The Rise of Io

by Wesley Chu

  It was a very good deal for Riseevar and an even better one for Shura. It was, unfortunately, a bad one for Surrett, since she had effectively locked him out of the deal. Also, for Shura’s plan to work, she needed bait, irresistible bait, bait that would overcome reason and logic and lure the target to her. The link between Surrett and the big fish was thin but strong.

  The minister had, of course, protested being used in such a way. When she had revealed the plan to him, he paled and insisted on an alternative. When she informed him that catching the bigger fish was more important than his life, Surrett became desperate and came dangerously close to insubordination. Fortunately, he saw the light when he realized that his best chance of survival was to put his life in her hands in the service to the Holy Ones. She had assured him that she would do her best to ensure his safety.

  You told him putting him in the line of fire was a minor detail in the plan. That is hardly a confidence booster.

  “It is a minor detail. Who does he think he is? The minister will do as commanded when the time comes.” Shura leaned back in her chair. Things were finally coming together. Not only was she about to catch a high-ranking Prophus, the production of the Bio Comm Array project was finally back on track. They might even begin the first trial by the end of the month. That would put the project three months ahead of schedule. If she could turn this troubled project around so quickly and make a statement with a successful test, then there was no chance the Council, especially with Weston’s support, would refuse her all of India once it became a Genjix state.

  The icing on the cake was, after weeks of searching for an opening, Shura had finally devised a plan to eliminate the Jain priest without raising suspicion. Through a combination of bribes, subtle and not-so-subtle intimidations, and research, she discovered that Indu had a weakness for freshly picked rambutans, and one of his disciples went to the market every day to buy some. It was one of the few patterns in his life and the only luxury the monk allowed himself.

  Indu was a careful man and had a taste tester, having survived several assassination attempts over the years. It seemed Jain politics were every bit as vicious as the secular version. Small doses of hydrofluoric acid injected into the fruit over the course of a few weeks would do the trick. In the end, the good monk, in his ripe old age, would suffer a heart attack and experience a very natural-looking demise. After his tragic death, arrangements were already in place to promote his two assistants to become head monks at the temples in Mahudi and Vataman.

  The assimilation of Dumas would then be complete. The majority of the demolition was already well under way. Several thousand tons of materials and supplies were sitting on the docks waiting to begin the build-out of the housing phase of the project. Everything depended on whether Indu died next week or next month.

  This has not been the most direct of approaches, but definitely one of your more elegant ones. I approve. Not a moment too soon, either. News from Moscow is that Rurik is close to consolidating his hold on Russia. He just sent two of his rivals to the Eternal Sea and obtained the fealty of four others.

  “If things go as planned, by the time Rurik ever gets around to focusing on the Bio Comm Array and India, it will be too late.”

  Shura pulled up a map of the construction site. Mogg’s thugs were becoming problematic. They had spent most of the past month chasing away the residents and businesses in the area. Some she was able to integrate with the construction crews, but most were unskilled, wasted bodies that she relegated to guard duty. It was a waste of capital and manpower, but she had little choice. Mogg’s union was just that, a union. Shura could not even fire these people unless she was willing to take on all of them. Eventually, she intended to replace all the workers with more reliable and loyal Genjix crews from China and Russia, but by then Mogg and her people would be accustomed to Shura’s high wages, so the transition would likely turn violent. That was an inevitability, but at least six months down the road. She could arrange to have military moved in–

  The door to her suite banged open so loudly, Shura whipped out her pistol with her finger on the trigger. Fortunately for Surrett, she never fired unless she was sure of her shot. The man was a sliver away from taking two slugs to the head. She glowered as he walked in unannounced. No, he was strutting.

  Be careful. Something is wrong.

  Shura lowered her pistol, but kept it at the ready. “How dare you? Something better be burning to the ground, Minister.”

  Is he making a play for me? Killing him may be the right move. Be ready.

  Genjix history was littered with instances of the unblessed, desperate for a Holy One, assassinating a vessel and forcing the Holy One to use their body. However, that was not how the Genjix operated. Anyone could kill. That was the easy part. Being accepted by the Holy Ones was the true challenge. Unless an unblessed was accepted by a Holy One, it never ended well. How trustworthy could an operative be if they stooped to stealing a Quasing? Usually, at some later date, the Holy One always arranged to have that false vessel assassinated.

  Shura wondered if this was one of those instances. Surrett was desperate to become a vessel, and they were alone in this room. However, he was a much bigger fool than she gave him credit for if he thought he could defeat her in a fight.

  “I apologize for interrupting you, Adonis.” His bow was hardly a nod. He stepped to the side of the entrance.

  To Shura’s credit, she masked the shock on her face when a handsome man in his late twenties with a long, muscular build, flanked by two bodyguards, walked in. His hair hung just past his chin and his eyes were sunken in just enough to smolder. If Shura didn’t already know who he was, she would have guessed the man was the lead singer in a soft rock band.

  There is a window behind you to your left. You are twelve stories up.

  “I won’t survive that jump.”

  Of course. I am referring to my survival if necessary. However, I do not believe it will come to that. Remember his standing.

  Shura bowed just low enough to follow protocol and show respect. “A pleasant surprise, brother.” She glanced at the smug look on Surrett’s face. The man must have received a better deal of his own – which, to be honest, couldn’t have been that hard, since she hadn’t offered him much to begin with.

  “We are no longer at the Hatchery, Shura,” Rurik said. “You forget your place.”

  She kept her gaze on the table. “Apologies, Father.”

  “You are surprised to see me?”

  “Notice would have been appreciated, so I could prepare for your arrival.”

  Rurik came to the other side of her desk and sat down. He glanced at the stack of blueprints on the left side of the table and then at the map of the construction site on the right. Shura’s mind raced. What did Rurik know of her plans? How much could she still salvage? If he was only stopping by to check in on the project’s status, then all might not be lost.

  Rurik tapped the map with his forefinger. “The minister has briefed me on recent developments. I am pleased with your work.”

  “I serve the Holy Ones.”

  “We are back on schedule?”

  “Yes, except for one last property that requires a delicate touch.”

  “Ah yes, the temple. When will that be cleared?”

  It wasn’t a good sign if Rurik was informed of that specific detail. “A few weeks. A month at best.”

  “All that for one old monk,” he muttered. Rurik pointed at the room’s communication console. “Link me.”

  Shura had no option but to do as she was ordered. She waited while Rurik made a call on his tablet and then, with a brush of his hand, patched the communication into the room. Her throat caught when Weston’s face appeared floating in the air.

  They both bowed. “Praise to the Holy Ones.”

  They must have interrupted Weston during his workout. The young man’s face was covered with sweat and a trickle of blood poured down the crown of his head. The rumors out of China were that t
he high father enjoyed training with live weaponry. They waited patiently as he toweled off. Finally, he addressed them. “Rurik, Shura. What is it?”

  “High Father,” Rurik said. “I’m informing you that I’ve come down to Gujurat to take command of the situation. Seeing how important the Bio Comm Array will be to the Genjix, I felt it was my duty to personally oversee its execution.”

  Weston shrugged. “I’m glad to hear you are finally giving it the attention it deserves. There’s no need to interrupt me just to tell me what you should have been doing all along.”

  Rurik bowed. “I also want to assure you that the operation to use the defector Riseevar to capture the high-value Prophus operative is still in play. I will personally ensure its success.”

  Weston raised an eyebrow and his mouth curled up. “I see. Zoras values that objective dearly.”

  “Of course, High Father,” Rurik said. “I assume that in taking ownership of this delicate task, the promised reward of controlling India still stands?”

  “I see your game now, Rurik,” Weston chuckled. “I don’t care who owns the country, just get it done. If you are successful in capturing the target, India is yours.”

  Shura’s heart sank. She had been betrayed and outmaneuvered. Rurik had slid in at the right moment to take credit for her work. Not only that, he now stood to reap the reward promised her.

  I warned you. You pushed Surrett Kapoor too hard, and did not offer him enough incentive to stay loyal.

  Shura stood next to Rurik, head bowed, humiliated, as he completed his conversation with Weston. The Russian had given her just enough credit to not make this appear like theft. Her standing from her work here would rise, but in the end it paled next to what she deserved. Especially now, with Rurik on the cusp of controlling both Russia and India, he would be more entrenched than ever, and should be able to successfully challenge for a seat on the Council.

  Rurik stole a glance at Shura, a cruel smile growing on the edges of his lips. He looked back at Weston. “One more thing, High Father. Adonis Shura has done such a competent job with the project that I would like to keep her on board after I take control of India, for the sake of stability and continuity, and under my command, of course.”

  Shura’s veins froze. She might have done too competent a job here. Rurik could justifiably argue that she was necessary to this project’s success, and if he kept control of the project, he could keep her under his thumb indefinitely.

  Weston studied Shura’s face, and then Rurik’s. “You don’t control anything yet. Show me you can be entrusted with the success of this important Genjix initiative and you will have all the resources you need.”

  Weston’s head blinked from view. Rurik smiled and went over to her cabinet to pick up a bottle of scotch. He held it toward Shura and then to Surrett. Both shook their head. Rurik looked at the empty glass in his hand and tossed it. He went over to the couch and drank directly from the bottle. The man was reveling in his victory.

  He smiled at her and then looked over at Surrett. “Don’t be too angry with the minister, Shura. He did what he thought best.”

  “What did you offer him?” she asked.

  “I guaranteed him a Holy One. A salute to you, Surrett Kapoor.” Rurik raised his drink as the minister bowed again. “The man deserves it after bringing so many victories to the Genjix.”

  “Well,” Shura said. “I see you’ve made yourself comfortable. By all means, Father, my suite is yours. If that will be all, I’ll leave you both–”

  Rurik cut her off. “Actually, I have orders for you.” He stood up and went over to her desk, placing the bottle on the table sloppily. He pointed at the Jain temple in the center of the map of Dumas. “I don’t want to wait a month to begin construction. Clear out the temple. Tonight.”

  “Are you sure that’s wise, Rurik?” Shura said. “It will only rile the local populace. I have a plan already in motion. It will only take–”

  She never finished her sentence. Rurik walked up to her and punched her in the gut. The wind rushed out of her and she collapsed, falling to one knee and sucking in deep gulps of air.

  “Don’t ever question my orders again, Shura,” he growled. He grabbed her by the collar and hauled her to her feet. “Don’t think I didn’t know what you were trying to do, and don’t think I won’t make you pay for it. Do you understand?”

  Shura nodded. “Yes.”

  Rurik put his hand around her throat and squeezed. “Yes what?”

  The room dimmed. Shura barely managed to utter the words. “Yes, Father.”

  “Good.”

  The iron grip on her throat loosened and Shura fell back to the floor, her hands shaking. This time, she wasn’t shaking from pain or humiliation. The coward had attacked her unprovoked with his rank and a horde of bodyguards at his back. This was the only way he would have dared laid a hand on her. Well, she would show him how far she dared. Her hand drifted toward her waist.

  No. This is not the time. Rurik has two guards here and half a dozen more outside the door. If you make a move, you will not survive the fight. Even if you do, your life will be forfeit. Bide your time. We will strike once we are covered, no sooner.

  Shura’s hand froze, and she stood up. She looked in the mirror and studied the angry red marks around her neck. She turned to Rurik, coolly. “Is there anything else, Father?”

  Rurik walked over to the table and, with a swipe of his arms, cleared all the markers from the map onto the floor. “Call in the police. Get in there and arrest anyone who still trespasses by tonight. I want it all demolished by tomorrow.”

  Within two hours, Rurik’s cadre of elite bodyguards, leading a group of a hundred policemen and three hundred of Mogg's thugs, swept over the Jain temple. A protest grew and was violently dispersed. Clashes broke out along the blocks near the streets bordering Dumas, spilling out into the surrounding neighborhoods. The conflict spread like a ravaging disease from street to street, cluster to cluster until it eventually consumed the entire western half of the slum.

  By nightfall, Crate Town was in upheaval.

  Twenty-Eight

  The Pickup

  The sixth human was a man named Rolf who fancied himself a berserker. He accepted the voice in his head as that of Odin, one of their Norse gods. That context provided us an understanding to establish a strong bond. I learned a lot about humans through him.

  Unfortunately, just because Rolf thought he was a berserker did not mean he actually was a great warrior. In his very first battle, during what is now known as the Battle of Fulford, he broke from his shield wall in a fit of excitement and charged the enemy on his own. Rolf took an arrow to the belly and lay on the battlefield writhing in pain for several days before finally getting run over by a cart.

  * * *

  Ella stayed away from the west side of Crate Town during the first four days of the riots. The fighting had spilled into the streets and spread block by block with each passing day. The majority of the chaos and violence were far enough away from her neighborhood that most days, the only thing she noticed was the heightened tension hanging in the air, and the worry that no one could conceal. By the end of the week, after the military had been called in, Crate Town had settled down into a simmering boil.

  Usually, she stayed away from local and regional politics, and was only vaguely aware of the cause of the conflict between the west-side residents and the government. It had something to do with the construction site and the Jain temple in Dumas, so all the devout were up in arms.

  However, this particular situation hit a little closer to home. It felt personal. Maybe it was because she had been scouting the build site every day, maybe it was because she knew it had something to do with the Prophus and the Genjix, or maybe because it appeared as if this construction was eating up huge chunks of Crate Town. In any case, she found herself wanting to take sides and join the people. However, Io counseled hard against it, and Ella reluctantly stayed on the sidelines.

  D
o not get involved more than necessary. You have a job to do, an important one.

  “But isn’t everyone just fighting the Genjix? Isn’t that something we should be supporting?”

  The people of this slum have no chance. The more they fight, the more they will suffer. Do not join a losing cause. I have fought enough of those for both of us.

  Ella spent most of the days indoors, learning her letters and helping Io get caught up with the digital paperwork. Due to the sensitive nature of her work, she had to filter the data sent to Command through a series of security measures, encrypting and jumping through clouds and translating through several different languages. She didn’t know who she was sending the information to, nor could she replicate the instructions without guidance most of the time. She didn’t really need to, anyhow. Io just told her what buttons to push, and she did it.

  The secrecy was completely intentional. After the recent disasters with Bijan and the recon team, her alien was keeping her orders on a need-to-know basis. Ella didn’t mind being kept in the dark when it came to stuff like this. It was actually kind of exciting.

  For all we know, the leak could be your coach. What do you really know about him? Hamilton was the one who found him. And Emily had only worked with Hamilton for a few months. He is as much a stranger to me as the others.

  On the eve of the fifth day after the initial violent clashes had calmed down, Io surprised Ella by telling her she was resuming her regularly scheduled surveillance the next morning. This time, Ella packed eight knives, up from the four she had taken to carrying.

  The threat level should not dictate how many knives you carry. A pistol makes all of this irrelevant.

  “No guns in Crate Town,” she hissed.