by Wesley Chu
That, however, was not the path Tabs had chosen for her. She had always displayed a stronger talent for this type of work, and it suited her Holy One’s skill-set. That was fine with Shura; she had never had the patience to master the art of putting anyway. Still, the enjoyment of the sport never left her, so she spent much of her free time on the greens. In fact, she had even played a full eighteen holes within earshot of her assignment the previous night.
What if someone recognized you? I did not raise you to be so bold or careless. One day, it will catch up with you.
“Please, Tabs, the country club next to the scene of the crime is probably the last place their security will look for an assassin.”
There cannot be that many striking blondes running around.
Shura glanced at the rest of the first-class cabin. “In the emirates? More than you think.” She turned her attention out the port window as the airliner climbed toward the blue sky. “Besides, I’m just maintaining my cover. I would look positively guilty holed up in my hotel room all day. I need to keep my alibi intact for the next time Dominika Yumashev visits.”
For more shopping?
“Among other things. The Prophus are fast running out of neutral parties to recruit now that they’ve hitched themselves to world governments and the red tape and oversight that comes with them.”
The stewardess brought over a Moscow Mule and placed it next to her seat. Shura kept looking out the window as the view changed from shimmering sands to blue skies to, finally, the floor of white clouds. She would never admit it to anyone, not even Tabs, but she was feeling skittish right about now, more so than at any time in recent memory.
It was finally time to go home.
The sheik had been the last assignment on her slate. After that, as promised by the Council, she was allowed to finally return to Russia to attempt to reclaim her family’s place and standing within the Genjix hierarchy.
Shura had been born into the Genjix. Both her parents were vessels, and her father had been a major rainmaker, a political and financial operative. Unfortunately, her parents had lost their standing and all that went with it when they chose the wrong side in a Council power struggle.
Fortunately, their sins had not been passed to her. Shura had inherited her mother’s Holy One, Tabs, and had been raised by the Hatchery, the Genjix eugenics program that nurtured and trained Adonis vessels.
Since then, she had become a rolling operative, a fixer sent to solve problems. However, she had never been allowed to return to Russia and claim her birthright. That was her penance. Until now. After this last mission, her family’s sins had finally been absolved.
Shura sipped her Moscow Mule and paused as she saw a small marking hand-drawn on the napkin. It was a Seal of Shamash followed by what looked like rough scribbles.
It is Akkadian. Council priority. Single hard line encryption. Two-two-two-two. Forty minute window from three minutes ago.
The timing for this communication was suspect. Shura drained the rest of her drink and ordered another, and waited until the stewardess brought it before getting out of her seat and heading upstairs to the business area. She went to the second row of private offices, entered room two, and clicked over to the second line of the video communicator. Her finger paused over the encryption double-tone as it changed levels. Perhaps her apprehension was misguided, and she was just being cynical. However, she doubted that. Shura punched in her code and waited.
And waited.
Finally, after twenty-five minutes, ten before the line encryption expired, a young Korean man in his early twenties appeared on the screen. He was thin but well-muscled, and carried an air of confidence that bordered on arrogant. No, he had long crossed that line. Like most other Adonis vessels, he was beautiful; perhaps more than most. Of course, that was to be expected from the leader of the Genjix.
“High Father.” She bowed and kept her eyes low on the ground. Weston was several years her junior, but the human’s age was irrelevant when it came to Genjix standing. His Holy One, Zoras, was the head of the Council and one of the most influential Quasing in all of history.
“Your work in the emirates was successful, I see. Who was the Prophus?”
“Khat, High Father. I sent him to the Eternal Sea.”
“Until the Eternal Sea,” Weston bowed his head and murmured. “Zoras remembers Khat as one of the first of us to explore much of the ocean depths, and one of the first to settle in Scandinavia with the Vikings.”
Shura responded with respectful silence. The moment of reminiscing passed as quickly as it came. Weston looked up at her. “Your next assignment is to head to the Bio Comm Array site and take over the project’s construction until instructed otherwise.”
So much for her being cynical.
If I did not raise you to be cynical, then I have failed.
“Your will, High Father. However, I was on my way back to Moscow. Perhaps–”
“Your return has been rescinded.”
Just like that, all her plans to reclaim her birthright and family honor were gone. Shura felt a ripple through her body.
Watch your words carefully.
“High Father.” Her words were exact. One word from Weston and she could be commanded to slit her own throat. “I was promised after my last assignment to be given the opportunity to return to Russia to reclaim my family’s standing within the hierarchy.”
“And now you are being ordered elsewhere.”
“I have served loyally…”
“And you will continue to do so.”
“This is the third time I have been denied what was promised.”
“This is not a request–”
Shura decided to take a calculated risk. She cut off the leader of the Genjix mid-sentence. “Speak plainly, Weston. At the very least, I am owed an explanation.”
A long silence passed between them. She wouldn’t be surprised if he ordered her to take a cyanide pill right now. However, raising one’s standing required risk, and this was as much a show of force as it was finding answers from someone she considered an ally.
Finally, Weston spoke. “I’ll be frank, Shura. You will never regain your standing in Russia. In fact, you will never step foot in your motherland ever again. Your family has a long history with deep ties there. They and Tabs opposed Zoras in their lust for power, and lost. For that treachery, you endure their punishment. The past holds nothing for you, not anymore.”
Shura clenched her fist. “Weston, I have proven my loyalty many times over. The sacrifices I made–”
“– are the only reason you and Tabs were not sent to the Eternal Sea,” said Weston. “The sins of the past cannot be wiped clean in one human’s lifetime.”
I had hoped that your loyalty and exemplary performance would offer you a fresh slate, but Zoras has always had a long and vindictive memory.
“Weston, I was raised in the Hatchery with you. I’ve saved your life more than once – in combat, from assassinations, sometimes even from yourself. I have been nothing but loyal. What is the real reason?”
“Because it is politically strategic,” Weston shrugged. “China and Russia are by far our two greatest core strongholds and the most powerful seats on the council. It is advantageous for me to keep the Russian region unsettled and the council seat weak. None of the current players maneuvering for standing to occupy that seat have real substance. I won’t allow a strong opponent to hold it.
“You are strong and resourceful, and have the potential to become a power if given the opportunity. Forge a new path for yourself, Shura. When the time comes, you’ll have my support – if the circumstances are advantageous to my interests.” Weston looked away, letting her know that this conversation was over. “You have your new orders.”
The Bio Comm Array project is an important initiative. If we cannot rebuild a base of power in Russia, see if we can claim an advantage from the current situation.
“High Father,” she asked quickly. “Am I being given ow
nership of the project?”
Weston shook his head. “The array falls under Rurik’s jurisdiction. He inherited it from his family’s holdings.” He paused. “In fact, he was the one who first suggested making your exile permanent. He made several concessions to me to see it happen.” A small smile appeared on Weston’s face. “I believe Rurik sees you as a threat.”
I should have let you drown him that one time back at the Hatchery.
Shura’s face stayed neutral, but inside she seethed. Rurik Melnichenko, another Adonis vessel from the Hatchery whose family controlled a powerful Russian mining company, was considered a leading contender to unite the Russian faction and claim the vacant council seat.
The two had met when she first joined the Hatchery. Her training had been delayed when her father pulled her out of the Hatchery during the Genjix Power Struggle, in which he had sided with the losing faction.
That reputation followed her throughout her tenure and put her at a severe disadvantage when it came to the cutthroat politics of the Hatchery. Even though she was more skilled, more intelligent, and had accomplished more than most of her class, she had fallen behind in standing. It was almost un-Genjix-like, all things considered.
“I see,” she said. “So now I am to fix his failing operation?”
“You are to fix a troubled but vital Genjix project,” Weston corrected. “One that is critical to our global enterprises over the next hundred years. The current delays are unacceptable. Fix it, and whatever standing or advantage you achieve from it, I will remember. Now, if there is nothing else, you have your orders. And Shura?”
“Yes?”
“I remember our time back at the Hatchery fondly. You were often the only one to stand by my side when it wasn’t strategically prudent to do so. You were a great ally then and a loyal servant now. Because of this, I allowed your insubordination on the account of our past friendship. You have used that card. You do not have another.”
She bowed. “Your will, High Father.”
Shura kept her eyes focused on the ground long after the screen went blank. For as long as she could remember, she had planned to return to Russia to reclaim her birthright and her family’s standing, and possibly lay the groundwork to fill the still-vacant Russian council seat. Now, the path before her was dark, her future unknown. Achieving standing was never easy or simple among the Genjix, and it was doubly difficult for someone in her position. She had thought her work sufficient to placate the Council, but that no longer seemed the case.
I warned you before. Standing is never given. It must be taken. You could not expect the Council to offer it just for doing as you were told.
Tabs was right. It was time she stopped trying to earn her standing and seize it. Something Weston said gave her pause. He had never been an ally of Rurik back at the Hatchery. Perhaps in denying her heritage, he was offering her something else. In any case, there was only one path forward now. She had to follow the Council’s command and take control of this floundering project, even though it meant reporting directly to Rurik.
Unless you can somehow claim the Bio Comm Array as your own. Only someone on the Council will have the authority to take that from Rurik.
There was always that. Conflict bred innovation. That was their creed, even among their own. However, it was always a delicate balancing act to fight other Genjix for standing as opposed to acquiring it by defeating their enemies. Injuring a Holy One or disrupting faction goals were the only things forbidden. In this particular case, Shura would have to work within the confines of managing the Bio Comm Array construction while undermining Rurik’s standing and acquiring ownership of it at the same time.
First things first, she was flying in the wrong direction.
The captain’s voice came over the intercom. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. Due to a mechanical malfunction and poor weather ahead, we are rerouting our flight plan to make an emergency landing in Surat, India. We apologize for the delay and will do everything in our power get you back on schedule as soon as possible.”
The Genjix’s influence ran deep.
At least that was one problem she didn’t have to worry about. Shura remotely accessed a secured terminal and pulled up all the details, reports, and files of the Bio Comm Array project. She had a job to do. It was time to get to work.
Eight
Day After
Dinner was one of the most annoying experiences Ella had had to endure in a long time. Even though she was treating herself to her favorite food in the world – Singapore noodles, or half-her noodles as she called them – she couldn’t enjoy herself.
The annoying voice in her head wouldn’t stop talking. Every five minutes Io had to open her non-existent mouth and dole her wisdom out upon Ella. In the short span of one bowl of noodles, the Quasing had felt the need to educate her on where noodles came from, when stir-fry became a popular method of cooking, and why a human body burped. That last bit came, incidentally, right after Ella burped. Everything she did or saw, Io had something to say about it.
“I really don’t care,” Ella ended up repeating over and over again.
Well, you should. Your education is lacking.
The fragile truce the two had forged from Io saving Ella’s life twice that night was on shaky grounds by the time she got home. She resorted to going for the nuclear option and drinking. She wasn’t sure what the alcohol was, just some nasty gag-inducing yellow liquid that made her eyes water every time she took a swig. Ella didn’t care. If it shut up the dumb voice in her head, it was worth it. She ended up drinking half the bottle before passing out on the floor of her bedroom.
The next morning, she decided that the pounding headache was worse than the jabbering Quasing. She woke up at dawn with the sun poking through one of the container wall holes and boring directly into her skull. She picked herself off the floor and staggered to the water basin. She tried to pry her eyes wider to look in the mirror and experienced fresh waves of pain right behind her eyeballs. A groan akin to that of a dying sheep escaped her lips.
Good morning.
“Damn, you’re not a bad dream,” she moaned. “You talk too loud.”
Was all that drinking everything you hoped it would be?
She buried her face in her hands. “And you talk too much too. I remember you talking all night. Incessantly. How many hours did we argue before I finally passed out?”
Is that what you remember? Because I stopped talking ten minutes after you took that first drink. You spent the entire night arguing with yourself thinking you were talking to me.
Ella raised her head. “What?”
Yes. You were that drunk.
Now that she thought about it, she did kind of remember having some rather strange discussions about… about…
At one point, you went outside and asked Burglar Alarm when she was going to settle down and have puppies.
“You’re lying,” Ella said, her face turning red.
Io replayed the entire scene for Ella. It was actually a little worse than Io had described. Not only did Ella try to give Burglar Alarm marriage counseling, she ended up hugging the mangy dog and crying big fat tears about how she was Ella’s only friend.
Ella felt some vomit crawl up her throat. “Do I have any of that drink left? I think I need to throw that devil juice away.”
It is called tequila, and I agree.
That morning became the second in a row that Ella had wasted. She was in no condition to leave her home, and ended up reading comics in bed and drinking her entire water supply, which had been meant to last until the end of the month. It wasn’t until midafternoon that the debilitating headache had receded somewhat and she felt well enough to leave the house without feeling as though the sun’s rays were poking needles into her eyes. That and she was hungry again.
You are always hungry.
“Being poor does that to a person.”
Ella spent the rest of the afternoon running errands, first grabb
ing more noodles for lunch, and then picking up her laundry from Wiry Madras’s. On the way, she stopped by the art gallery to see if the medicine was selling. After all, points on sales wasn’t nothing. She was surprised when she found out that Little Fab had already sold half of the haul in a day. She was even more shocked when she found out the prices he was asking. The fence was practically robbing the people here. She could have sold the medicine herself at half the price and made a complete killing.
Ella gritted her teeth. If she had only listened to her gut instead of the stupid voice in her head.
Like I was supposed to know demand was this high.
“Then why say anything at all? Why not just be quiet and let me do my thing?”
You are now my host. I did not want to waste the next month with you selling drugs on the streets.
“Month? He sold half of it in a day, at twenty times the markup.” Ella shook her fists in the air. “I would have been rich.”
No use crying over a bad deal. One cannot predict the future. Just move on.
“You shut up, you… you alien.”
Ella stomped out of the Fabs more depressed than ever. She knew that, at the end of the day, she was the one who made the deal; Io hadn’t forced her. Feeling sorry for herself, she decided to cheer herself up by either seeing the most recent American robot movie or playing dice at the Cage.
As she stood at the intersection trying to decide between the two, a boy from the Terrible Gandhis, one of the street rat gangs she had worked with in the past, ran up to her.
“Hey Ella,” he said. “We’re a man short to go fishing. Promise you’re not the worm or the hook, and we’ll cut you in full share. Want to come?”
