by Wesley Chu
17
Scout Team
Timestamp: 2788
Sadly, my vacation in Hawaii came to an abrupt end. In the middle of the night, a squad of Prophus transferred me to a secret long-term care facility to finish my rehab. It seemed the government wanted to haul me in for questioning. Thus, my life as a fugitive officially began.
After I recovered, I snuck onto a cruise ship headed for Mexico and paid a coyote to ferry me across the border to rejoin my family. Deciding to stay in the United States was a tough call. Sure, there were two Quasing with us, but this was our home.
And no, I won’t tell you where the secret hospital is. Don’t even ask
.
* * *
Roen and Marco knocked on the door of the car repair shop. It was 12.05pm, and it was closed. The shop had closed promptly at noon. Roen had friends who were mechanics; it came with the territory when his job as a Prophus made him wreck cars on a daily basis. That and he was a pretty poor driver as far as secret agents went. One thing he had learned about the mechanics who ran their shops, though, was that these shops never closed early unless they’d already hit their daily quota.
In this case, this particular shop had closed at noon for two days in a row. It must be doing very well, even though it hadn’t serviced any cars since he had first scoped it out. He knocked on the door again, harder this time. A stick-thin old man with disheveled white hair and nervous wandering eyes answered.
“We’re closed,” he barked.
Marco pointed at the parked station wagon behind him in the lot. “Sorry to bother you, good sir, but our car broke down. Could you by chance help us out?”
“I’m not open and too busy. Come back next week,” the old man snapped, closing the door.
Marco stuck his foot in before he could slam it shut. “Come on, please, we’re just passing through and we’re stuck in this one horse town.” He paused, glancing uncertainly at Roen, unsure if he got the reference right. “Just one look, and we promise not to trouble you further.” Roen covered his mouth and snickered.
Old Crazy Hair gave them both a look and then sighed. “Fine, but if it’s something I can’t fix in a couple of minutes, then you guys are out of luck until next week.” He walked out of his shop and toward the car.
“What’s so funny?” Marco asked as he trailed after the guy.
Roen smirked and slipped into the shop while Marco kept the man busy. It looked like any other gas station in a small town. There was a little convenience store area up front, an office in the back, and an attached mechanic’s garage on the side. He slipped into the office and checked the bathroom; nothing conspicuous there, either. Roen continued through the side door to the attached garage. There were three cars on lifts, three garage doors at the front, a door leading to the outside at the far end, and then a door to the back. It looked like any other automobile garage. Roen went out the back door and noticed a set of storm cellar doors in the rear locked by a chain and padlock.
He came back inside and scanned the room. He was running out of time. He could hear Marco speaking loudly out front, begging and imploring the man to fix a car that wasn’t broken even though it was purring at the moment. Well, running as well as a car in its condition could run. Roen looked at the gaps under the ramps. Of course. There had to be a basement below this garage. It took another couple of seconds before he pushed aside a rolling tool cart and found a metal hatch on the ground. With a hard jerk, he pulled the hatch up and came face to face with the business end of a rifle.
“What are you prowling for, boy?” a voice said from somewhere down in the darkness.
“The gift is nothing without the gift,” he said.
No reaction from the darkness.
“Give me chastity and continence?”
Still no response.
“Dang it,” he stammered. “You may not be interested in war?”
He heard another voice down there say, “Just kill him and get it over with.”
Roen ran through all the possible pass phrases. He was supposed to contact Jill to get the right pass phrase once he got here, since it rotated daily. Unfortunately, he had been unable to get a hold of her, so he wasn’t sure which one to use. Finally, he tried one more time. “Only two things are infinite, the universe and human stupidity.”
“And I’m not sure about the former,” the voice said.
With a visible sigh, Roen slumped his shoulders and extended his hand. A hand appeared from the black void and Roen pulled him up. “Roen Tan,” he said.
“The Pacific Northwest commander’s lesser half,” the man grinned. “Elias Roas, sir.”
Behind him, Roen heard Marco raise his voice yet another decibel. Obviously, no matter how good the Englishman’s charms were, it was wearing thin on Old Crazy Hair.
Roen nudged with his head. “He one of ours?”
“No,” Elias said. “We’re renting Ian’s silence and his cellar down there. Come on, let’s go get him before he tries to shoot your man outside. Guy shoots first, asks later. Elias and Roen walked through the garage to the convenience store and watched as Ian kept repeating that there wasn’t anything wrong with the car while Marco kept insisting on paying for the station wagon to get a physical.
“Physical?” Elias asked Roen, who shrugged. He coughed a couple of times until both Ian and Marco looked their way. Elias and Roen waved lazily.
“Jig’s up, Ian,” Roen said. “We know you’re harboring fugitives.”
The blood on Ian’s face drained. “Look officer, they just broke in. I swear…”
“Hey now.” Elias frowned. “Way to stab us in the back first chance you get. Guess money can’t buy loyalty after all.” He turned to Marco and saluted. “We’re relieved you’re here, Commander. Please come with me. We have injured.” The small group headed back to the garage while Elias briefed them on their situation. The scout team had been based in the town for the past month, until Prie was caught rummaging through a cargo truck at the Genjix facility’s loading dock and got injured during the escape. The team moved him to this concrete cellar to hide him from the Penetra nets.
The five-member scout team was holed up in a tiny crevice near the back of the cellar. The ceilings were low, and there wasn’t a lot of room to move around. Roen was shocked they could all fit down there. Elias was currently running the show while Prie was incapacitated.
“Bullet through the stomach. Still inside. Missed his spine, though,” Elias said. “We were just trying to keep him comfortable until you came. Which one of you is the doctor?”
Roen exchanged a hesitant look with Marco. “Um.”
“Well, you see,” Marco said, “we ran into a bit of a sticky –”
“She’s dead,” Roen said. “Ambushed by Genjix.”
Elias and his team deflated when they heard about the events of the previous days. Upon closer inspection, Roen realized just how low morale on this team was. They were exhausted, having been operating around the clock for a month. Now, Prie’s injury had compounded the situation.
“If there’s no doctor, how are we going to get Prie out of here?” Sheck, one of the scouts, asked. “And when are we getting extracted?”
Marco shook his head. “We’re not extracting, boys. Command believes that facility you’ve been checking out is important. We’re here to help you finish the job.”
There was a grumbling among the ranks. “What are you good for if you can’t save the commander?” Chase, another scout, added.
Roen looked over the unconscious Prie and checked the wound. He looked up at Marco. “We need to get him to a doctor. He’s not going to last much longer. What’s the Quasing transfer plan?”
Elias looked around and leaned in. “Uh, I don’t think any of the boys want to be a host.” He looked over to Marco. “No offense, Commander.”
“Oh, not at all,” Marco quipped. “It feels lovely being a leper.”
That startled Roen. Prophus operatives had always aspired to bec
ome hosts. It was considered a great honor among the ranks and automatically promoted the host to commander. It was amazing how a few short years had changed things. With the Quasing found out by the rest of the world and the continued advancements of the Penetra scanners, it seemed being a host now was toxic.
“I can’t accept that,” Marco said. “In the event of Prie’s death, we need a host ready for the transfer. If no one will volunteer for the privilege, then I will assign one.”
“We can’t just let him die,” Roen said.
“You can’t force a Quasing on any of us,” Helen, the operative tending to Prie, said, shaking her head.
“It’s a death sentence to be a host these days,” Chase growled, his hand moving toward his side arm.
“I’m not taking him,” Sheck added.
“Seriously, am I the only one that sees an issue here with Prie still being alive?” Roen said, louder this time. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. The atmosphere in this small cramped room was getting ugly. The scout team looked ready to lynch Marco, and the crazy Brit seemed intent on taking them all on. To be honest, if that happened, Roen wasn’t sure what side he’d take.
Marco pointed a finger at Chase. “You move your hand one inch closer to your pistol. I dare you.”
“Woah, woah. Ow!” Roen said, standing up and banging his head on the ceiling. “Everyone chill out.”
The entire room froze as Chase and Marco stared each other down. Gunfire in such a small room would be catastrophic. Besides the real danger of a ricocheting bullet, the sound of the discharge was a severe threat to all of them.
“I’ll take it,” Helen stood up. “I’ll take Pri if there is no other choice.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant,” Marco nodded.
“He’s not fucking dead yet!” Roen yelled. “What is wrong with all of you?”
He was met with another long silence as all eyes looked his way. Some looked angry, others ashamed.
Marco shook his head sadly. “You saw the inventory, Roen. They’re low on morphine. No surgeon. No way to transport him. It’s the humane thing to do. At the very least, we can save Pri. There’s no other way.”
“Like hell there isn’t,” Roen snapped. He surveyed the others in the room and then looked at Ian, who was standing at the entrance looking terrified. He walked over to the old man and put his hand out. “Give me your phone.”
Ian looked over at Elias and then back at Roen and then back at Elias again. “What?”
“Now,” Roen said, putting his hand on his sidearm. “Give me your damn phone.” The old mechanic reluctantly pulled out a cell phone that looked like it was made in the nineties. Roen hefted the brick in his hand and pointed at the rest of the group. “Stow your gear and get ready to move.”
“Who are you calling, Roen?” Marco asked.
“Someone who can help us take care of Prie.” Roen dialed a few numbers and scanned the room while the phone rang. “You’ve got two minutes,” he mouthed, holding up two fingers.
Someone on the other line picked up. “Hello, 911 emergency services.”
“Hello 911,” Roen said loudly. “I’d like to report a body.”
* * *
Roen, Marco, and the scout team watched from up the hill as two police cars, an ambulance, and a fire truck parked on poor Ian Crazy Hair’s lot. The excuse they had concocted was that Ian had found the lock on his back door broken, courtesy of Roen breaking it, searched his garage for vandals or thieves, and happened upon Prie lying unconscious in his cellar. Then he called 911.
“It’s a Saint Alphonsus ambulance, all right,” Elias said, handing the binoculars over to Marco.
“They’ll find out he’s a host once he checks into the hospital. It’s standard protocol now in most Western countries to scan all patients,” Marco said, looking at Roen. “I hope you know what you’re doing, mate.”
“I hope so too,” said Roen. “At least we save Prie’s life. We can worry about breaking him out of jail after he is stable.”
“What if we can’t? We risk Pri.”
Roen shook his head. “It’s a tough call, but I don’t subscribe to the belief that a Quasing’s life is more valuable than a human’s. We’ll get both of them back after they discharge him. Maybe bust him out of the hospital or intercept the transport when they move him.”
“That’s a big maybe,” Chase said.
“Well, I made the call. It’s a burden I’ll just have to live with,” Roen said. “You can worry about court marshaling me later.”
“Weren’t you already court marshaled once?” Marco asked.
Roen shrugged. “Yep. Lot of good that did, huh? Come on, let’s get back to the motel.” He looked at the rest of the group and sniffed. “We’ll probably have to get more rooms. We only have one shower.”
The group walked to the station wagon they had parked down the street. Roen was glad he got that old behemoth instead of the other options. Clown car-ing six people would be tight, but better than trying to do that with a Rabbit or a Bug.
“I’ll need a report on what you have so far on that facility you’ve been reconnoitering,” Marco was saying to the group. “The sooner we get caught up, the sooner we can make the assessment, bust Prie out of the hospital, and get back to a place that serves proper tea.”
“We were infiltrating one of the recent shipments when Prie was detected,” Elias said. “He brought a sample back.” He handed Marco a windowed metal cylinder filled with clear liquid.
Marco hefted it in his hand and peeked through the window. Then he flipped it upside down and looked again. “It’s like a Magic 8-ball with no fortune. What is it?”
Roen saw a hint of black and snatched it from Marco’s hand. He stared at the smooth black rod swimming inside the container. He had seen this before. An image long buried came flooding back as if Tao had just flashed it into his head. His recollection of the mission in Taiwan was spotty. His injury on that freighter was so severe it had joggled his memory to the point he could only recall bits and pieces of what had happened. However, he remembered holding a similar-looking container with a black rod sitting in liquid.
“Oh shit. I know what this facility is.”
Marco raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Well, spit it out, so we can call it a wrap and go home.”
Roen closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose with his forefinger and thumb. This was bad. He faced the group and shook his head. “It’s a catalyst reaction rod. That Genjix building you found is a Quasiform facility. They plan on using these things to blow up the world.”
18
Takeover
The Black Plague swept across most of the known world, decimating half the known population. It was a world-killer, unleashed by us gods to usher in a new dawn of innovation and creativity. It was a resounding success, for the Renaissance was born from the depths of the Dark Ages.
It was then that I dedicated all my efforts to fulfilling the destiny of the Conflict Doctrine and feed that engine of change by constantly perpetuating war throughout the known world.
Zoras
* * *
Enzo helped himself to a glass of President Putyatin’s vodka. Hard liquor wasn’t his drink of choice, but someone of his stature only drank the best. If the Russians were renowned for their vodka, that would be what Enzo drank. He made a face as he sipped the spirit, then he walked across the president’s office to the wingback chair in front of the fireplace. On the two televisions above the mantle, a rare joint session of both the lower State Duma and the upper Federation Council was convening.
Today would be a glorious day. Both chambers were voting to extend a permanent alliance with Enzo’s faction and declare Vinnick a traitor and enemy of the state. It had taken marathon negotiations by all his people, but through a series of bribes, blackmail, and threats, they had wrangled the votes they needed from both houses.
The tricky part was playing to the president’s greed and fear, and then playing good cop, bad cop. It
took a few more meetings with Putyatin before he came around. After he had played bad cop by sinking the Martynin, the man had dared summon Enzo to demand an explanation. He laughably threatened war. The next day, Enzo demonstrated his goodwill by having an agent give everyone in Putyatin’s immediate family a Chinese red envelope, a symbol of luck, but mostly a demonstration of just how far Enzo’s influence reached.
Enzo then played good cop by adding the regions of Calais and Champagne along with hereditary titles to the initial offer of Germany. Once the man realized that allying with Enzo would prove a much more fruitful relationship than the one he had with Vinnick, he acquiesced to the terms.
Once the Russian president was on board, the rest of the government fell in line. This vote tonight was nothing more than a formality. It was a blitzkrieg of sorts. Enzo wanted to sew them all up before Vinnick had a chance to counter his offers. The old man had moved too slowly, and now it was too late. The Council Power Struggle was finally over after all these years, and Enzo hadn’t even had to fire a shot.
“Mr President,” Enzo called, holding up his glass. “Why don’t you come join me? It is a momentous occasion, after all. A victory for us both.”
Putyatin, barely able to hide his disdain, didn’t even look up from his desk. “No thank you, Mr Enzo. There will be many changes occurring in my country over the next few weeks. I have much to do for this transition to be successful.”
Enzo nodded and turned back to the television. The man might not like him, but his friendship was unnecessary. All that was required was that he deliver Russia to Enzo. Once the continent was fully under his control, then maybe Enzo might even allow him to keep his station. No, that would be foolish. A vessel would be needed to occupy such an important position.
Azumi is the logical candidate.