The Rise of Io

by Wesley Chu

  To her surprise, Burglar Alarm greeted them without her trademark loud barking. The mutt went up to the man, tail wagging, and sniffed his hand and sat down. Hamilton even went as far as to scratch the dog’s ear. Ella couldn’t recall any time the dog was that friendly to anybody else. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

  “This is my home,” she said. “You can’t come in.”

  He nodded. “We have a lot of work to do. As a new host, your safety and training is of utmost importance. Since India is considered an unfriendly territory, I’d like you to consider leaving for a more Prophus-friendly country, possibly Australia or the United States or even Britain.”

  Tell him no.

  Ella crossed her arms. “Not a chance. This is my home. I’m not abandoning it just because you say so.”

  Hamilton sighed. “I assumed that would be your position. In that case, Prophus command has identified a dormant operative who can at least begin training you. Be ready at seven first thing tomorrow morning.”

  That was news to her. Ella crossed her arms and dug in. “Is that so? Nobody asked me what I thought about that.”

  “It’s for your own good,” Hamilton said. “You are in possession of a Quasing. It’s your responsibility to protect Io.”

  I am very valuable, after all.

  “You’re not valuable if I can’t see you.”

  “Besides,” Hamilton continued. “I just paid a lot of money to free you from jail. Consider that payment enough for your training.”

  The man had a point.

  “Fine,” she said. “But if I don’t like it, I can quit anytime.”

  “Of course.”

  “And I never have to pay you back that money you gave Manu.”

  “The thought didn’t even cross my mind.” Hamilton tipped an imaginary hat and then walked down the stairs.

  Ella waited until he was out of sight, and watched as Burglar Alarm went to the top of the stairs to watch him leave. In all the time that the dog had lived on her front steps, Burglar Alarm had never seen Ella off like that. Ella stared curiously as the dog whined, and then went back to her nest.

  There was more to this Ham, Hammy… Hamilton Booger… Bookerwidge – whatever – than met the eye. He was not only a coward, but a dog savant as well.

  She went into her house and gave herself a good sniff. It seemed she had brought much of that rancid jail with her on her clothing. For some reason, ever since she got this alien in her, she’d been dirtying up faster than usual. At this rate, she’d need to visit Wiry Madras again soon. She stripped off all her clothes, treated herself to a fizz drink from the mini-fridge, and plopped down on her sofa.

  The life that you know is over. Change is coming. Be ready.

  “I really am stuck with you, aren’t I? Until death do us part?”

  Well, technically, until your death. I am then free to find a new host.

  “Typical man.”

  We technically do not have genders. However, on this planet, most Quasing identify with the gender of our hosts.

  “So you’re female then.”

  Currently, yes.

  She raised her drink again. “Girl power.” She took a sip and paused. “This could be the most serious relationship I’ve ever had.”

  And it has only been two days.

  “I guess if we’re stuck together for life, I should know more about you, like where you came from and what you do and what you want and all that stuff? More importantly, I want to know what I get out of it.”

  I can do better than tell you. I can show you. Did you notice those flashes of images? That was me projecting my memories to you, or more specifically, my memory of your memory.

  “Yeah, I wish you’d cut it out. It gives me headaches.”

  That is an unfortunate effect of active projection. Most humans can only tolerate it for a few seconds at a time while awake. While you sleep though, I can project for longer, and show you my history.

  “Like watching a movie?”

  In a way. You may not grasp all the details this way, but you will wake knowing more about who I am and where I came from. It will become your past as well.

  Ella yawned. She went to the next room and jumped on the bed. “Sounds like fun. It better be fascinating. I get bored and fall asleep easily.”

  Well then, it is a good thing I have a captive audience. Hope you like nightmares.

  “Wait, what?”

  Good night.

  Eleven

  The Coach

  The beginning is as good a place to start as any. The Quasing come from a planet known as Quasar at the other end of the galaxy. Wait, before we go any further, a quasar in human scientific terms has nothing to do with the name of our planet. The scientist who coined the term “quasar” was a host and breathtakingly uncreative. As you learn about us, you will discover that our influence has touched many aspects of humanity’s history and evolution.

  * * *

  Time to get up. Hamilton will be here soon.

  For the third day in a row, Ella woke up exhausted. She remembered some of what Io showed her the night before, but she couldn’t quite nail down the details. It was more vague sensations, shadows, sudden streaks of light, warmth. She heard thousands of voices that spoke as one, felt a calmness as if she were floating in the middle of the ocean.

  She couldn’t quite wrap her head around all the imagery and needed Io to fill in the descriptions on what she had sensed or felt or whatever. To be honest, she wasn’t impressed. She had thought being on an alien planet would be a more exotic and cinematic experience.

  She stayed in bed longer than intended, chatting with Io about this first weird alien-induced dream until Burglar Alarm announced someone coming up the stairs. There was a polite knock on the door. Ella scowled when she saw Coward’s – no, Hamilton’s – face. She checked the time. The guy was on the dot.

  “Give me a few minutes,” Ella said, slamming the door in his face.

  There was still no way she’d allow the man inside. She took her time to wash and dress, and then fifteen minutes more to cook breakfast. She admitted she was acting surly and childish but if both Hamilton and Io were going to make her do something, then as far as she was concerned, she had no reason to hurry. Ella finally came out some thirty minutes later.

  Hamilton was playing with Burglar Alarm, and if he was upset by being forced to wait, he didn’t show it. “Good morning,” he said, a little too cheerfully. “I brought you some tea, but I’m afraid it’s gotten a bit cold.”

  Ella stared at the cup. She would have loved hot tea this morning. “No, lukewarm is just the way I like it.” She took it from him and sipped. “Where are we going?”

  “You’ll find out soon enough. Come along.”

  The two of them left her cluster and walked toward the nearest main intersection, where Hamilton signaled for a tuk-tuk. Ella climbed in and didn’t think anything of it until they left the boundaries of Crate Town. She began to fidget. As long as they stayed in Crate Town, Ella was comfortable enough letting him lead her somewhere. Once they left the safety of her home turf, she got worried. Hamilton was still a stranger. With every passing kilometer, she shrank deeper and deeper into her seat.

  Stop acting so skittish. You must learn to trust Hamilton and me. We are here for your good.

  “That works both ways, alien. I’m the one sitting here not knowing where you’re taking me. If you want me to trust you, you need to start cluing me in on what you’re up to. Wait, why are we coming here?”

  The tuk-tuk had just turned left into Little Dharavi, which, while not as poor as Crate Town, was much more seedy and known for prostitution and gambling rings. Little Dharavi was notorious for kidnapping children for the sex trade and was the home to much of the organized crime in the city. For all she knew, Hamilton could be selling her into slavery. Panic seized Ella and, for a moment, she almost leaped out of the moving vehicle.

  Hamilton must have noticed the alarm in her eyes and
grabbed her arm before she could jump. Ella pulled back with her elbow and reached for her shank.

  Do not stab your auxiliary.

  “I’m not going to let him sell me into–”

  “We’re here,” he said, pointing at a small storefront off one of the main streets.

  Ella frowned. “That’s a boxing gym.”

  “Quite observant. What gave it away, the ring or the punching bags?”

  “No, smart ass. I mean, what are we doing here?”

  Hamilton stepped off the tuk-tuk and offered her a hand. “Where else do you think you were going to train?”

  Now you know why we did not tell you.

  “Damn right. I can’t decide what’s worse. Bringing me to this cesspool or taking me to a gym.”

  This is important, Ella. The people coming after you next time will be much more dangerous than those amateur gangsters.

  “I’ve handled them fine on my own.”

  The police will not always be there to bail you out of trouble by arresting you. My enemies, and yours now, will just as likely kill policemen to get to me.

  “Gods, fine, anything to get you to stop talking.”

  Ella felt intimidated the moment she stepped foot into Murugan’s Mitts. The gym was on a busy side street nestled between an eyebrow-threading booth and an incense store. The front entrance was a metal door currently rolled up with a faded sign hanging crooked from the wall. Several punching bags of assorted sizes hung from the ceiling in the front, followed by a boxing ring near the back.

  There were maybe two dozen people of different ages and sizes inside. Some looked as young as seven or eight, others looked so weathered they could be her grandparents. Every single one of them stopped what they were doing as she and Hamilton passed.

  Ella held her breath. The deeper they got into this gym, the worse it stunk of sweat and dirt. Everyone inside was shirtless save for a large young man sitting behind a desk in the back. He looked nothing like the others working out. He was a giant of a man, tall with beefy arms and an extended gut on a round body that looked like it had its own gravitational pull. His head was smooth and hairless, and oval-shaped like an overripe melon. Ella was willing to bet every coin in her pocket that was Murugan.

  Murugan is the Hindi god of war.

  “Oops.”

  Your education on your own religion has been lacking as well.

  “I believe in all the Hindi gods. I just don’t have all day to talk to them individually. I also fear an even higher power: hunger.”

  The melon-headed man stopped what he was doing and eyed them curiously. A tall white man and a tiny brown girl. The two of them must have made for an interesting sight. Finally, Melonhead spat to the side and went back to whatever he was doing. “The hourly rooms are a block over.”

  Hamilton cleared his throat and stepped forward. “Let come what comes, let go what goes.”

  Melonhead tilted his head and stared Hamilton down, then looked over at Ella, and then back at Hamilton. He pointed toward the exit. “Like I said, the hotel for the hourly rooms is one over.”

  Hamilton looked at a loss. “Well, this is Murugan’s Mitts, the school of boxing and chiropractic, correct?”

  “And we teach mallakhamba at nights,” Melonhead added. He looked at Ella. “All classes are filled until late summer. You can sign up in the fall when children’s classes begin.”

  Ella wanted to punch him right in his melon head.

  “Are you Manish, the proprietor?” asked Hamilton.

  Melonhead looked toward a small back room. “Uncle, some white pervert is here to see you.”

  “I’m not…”

  An older Indian man appeared. He was obviously related to Melonhead, albeit a much less round and more pruned version. His physique showed remnants of a man who was once in really good shape.

  He eyed Hamilton up and down. “Legs too skinny, needs to fill out his frame, but good reach. I can work with him.” He looked at Ella. “You I can’t, even for the other stuff.”

  “Are you Manish?” Hamilton asked again.

  The man nodded. “Welcome to the finest boxing gym and mallakhamba school in all of India. I’ve taught the best. You here for some training, white man? I can make you a champion.”

  “Let come what comes, let go what goes,” Hamilton said once more.

  Any eagerness Manish had in acquiring a new student filled with potential morphed into a look of disgust. “Oh, you’re one of those. After all these years…”

  “Excuse me, Mr Manish, the passphrase.”

  “Fine, fine,” the older Indian man said. “See what remains. You happy now? I haven’t had anyone from the Prophus contact me for so long I thought you had all forgotten about me.”

  “Yet you have been more than happy to collect your stipend from us all these years,” Hamilton said.

  Manish shrugged. “Only a fool turns down free money. Besides, I never said I wouldn’t honor the agreement. So you need some training? You a new host?”

  “It’s not for me,” Hamilton replied. He looked down at Ella.

  Manish frowned, and walked a slow circle around Ella, eying her physique and pinching her arm. She felt like a piece of meat being appraised for market. “Fire in her belly. Small belly, small fire.” She felt a hand press on her back and tug her shoulders. “Don’t slouch, girl.” He grabbed her wrist and raised her arm. “Like a toothpick.”

  Ella yanked her arm back and reached for her shank. “I’ll show you a toothpick.” The shank was gone. She patted the empty hidden sheath. “What…?”

  Manish lazily twirled the shank in his hand. “Looking for this?”

  Ella swiped at it, only to grab air as Manish flicked it back. Growling, she lunged at him and was sent tumbling off-balance. She would have fallen if he hadn’t grabbed her by the collar and held her up.

  “Give me my shank back, you old bastard.”

  “I see we have a lot of work to do. Let’s start with your body and worry about weapons later.” In one fluid motion, Manish flung the shank to the side, sheathing it in a wooden beam halfway across the room. “And from this point on, it’s Coach Bastard to you.”

  Ella crossed her arms and took a step back. Not only did she dislike this guy, he was also bossing her around, although she was a little curious about how he was able to steal her shank without her noticing. Now that was something she wanted to learn.

  Your education as an operative must start somewhere. Manish was an accomplished agent and has trained others over the years.

  “Oh, fine, but you Prophus better be compensating me for all this effort.”

  We Prophus. You are one of us now.

  “That remains to be seen.”

  “All right,” Manish said, leading her to a row of weights on the side. He pointed at a workout bench. “Let’s establish a baseline, shall we?”

  What transpired over the next thirty minutes was a battery of tests that thoroughly betrayed her embarrassing lack of physical fitness. Hamilton and Manish, and probably Io as well, watched and judged her every move, or lack of. She did exercises to test her strength, flexibility, reaction and coordination.

  At the end of the torture, she recorded a grand total of zero pull-ups, twelve push-ups, nineteen sit-ups, but she could touch her toes. When she hit the punching bag, it moved her more than she moved it, and she was rewarded with a sprained wrist for her efforts.

  Things only went further downhill when they had her try to bench press. At one point, she wobbled so badly she almost dropped the bar on her head. Through all of these pitiful attempts, she grunted and growled as if she were giving birth. What she gave birth to was complete failure. She finished up the test feeling more than a little beaten up, downtrodden, and thoroughly humiliated.

  That was bad. We really have our work cut out for us.

  Ella’s lone bright spot was when she ran through agility drills. She was abysmal jumping rope, but when it came to quick twitch movements and changes of directions,
she impressed even the old coach. When Manish had some of his students try to catch her in a game of tag, she was able to easily evade every single one of them. That was the one skill from surviving in Crate Town that translated to these dumb drills.

  By the end of the tests, everyone’s spirits were down. Manish lounged on a bench off to the side, looking as if he had already lost interest. Melonhead was leaning against the wall, smirking the entire time. Hamilton was slouched forward, resting his head on his hand, his elbow on his knee. He looked resigned, almost a little angry and not a little smug as well.

  Manish slapped his lap and stood up. “All right. Let’s see how you handle yourself in the ring.”

  “Wait, what?” Ella exclaimed. “Is your brain not working, old man? You want one of your gorillas to box my face?”

  “It would be an improvement, and that’s Coach Old Man to you, you little stray.”

  “That’s samrãjñī of Crate Town to you, raisin head.”

  “Samrãjñī? Hah.” Manish tossed her a set of boxing gloves. “My nine year-old grandson uses these. They might still be too big for you, but that’s all I have.”

  “I’m surprised a man of your qualities managed to find a woman to produce an offspring.”

  “For every ugly and desperate man, there is an equally ugly and desperate woman. Then there is you.”

  As Ella approached him to get into the boxing ring, he leaned in and sniffed. “I smell the gutter.”

  She sniffed him back. “I smell death.”

  The two flung more insults back and forth, and by the time they had completed a dozen exchanges, both were grinning openly. Manish reached out and tussled Ella’s head as if she were a pet. He then raised one of the boxing ropes and pushed her inside. “Now get in there and show me what you got, and try not to get too much of your blood on my floor.” He looked over to the side. “Aarav, come box this runt.”

  Melonhead came forward. She turned to the old coach. “Aren’t there supposed to be weight classes or something? I can’t fight this plump ox.”