by Wesley Chu
Roen passed several other unusual smells. Some made his mouth water while others kicked up his gag reflex. His stomach was making a ruckus though. Airplane food didn’t satiate a guy who regularly consumed upward of four thousand calories a day. Still, he decided to forgo a meal until after he reported in to Wuehler. He didn’t want to antagonize the guy any more by getting caught scarfing down food when he was already three days late.
It took another twenty minutes of wandering through the maze of stalls before he found the entrance to the sub-level market. He went down the steps two at a time and entered another market similar to the one above, but even more cramped. The stalls were minuscule here and the corridors so narrow they reminded him of a submarine.
His pace slowed to a crawl as he elbowed and pushed his way through the throngs of people in narrow sewer-like passages. Eventually he got turned around and lost. Roen finally found where he was going when one of the men on the squad found him wandering aimlessly in circles. In a pissy mood, he nearly kicked the hinges off the safe house door and trudged in. He dropped his bag on the ground and looked around. Things went even more downhill from there.
The cherry on top of the entire night’s fiasco was that the safe house was a total dump. Now, a safe house disguised as being run-down was expected. Safe house exteriors were supposed to look like places no one stayed in. Gone were the days when they were ski resorts nestled on top of the Alps or penthouse suites located in five star hotels.
The interior, however, was another matter. Roen expected these havens to have weapons, medical supplies, two exits, a communication system, and a stocked fridge. That was the minimum. However, he also expected a clean room, a warm bed, a hot shower, and enough space to house all the personnel. This was where this dump was woefully inadequate.
The agent in front must have notified Wuehler because the grumpy old guy was sitting in a chair in front of the door like an angry parent waiting for his kid who had snuck out in the middle of the night. Roen walked into a room the size of a small truckers lodge and was taken aback by five pairs of eyes staring him down.
We might want to consider an escape plan.
“Hi?” he said with forced cheerfulness.
That probably was the wrong expression to come in here with. Wuehler’s teeth grinded so loudly the entire room could hear them. Faust, standing behind Wuehler, kept his face neutral, but he was suppressing a grin. At least someone thought it was funny.
“I expected you to be a day or two later than promised. Somehow, you exceeded even my lowest expectations. I didn’t think that was even possible. Yet I can’t say I’m surprised.” Wuehler began. “Just because you’ve been stuffed down my throat doesn’t mean I have to put up with your insubordination.”
Be civil. Remember, you owe him one.
Roen swallowed a snarky remark and took the rest of Wuehler’s berating with as much dignity a full-grown man could muster. It was his bad after all; he had missed his self-imposed deadline. Besides, butting heads with your commanding officer usually led to unpleasant jobs, like all-night guard or latrine duty. Wuehler wouldn’t make a host clean the toilet, would he?
Just to be safe, he appeared properly chastised when Wuehler was done. “You’re right. Circumstances had changed on the ground and I was delayed. I would have contacted you except for the radio silence. Please accept my apology and, on my honor, I will follow your orders to the letter for the duration of this mission.”
Not too shabby. I almost bought that.
“See, all that money I lost in poker went to a good cause.”
Still a far cry from an Emmy.
Wuehler seemed taken aback by Roen’s sudden capitulation to his authority, his prepared words stuck in his mouth. He gave a stiff nod and motioned to the back. “Stow your gear. You got second watch tonight.”
“Good ol’ second watch. And thus my punishment begins.”
At least you can get some dinner first. We are pretty hungry after all.
Roen perked up. That was a bright spot. Now in a little bit of a hurry, he plopped his stuff down and raced out of the safe house before Wuehler could say anything else. He had about three hours before first watch ended. A good soldier kept his stomach full. His porker days were behind him, and Tao had long since stopped regulating his diet. It was something he now did on his own. Still, it was hard to maintain his diet while on missions, so he didn’t bother. Besides, exotic cuisine was one of the few joys of traveling.
Faust caught up with him as he left the claustrophobic underground market. “Getting a bite?”
Roen grinned. “Going native and trying that stinky tofu.”
Faust made a face. “Passed on it the first day. Haven’t built up the courage to try yet.”
A few minutes later, the two sat on rickety plastic stools at a counter and snacked on the hideously smelling tofu over a plate of veggie pickles. It was delicious. By then, the crowds were thinning just a bit, and the two caught up on old times. When he had first met Faust, things were quite different. Roen had just learned how to shoot a gun, and Faust kept him from panicking during his first firefight. In return, Roen saved Faust’s life by chucking a rifle at a Genjix sniper because he momentarily forgot how to reload a clip. The two had kept in touch ever since.
That felt like a lifetime ago. Roen was now a deadly host with a reputation within the organization as a maverick, often disobeying orders and going off on his own. Faust had faithfully followed Wuehler and was on the short list for peaceful or voluntary transition. Those were pretty rare these days though.
They exchanged photos of their family and talked freely about the dire situation with the Prophus losing on every front. Faust told him about the action he saw at Boulder and how his entire squad had perished while defending the sewage entry point. That was the battle where Wuehler had earned Ramez. A portion of a ceiling had collapsed on top of Jacques, the general in charge of the defense of the base, during the siege. Wuehler had dug him out just in time for Ramez to make the transition.
Roen talked about his suspicions about Genjix plans and regaled Faust with his exploits of the past two years. Prophus command had initially declared that some of his projections were so outlandish that he was a conspiracy theorist. Now, each small piece was falling into place just as he feared. The only question was whether things were too far along for the Prophus to stop.
“Quasiform,” Faust mused, tapping his fingers on the counter. “Like a bad sci-fi flick. Is it even possible?”
Roen, who was busy with a second helping of stinky tofu, shrugged. “They think it is. All the live data backs it up.”
“Does the data back up the conspiracy or does your conspiracy back up the data?” Faust wondered.
“That’s what the Keeper accused me of when I first showed her the data,” Roen replied. “It comes down to this. We know that the Genjix had two large-scale programs in the past ten years: the Penetra Scanner and this ProGenesis. The Penetra Scanner allowed for detection of Quasing inside hosts. The ProGenesis allowed their species to reproduce. Two dramatic leaps that changed the rules of the game. What does that mean?”
“That they’re dying out one by one and want to make sure their species continues?” Faust suggested.
“Or they aren’t trying to go home anymore,” Roen said.
“That’s a bit of a stretch,” Faust, munching on a meat lollipop called pig’s blood cake, grunted. “You’re telling me the Quasing, who have been trying to go home for millions of years all of a sudden decide they like this dump and want to stay?”
“Well, if you put it that way,” Roen grumbled. “I’m sure they had deeper discussions than the planet’s hygiene and our four seasons.”
It has been speculated for some time that we would be extinct before technology advanced enough for deep space travel.
By the time they finished dinner, the two were quiet. The grim news had sunk their spirits. None of the agents these days talked much about the future, especially when non
e of them were confident they had one. There was hardly a worse feeling than knowing that the game was lost and that the only thing the players could do was run out the clock. It was even more terrible that both men knew how the consequences of the loss would affect their children.
“Have you made any headway locating Dylan?” Roen asked.
Faust shook his head. “Still too early. We got three guys out around the clock digging up what’s left of our network: local police, crime syndicates, Buddhist temples, a couple of corporations. From their reports, it’s pretty barren. The Genjix were pretty thorough wiping out our footprint on the island.”
“And remnants of the escape pods?”
“Ashish and I were at the docks the first night. Local authorities confiscated the wrecks and they all somehow conveniently disappeared.”
The vendor came by and took the plates away. Faust left a few bills on the counter and the two made their way back to the safe house. The two walked in silence through the now-sparsely peopled market down to the lower levels. There, Roen replaced Ashish, the soldier dozing off on watch. Faust gave Ashish the evil eye as Roen settled in.
“Listen,” he said, “I reviewed the parameters of the mission with Wuehler. My team is great at busting things but all this espionage stuff is French to us. My boys would rather level a building and just dig through the rubble for info. You’re the closest thing we’ve got to a subject matter expert, so I’d like them to follow your lead.”
Roen nodded. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Do what? You do not know the first thing about espionage.
“Either me or that crash of rhinos. Who would you rather do the sensitive work?”
That is a toss-up.
“Anyway,” Faust continued, “You must be jetlagged. You going to be alright taking watch? If Wuehler catches you napping, he’s going to raise all sorts of holy hell.”
Roen grinned. “I’m an old pro. See you in the morning, brother.”
Faust gave him a casual salute with a flick of his finger. “Hutch’s got you at 0800. If he is a minute late, you tell me. I’ll bust his balls. That guy tries to get away with sleeping in way too much.”
Roen nodded. “Someone once told me that was a sign of a good soldier.”
He watched as Faust disappeared into the safe house. Then he entered the guard nest feet first and pushed himself through until he was hidden in the shadows of a cubbyhole near the ceiling across from the safe house entrance. It provided him a decent view down the entire corridor. He checked the safety and the clip in the rifle Hutch had left.
“Tao, does it bother you that we aren’t being utilized to the best of our abilities?”
Are you referring to the shock unit playing clandestine ops? I would not worry too much about it. Times are lean. Command must make do with what they have.
“Forget about that. I’m talking about being a super host and you an all-wise alien, and we’re on guard duty.”
I have heard that my presence qualifies you as a bona fide super hero.
“I heard that too, but my powers don’t seem to be working. I must have a broken Quasing.”
Broken? Please. More like my brilliant mind is bottlenecked by this weak and aging body. Oh, how I miss Edward.
This was always a source of contention. The Quasing often judged a host by comparing him to their prior host. Jill often complained about being compared to Sonya, and Tao did the same with Roen and Edward. Roen lived in the shadow of always trying to be Edward-good. The difference between Roen and Jill though, was that he embraced striving to be Edward.
“Come on, you told me I was as good as Edward ever was.”
You told me to lie to you. So I did.
“You suck.”
You are too old to be this insecure.
“Too old for a lot of things.”
Roen shifted in his prone position. It was going to be a long couple of hours. He wished he had something he could lean against. His neck was going to cramp up at this rate. Now he wished he had eaten that banana the vendor was selling earlier. It took him the better part of twenty minutes to finally get comfortable. For the next few hours, he performed his duty until Hutch, twenty minutes late, finally relieved him. He let it slide, earning a little good will from the guy. By then, jetlag had taken over and Roen nearly didn’t make it into the safe house room before he crashed onto a mattress in the back. He was asleep before his head touched the pillow.
FOURTEEN
GENJIX COUNCIL
Our mercy was scorned when we discovered the existence of the Chest of the Menagerie. To force Quasings into these small animals and trap them in these chests was inexcusable, a throwback to the dark times when we were nothing more than living mists surviving without thought. The betrayers again forced us to relive that nightmare.
I was the only Quasing on the Council to endure such torture. When Chiyva discovered the chest and freed me, we had no choice but to show the betrayers true Quasing justice.
Zoras
Enzo tapped his fingers in succession on the marble table in the solarium attached to his office as the weekly status meeting continued at a crawl. His eyes wandered outside and then back to the time: 11.04am. He should have finished his second jog by now. The meeting was running long and had cut into his daily workout. He bit his lip, reminding himself to tell Amanda to move this meeting to not affect important personal matters. Already, the responsibilities of this new position felt overbearing. The Hatchery had never trained him to handle such tedium.
Pay attention. These matters are important. You missed the last four results for P2.
“The fat scientist won’t say anything new. There is little value in his drawn out ramblings.”
Indeed, Chow’s latest tepid update was identical to his last. All he probably had to do was change the date on the top of the report. The most recent test subject lasted an additional fourteen minutes, breaking the hour barrier. They were getting closer to creating an environment that could sustain Quasing life. Chow was optimistic about finding the right formula sometime in the second quarter. If he was successful, Enzo would almost be willing to overlook the blustering fool’s many flaws. Then he could switch his focus toward the P3 catalyst.
And the sacrifice?
“What was the betrayer’s name?” Enzo asked, after Chow finished with his update.
“Duc,” was the reply.
Duc’s influence with Earth was very understated. His host once piloted a plane known as the Enola Gay. It was a momentous achievement for Prophus and Genjix alike, though they would argue otherwise. It was a large step forward for humanity’s evolution. Your species matured that day.
It was a routine now. Zoras made it a point to eulogize every Quasing that was sacrificed in those vats, making sure each Quasing’s history was recorded. To Enzo, the deaths of the enemy were hardly sacrifices. And more importantly, history was told by the victor, so the only reality that mattered was who did the telling.
Do not let your arrogance temper your potential. Learn from the past to not repeat the same mistakes.
“Apologies, Zoras.” The problem with a Holy One in your head was that they always knew when you were disingenuous. Change and humility did not come easily for Enzo. At the Hatchery, an Adonis wielded confidence as a weapon, used to beat down the lesser Adonis. It took an iron will and strong resolve to survive the Hatchery.
He had been raised his entire life to believe himself better than human. And he was. Faster, stronger, more intelligent, and more beautiful, Enzo was the highest rated Adonis the Hatchery had ever produced. And now with Zoras and unlimited resources at his command, nothing could stop him. He was not overconfident. He just knew his abilities.
Maintain pressure on Chow and make sure he is well supplied. Shift your focus to the final phase. You will need to escalate the process now that its end cycle is in sight.
“Your will, Zoras.”
Enzo interrupted Chow’s rambling. “These progress reports of t
heir survival times are irrelevant. Report to me only once a subject has survived twenty-four hours. How is your supply of subjects?”
Chow nodded. “The new supply has been fortuitous, Father. These updates further exemplify our progress–”
“Get me results, not updates,” Enzo snapped. “You have my authority to expend as many of the prisoners as you see fit. Double the size of the shipments from Tibet if you need. We have more than enough to spare.”
“Your generosity is great, Father. On that subject, there is a report regarding a missing shipment of prisoners from Tibet. Our people–”
Enzo waved dismissively. “Security during transport of the prisoners is Newgard’s responsibility. I cannot be bothered by this.”
All that touches you should be under your influence. Do not separate authority from responsibility.
“Your will, Zoras.”
It is an important lesson you must learn if you are to grow your influence on the Council.
Enzo conceded the point. “Send for Newgard’s report on the situation in Tibet and let him know I will not tolerate delays,” he said. He scanned the others in the room. “Our focus now will shift priorities to Phase III. What are the current projections?”
The P3 focus was misleading. The truth was that the Genjix had been implementing P3 for almost a hundred years now. Bit by bit, ever so subtly, the Genjix had manipulated the planet to match their core requirements. The colder parts of the planet were being warmed, the polar ice caps melted, and the ocean ice layers thinned. The planet, blessed with an abundance of water, was slowly increasing in temperature. At nearly two degrees Celsius in a hundred years and exponentially climbing, Genjix scientists predicted they could increase the rate of its rising to within catalyst range in less than twenty. All the planet needed was another fifteen-degree erosion of the ozone layer before it could be matched with the specifications of Quasar. All the pieces were falling into place.
“How is the design of the catalyst coming along?” he asked, reviewing all the figures laid out in front of him.