The Rebirths of Tao

by Wesley Chu

  Sergii was not a fool; all Adonises were highly-educated and trained. He understood the situation before him. It didn’t matter that Sergii and Enzo were approximately the same age, for Enzo to have a Holy One and Sergii to still be waiting for that blessing placed them worlds apart. Enzo read the man’s eyes and forced his hands to stay relaxed by his sides. He just had to trust that either Sergii would make the right choice, or Enzo would outdraw him. In either case, Enzo depended on the Adonis’s desperation for a long-overdue blessing. Enzo offered it to him now. Surely that was more valuable than clinging to an out-of-favor human.

  “Father,” Sergii struggled to choke the words out as he fell to a knee. “There is no need for more conflict. I can handle the Epsilons.”

  This is a dangerous proposition. Sergii with Flua makes him Vinnick’s true heir and a strong threat to your supremacy on the Council.

  “Even if I am the one to offer it to him?”

  You legitimize him.

  “Prove your loyalty,” Enzo said. He took a step back as Vinnick’s heir, now Enzo’s lapdog, waved his hands at the Epsilons.

  “We are all Genjix and serve the Holy Ones,” he said. “Lay down your arms. Boris, Vadim, Yegor, put your rifles down.”

  The one called Yegor, a gruff long-bearded soldier, scowled. “He was like a father to you, traitor.” He aimed his rifle at Sergii. The Adonis dodged the shot, but it was too late. All hell broke loose, because Enzo’s agents opened fire. The rest of the Epsilons fired back. A three-way firefight broke out. All the while, Sergii tried in vain to reestablish the peace. Enzo pulled out his pistol and shot him in the back.

  “Problem solved. Wasn’t so difficult, was it?”

  Find Vinnick and finish this. We have a new world to birth.

  Word spread quickly as the security forces and the Epsilons turned on each other. Small firefights broke out in the hallways and rooms. Enzo’s units joined forces and swept through the vast segmented base that was spread out along the lake floor like a spider web. It was tedious and slow work, but he didn’t mind. In the end, wiping out all the Epsilons was the right decision, regardless of the body count. The Epsilons were loyal to Vinnick first and the Genjix second, so they were useless to him.

  The final surrender came six hours later in the medical module of the haven. The twenty remaining Epsilons had erected barricades and dared Enzo and his men to attack their fortification. At first, they had tried to send an envoy, offering fairly generous terms just for those twenty souls to walk out of the room. All they wanted was their freedom to walk away from the Genjix and a transport under their own control to go wherever they wished.

  Enzo had considered just jettisoning the entire module off the base. Instead, he shot the envoy and sent in the entire haven’s security force. It was a bloody massacre. He had thought the Epsilons would surrender after they ran out of bullets, but to their credit, they armed themselves with their bayonets and dared Enzo to send in more men. He was more than happy to oblige.

  In the end, the twenty Epsilons took out three times their number before finally succumbing to the haven’s security. Fortunately, it was isolated to the medical module. Enzo walked around the ruins of the medical bay after it was all over. It would be weeks before this place could be used again. In a module meant to hold thirty people, there was almost three times the number of bodies strewn about. Some of the corpses were piled so high, Enzo had to order them removed before he could continue deeper.

  He found what he was looking for in the far back of the bay. Vinnick’s body lay still. By the looks of it, he had taken his own life moments before the medical module fell. Enzo stared at the empty husk that was once his hated enemy. This wrinkled bag of bones and skin was the foil that had delayed the Genjix from achieving their final objectives. Now, he was gone, and all Enzo could think about was next task at hand. For some reason, he thought he would feel something else.

  In Vinnick’s still-warm hand was a note addressed to Enzo. He picked it up and unfolded it.

  “You might have won, but you will never get Flua, you bastard. May the Holy Ones have mercy on this Earth.”

  Enzo growled and crumpled the note in his hands. “He has robbed me of my moment.”

  The victory is all that matters.

  “It is a Pyrrhic one, nevertheless.”

  Enzo turned to Gates. “Clean this mess up.”

  * * *

  Jacob made one pass around the perimeter of the school before he walked inside to the crime scene. He motioned to the Seattle Times press pass when one of the local law enforcement officers stopped him at the front door. Jacob noted the pistol at his side, holstered with the strap locked in place. No armor either. He would be easy to take out.

  The officer waved him through, and he joined a gaggle of reporters speaking with the principal and gym teacher of the school regarding the incident that had left a dozen students in the hospital, two of them critically injured. He stood at the back of the group and listened to a retelling of the morning’s events.

  Jacob raised his hand when the questions had come to a lull. “Excuse me, Hamilton Foster, Seattle Times,” he said with a Midwestern accent. “Could you tell us about the injuries that the children sustained?”

  The principal stepped in front of the gym teacher and read off a list of broken bones, ruptured spleens, and torn joints, emphasizing that all the students were expected to make a full recovery and that the school was taking steps to ensure that something like this would never happen again.

  I would be interested in what sort of precautions the human could implement to stop a Hatchery-trained vessel.

  If these children were trying to stay under the radar, they were doing a piss-poor job of it. Or maybe that was the point. Who were they trying to alert, though, the Prophus or the Genjix? Which vessel was leaving these breadcrumbs?

  By their description, the injuries are consistent with the girl’s style.

  “Especially the focal point of her attacks. Solid Sambo techniques.”

  Jacob felt his body flex involuntarily. His revenge, long thought completed, was now overdue with interest. Roen Tan’s family would be the perfect form of payment. The itch that he had thought long scratched was now painful, keeping him up at night. Jacob was eager to settle. His grandfather’s soul needed peace.

  “Adonis,” another of Jacob’s men called in. “We just received a report over the police band of an assault a few hours ago at the local bus station by a boy fitting the description of our mark.”

  “Moving,” Jacob replied. “Meet me down the block.”

  Find out which buses were readying for departure in that time frame.

  “Trying to board a bus out of town? Do we know to where?”

  He spent another thirty minutes interviewing several of the school staff. They were all aware of this Cameron Tan, who seemed by all indications a quiet boy who rarely spoke and never made problems. The teachers were shocked he was involved.

  “Adonis,” one of his men reported. “Report of a submersible off the beach two hundred klicks south. Locals found a burning wreck and hauled it to shore. Timestamps match the events and paint a relatively clear scenario.”

  Jacob spoke into his ear piece. “Confirmed. Get a body south immediately to search the wreckage. I want a black light on it immediately. Report back if you find a Seal of Shamesh. Let’s move.”

  33

  Free Prie

  Timestamp: 3333

  The passage through the western coast of the United States down to Mexico is one of the most-traveled in the Underground Railroad. What I initially thought was a cake job became one of the more difficult operations I’d ever had to work on for the Prophus. It was also one of the most rewarding.

  At first, the stream of tired, desperate refugees from Asia was a deluge. So much so that it attracted the attention of the IXTF and became one of the Prophus’s most active regions. It was there I earned superhero status as the Rayban Ghost.

  * * *
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br />   The farmhouse was gone. The entire damn thing. Gone. Roen stared at the satellite pictures, then back at the surveillance shots Hite took on the ground. There was nothing there; his entire life, as if it had never existed. The only thing in the now-empty field that even resembled any sign of his life was the buildings’ rough outlines, now filled with upturned earth and rubble. Tears flowed freely down his face. The life he had built, the first in a decade that had felt stable, safe, and happy, was now reduced to a mound of black soil.

  Roen knew this had been par for the course ever since he became involved in this Quasing war. Even worse, he still had not spoken to his family. He had finally got ahold of Datlow and coaxed the truth out of her. Once she’d sent over the images, he realized it was worse than he had feared.

  His only solace was that his family was all right. Jill had contacted Datlow early in the week and Cameron a few days later. If they were still missing, he would have hopped into the station wagon, wooden panels and all, and made a beeline back toward home, Prie and the Prophus and this catalyst facility be damned. If either of them had been injured or worse, he would have never forgiven himself.

  He had sworn to stay by their side and to protect them forever, no matter what. It seemed no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t keep that promise. This was the first time in years he had been away from his family for this long, and some Genjix asshole demolished their house. Roen curled his fingers into fists and crushed the images in his hand.

  Marco, sitting next to him, looked at the crumpled image. “You all right, mate?”

  Roen shook his head. “Genjix attacked the farmhouse.”

  Marco paled. “Your family?”

  “They made it out, thank God, but everything else is gone.”

  “Well, that’s all that’s bloody important. I need your head with you, man.” Marco held up a fist. Roen tapped it with his. He appreciated Marco’s concern. The two were operating much better together than last time in Egypt, partially because both of them were getting too damn old to fight over ego. More importantly, Marco seemed to have become less of an asshole as he got older. Two dust-ups were considered light for them.

  “By the way, Roen,” Marco added. “If the operation goes wrong, I want you close to Prie. You’re taking Pri as a last resort.”

  “Uh, no,” Roen made a face. “What am I, some sort of surrogate incubator? I’ve already done my tour of duty.”

  Marco looked surprised. “I thought you would want it. You know, become a host and be somebody again.”

  Be somebody again? Scratch that. Marco was still the biggest asshole ever.

  “They’ve arrived at the hospital,” Sheck said. “Chase says convoy of three vehicles, including the Penetra van. Helen reporting an ambulance standing by as well.”

  “Move out,” Marco said as the rest of the team ran through final preparations.

  The chatter about Prie’s extraction began immediately after the team activated the bug under Kallis’s shoe. Against the advice of doctors, the team had decided to transport him as soon as possible, though he was barely well enough to be moved. Because of his delicate state, there were concerns that the long drive to Seattle would be too dangerous. Instead, they had arranged for a small plane to arrive at Ontario Airport, where he would be transferred by air to the regional IXTF headquarters in Seattle.

  The team had originally thought the IXTF was going to move him down highway 84 by convoy and had planned accordingly. Activating the bug had saved them. It gave them just enough time to scramble and adjust their rescue plan. Now, they had a distance just over three klicks from the hospital to the plane to work with. It left very little room for them to maneuver. The only saving grace was that they knew the exact route the IXTF team was taking to the airport. Roen had to give it to Kallis; she left little to the imagination when it came to detailing their plans. Roen’s team had stayed up all night to implement a contingency plan, stealing a Plymouth Voyager minivan, an old pickup truck, and jerry-rigging a series of low-grade IEDs.

  They buried the IEDs on the only stretch of gravel road and now the team was in position waiting for the convoy to arrive. Chase and Helen would tail the convoy in the minivan while Elias manned the pickup truck hidden behind the gas tanks a little off to the side. The rest of them had to hide in a barn way off from the ambush point, just far enough away from the Penetra van’s range.

  Marco, Sheck and Roen waited just inside the door for their signal. While they had elected to be covered from head to toe in their standard-issue combat gear, Roen wore his typical hood and Rayban glasses, preferring to armor only his vital organs. He was also designated the tactical lead during this operation, simply because everyone else had an accent, which would give them away in a heartbeat. Well, everyone except for Chase, who was from Dallas, but that guy couldn’t lead children to an ice cream truck, let alone a last-minute multi-faceted ambush.

  “They’re pulling onto 33rd now,” Sheck said.

  Marco pulled the ski mask down over his head while Roen knotted his hoodie tight to his face. He adjusted the Rayban sunglasses and shouldered his rifle. He caught Marco staring at him.

  “What?” he asked.

  “You look like the bloody Unabomber,” said Marco.

  “That was kind of the point,” Roen said. “I think I look cool.”

  “Look a bloody fool more like it.”

  There was a long pause.

  “You’re the fool,” Roen retorted lamely.

  There was a sound of a crash, which was their cue. The three of them charged out of the barn, sprinting across the field. Elias had rammed the lead Penetra van with the pickup truck, effectively blocking the ambulance’s path. The IEDs, buried on the left side of the street, went off on the two rear vehicles. The trick more or less worked. One car was flipped onto its side, but the explosion missed the back car. Helen resolved that a second later by ramming the minivan into it.

  “Try not to kill anyone,” Roen yelled through the comm, knowing he sounded like a broken record. He had told the team half a dozen times today already, but he especially meant it this time, because he had just met most of these IXTF guys a few days ago. He had shaken hands and drank beers with them. Killing them felt wrong.

  It didn’t stop him from doing his job, though. He clocked the first IXTF agent who climbed out of the rear car – Martin the vegetarian – in the face, hopefully knocking the guy out. The next guy, a perpetually chuckling older gentleman named Nate, raised his pistol at Roen before Marco clubbed him with the butt of his rifle.

  On his left, Roen saw Sheck run up to the Penetra van and the ambulance and shoot out the tires on both. Marco charged over to the overturned car in the middle as another of the IXTF agents tried to crawl out of the driver’s side window. He hauled the man out – Valentine, the rookie of Kallis’s team – and threw him on the ground, knocking him out with a punch to the temple.

  To his left he heard a gunshot and then another. Roen saw Kallis standing there, blood streaming down the side of her face. She was aiming somewhere behind Roen. He looked back and saw Chase fall. Cursing, Roen charged her, covering the distance between them as she turned her attention to him. One shot went high left; the second missed his face by sheer luck when he lowered his head and tackled her. He felt the bullet scorch the air as they collided.

  Roen had thought he could take out the smaller woman easily, but Kallis was no slouch. She hooked her arms around his waist and twisted left upon impact. Both of them fell and rolled on the ground. Roen got to his feet just in time for her to kick at his face. She missed and nailed him in the neck instead. He felt his throat constrict as he stumbled backward.

  Kallis scrambled for her pistol, which had fallen to the side. Knowing he wasn’t going to beat her there, he dove forward and tripped her as she ran. The two exchanged blows. He could tell right away she had a Marine Corps Martial Arts Program background. Back and forth they went as she pressed. Roen defended as he examined what was going on in
the rest of the fight. His team had secured all of the IXTF’s vehicles by now. Elias and Helen were opening the ambulance doors. Marco was approaching Roen and Kallis, rifle drawn.

  “No,” Roen yelled, shaking his head. The momentary distraction earned him a kick to the groin that doubled him over, then a combination of punches and kicks to his head and body. He ate the first few strikes and backpedaled, studying her cadence. He had to admit; she was good. Better than he gave her credit for. But not good enough.

  He slipped outside her guard and tried to force her to the ground with an elbow lock. Kallis escaped and rewarded his efforts to peacefully incapacitate her by flurrying his face with punches, causing his head to bounce forward and backward like a speed bag. Finally, fed up, he growled, palmed her face and chopped her legs from under her.

  “You just don’t know when to give up, do you?” He spat blood from his mouth onto the floor. “Stay down.” Then he felt the adrenaline dump, and the pain in his groin made its presence felt. He hunched forward and clenched his body. He wasn’t going to walk right for a few days. She thrashed at him while he kept her pinned down.

  Marco had the rifle trained on her face a moment later. Kallis froze, and Roen let his grip on her face slacken. He stood up and limped backward, gasping. “Holy cow, that hurts.”

  She took one look at his sunglasses and hoodie, and spat on the ground. “You must be the Rayban Ghost. I knew your greasy fingers would show up here. My men…”

  “…are all still alive,” he said, “which is more than I can say for one of mine. Now stay down before I even the score. On your stomach!” He tried to keep his voice low and guttural, but he knew he was walking a fine line. He took out sets of plastic binds and tied her arms behind her back. She squirmed as she glared at him. The rest of the IXTF agents were bound in a similar fashion.