Children of the Fifth Sun

by Gareth Worthington

  He settled back in his seat and watched the desert sand whip past in the pale moonlight, contemplating. A thin and malevolent smile spread across his face. There was no need to fear. He had taken control of the situation now. Soon, he would wield the power. He would have ultimate control.

  Location: U.S. Chinook, somewhere over New Mexico, USA

  Gunning along the skyline, the Chinook cut through the air, churning the cotton-like clouds as it went. Inside, the crew was decidedly quiet except Teller, who was completing his final transmission for the day with the Secretary, shouting loudly into his headset over the drone of the engines.

  “Yes, Madam Secretary. We’ll update you as we know more. Thank you. I wish us luck, too. Over and out.” Teller lifted the cans from his ears and off his head, resting them around his neck. “Shit.”

  “What’s wrong?” Freya asked.

  “We have a problem.”

  “Which is?”

  “Okay, so you remember how the Green and Red Societies were behind the viral attack on the U.S., and they were behind the attempts to retrieve K’in, the original clone—right?”

  Freya nodded. “Sure.”

  “Well, it seems their leader has raised his ugly head and is coming for us.”

  “Hang on, I thought the military leader, the one who was killed by the Minister, was the source?”

  “No.” Teller shook his head. “He was a powerful pawn but nothing more than a pawn. The guy we thought may have been behind all of it is an international terrorist called ‘Jia-nghù Tsai’—‘the Tokyo Boy.’”

  “Tokyo Boy? The Green and Red Societies are Chinese. What’s the connection?”

  “We believe his real name is Masamune Sagane. A great-nephew of the late Professor Ryokichi Sagane, a nuclear physicist at the University of Tokyo. Sagane was one of the scientists who studied with the Americans who created the atomic bomb.”

  “Okay.”

  “A little-known fact is that prior to dropping the bomb on Nagasaki, we dropped several instruments within which were copies of a letter to Sagane urging him to educate the public about the horrific effects the bomb would have. The professor received the letter a month after the bombing.” Teller shook his head, imagining the destruction it must have caused. “The power of the atomic bomb could easily have been in the hands of the Japanese, but it wasn’t. From his point of view, they had the ultimate weapon in their hands but lost it to the Americans. What is worse for Jia-nghù Tsai is a member of his family had it within his grasp and lost it. I don’t have to tell you what that bomb did to the people of Nagasaki.”

  “What’s that got to do with anything? Jonathan, you know I hate it when you’re cryptic.”

  Teller huffed. “Let me finish. Look, Jia-nghù Tsai wasn’t even born during World War Two, but at this time, Ryokichi Sagane’s brother, Jia-nghù Tsai’s grandfather, was about sixteen-years old and living in Manchukuo. It sits right in the East, overlapping Russia and China. In 1945, the Russians abrogated the peace treaty between them and Japan and launched a full-scale attack on Manchukuo.”

  “Every officer knows about the Manchurian Strategic Offensive Operation. Jonathan, I swear to God.”

  “Listen,” he snapped. “Within three weeks, the Russians had wiped the Japanese out. Mothers were forced to kill their children and themselves rather than face the terrorism and rape the Soviet soldiers inflicted.”

  Freya squirmed.

  “Jia-nghù Tsai’s grandfather was orphaned during the fighting. He escaped and was picked up by the Green and Red Societies. He had several children of his own, all of whom were brought up within the Triad family. One of them was Jia-nghù Tsai’s father. Hate was passed down from generation to generation. From birth, Jia-nghù Tsai has been indoctrinated to hate all foreigners. And he’s been searching for the ultimate weapon, one even worse than the atomic bomb, to wipe us out.”

  “He thinks Wak is the ultimate weapon?” Freya said.

  “Well, that’s what we thought he was after. But—”

  “But what?”

  “The Secretary just told me the Chechen Government reported finding an illegal uranium enrichment plant on the outskirts of Grozny, and it’s been completely destroyed. They had all the set-up to produce weapons-grade uranium.”

  “You think he’s making a warhead?”

  Teller shrugged. “I don’t know. They tried to wipe us out with a virus a year ago. Perhaps this is their second attempt.”

  “A single nuke wouldn’t do that.”

  “I know. Doesn’t make sense to me either. And not only that. I mean, why Chechnya? China has enough power to wipe us out if they chose.” Teller shook his head at the thought of a billion Chinese people being pissed at the U.S.

  “The power the Green and Red Societies had within the Chinese Government died with the suicide bombing by the Minister. He took out the head of the People’s Army, remember?”

  “True,” Teller said. “There was a bunch of dead Chechen Mafia guys left at the plant. They have been growing strong links with Islamic terrorist groups. Maybe it’s a cross-border collaboration.”

  “But you just said the Chechens were dead?”

  “Sure. But this guy is crazy. It could be a deal gone bad, or maybe he stole their material. Either way, he would have had help getting his thugs in and out of Chechnya. Not an easy task—unless they were local or local enough.”

  “Shit,” was all that Freya could say before turning to stare thoughtfully out of the window.

  Teller rubbed his hands together, processing the information in his head. He scanned the interior of the helicopter, studying his traveling companions. Kelly sat on his own at the end of one of the makeshift benches, his head tilted backward, resting on the padded wall. His eyes were closed, but Teller couldn’t tell if he was asleep or not. Opposite him lay Minya, curled up in a ball, a light-gray jacket twisted around her torso and pulled slightly from her shoulders. She was snoring lightly, which was quite amusing to him since he wasn’t sure he’d ever heard a woman snore before.

  He then eyed each of the twenty-strong team he’d rounded up from the base. Dressed in black combat gear, they sat silently facing forward and mentally prepared themselves for whatever may come. They were good men, strong men, and he hoped they would be able to stand against the creature—unlike those who died along the Rio Grande.

  It dawned on him he didn’t even know the names of most of the men he had essentially stolen from Dulce Base. The only reason he knew Tom’s name was he’d heard Kelly shout it out loud. In the end, only his mission mattered, and soldiers were expendable. First rule of strategic warfare—calculate collateral damage. At least, that was what he was supposed to do. It was difficult when emotions were involved.

  His gaze was inevitably drawn to Freya. She was now in fatigues and heavy boots yet had one leg resting on the knee of the other—ever feminine. She was staring listlessly out of the porthole, her eyes flicking quickly as she focused on an approaching object, watched it zip by, then focused on a new object, and repeated the cycle.

  Since he had arrived at the base, Freya had been a little odd. Or perhaps it was since Kelly had arrived. That man messed with her head. After Siberia, and Kelly’s departure, Freya had been removed from the field. She’d been given a desk job in Washington. That was where Lucy Taylor had begun working with her. Considering Freya’s involvement and experience in the situation, she was the perfect person to act as Lucy’s right hand in dismantling the cloning project.

  Similarly, Lucy had brought the project to the attention of the NSA. Teller, although their newest recruit, also had experience in the situation and was assigned to the task. He’d walked into the Secretary’s office. The crest of America was emblazoned on the carpet, patriotic flags hung on the walls, and a large oak desk rested by the window. But his focus had been drawn to something else in the room—someone else—Freya.

  He’d only ever seen her in field gear. Now, she wore a fitted skirt and collarless white
shirt, and her hair was silky smooth and pulled into her signature ponytail. Her green eyes flashed in the evening sunlight that cut through the office windows.

  She gracefully walked toward him, a huge bright-white smile on her face. “Officer Teller,” she remarked, offering her hand. “Fancy seeing you here.”

  “Ms. Nilsson,” he managed. “So nice to see you.”

  “I thought you’d be on a five-year mission.” She laughed. “You know, to seek out new life and—”

  “New civilizations?” he said, finishing her sentence. “Turns out I’m not into green women, just women with green eyes.”

  She nodded, her smile broadening at his clever—if comical—line.

  It hadn’t taken long for them to start dating. He liked her a lot. What’s not to like? She was strong, interesting, and beautiful. He’d done his best to keep a relationship and work balance and even managed to help her by checking on the General, her godfather. This act of compassion had been the start of something bigger. His meetings with Benjamin Lloyd had become more and more frequent over time, and less and less about Freya. The more Teller learned from the General regarding the clone program, the more things made sense. In retrospect, Benjamin had realized his mistake and understood trying to enlighten humans was simply impossible. Instead, he had helped cause chaos and war, which was quite the opposite of what he had set out to do.

  Thus, the General had begged Teller to end the program at all costs. He had reminded Teller it was his duty to defend his country against all enemies, foreign or domestic, even if it meant sacrifice—collateral damage. As a strategist, it made sense to Teller. It was logical. And logic was what was needed, not emotion.

  That was why he’d had to distance himself from Freya. He was so close, and he couldn’t let emotions get in the way right now. When it was over, he could concentrate on her. Right now, the mission was top priority. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few—a lame line from a TV show to some, a mantra for strategic warfare to others.

  Freya dragged her gaze from the window as she sensed Teller staring. “You okay?” she asked.

  “Yeah, sure. Just sorting out the events in my head. Our next move.”

  “Can’t believe we’re back in this situation. Feels like square one.” She sighed.

  “A little bit, I guess,” agreed Teller.

  “He asleep?” She nodded at Kelly, his neck awkwardly bent backwards, his mouth slightly open.

  “I think so.” Teller chuckled quietly. “Man, there’s a photo op, huh?”

  Freya smirked. “Be my guest. He’ll be pissed when he finds out.”

  Kelly jerked but didn’t wake. Instead, he squirmed in his seat, adjusting his head into a more comfortable position. Occasionally, his eyelids fluttered and clenched, and his limbs shook.

  “Quite the dreamer,” Teller remarked.

  “Actually, it’s probably nightmares.”

  “Ah, yes. I read your report. His dead wife, right?”

  Freya nodded. Yes, at least he cares enough to be distraught she’s gone.

  “Is that what the tea is all about?”

  “The Ayahuasca tea? I think so. At least in part.” She shuffled to properly face Teller. “I think losing K’in was a breaking point for him. He’s been trying to escape the loss.”

  “Well, he’d best stay out of the way. We can’t have another incident like back at Dulce Base.”

  Freya thought back to the submarine in Monterey Bay more than a year ago. Teller had considered Kelly a secondary requirement to their mission even then. He had fired a torpedo at the Chinese sub, knowing Kelly was inside and might drown. He’d calculated the odds of success. It was what he did, and he was good at it. Emotions didn’t come into it.

  To her left, there was a man overflowing with emotion and in front of her, a man who seemed devoid of it at the flick of a switch. “He figured out the quipus, didn’t he?”

  Teller stared at her for a moment. “I guess so. Sometimes I just wish I had a Taser set to stun, you know? To shut him up.”

  Freya stifled a laugh. “Get in line.”

  * * *

  The chopper banked sharply, waking Kelly. “Shit,” he blurted. “I felt like I was falling. You guys have got to drop that,” he mumbled, before rubbing his head and stretching. “I’m just Kelly.”

  Teller reached out a hand. “John,” he said. “I don’t think we were ever properly introduced.”

  Kelly shook his hand. Indeed, even in Siberia he had never asked the man’s Christian name. He’d just enjoyed Teller’s pokes at Tremaine, the grumpy bastard. Kelly hadn’t thought about him in quite a while. They hadn’t seen eye to eye, but Kelly respected Tremaine and his stalwart, almost Spartan demeanor—he was honorable. The world was a poorer place for his death. Kelly quickly changed the subject. “We there yet?”

  “No, not yet. Soon, though.”

  There was an uncomfortable silence before Teller spoke again. “So, I guess you’re our resident expert on being linked up to one of these beings. Anything you can tell us?”

  Kelly eyed him. “Well, I hear you’re a genius. Don’t you know?”

  Teller smiled. That must have come from Freya. “I’m just a nerd—with a good jawline, of course.” He laughed, tilting his head to an imaginary camera and smoothing his chin.

  Freya laughed as well. He could be cute when he wanted.

  Kelly didn’t respond.

  Clearing his throat, Teller rephrased his question. “How about this? Can you give me your perspective?”

  Pursing his lips, Kelly thought for a moment. “Okay,” he said. “It’s hard to describe, really, being linked up to it. I was whole. But I didn’t realize that until after.”

  “After?” Teller asked.

  “After K’in died. It was like the hole that had been left by the death of, well, everyone I loved had been temporarily patched. Then the Band-Aid had been ripped off and it was worse.” He shook his head. “I did a lot of stuff trying to fill it in the last year. Lots of stuff for the locals, ya know? Maybe giving would make the hole go away. You know what I think? I think—”

  He was stopped short by Minya, who bolted awake. Her eyes were wild as she searched the room, unsure of where she was.

  “Ah, you’re awake,” Teller said.

  Kelly eased backward against the wall, uncomfortable with another pair of ears listening to his inner thoughts. He watched as she fiddled with her jacket. As she pulled it straight, he caught a glimpse of a blue marking on her right shoulder.

  “We were just talking about what it’s like to be joined to one of the creatures,” Teller said.

  Minya acknowledged each person with a glance and sensed they expected her to say something. Don’t make them suspicious. “There is school of thought,” she said, breaking the quiet. “Called the Binary Soul Doctrine. It is perhaps the closest humanity has ever come to a single world religion.”

  Teller narrowed his eyes and Freya leaned forward.

  Minya had their attention. “This doctrine,” she continued, “has been present in many cultures from dawn of time. Thousands of years ago, peoples and tribes from all over globe believed almost the same thing—human beings possessed two souls.”

  Kelly’s ears pricked up, though he was careful not to show an outward sign that his interest had been piqued.

  “This can be seen in the earliest writings of Egypt, Greece, Israel, Persia, India, and even China.” She placed her hands together in a meaningful gesture. “Greece called these two souls psyche and thumos. In Egypt, it was ba and ka. In Christianity, they are called the soul and spirit. The list is endless. Ruah and nefesh, urvan and daena—”

  “We get the picture,” Kelly interrupted.

  Freya shot him a disapproving look.

  Minya continued. “However, one version of the doctrine will be of interest to Mr. Graham.”

  “Kell-y,” he enunciated. “Kelly, not Mr. Graham.”

  Freya rolled her eyes.

  �
�The ancient Toltec civilization of Mexico believed whole world comprised two equal but opposite forces. They called it Omeyocan. It means ‘place of duality.’ They thought each man, woman, and child had two mental halves: the tonal and the nagual. For them, the purpose of human existence was to integrate them.”

  “Jeez, I thought you said I’d be interested,” Kelly said. “Do you know what men like? Are you single?”

  “I’m interested, Minya,” Teller said.

  She huffed, unsure of whether she should continue.

  Kelly waved his hand in an okay, go ahead gesture.

  She cleared her throat, feeling a nagging desire for a cigarette, and continued. “The terms nagual and tonal appear in other Mesoamerican belief systems. There are many studies and many interpretations, but often, a nagual was considered a human who could transform into an animal. In tonalism, which is sometimes linked to nagualism, all humans were believed to have an animal counterpart to which their life force was connected.”

  Kelly shifted on the bench.

  “It seems these beliefs may have had some basis in truth if the creatures like the one we chase and the creatures you tell me existed thousands of years ago bonded with humans.”

  “Is that what it felt like? Like having another soul?” Freya was focused squarely on Kelly.

  He opened his mouth to speak, but before words could follow, the chopper dropped sharply—and then dropped again.

  Teller frowned as he put on his headset. What’s going on?” he asked, cupping the microphone with his hand. He nodded a few times and pulled off the headset again. “We’re here. Strong crosswinds. Gonna be bit of a choppy decent. Hold on.”

  “We land?” Minya asked.

  “Looks that way,” Kelly replied.

  She nodded. “Okay.” Soon, it will be over. I won’t have to be among them anymore.

  Location: Somewhere on the coast, Gulf of Mexico

  The small rodent struggled in the iron grasp of Victoria’s webbed hand. It squeaked and wriggled as much as its tiny body would allow until a final press of her thumb snapped the little thing’s neck. Victoria crammed the entire mouse into her mouth and forced it down her throat, swallowing hard. She gasped as it cleared her esophagus, unblocking her airway. She scanned for more amongst the reeds of the estuary on which she crouched.