by Wesley Chu
“Steal one and no one will miss. Steal eight and people get suspicious. Cause more problems,” he growled.
That makes sense. Just buy them and be done with it.
Roen reluctantly paid the extortion and silently mourned the dwindling pile of money he had just acquired a few days earlier. At this rate, he’d have to ask Lin for more money in a week. They waited around for an hour and watched Taiwanese soap operas while Sloppy Eater’s men got their identification cards together. At the end, nearly a million Taiwanese dollars lighter, they got what they came for: three crates of ammunition and the fake IDs they needed to get into Punai.
“Do not trace these back to us, or you will have trouble with the Dragons,” Sloppy Eater shook his finger.
Roen nodded. “Understood. My boys just want to poke around the refinery and the warehouses.”
“These IDs work for the office building and refinery only. Warehouses use different locks. We cannot get those,” Sloppy Eater added as they were ushered toward the exit.
“Wait a minute!” Roen said. “We just paid good money. You should have told us this earlier!”
Sloppy Eater glared at him. “Everyone knows warehouse should be kept safer. Else workers will steal everything.”
Roen wished he had a clever retort. Instead, he just scowled and stomped away. As they were walking out, Faust looked back and asked. “By the way, we’re looking for someone. Face burned, real ugly. Aussie. Kind of big like an ogre. Have you seen him?”
Sloppy Eater gave a surprised start and shook his head emphatically. “No such person.”
They know or at least heard something.
“We could really use some help in locating him,” Faust added. “We will pay handsomely.”
Roen nudged Faust in the ribs. “Stop throwing money at them. You want to go back to instant noodles?”
Be careful! Sloppy Eater just exchanged glances with three others. Four more are approaching from the back, weapons out. Two batons, a tonfa, two bats, and three metal pipes. No guns.
“Why are you looking for this Dylan?” Sloppy Eater asked.
They know where he is!
“I didn’t mention his...” Roen frowned.
He noticed two men walk up to either side of him. Things were about to go down in here. Ramez must have just told Faust as well. Suddenly, he tensed in a not-so-subtle fashion. Out of the corner of his eyes, Roen saw a shadow move. He lashed out reflexively, swinging the ammo crate in his hand like a baseball bat and struck a mobster in the face.
The room suddenly got very crowded.
Three to your left. Two right. More pouring in from the back entrance.
The gangsters mobbed them.
Roen was barely able to get his hands up when a machete cut into his forearms. He was lucky the Kevlar was thick. He lashed out, grabbing the kid and throwing him with a hip toss. Faust meanwhile took on several mobsters at a time. He had knocked three of them down already when someone clocked him with a baton. Then more Dragons converged on them.
There are too many! Take the exit behind you, second right, up the stairs.
“What about Faust?”
Nothing we can do for him.
“No way! I’m not leaving him with these punks!”
Roen barreled into the two standing over Faust, shoulder checking one and elbowing the other. He bent down, grabbed Faust by the collar, and dragged him to his feet.
“Come on, man,” he shouted in Faust’s ear. “These guys couldn’t have hit you that hard. Ramez, wake his ass up!”
Three of the toughs converged on him. Two were smart enough to stay out of his reach. The third one, the dummy, got too close. Roen plucked the baseball bat out of his hand and smacked him on the temple. He was about to finish the kid off when Tao intervened.
Do not kill him!
Roen paused in mid-swing. “Why? These odds aren’t bad enough yet?”
Think about it. Not a gun drawn. They are trying to take you alive. If you start killing them, they will change their minds. As long as there are not any casualties, they might not draw a gun. If they do, you have zero chance of survival.
Roen scanned the dozen or so guys in the room. Tao was right. There wasn’t a gun to be seen. Sure, there were several baseball bats, lead pipes, and knives. Hell, he even saw a cricket bat, but no guns.
One of the two standing in front of him swung a tonfa in his hand. Roen parried with the heavy end of the bat and let the blow glance to the side. Then he lunged forward with the handle and stuck the guy in the throat. He collapsed.
“Let’s hope he is still alive. Maybe I can get him a Band-Aid.”
No need to get touchy. Take the door behind you.
A trickle of blood ran down Faust’s forehead. Roen dragged him backward, swinging the bat at whoever got close. The gangsters gave him more respect after he took down four of theirs in a span of twenty seconds. He reached the back wall and grappled for the doorknob.
They entered a long, thin storage room with shelves stocked with liquor. Roen slammed the door shut and tried to catch this breath. He cursed. They were in a bad spot. It was a dead end. He had hoped for another exit, but it was obviously too much to ask for.
Faust was regaining his senses. Roen put him down next to the metal door. It was sturdy commercial door, but it had no lock. He would have to guard it the entire time until they came up with an escape plan. Hopefully, it would buy them enough time to figure a way out of this mess.
“Why did they attack us? Was this a trap all along?”
I do not believe so. They were not aggressive until Faust mentioned Dylan. Perhaps the Genjix have an arrangement with these triads down south.
Roen’s heart sank. If that was true, then those Dragon guys would be sending for the Genjix right now. Then the two Quasing would be screwed as well. The door knob turned slowly and Roen charged just as it opened. He stuck his bat through the opening and smashed someone’s face. He slammed the door shut again.
“Next guy that tries that is getting his face rearranged!” he screamed.
Then he looked around the room desperately for another opening. A vent, a sewage hole, anything. Unfortunately, the room really was a dead end. Roen exhaled and leaned against the door. Their only chance was to buy some time in here until Faust regained his senses. Roen would need him if they were going to fight their way out. Or better yet, maybe if they were missing long enough, the rest of the guys would come looking for them. Both plans seemed farfetched, but it wasn’t like Tao was providing options.
Negotiate.
“I’m stuck in their liquor closet. What exactly do I have to offer?”
To not go down fighting. They already saw what you could do. I am sure the triad do not relish having more of their men injured.
“Something tells me the bosses here don’t care much about the welfare of their men, but I guess it’s worth a try.”
Roen stood up and shouted at the door. “Hey, let’s talk this over. Can I talk to your boss? We can work something out.”
Someone on the other side shouted something. Tao translated it as “Fuck you.”
So much for that. Roen sat back down against the door and waited. If they were going to be unreasonable, so be it. He could wait them out. Not like he had much choice anyway. Eventually, one of these pricks would have to either talk to him or try to take the room by force. Roen was a patient man; he would be ready.
Twelve hours later, Roen was about ready to throw a fit. He paced the room and muttered obscenities. He thought at the very worst they would wait an hour or so. Now, half a day later with nothing to drink but hard liquor and plum wine, Roen’s patience had run out. He was hungry, thirsty, and completely hammered. And to top things off, it seemed the door locked on the other side! Now they really were trapped.
Faust had recovered and was currently keeping watch. He hadn’t drunk as much as Roen and was relatively sober. Eventually though, they would have to sleep. Both were exhausted already. And if they w
ere both caught asleep, it would be the end of them.
As the thirteenth hour approached, there was a knock on the door. Both Roen and Faust stood up, weapons in hand. “What do you want?” Roen snarled at the door.
“Don’t worry about the world coming to an end today,” someone spoke in English.
It cannot be!
It took a second for the statement to register, then a wave of relief swept over Roen and he broke into a grin. “It’s already tomorrow in Australia.”
The door knob turned and a large figure stepped into the room. It was dark, but he could make out the outline of a disfigured face. Roen moved forward, and the two embraced in the only way straight military men were comfortable doing, with rough pats on the back and what Roen referred to as the clamp of doom. Laughing, Dylan picked him off the ground and shook him like a rag doll. He then gave Roen a playful smack on the shoulder that nearly knocked him off his feet.
“What the blazes are you doing here? Did you actually come crawling back to the Prophus? Run out of lunch money or did you finally come to your senses about your wife? And why do you smell like you’ve been on a binger?”
“I never lost my senses about my wife,” Roen grinned back. Only Dylan could talk to him this way and not get a rise out of him. “We got a problem here. There’s an army of triad mobsters trying to kill us. How did you get past them?”
Dylan frowned and beckoned him to follow. Together, they walked through the door to the next room where at least two dozen Dragon members in full battle gear waited. This time, Roen saw guns; lots of them. Sloppy Eater was standing in front with murder on his face. For a split second, Roen thought Dylan had changed sides. An angry rumble erupted from the group. None seemed too happy to see them.
Yen changing sides is laughable. It would never happen.
“How many times have you said that?”
Too often, unfortunately.
Dylan held up his hands trying to calm everyone down. “Da Ge Chang, there seems to be a misunderstanding.”
Chang came forward and jabbed a shotgun into Roen’s chest. “I offer you our support and you attack us!”
“You were moving in on us,” Roen said. “Don’t think we didn’t notice that.”
“We were watching out for Brother Dylan. He warned us the enemy was hunting him,” Chang shot back.
Dylan gave Roen a shut-your-mouth glare. “Da Ge Chang, we will gladly make this situation right.”
“We generously provide you shelter and weapons, and your idiot attacks us!” He emphasized each syllable of idiot with a jab of the shotgun. “One of the injured is my nephew. He is only seventeen.”
“Maybe you should be a better uncle and not steer him toward two-bit thuggery as a career,” Roen muttered under his breath.
The look Dylan gave him could have killed a lesser man. He turned back to Chang and tried to explain the misunderstanding. He shot Roen that same look again when he found out that it was him who had thrown the first punch. Then he finally buried his face in his hands when Chang explained that nine of his men were in the hospital.
Nine in two minutes. Color me impressed.
“Half teenagers though. It was like being the only adult in a kid’s karate class.”
I fear teens more than adults in a fight. If I may remind you of your encounter with Jacob.
“You may not. In fact, we must never speak of it again.”
If anything, it might actually be a good time to go over it. I doubt it will be the last time we encounter him. I believe him to be an Adonis Vessel.
Roen harrumphed at the thought. Of course that punk would be an Adonis Vessel. More and more over the past few years, these young, annoying superhumans had been popping up like weeds among the Genjix ranks. And he hated to admit it, but those kids had been eating their Wheaties, or whatever genetically modified formula the Genjix were feeding them. In the past few years, these Adonis, some barely old enough to drive, had begun to form the backbone of a new generation of Genjix officers. And in every encounter, they had proven to be difficult adversaries.
Finally, it all came down to restitution. Fortunately, Roen hadn’t killed or injured any of them too seriously, or the triad might have been honor-bound to kill him. Instead, because of Dylan’s longstanding relationship with this particular group, Roen was allowed to pay for the damage and dishonor he caused. In the end, it came out to another cool half million Taiwanese dollars. Roen had somehow spent two-thirds of Lin’s money in the first few days. At this rate, they would be broke by lunch. After paying up, the Dragon members ushered the three out and told Roen to never show his face again.
Once they were outside, Dylan cuffed him on the shoulder. “Really? How did you make this big mess in such a short period of time? I’ve been here for weeks and haven’t made a peep. You haven’t unpacked yet and already they almost put a hit out on you.”
“Sorry?” Roen smiled sheepishly. “How did you find us anyway? What are you doing here?”
“What am I doing here?” Dylan looked surprised. “One of Chang’s boys runs to my place saying some guys were looking for me. As far as I know, the only people after me were the Genjix. Then he tells me they locked you in their closet, so I came.”
Roen grimaced. “More like we locked ourselves. So you were working with them all this time?”
Dylan nodded. “Chang and I go way back. I used to help them run guns during our pirating days. So what the bloody hell are you doing here? I didn’t send for you, nor am I dead.”
“Wait, you knew we were here all this time? We’ve been looking for you!” Roen stammered.
Dylan smacked his forehead with his palm. “Wuehler’s team is supposed to stay up north and cause a ruckus.”
“I don’t get it. Why?” Roen said.
I do. We were never supposed to find Dylan. We were decoys.
TWENTY-EIGHT
NOT AS EASY AS IT SEEMS
We call ourselves your gods, and it is true in every sense. We are the parents who raised humanity, and like any gods, we own your future to use as we feel was necessary. The vessels who follow us do so knowing that those who serve live an eternity through their Quasing.
Elevation is not without cost, though, and our will not without consequences. There is a price to pay for our blessing. The humans who serve will be adapted. All others will perish. – Zoras
Enzo’s first priority was to stabilize the situation until reinforcements came. That had proven more difficult than anticipated. The very next day, Vinnick’s two thousand reinforcements arrived. Its commander, a stubborn vessel named Nguyen, had refused to hand command over to Enzo. He had to be put down and Vuru, his Holy One, given to another of Enzo’s hand-picked men. Genjix forces now numbered three thousand, yet Enzo would not feel at ease until the rest of his men came, for a total of five thousand men at his disposal.
A significant portion of Enzo’s training at the Hatchery since he was old enough to walk was war, be it hand-to-hand combat, planning a coastal invasion, or organizing an underground resistance. He had begun studying historical battles as soon as he finished his alphabets. By the age of four, he had read Sun Tzu’s The Art of War. By six, he had memorized it. By twelve, he had an equivalent to a PhD on the history of war, from Assyrian chariot tactics to Lieutenant Napoleon’s first artillery formations to Captain Winter’s assault on German fortifications at Brécourt Manor. Enzo knew his calling and dreamed that if given the opportunity, he would shine at his first command. So far, it hadn’t worked out the way he had thought it would. For one thing, this Prophus commander wasn’t playing fair.
The enemy continually probed the camp’s defenses, even with the prisoners lined along the fence, seemingly willing to risk friendly fire. They would hit a part of the perimeter at its weakest, just as shifts ended or if there was a gap in the coverage. Somehow, they had a way of signaling the prisoners. The guard on duty would be taken out, the gate blown, and then a quick raid would nab a dozen men. And it would all happen
before any of Enzo’s people could react.
In the first two days, there must have been at least twenty attacks. It finally stopped on the third day, when Enzo’s men finished burning the forest back a hundred meters. He had cursed that delay. It should have been the first thing he ordered when he got here. However, the constant Prophus attacks forced him into a reactionary role, and he had not had time to assess the situation. He now had a healthy respect for this Prophus commander. Whoever led them was good.
After the no man’s land was burned on the fourth day, the enemy did not have a single successful incursion. By the fifth, the attacks had stopped altogether. This gave Enzo the reprieve he needed to strengthen their defenses. On the eve of his sixth day there, Chow sent Enzo a message begging for more subjects, saying they were desperately close to a solution but had no more prisoners. Enzo was tempted to tell him to use Genjix vessels instead.
Out of the question! I do not care how close we are to our goal. Is that understood?
“Of course, Holy One. It was just a thought.”
Enzo walked out of the war room and signaled to Palos. “Prep the transport. I want a full security team on board. Get a line to the Chinese military and have two more helicopters delivered. Larger ones this time. We’ll never finish this project if we shuttle prisoners ten at a time.”
After a slight pause, Palos nodded and left without a word. Enzo watched him disappear around the corner. He was starting to believe he had made an error giving Zauw to Palos. His first was loyal, but would he remain so after being blessed with a Holy One whose loyalty lay elsewhere? Zauw must be incensed with Newgard’s death. Who would Palos follow if their orders contradict?
Your decision was not wrong. Palos was best qualified to become a vessel. The vessel follows the Quasing. If Zauw chooses to continue with Vinnick, you must let him go.
Enzo grimaced. He had come to rely on the older commander. To let that valuable resource go to his opposition felt like defeat. But if it was the will of the Holy Ones, he would not question their way.
