy went, but he stayed with it. What was another hour or two when he’d already done this for six anyway? The chase mercifully ended at a house on the far end of an affluent residential district. Roen was grateful. In his nearly all-black garb, he wasn’t exactly dressed to blend in with the morning crowds. Satisfied, he took the information down and made a beeline back to the safe house.
SEVENTEEN
WORTHY SACRIFICE
The Prophus proved their appropriateness of their name by becoming traitors. True Quasing would not choose humans over their own kind. True Quasing would not value a servant over a master, an animal over a god.
After the Thirty Years’ War and the incident with the Chest of the Menagerie, we began to treat the Prophus as true enemies. The mercy we extended them was no longer offered. We began to send both the vessel and Prophus to the Eternal Sea.
Zoras
The meeting with the Genjix Council did not go well. He had thought his handling the Scimitar and her crew would have cemented his status on the Council. Instead, they berated him on the concessions he made to Abrams. When he pointed out that he actually conceded nothing because he had cleverly manipulated the Prophus into breaking their word, they berated him even more!
They said his tactics stained their honor, that the price they paid was too high, and that the Prophus would never trust them again. Why should they care what the enemy thought of their honor? He retorted that there shouldn’t be trust between them anyway.
His first meeting with the Council did not get any better from there. They accused him of brashness and of disregarding his Holy One. They said he was too young to understand the way the real world works and that their relationship with the Prophus was more complicated than technicalities. In the end, he was placed on probationary Council status. In six months, they would re-evaluate his position to see whether Zoras kept his seat.
They are correct. You did not listen as you should have. That is a common issue with vessels from the Hatchery. Many on the Council believe that your experience in such a sheltered incubator ill-prepares you for reality. I see that they are right. No amount of training can replace actual experience in command and combat. I will make a note of this and speak with Elder Mother regarding her wards’ training.
“My results exceeded our goals. What more could you ask of me?”
Pyrrhus, vessel to Galen during the height of the Hellenistic age, won every battle he ever fought against Rome, yet lost the war.
“That wasn’t the case at the Scimitar, though. We suffered fewer than thirty casualties. In return, we captured their entire force.”
Your ruse will work only once. The Prophus will never trust you again. You, and more importantly I, will never be allowed to join diplomatic negotiations. That cost is far t
oo high.
He had been hearing it non-stop from every Genjix vessel of note since the Council meeting. From the Council to Zoras to even Amanda, everyone had tried to steer him toward what they considered proper conduct for a Genjix of his standing. Well, he was having none of it.
The phone on his desk rang and Amanda’s voice popped up. “Father, Abrams is here, as you requested.”
Enzo was grateful for the change of topics. After nearly a week of dealing with the unbearable logistics of inventory, costs, and critical path project plans, dealing with what he had in stored for Abrams would be a welcome diversion.
“Send him in,” he said.
He cleared his desk and pretended to be busy going over the delayed schedule for one of the Quasiform plants, code named Catalyst Sigma, as Abrams, pushed in on a wheelchair by a nurse and flanked by half a dozen guards, rolled in. Enzo continued studying the schedule, not bothering to look up at his prisoner.
Abrams had aged since Enzo last saw him. No longer possessing the noble bearing of Admiral of the Prophus fleet, he was now an old cripple who had to be fed intravenously through a tube. His body was a mass of bruises and his head was bandaged in a way that only exposed his eyes, nose, and part of his jaw. He looked tired and broken.
Finally, Enzo leaned back and acknowledged him. “I trust our accommodations have been adequate, Admiral?”
Abrams’s head tilted up and down in what Enzo assumed was a nod. When he spoke, the words came out muffled, the bandages and metal wiring holding his jaw together inhibiting his speech. “I’ve had better. Genjix hospitality isn’t what it used to be. Are all these guards necessary? Do you think I’m going to wheel myself to freedom?”
Enzo smiled. At least the old man still had his sense of humor. “For your own protection, of course. I assure you the medical staff is making every effort toward your recovery.”
There was a moment of silence. “Why are you treating me? So you can torture information out of me? You’re wasting your time.”
Enzo laughed. “Please Admiral, we’re not savages. I hold you in too high a regard to torture you. Besides, an old soldier like you? You wouldn’t talk anyway.”
“Then what do you want, boy?”
Enzo stood up and walked around the table. The nurse stepped aside as he grabbed the handles of Abrams’s wheelchair and spun him toward the door. Enzo leaned in close to Abrams’s ear. “You are healthy enough now to participate in a momentous occasion. You will go down in history as the human who saves the Quasing. Myyk should be proud.”
“Myyk is proud,” Abrams responded. “Though he is ashamed for Zoras.”
Enzo kept his smile plastered to his face as he wheeled Abrams out of the building. Behind him, the nurse and guards followed. He leaned in close again. “What makes you think the Holy One isn’t? We are about to accomplish something, you and I, that will mark a first among Quasing.”
“I know Zoras, boy,” Abrams said with disdain, “better than you ever will. He is harsh and totalitarian, but he knows honor. Something you know nothing of.”
That stupid word again.
“Honor, like history, is nothing more than a thought, easily changed,” Enzo said.
A few minutes later, they entered the ProGenesis lab. The room was a hive of excitement as scientists and techs prepared what was expected to be the crowning achievement of thousands of hours of research. Enzo wheeled Abrams in front of the glass vat and looked at the dark red swirling liquid inside.
“Myyk said it almost looks like home,” Abrams remarked solemnly. “How many Quasings did you exterminate to get this far, Zoras?”
No sacrifice is too great.
Enzo repeated the words.
“And therein lies our differences,” Abrams said. “I have known you for an eternity, my old friend. You weren’t this way on Quasar.”
Times have changed. We are no longer on Quasar.
Chow walked up to Enzo and bowed. “Father, we are ready to begin.” Then Chow touched Abrams’s arm and spoke in a gentle and respectful manner. “Myyk, I am saddened that we are meeting under these circumstances. Jikl has always held you in high regard. You once saved his host when Alaric and his hordes sacked Rome.”
“Hardly a horde, Jikl. They were Roman-trained legions. Leave it to the father to lose control of his sons. There is a lesson there for all Quasing,” Enzo said. “Besides, Seurot had also warned your host to leave the city.”
“Then it is a lesson the Genjix have not learned yet. One day, when the truth of the Quasing comes out, none of us will be safe,” Abrams added.
“The real lesson then is to make sure to always keep them in control,” Enzo smiled. “Which we have done. Quite well if I may add.”
Abrams snorted. “You can’t control humanity forever.”
Enzo chuckled. “We don’t need forever, just a few more years.”
Abrams leaned forward and put a hand on the glass. His eyes followed the swirling liquid inside. “So if you are successful, Myyk could survive in there?”
“We are fairly confident,” Chow said.
Abrams nodded. “Then, in that case, just this time, I wish the Genjix success.” He tore his gaze away. “I’m ready. Do what you wish.”
Irritated, Enzo snapped at Chow. “Stop playing with the lobster before you cook him. You might get sympathetic. Proceed.”
“Yes, Father.” Chow bowed. He gestured to one of his assistants, and the young man wheeled Abrams away to prepare him for the experiment.
Enzo watched them leave; then he sat down in a chair directly in front of the vat and waited. “I do not like our people fraternizing with the enemy.”
Our failure on this planet is that our conflict became personal. If it had not come to this, our progress might have been far greater.
“All the more reason to disdain the betrayers.”
A few minutes later, Enzo watched as the crane arm lifted Abrams’s cell over the vat. He clenched his fists in anticipation as Chow called for the final checks of Abrams and Myyk’s life signs. The large Penetra scanner housed at the back of the lab hummed, its vibration rising until the sound was out of the ear’s pitch. Then when all was ready, Chow looked to Enzo, who nodded. Chow barked out a few more orders and then the vat doors lifted open.
“Any last requests, Admiral?” Enzo called out.
Abrams looked straight at Enzo, his back arched and his head held high. He saluted with his remaining good hand. “May you all find peace in the Eternal Sea,” he said, his muffled mumbling words still carrying across the room. “Please see that my family receives my body, and if the Genjix do prevail, have mercy upon this planet. We provided you a home when the Quasing most needed it.”
A low rumbling swept across the room. Enzo scowled as he watched several of his people pay the old man respect. He had thought he was being magnanimous in his gesture. It figured even in his last moment, Abrams knew how to stick it to him.
You were not being magnanimous; you were being prideful. You are still young and prone to error. Learn from my wisdom if you wish to maintain your standing.
Then the squealing pitch of gears turning sounded, and Abrams’s cage dropped into the vat.
Enzo got a sense of satisfaction from watching Abrams’s calm demeanor betray him as the liquid poured over him. He opened his mouth and struggled, pulling at the bars as he sunk to the bottom. A few seconds later, Abrams let go of the bars and his body floated listlessly in the cage. There was a flatlining beep somewhere behind Enzo and then he heard the time of death called out. Then Myyk leaped out of Abrams’s body and swirled around in the vat as if a young stallion stretching his legs. He swam around the vat like a glittering fish, moving much faster than any other Quasing that Enzo had witnessed inside before.
“Life signs?” Chow called out.
“Steady,” was the reply.
Enzo stuck his face close to the vat. Myyk, who was near the surface, sunk down and met him on the other side of the glass. Enzo took a few
steps left, and Myyk followed. When he stepped right, the Quasing came as well. Then Myyk’s gaseous form began to blink in quick succession.
Enzo watched with concern and turned to Chow. “What’s going on? Is something wrong?”
“Life signs are normal,” Chow responded.
He is speaking to me.
“You understand him?”
Partially. It has been a long time since I have seen these patterns.
There was a strange edge to Zoras as he spoke, a hesitation that Enzo did not think the Quasing had. Every time Zoras had spoken to him, it was with an assured voice.
“What did he say?”
That is not important right now. Check his status.
Chow was already on it though. Myyk’s life signs were on half a dozen screens, drawing information from the Penetra scanners. Everything looked steady.
“How long was the last test?” Enzo asked.
“Seventy-four minutes, Father,” one of the techs piped.
Enzo walked back up to the platform and leaned forward on the railing. “Very well, then. Now, we wait.”
Two hours later, Enzo had not moved from his spot.
EIGHTEEN
GIRLS’ NIGHT OUT
Yol was another dissident who hid directly under the gaze of the Genjix. It wasn’t until after his host had risen to high prominence that they discovered his true intent. Yol was working for the Prophus spying on the highest seat of Genjix power, the Papacy.
Unfortunately for the Genjix, by that time, Galileo was far too respected for them to kill. They did the next best thing and convicted him of heresy, sentencing him to house arrest for the rest of his natural life, no doubt waiting to kill Yol once Galileo passed away.
Galileo died at the age of seventy-seven. My host at the time was able to spirit Yol away, and we fled to the New World. We both operated in the maritime ranks for many years, until eventually, we both settled back down in Europe at the turn of the nineteenth century.
Baji
Jill met Paula for tapas and sangria at Bodega on M Street for a much needed girls’ night out. Though this was technically an intelligence meeting, it was the closest thing she had to a relaxing evening. Between the mountain of deals on the Hill she was juggling and the new training regimen Marco had put her on, just talking about something other than politics and climbing walls like a monkey felt like a vacation.
