by Wesley Chu
Now! Take out the rifle first.
Cameron leaped out of cover and angled for the sentry’s blind spot. He put one hand on the rifle and kicked the man’s heel with his left foot, simultaneously whipping his free hand backward across the man’s chest. The trip should have worked, but Cameron, in his anxiety, mistimed the move. That, and the guy looked like he was twice Cameron’s size. The sentry stumbled, but kept his footing. Cameron tried again and followed up with a high head kick that snapped the larger man back. Somehow, though, the guy stayed on his feet.
He is armored all over, including face and arms. Watch for his sidearm. Hack the knees.
Cameron stomped down on the side of the sentry’s knees, driving him to the ground. He followed up with a three-punch combination that seemed to just bounce off the man’s body. Then the sentry backhanded Cameron in the chest, temporarily knocking the wind out of him.
Cover the distance before he can draw!
It was too late. The pistol was out in a flash and Cameron was a second late reaching for his. He froze, horrified as his very young life flashed before him. A shadow leaped out from the darkness. Alex appeared, smacking the pistol out of the sentry’s hand with a branch. She distracted him long enough for Cameron to draw his pistol and take aim.
Do not shoot if you can help it. You will call attention.
Instead, he clubbed the guy in the jaw with the pistol handle. The sentry stumbled and threw a hay-maker, clipping Cameron just above his eye. The impact of the blow spun him around, and he fell to the ground.
Shake it off. Now!
Cameron ignored the screaming pain and the feeling of something stuck in his left eye as he picked himself up and charged, half-blinded by panic and fear.
Find the calm. Control yourself.
Alex was swinging the thick branch in her hand expertly, hacking and slashing at the sentry. He was able to block most of her attacks with his armored forearm, and she lacked the strength to bludgeon him and keep him down. Slowly, he got to his feet and threw a couple of awkward swings at her. She artfully danced away.
Cameron came in from behind and slapped the man on his ears with opened palms so hard, he might have ruptured an eardrum. The guy staggered and dropped to one knee.
Alex was on top of him in an instant. She charged forward and kicked him in the face. The guy’s head snapped up, and he fell onto his back. Then she pounced and swung the branch down at his head. Once. Twice.
“He’s out,” Cameron said. “Check him for anything we can use.”
Alex wasn’t done though. She planted a knee on the side of his face and pulled out a knife. Before he could stop her, she jammed it down into the guy’s neck. She looked up at him, breathing heavily. “We can’t take any chances.”
Cameron was stunned, surprised at her ferocity. He had shot people trying to kill Roen before, maybe even killed some, but he had never done anything like this, especially to an unconscious opponent. It made him sick.
She is right. If he had been able to report you two to the authorities, the danger to you could grow exponentially.
He swallowed the bile back down his throat and nodded. “Take his rifle and magazines. We need to get moving. Grab his radio, too.”
They searched the body in silence. He still wasn’t sure what to make of what he had just seen. On the one hand, Cameron was ashamed that he had put up such a poor showing in front of her. On the other, the way Alex had so callously killed the man terrified him. The silence continued until it became uncomfortable. Finally, Cameron decided to break it.
“That was some interesting stick fencing you were doing,” he said. He felt pretty lame as the words left his mouth.
“Cossack swordplay,” she said, blushing a little. “Mama was a proud Cossack. Gave me my first shashka when I turned four.”
He frowned. “I got a Lego set for my fourth birthday.”
In a few minutes, they had taken his rifle, six magazines, and a wallet with only a federal ID. Cameron looked at the card and handed it to Alex. “IXTF.”
She scowled and threw the identification on the ground. “Where to,” she said, slinging the rifle over her shoulder.
Cameron, that identification was fake. The IXTF rotate their holograms on the cards every six months as a precaution. These are Genjix.
“Should I tell Alex?”
Not yet. Digest the intel later.
“What should we do now, Tao? I have enough supplies to last a day or two. I don’t know where Mom is, or if she’s even alive. Should we try to go to a motel?”
No motels. There is a good possibility the Genjix are operating out of Eureka. They will be watching the few hotels there are in town. Staying in the forest is your best bet. For now, get some distance from the farmhouse.
“I hope Alex likes camping.”
Somehow, I doubt it. As long as it does not rain, you two should be fine for a few days.
Cameron looked up at the sky. It was clear now, but it rained around these parts more often than it didn’t. Well, he would worry about that later. He had to stay alive and protect Alex until they could find help.
“Come on,” he said, trying to sound reassuring. “I know where we can go.” He took her hand and led her into the complete darkness of the woods.
* * *
Jacob Diamont walked through the remnants of the tattered house. Bullet holes riddled the walls, and large chunks of paneling dangled from the ceiling, cut into shreds by automatic fire. Entire sections of the house had been blown out. To his left, water spouted from the cracked sink. Jacob looked up and watched curiously as a corner of the second floor sagged. This building was no longer structurally sound. His team needed to act fast and sweep the house for clues before the entire thing collapsed on top of them.
Amazingly, the computer terminal next to the sink was untouched and still functioning. It would give his people a chance to pull whatever data they could from their systems. Currently, one of his men was working to bypass security. Jacob stepped over a fallen beam and hunched over a body. He rolled it onto its back and signaled for someone to carry it outside. The cleaning team was on its way, and all the bodies had to be moved before the scene could be wiped.
“Wrap it up in twenty minutes. Strip the scene and finish the upload.”
“Adonis,” his man said, shaking his head. “All their systems just went hard lockdown.”
The information could be time sensitive. Get it to the techs’ hands immediately.
“Yes, Chiyva.”
“Find the data center and yank out the drives,” he instructed. “I want these on their way to the loyalty haven for analysis within the hour.”
He peered out of the building and saw the line of corpses being dragged out onto the lawn. Half his team was scavenging for intel, while the other half was running corpse recovering. They had found five bodies here, and a dozen more across three other buildings. This was a large operation, possibly even one of the Prophus command centers.
The betrayers had put up a good fight. He had lost seven of his men in this assault. He would have to beg Chiyva’s forgiveness. Jacob mentally ran through his own resources; he had only seven men left to complete this mission. Though the losses had been non-blessed and expendable, he hesitated requesting more support. After all, he had failed in capturing his quarry.
Forgiveness is a human quality. An irrelevant one. Result and efficiency are the only metrics that matter.
Efficiency was the key. No, Jacob would not beg for more men. His men had died destroying a major cog in Prophus operations. There was no shame in that. He would complete the job with the seven he had. He would do so even if he was the last man remaining. His standing depended on it.
One of his agents came in and handed Jacob a burned photo. “We found this remnant in an incinerating lockbox.
Tao! It was a rare visceral reaction from his Holy One.
Jacob took the picture and stared; his chest clenched. For over ten years, he thought he had aveng
ed his grandfather that day on the freighter, and had even proudly told Chiyva that when he was blessed with his Holy One. Now he must bear this shame until the wrong had been righted. There had been rumors of Roen Tan surviving: scattered reports and sightings, but nothing concrete. By that time though, Jacob had had more important things to worry about.
The blasted Prophus had revealed the Holy Ones to the world and everything was in an upheaval. Within a year, the Genjix had lost much of their influence across the world, and Quasiform had stalled. Combined with the Council Power Struggle, Jacob had all but forgotten about the man. Still, he should have been surer, confirmed it somehow.
The burned photo was missing its bottom half, but it clearly displayed the heads of a child and a woman. Roen’s face was only half shown. He looked older than Jacob remembered, but there was no mistaking that face. His visage had been burned into Jacob’s soul from when he was twelve.
And if that was Roen, then the woman could only be his infamous wife, Jill Tesser Tan. She had the honor of being the Genjix’s most wanted vessel, even more than the Keeper. If Jacob could kill her as well as Roen…
Then you will have earned consideration on the High Council as well as fulfilled your revenge.
“It is fate, Chiyva.”
Fate is created, not ordained.
“I will earn my place on the Council.”
Finish up here. There is much to do.
Jacob focused on the task at hand. His people were sifting through the remains now, searching for any clues that could lead them to where the Prophus had fled. He walked through the bullet-riddled kitchen and into the pantry, where a stairwell led to a dark pit. This must be one of the fabled Underground Railroad operations the Genjix had heard so much about.
His people followed the retreating Prophus underground to the tunnels shortly after they secured the house. The betrayers had scattered across the varied tunnels like rats. Jacob’s men had captured a few of them trying to escape east toward the mountains, but had not found anyone else, yet. The other two men he had sent into the western tunnels still had not reported back.
“Adonis,” one of his agents said, coming down the stairs. “A message. We found it in one of the bedrooms upstairs.” He handed Jacob a notebook. On the blank back page, near the bottom left corner was a small circle with a sun wheel inside. A Seal of Shamash, and a clue.
“Hand me the black light,” Jacob said, putting the notebook flat on the counter. He hovered the small handheld UV light over the blank page and watched as markings appeared in Korean. Jacob read the message. His grasp of languages wasn’t as strong as many other Adonis Vessels’, but he compensated with other assets. Besides, his role wasn’t to think; he was simply an extension of his Holy Ones’ will.
The scientist is heading south. We are done here. Clean the premise. You now have dual targets. You will need to split your forces to follow both. Be aware that the IXTF activity in this region is higher than most.
Jacob grunted. Those fools from Interpol were beneath contempt. Even now, as the Genjix pushed the world toward war, the incompetent IXTF wasted their time hunting wayward Holy Ones in ones and twos. Little did they know that within a few years, almost all humans would become vessels, and then within a quarter century, there would be no more humans at all.
Jacob signaled for his forces to wrap things up. Ten minutes later, a series of explosions detonated what was left of the buildings, leveling everything. The base underneath the main house received similar treatment. A cleaning team would arrive next to retrieve the bodies and remove the debris. By this time tomorrow, it would be as if the Prophus had never been here.
21
A New Player
Timestamp: 2813
The first couple of years after the Great Betrayal were the worst of my life, and that’s saying something. Constantly hunted. Always looking over our shoulders. Sleeping with one hand clasped to my kid and the other on a gun. Not gonna lie; I learned to hate the IXTF. They were a relentless group of assholes who obviously had no sense of decent business hours.
My boy’s earliest memories were of us stealing off in the middle of the night, pursued by masked men with guns, hounded by sirens, and hiding in ditches. Many times barely staying a step ahead of arrest and the secret alien detention centers. I had many friends in there. I probably still do.
* * *
The Woodchuck Chuck was Roen’s kind of bar. It was rundown, and looked like it was built during the first gold rush. The counter was made to look like one big log with a flat top, and there were half a dozen stuffed woodchucks arranged throughout the establishment. Best of all, they served dollar draft beers all day every day. To save the effort of making multiple trips to the counter, Roen ordered four glasses and brought them to the table near the window, where he had a clear view of Saint Alphonsus Hospital across the street.
Marco, sitting opposite him at the small round table, grabbed one of the glasses and took a swig. “Heavens man, what sort of piss beer is this?”
“It’s an American beer. I think it’s called Pa –”
“Well good God, no wonder. Is there anything else? I’ll even drink a French beer if I have to.”
“Snob,” Roen said, swiping the two glasses in front of Marco and moving them to his side of the table. “Fine, I’ll keep these babies all to myself. There, there, lovelies,” he purred, stroking the glasses. “The redcoat is just an asshole.” He put his finger to his ear, looked out the window, and then back at Marco.
The Englishman nodded. “Got it.” A smile broke out on both their faces and they gave each other high-fives. Marco took back one of the glasses and held it up. “You’re a cretinous dolt, but every once in a while, you have moments of brilliance.”
Roen didn’t know what cretinous meant, but why ruin the celebratory mood by asking? He clinked glasses with Marco and they downed their beers, both eying the other’s progress to make sure they didn’t lose. Then, they paused and listened as Elias updated them again.
“Give Prie four days to rest before we bust him out?” Roen asked.
Marco shook his head. “Nah, I say we nab him after we finish the mission. Depending on logistics, we could wrap up here anywhere from a week to a month. The longer we let the man recover in the hospital, the better off he’ll be. Besides, we swipe him early, and we’ll be smack in the middle of a manhunt as we try to complete the mission.”
“There’s risk with that plan, though,” Roen countered. “We’ll need to have him watched constantly, either by one of us, or someone on the inside. If we’re not ready when they move him, he could slip from our grasps.”
“It’s a risk we’ll have to take. We retrieve him at the last minute when we finish, not a day sooner.” Marco picked up another glass of beer from Roen’s side of the table. It seemed the bad American beer wasn’t so bad after all. “By the way, have you heard back from Jill yet?”
Roen shook his head. The line had gone dead during their meeting, and his cell phone bricked shortly afterward. That could only mean a few things. Either vulnerability in their network had been discovered, and it had to be shut down to prevent intrusion, or someone external had taken it down. Jill could have also locked the system out, but that was reserved for emergencies.
In any case, Roen wasn’t going to panic yet. The Prophus’s network wasn’t exactly what anyone would call robust. With things going the way they had for the past decade, the old infrastructure had suffered more than its regular share of failures. If the system wasn’t back in a few days, then he could start worrying.
For now, he had more pressing matters to keep him occupied. Currently, Roen and Marco were surveying the outside of the hospital while Elias and Helen pretended to be a couple going to the emergency room because she was suffering from abdominal pains. At this very moment, Helen was in one of the ER waiting rooms while Elias had wandered away and scouted the medical center for Prie.
A quick search and a few questions later, the team learned that h
is surgery had been successful, and he was now in stable condition. Unfortunately, due to the fact that he had suffered a gunshot wound, and that the doctors had Penetra scanned him, he was now on full lock-down. There was currently a policeman guarding his door.
Roen looked up from his beer. “Elias says he thinks it’s just a small-town deputy. With that sort of security, we could bust him out with a slingshot during our lunch break.”
“Let’s not push our luck, Roen.”
They were into their second hour of surveillance when their luck pushed back. There was a small commotion at the other end of the bar as a group of people walked into the Woodchuck Chuck and took the table at the far end. Roen, focused on counting the paths the ambulances tended to use, paid them no attention.
“Hi, could I get three pitchers of whatever you have on tap, and a glass of wine. White, please,” a woman asked.
Roen perked up. That voice sounded familiar. He slowly swiveled his head as casually as he could and saw her back profile: stocky, a charcoal business suit, brown hair down just past her shoulders, low heels.
“No, nothing too sweet. How about a chardonnay?” she continued.
Again, that voice. So familiar. Roen signaled to Marco, who had noticed his interest, to stay seated. He got up and wandered nearer to her at the bar, stealing a glance her way. Late thirties, early forties. Very athletic, but oddly stout body. Possibly military. Sharp alert eyes – she had noticed him staring right away.
He tried to think of something witty to say. “White wine in this joint. Classy.”
Oh stop talking. Insulting her is not going to get you anywhere.
At least that’s what Tao would have said if he were here. Roen meant it as a joke. Damn it. He realized how the words sounded right as they left his mouth. The woman gave him a perplexed, irritated glance and then turned her back to him.